#this whole post is the final statement of thirty minutes worth of thoughts

[palmettoshenanigans]

The thing is, "Nothing" isn't something that can feel the ache of loss or lack I think. Like,,, when you introduce things like "something" - where you can have a positive value - you can also have a negative value. You can have ten dollars, and you can owe someone ten dollars. You can have ten more than nothing, or you can have ten less than nothing. Zero becomes somewhat of a doorway i suppose? You never stop at zero and just rest there. Either you're in debt, or you want more. The only solution is to remove Things, Stuff, Etc from the equation. Can't have or owe anyone ten dollars if there be no dollars

When you choose to stop and sit there, at nothing, in the home of Zero, 'more' and 'less' cease to mean anything. Cease to affect you. To me this is oddly similar to the concept of Being Here Now, in the Present Moment, unconcerned with the hauntings of Yesterday or the threats of Tomorrow. I am Here. I Am. Here. Now. That's it.

Now feels very similar to Nothing. Not because there is an emptiness, but because there is a Radical Refusal to engage with ephemeral potentials and what-could-be's. They don't exist. What Is Here and Now exists.

when asked, "what do you want?" the response "nothing" doesn't mean 'there is nothing that i care to want', it means 'i am accepting of what i have Now, and i ask naught for anything else, lest I be distracted from what is Here'.

"Nothing" is like Radical Acceptance. It says "This is what Life has served me. This is what I'm working with. This is where I will focus my attention. Wishing for More of something Good or wishing for Less of something Bad will only serve to create more suffering within me. I choose instead to attend to the matters at hand. The good, the bad, and the ugly."

"I want nothing." == "I am accepting of what I have Now, and I ask naught for anything else."

"I am nothing." == "There are no titles labeling me Greater or Lesser - they are all false. I simply Am."

"This is nothing." == "There is no specialness that makes what is going on between us more or less than. We simply Are."

Andrew does not want. He will simply Be that which he Is, Here Now, with whomever is with him, and he will take them as they Are. And if what Am and Here and Now equates to is something good, well...

He'll take it.

[everlasting-stories]

To Feel Again [M]

Genre: light angst, romance

Warnings[!]: smut, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of adult toys

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader

Words: 4.4k / One-shot

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Valentine's Day: the day of roses and hearts and chocolates and romantic candlelit dinners. When people proposed marriage and professed undying love.

You sighed, staring unseeing into your bowl of cornflakes as they succumbed to their milky grave and turned to soggy goop. Funny how a date on a calendar could open the pit of despair that lived somewhere near your stomach. It had to be near your stomach. You've been reasonably hungry until you've noticed the date and the pit opened. Your hunger had fallen into it, and the memories and pain rose out of it.

There was a time when this day had been wonderful. Life had been wonderful, you didn't need Valentine's Day, but you celebrated it with reverence and, sometimes, wild abandon.

You knew what love was, what it felt like to love a man and how it felt to lose him. You remembered what he'd said that last morning, how he'd kissed you; how the sun had lit his face as he smiled, promising he'd be back. You also remembered the police, how the sun seemed to dim as they told you the phrases out of courtesy. They were sorry for your loss. They will let you know of details as soon as the investigation on the accident comes to an end.

Since that time, Valentine's Day had passed unheralded, unheeded and uncelebrated. You knew you were a joke of the office - entering thirties soon and never been fucked, that's what they said. The borning woman who had no idea what fun was, wouldn't have known what to do with a man if by some miracle you did catch the attention of one. They were wrong, of course. Not that it was any of their business; it certainly didn't affect your ability to do your job.

If you chose to act and dress your age and spend your evenings quietly, rather than as mutton dressed as lamb in some gaudy nightclub, surely that was your right?

You sighed again, getting up from the table, taking your cereal bowl and dumping the gloop down the sink. A bleak day of petty jibes and pitying looks lay ahead. At least you knew what to expect this year.

Last year had been your first Valentine's Day with this particular company and, therefore, your first with this particular bunch of malicious people - your fellow employees. As front counter receptionist, you were the company's first "public face" and some of your co-workers had decided it didn't look good if that face wasn't surrounded by gifts from admirers on this day.

When the first bunch of anonymous flowers had arrived, you've been flustered, flattered and flabbergasted that anyone would send you flowers. You had hurriedly cleared a space on the counter for them, proudly displaying them, fussing with them to show them off at their best and make them visible from the greatest distance. You kept touching them, moving them slightly, reaffirming they were really there. Your heart sang; someone had noticed you. Maybe he was too shy to reveal himself; maybe he was married and couldn't: your mind was alive with questions, trying to solve the mystery of their origin. You were all in all happy.

Then a large box of chocolates arrived, closely followed by more flowers. By lunchtime, these had been joined by a little plush cherub, two red plush love hearts, a pair of earrings, three more bunches of flowers, four assorted boxes of chocolates and a large jar of candy hearts. They all carried the same anonymous message. And you knew then and there what is the catch behind this.

By the end of the day there were nine flower arrangements, ten boxes of chocolates, three cherubs, the two red love hearts, three teddy bears, two jars of candy, the earrings and a gift box containing four pairs of edible undies. Just before the close of business the final humiliation came - a fantastically wrapped see through box containing an inflatable male doll with vibrating tongue, a massive purple vibrating dildo and a copy of the Sex for The Beginners book.

You had to stay at your post until the last visitor or client left. But the rest of the staff was already heading out of the building. Some boggled at your desk, some snickered, a couple made loud crass comments and a very few had appeared horrified at the pile of stuff surrounding yourself. The building had almost emptied before that last visitor departed. You were sure that, too, was a set-up, particularly when you saw it was the client that had been visiting quite frequently lately.

Myungsoo ushered the man to the street and turned back to you as you gathered your coat and handbag, ready to escape.

"Gee, you're a popular girl. Who would have thought?" He reached your counter and began collecting up the flowers, grinning madly. "Let me help you with all that."

Before you could say a word, he bundled all the flowers, chocolates and assorted other items into your arms. You could barely see where you were going. Myungsoo put his arm around your back and shepherded you out the door, peeking at the vibrator in its transparent box. "There you go, sweetheart. Looks like you're definitely gonna get some action tonight." He turned smartly away, laughing as he rapidly put distance between the two of you.

You obviously had thrown the whole lot in the nearest dumpster and hurried to the relative sanctuary of your car before breaking down and sobbing, burying your head in your hands to hide from prying eyes of curious passer-bys.

Standing at your kitchen sink, you wondered what they'd pull this year. It couldn't be worse, could it? You sighed again and then abruptly shook your head, standing straighter. To hell with it - you were not going to let them get to you today.

It had already begun when you arrived. A bouquet of irises sat at the front of the counter. You were tempted to throw them straight in the garbage, but decided they were too pretty, too unusual. So they stayed. Curiosity got the better of you as you looked at the card, expecting it to say something sappy and insincere, as last year's cards had.

"You are worth far more than they will ever realise. Hear the flowers."

You pondered the card. Hear the flowers?

What on earth did that mean? You raised an eyebrow as you settled into your post: at least it seemed this year would be more intriguing than last. During quiet moments throughout the morning, you'd pick up the card, reread the cryptic message and study the beautiful bouquet, but its secret was never revealed.

No gifts arrived for you, no more flowers. You were relieved, but it only served to deepen the mystery of the flowers. As your lunch hour approached, other staff began filtering out of their offices to take a break. They all noticed the irises. Several of the women stopped and commented on their beauty. No one laughed.

As always, you left the building for lunch. You would usually grab a sandwich somewhere and do a bit of window shopping. Anything to get away for an hour - if you stayed in the office, someone always "needed" you for something.

When you returned, a neatly typed page was on your desk: "The meaning of flowers". One line was highlighted in blue: "Iris: Have Faith. Don't Give Up On Hope." A single purple violet was pinned to the page. You scanned the page to find "Violet (Purple): You occupy my thoughts". You put the page to one side, but still in view, unsure whether to laugh at it and throw it along with the flowers away before the punch line or wait it out. This was definitely a far more sophisticated assault than last year.

Throughout the afternoon a steady procession of couriers arrived, carrying flowers and gifts. You nervously watched each one approach your counter, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the teddy bears and hearts, the chocolates and flowers were all destined for other souls.

At 4:30PM a man approached your station: nothing unusual in that; everyone that came to see someone had to check in with you. What was unusual was that he actually saw you as a fellow human, not a robot programmed to take names and give directions. He smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and warmed your heart. Something familiar in his eyes...

"Good afternoon. My name is Kim Doyoung. I have an appointment to speak to Choi Myungsoo. Would you mind letting him know I am here, please?"

Quickly, you dialled Myungsoo's extension, giving him the information. Myungsoo, as usual was brusque to the point of rude, telling you to "entertain the idiot 'till I'm ready for him - he's not supposed to be here for another 15 minutes".

You were tempted to tell the polite gentleman exactly what Myungsoo had said, but instead used your tact and diplomacy (that was why you were hired after all) to tell him that "Mr. Choi is a little delayed. He will be available in a few minutes."

With that being said, you offered him a seat.

Again he smiled. "Those are beautiful flowers," he said, nodding towards the iris bouquet. "A discerning choice for a lovely lady."

You lowered your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your face, knowing you were blushing.

His voice softened and became much quieter. "You don't remember me, do you?" Your eyes flew to his face, confused. Were you supposed to know this charming man?

"I had an appointment here at the same time, on this day last year. I was waiting outside for a taxi when you left. That was uncalled for, the whole situation that happened - mean and heartless and exactly what I would expect of Myungsoo and his friends. I deal with them only because I must. They offer a service unparalleled in this town."

He leaned across the counter, his voice so low only you could hear. "How they manage it, I cannot tell. They are pig swill and don't know a pearl when confronted with one." Doyoung paused, seeming to weigh up his next statement, then leaned closer to you. "Did you hear the flowers?"

Your eyes again flew to his face, your mouth falling open a little. "You sent them?"

"I did. And the violet. I had hoped to counter whatever crass display they had planned this year. Would you possibly consider spending the evening with me?" His face was eager, hopeful. "A nice dinner?"

You were stunned, flattered, amazed - but also wary. This was Myungsoo's client. He could easily have been put up to this. You studied his face closely, seeking any hint of a lurking cad. His face fell. "But, of course, you have other plans. I apologise for embarrassing you." He moved away and sat, abashed, on one of the hideous lounge chairs to await his appointment.

You studied this man. He didn't seem to fit the mould of Myungsoo's usual cohorts. For one thing he was unerringly polite. He was also good looking, very, very good looking, without being outstanding or flashy. He was also much closer to your age than Myungsoo's and had an air of quiet confidence, like he had nothing to prove to anyone and nothing to fear from them either. You looked at the flowers. Could Myungsoo have possibly thought of something this elegant? You didn't think so. You took a deep breath: to hell with it.

"Mr. Kim?" He looked up. "What time would you like to pick me up?"

In your bedroom, staring at the clothes hanging limply in your closet, the cool bravado that had claimed you as you agreed to the date vanished. In its place indecision, doubt and outright terror took hold. It seemed painfully obvious to you now, away from the office and that lovely man, that it was all another twisted joke, something for the office beautiful people to laugh at during tomorrow's coffee breaks. Why did you say yes? Your wardrobe was woefully inadequate. It was years since you'd been out with a man; you were bound to make a fool of yourself, even if it wasn't a set-up.

At that thought your heart jumped and lurched. The possibility that Mr. Kim - no, Doyoung; this was a date not a business appointment - was sincere in his wish to take you out only heightened your confusion and indecision.

Finally, in desperation and the realisation that if you didn't decide soon, you'd still be in your underwear when he arrived; you chose a chanel-knee length cremé skirt and baby pink cashmere sweater, topped off with knee length boots. The heels were quite high, but you remembered him being tall, so that wouldn't be an issue, as long as you didn't fall over in them.

You were saved from an overcritical examination in the mirror. You had just completed applying your makeup when Doyoung arrived. You grabbed your coat and quickly walked out the door, before you had time to rethink and back out.

"You look lovely," Doyoung said, smiling down at you. Feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks; you weren't used to receiving compliments, particularly from someone like him. You mumbled a shy thanks as he helped you put on your coat and led you to his car.

Sitting in the car as he drove, you were able to study the mysterious man that is Kim Doyoung. He was extremely handsome, not in the classical sense, but he certainly was far from a plain looking man - a man at peace with himself. He knew who he was and was content with that; he knew what he wanted and how to get it; and what was beyond his capabilities and lost no sleep over it. He obviously managed quite well; his car was expensive but not too flashy.

The restaurant he took you too was a quiet small place, away from the standard eat-and-entertain strip. It was intimate without claustrophobia; the decor was elegant without being overbearing; the lighting low but not dim; the service attentive without being intrusive. The food you could not describe - later, you barely remembered what you had eaten beyond it being "nice" - your attention was totally taken by Doyoung.

He was gallant and charming; helping you with your coat and holding your chair for you at the intimate table for two tucked away in a corner. Doyoung quietly suggested items on the menu he thought you might like. It was obvious he'd been here before, was a regular, but usually without company. His choice of wine was perfect to go with the excellent food as you enjoyed each other's company.

And you talked.

You learned a lot about him. Doyoung was 34, older than you had thought; he had been engaged, but his fiancé decided to break off the engagement for simply falling out of love. He had had a series of short term relationships that had petered out and, for the past several years, had lived a solitary life, rarely going out with women. He didn't work as such; his livelihood came from investments, which explained him being a client of the company you worked in. Myungsoo may be a jerk, but he was the one of the best investment brokers around.

He had been attracted to you the first time he met you, a year ago, but had been intimidated by the evidence of all your admirers. When he realised it was all a cruel joke played by his adviser and the other brokers, he was mortified. He had seriously considered changing brokers, going to another organisation but that would have meant he had no chance of meeting you again. So he stayed. He had been in your office on three occasions since then, and each time had seen your quiet, unflappable charm and how your talent and lovely nature were either ignored or taken for granted by those around you. He was determined to gain your attention, but without the office cricus freaks being able to use it against you, hence the mystery flower delivery this morning.

You found yourself opening up to Doyoung. He seemed sincerely interested in hearing what you had to say, hanging on your every word. It was a liberating and wonderfully powerful feeling. You weren't used to being the centre of anyone's attention. You told him of your pride at the independence since the loss of your lover, all those years ago. You were happy in your little home, content with your work, rarely coming to the attention of the office jokers.

It was over coffee that you admitted to Doyoung something you haven't admitted to yourself: your life was lonely and you missed the affection of another person. You missed the companionship of sharing your life with someone.

Immediately after the words had left your lips you regretted them. You have given away too much of yourself, been too forward. You lowered your eyes, not wanting to see the closed expression you knew would be on his face, so you didn't see the fleeting look of pain, quickly followed by understanding and hope.

However, you did feel his hand close over yours and squeeze lightly. You looked up into a face of gentle eyes and soft smile. "Would you like to take a walk with me," he said quietly. "I think it's time we leave - they want to close the restaurant anyway."

You looked around yourself noticing that you two were the only people other than staff left in the restaurant, and many of the lights were dimmed. You gasped in wonder - you had no idea you've been there so long. "Yes, a walk would be lovely."

Doyoung ushered you along the street and across a small, neat park to a promenade along the riverbank. It was enough lit to feel safe and you walked along arm in arm. You felt his arm snake around your waist hugging you closer to him, and you snuggled against him, your arm around his back. The moon was up, the stars were out and the night was peaceful and clear.

Your heart was singing and your eyes sparkled. You've been right to take this gamble. He was sincere, and it was wonderful. But the night was late, and it was rather cold.

You shivered. Doyoung felt it immediately and turned off the promenade proposing to head back toward the street where he had left the car. "I'd better take you home. It wouldn't be much of a date if you ended up ill."

At your door, Doyoung formally thanked you for a lovely evening and asked if he could see you again. You smiled and surprised yourself only a little by reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips before saying: "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Doyoung blinked, looking mildly bemused for a moment before studying your face. "Are you sure?"

Oh, most definitely, you were sure. You have thought of nothing else since you two have left the river. He looked right, he felt right, and he smelt right. You wanted him but was sure he'd never make a move. He was too much of a gentleman to ever force the issue.

You took his hand and led him into your home, kicking the door closed with your foot, shutting out the rest of the world with its mean people and ugly attitudes. You reached up to kiss him again. This time he lowered his head to yours, cradling your face in his hands as he returned the kiss. The lips met and parted, allowing the tongues to join and caress each other. His hands moved down from your face to caress your body, yours moving up from his hips. Both of you parted, searching each other's faces for confirmation of your desires.

"I think we're on the same page," you said. "Why don't you leave your coat on the couch? Do you want the nightcap now, or after the tour?"

"I'll put a hold on the nightcap," Doyoung answered, reading the desire in your eyes and knowing it was mirrored in his while stripping off the coat.

"Right."

You took his hand again. "This is the lounge. There," you pointed to the right, "is the kitchen and dining room. This way," pulling him down the hall, "is the second bedroom, the bathroom and," dragging him through a doorway, "here is the main bedroom."

"Very nice," he said, looking around, trying not to focus on the bed.

Suddenly shy, you both looked at anything but each other, awkward in a lack of intimate knowledge of each other. Doyoung tentatively reached out a hand to you, aiming to caress your breast, veering off at the last moment to your shoulder, but still lightly brushing your breast with his fingertips. Your gasped breath emboldened him and he reached his other hand, caressing your other breast lightly as you shivered under his touch and sighed.

Your own hands went to his chest, running down the front of his shirt and back up, then beginning to undo the buttons, pulling the shirt from his trousers and teasing his bare skin with your fingers.

Doyoung pulled his shirt off and then raised the sweater over your head and off the arms, moving in to kiss you as his hands went around your back to undo the clasps of a bra and returned to cup your breasts. The sensation on your breasts as he caressed and pinched the nipples sent a sharp message straight between your legs. You could feel yourself becoming moist and shuddered under his touch; breath becoming uneven.

Pushing him away you removed the skirt, letting it pool at your feet while looking into his eyes. Doyoung took the hint and began unbuckling his belt, then grinned foolishly and sat beside you to take off his socks, sneaking kisses of your neck and shoulders as he did so. You both stood again, slightly apart. He dropped his trousers and you could see his briefs pushed out of shape by his erection, the fabric straining.

Doyoung stepped up, taking you in his arms, kissing down your neck and across the collarbone, his hands lowering to your hips, sliding under the elastic and beginning to tug your panties down. Your own hands flew to the top of his briefs. Together, you pulled down the underwear, stepping out of them and standing naked before each other. Again Doyoung moved first, holding you and gently pushing backwards onto the bed, following after you onto it.

He ran one hand down the body of yours, teasing and tickling the beginning of your womanhood and beyond, teasing you with his fingers, tickling across your mound and easing around your damp centre. You moaned as he explored, your hips twisting and twitching. It had been so long since another man had touched you there. It felt amazing, wonderful, but achingly short of what you needed. You could feel his hardness against your thigh. Reaching down, you took his cock into your hand. It was hot, hard and pulsed under your touch. Doyoung groaned and his hips jerked convulsively. You kissed him hard and whispered fiercely, "Please, it's been too long. I need you, now."

"For me too, far too long," Doyoung gasped back, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself before gently splitting your lips and sliding steadily but firmly into you. Your moans were prominent in the air as he stretched and filled you right, not stopping his steady thrust until he was wholly inside you, your warm walls gripping him tightly. Your eyes met and locked as you lay still, immersed in the feeling of each other's body.

Being warm, wet and a safe haven, you were engulfing his cock. Doyoung was filling you with his hard heat, owning your body completely. You fit each other perfectly; you could see it in each other's eyes. You belonged together.

As great as this feeling was, you needed more. Doyoung slowly withdrew, till only the very tip split you. Both groaning as he pushed back in, again slowly feeling each other with delectable inch. Slowly in and out, in and out, revelling in the feeling of each other's bodies, gradually building up speed as your need increased.

You could feel the fire building, the tension increasing as sensation on sensation smashed into you with each thrust, your body twitching, your hips writhing. Still it built; higher, tighter, fiercer. Your entire being was wrapped around Doyoung's cock as it pumped in and out of you. You could hear him grunting with each thrust, feel his body trembling as he got closer to his climax. His speed increased and you breath got caught in your throat, your back arched, legs went stiff as you began to twitch when the white light exploded through you, spreading warmth and scattering your senses.

You felt, from far away but deep within you, Doyoung losing his rhythm before coming, pumping wildly into you, grunting and thrusting hard one last time as he shot deep inside you feeling spent but overly fulfilled.

Your hand was making lazy circles on Doyoung's chest as you lay, curled against his side with a head on his shoulder. You weren't sure how you've come to be in this position, but it felt so right and he smelled so good.

You were at peace while drifting off to sleep.

Waking up without feeling body by your side, you immediately felt the loss. Doyoung wasn't there. Your heart dropped, the pit near your stomach threatened to open and engulf it. Sensing the tears coming up, you accidentally feel something on your side with a hand.

He wasn't there. But there was a note.

"I am so sorry. I hate to leave you, knowing you will wake alone. There is something I must do."

You had just finished reading when the phone rang, disturbing your thoughts. Grudgingly, you moved to answer it. "Hello."

"Wish I was still beside you."

Your heart flipped again. The pit dissolved so you could breathe again before whispering, "Doyoung."

"Y/N. Tell me, what are you planning for breakfast?"

"Uhm. Coffee? Maybe some toast. Why?"

"Don't move. I'm on my way. With breakfast. And it's better than toast."

You lay back in bed, listening to the dial tone after he hung up. Surprised, you smile softly. You must remember to thank Myungsoo for introducing them.

If this is how you will feel loved and feel free to love again, you have no complaints.

Your new chapter is about to begin and hopefully, it will last for a very long time with a man named Kim Doyoung.

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 11

a/n: Hi. so I stopped posting these because no one ever reads them and barely anyone reads the fic anymore but this is literally my favorite chapter of this whole damn thing. So please be gentle with her. She’s wonderful in my opinion. k bye. 

WARNINGS: sex without a condom, accidental insemination (i know that’s not sexy but i didn't feel comfortable using the cp word tbh). Also just so much fluff and so much love. major development of feelings here. 

*Shawn’s point of view*

“y/n where are you taking me?”

“Did you wear the shirt?” She asked instead. “The red one?”

He peered down at his shirt that she insisted he wear for the occasion, three buttons undone instead of two just like she said.

“Yes I’m wearing the shirt, but I don’t--”

“Perfect! I’ll be down in just a second. Make sure you’re in the passenger seat.”

His girlfriend was weird. Incredible and mind bendingly smart and gorgeous. But weird.

And yet, by the time she finally appeared out of her apartment there he was, following her every direction. He remembers she wore this really pretty flowy dress that billowed around her ankles because it was getting chilly in New York and he wondered if maybe she might want his denim jacket from the backseat.  She slid into his car and immediately kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in days. They hadn’t been able to spend the night together for the past few weeks due to busy schedules, and so Saturday was supposed to be date night. And he was all ready to take his girlfriend on a magical evening with a reservation at KO, this amazing Asian restaurant that was impossible to get into and well over 200 dollars for the tasting menu. Instead, she had told him to put on a very specific outfit and grab his guitar, because she was in charge for the night. And besides the bedroom, y/n was always in charge. Always.

“You and your wild, taffy legs. How is anyone supposed to reach the pedals in this thing?” She grumbled flailing around in the driver’s seat.

He rolled his eyes playfully and reached over to flick the switch that would push her seat up.

“Sweetheart, this is the Tesla. Please be gentle.”

She clicked her seatbelt on and adjusted her mirror before spinning out smoothly into the street.

“Boy I know what the hell I’m doing. You just sit there and let mama handle things okay?” She snorted.

“Just as long as mama doesn’t total my hundred sixty thousand dollar car, she can handle whatever she’d like.”

“What could this vehicle possibly do that’s worth that much money. It’s still wheels and a seat, sis.” She giggled to herself at her own joke. “Besides, I could total this car and you’d still love me in the morning. Not that I would! I’m a good driver, dammit.”

It took one look at her with her tongue just barely passed her lips in concentration as she navigated city traffic to confirm her statement.

“Yea...You’ve got me there.” He sighed.

His confusion was once again peaked as y/n headed away from the city instead of deeper into it. Any idea for what she might have had planned went straight out the window. It didn’t help that she simply continued to listen to one of his playlists he made her, bopping her adorable head to the music and ignoring him as he stared helplessly in his seat.

“Baby...You’ve got to give me something here. I might start to think you’re taking me out to the woods to kill me.” He whined.

She rolled her eyes. “Like I have the time or the patience to drag your big ass through the woods. Men. So impatient. Can’t you just enjoy the ride?”

“I might enjoy it a little more, if I knew where we were going.”

“You shall see in...twenty-two minutes.” She explained peering at the gps on her phone.

“You know the car comes with a GPS too.”

“Ah hah! That explains the price tag huh?”

He decided it best he stay quiet less his girlfriend only continued to make fun of him more.

Needless to say he’s a little confused when they pull up to what looks like nothing more than a little pub. His car was probably more expensive than the building, and he couldn’t help but remember that he’d gotten them a reservation at a place that had been booked solid for the last three months.

“Y/n...what the hell?” He asked quietly. “Where are we?”

“We are at Lenny’s Tavern.” She smiled pointing to the big sign outside the building.

“Yes, I can see that. Why are we at Lenny’s Tavern?”

She leaned back in her seat and stared at him with her big gentle eyes. It was always her way of getting him to calm down. Because when she was calm, it was nearly impossible for him not to be.

“We’re here so that you can play your music.”

….

So much for being calm.

“What?! W--What? No. No way. Y/n I can’t. I can’t play anything that my dad owns. You know that. I told you that!”

“You can’t seek monetary gain for any performance without his sign off. That’s correct. But this is an open mic night. And technically your father has rights to anything officially recorded in a studio or otherwise. This is what bars you from releasing, let’s say a single on soundcloud or spotify for example. However, a live performance? A random ten minute set? That’s fair game.” She explained.

“How could you know that? How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I read your contract. Line for line. And it’s tight. It’s tight and it’s shitty and I can’t imagine what an awful human being your dad has to be to get you to sign it, but there was wiggle room. So...let’s wiggle.”

He was dumbfounded. His heart was hammering in his chest and he just kept peering at the tiny pub in front of them and then back to her and then back to the pub. He hadn’t sung in front of a crowd since high school. He wasn’t prepared, every single song absolutely escaping his mind. And here she was just as calm as a cucumber.

“How did you find my contract?” He asked.

“You’re not the only one who has their ways, Shawn.”

She undid her seatbelt and turned in the seat to face him. She reached for his hands, which were most definitely shaking, and squeezed hard enough at them that he could no longer tell. His breathing was uneven as the panic set in. Most of it was his dad. And what he might do, and all of the things that he could do. But, some of it was just the fear of failing. He’d spent years convincing himself that his dad was the reason he never got his shot, the reason he never made it big. But there was always a tiny voice in the back of his head that was convinced it might just be him. Maybe he was just wasn’t good enough. Maybe he never would be.

“Hey, look at me.”

His eyes flickered up to her face as he worked to steady his breathing.

“You’ve got a gift. A gift that makes you happy and a gift that has the ability to make others happy. Not everyone has that. People spend their whole lives chasing shit like that. You love music. I know you do; I can feel it in every muscle of your being. I’m not asking you to fight your dad, and I’m not asking you to do anything I don’t already know you can do. I’m just asking you to sing because you love it okay? And I know for a fact that you can do that.”

She kept one hand of his in her lap and reached to touch his face with her other. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t lean into her touch with his whole head and his whole heart and maybe the rest of him too.

“I’m gonna be there the whole time. Just focus on me.” She whispered. “And have fun. Can you do that?”

He took a deep breath and kissed at her palm.

“I--I don’t know. Maybe? What if I fuck it up? What if it hurts?”

“Then we go home and we laugh about it. You’re never gonna see any of these people again. This is literally just for you. No one else.”

“Fuck. Okay. Okay, I’ll try.”

She grinned. “Yea?”

“Yea. But if I fall I need you to pick me up, alright?”

“Darling that’s all that I’m here for.”

They get out of the car, his guitar case firm in his hand, as she pulls him forward by his other one. He makes her double lock the Tesla just in case. Who knew where the hell they were at.

Inside the pub isn’t exactly the Irish biker crowd. It looks more like a college town bar. There were mostly younger people, early twenties to thirties, all standing around drinking and having a good night. All of the lights were off except for at the bar, and the stage at the front of the pub. There was already somewhere up there. A woman with a really beautiful soprano timbre. Some were sat around the stage at tables drinking and enjoying the music. It was maybe a hundred people total in the whole space, but certainly more than he’d ever sang in front of before.

He was still looking around trying to get a feel for the space when her hand squeezed at his again to get his attention.

“Oh, I almost may have invited a friend.”

He turned to see Niall with a beer in his hand talking loudly to what must have been another friend at a table. The second he spotted Shawn though, he was downing his drink and heading straight for them.

“Shawnie Boy!” He cheered wrapping his arms around him quickly. “It’s about time you got here man, the crowd’s all warmed up for ya.”

“I--I’m sorry?”

“Oh this lovely woman instagram dm’d me that you were finally gonna put that voice of yer’s on display for all to see, asked if I’d be a friendly face in the crowd. But, this is the place I got discovered at man. I thought it might bring some good luck to you! You’re gonna kill it.”

Niall clapped him on the shoulder and then turned to y/n to pull her in for a hug as well. It wasn’t difficult to see what his dad had seen in Niall. Besides the Irish accent, and the blue eyes, and the voice, Niall was a force of nature. He was charismatic and kind and sort of all over the place. He certainly made Shawn feel calmer as well. Niall was the first person he shared music with in a long time besides Brian. Perhaps if he believed in him, there was something worth believing in.

Niall, y/n, and a few of Niall’s friends that he remembered from various studio sessions crowded around the table closest to the stage. There was a guy by the soundboard, keeping track of the acts who were going. He went to put his name on the list, and only kind of hoped that the guy might tell him the list was full.

“Name?” He asked.

“Uh, Shawn Mendes?”

“Ah you’re already on the list. You can go next. You get two songs. There’s a mic on stage that should pick up the guitar. Is it an acoustic?”

“Yea.”

“Well perfect man. Good luck out there.”

“Yea, okay. Thanks.”

He got his guitar out of the case and slipped the strap over his shoulder. She was perfectly in tune and felt like air beneath his fingertips. The guitar had taught him confidence. He felt comfortable with it on, like it was his best piece of clothing. All the nerves and stress sort of took a back seat when he was playing, even there to the side of the stage while he waited for the last person to finish up. He just genuinely loved playing. Like more than anything in the world.

“Alright. Next up is a newbie. Give it up for Shawn Mendes everybody!”

He hears y/n above all else as she claps and cheers and let’s everyone around know that’s her man up there. It makes him laugh which makes him breathe. It’s good. She’s perfect.

He takes a seat on the stool in front of the mic, fingers still strumming absentmindedly as he settles on what to play. The tension is still in his shoulders a little bit. He’s still absolutely terrified. But it’s her who asked him to do it. So, he will.

“Hello. I haven’t really played in front of people since I was fifteen so this could go bad, but hopefully it doesn’t. Um this song is for my girlfriend who I’ve been writing songs about far longer than she’s been my girlfriend. I hope you like it.”

He plays When You’re Ready because it feels right. He wrote it after their first few nights together, far before he was ever ready to admit just how into her he was. He lied to himself and said that he was just using their experience to write a song, that it wasn’t necessarily about her. But, who was he fooling? Sometimes he thought he might write about her for the rest of his life.

Don't know why I try 'cause ain't nobody like you

Familiar disappointment every single time I do

And every single night my arms are not around you

My mind's still wrapped around you

He catches her eyes in the crowd and it’s like they’re back in his apartment sitting on the floor with pillows and candles while he plays. It’s no longer scary or frightening or overwhelming. It’s just them. And he gets this feeling in the middle of the song that he’d sing forever if it meant he got to tell the world how he felt about her. She made him feel everything and anything ten times over. And he was just starting to hit the surface of what that could actually mean for him.

And if I have to, I'll wait forever

Say the word and I'll change my plans

Yeah, you know that we fit together

I know your heart like the back of my hand

It dawns on him that other people are nodding along about halfway through the song. Niall was nodding, but that was Niall. There were people at the back of the bar who turned his way to listen and pay attention. He’s got a crowd staring back at him and they don’t even hate him. It’s the wildest thing in the world.

Even ten years from now, if you haven't found somebody

I promise I'll be around

Tell me when you're ready

I'm waitin', I'm waitin'

His thumb hits the last chord and he’s not prepared for the applause that bursts out. He has to look to y/n to see how she’s making it sound like so many people are clapping, but it’s not her. It’s the bar. It’s everyone. And it’s the wildest thing he’s ever experienced in his whole life.

For a second he just stands there dumbfounded staring at them all. Were they sure? Did they really like it? Music was the most humbling of things, because money couldn’t make you not sound like shit. Either you had it, and you worked for it, or you didn’t. The guy from the sound booth had to give him the reminder to play his other song, or surely he would have just stared at them all night.

“Shit. Uh thanks. That was wild. Okay. Um, this next one is called Lights On. Hope you like it.”

Y/n had never heard it. And rightfully so. It was his least vulgar way of reminding himself of the way that she made him feel from that night that he finally met her. The way that her dress had melded to every curve. The length of her spine when she was trying to stand as tall as humanly possible above everyone else. The way that her thighs had felt around his head. It’s everything that the song reminded him off without stating it explicitly, and he can tell by the heat in her eyes that he’s conjuring up similar images for her.

He’s so focused on her that he doesn’t notice that the entire bar had begun to clap to the beat of the song, or that by the time he gets to the second chorus people are singing along. He’s got the whole bar transfixed on him and it should feed his ego more than anything. (Make no mistake it still kind of does) But it’s harder to focus on that when the woman he loves is looking at him like she wants to devour him and maybe hold him too. It’s certainly a complex array of emotions and all that he’s left to do is beam at this crowd of maybe a hundred people for making his little dream come true. But still mostly her.

He walked off the stage to a whole bunch of applause that made him feel like his skin was buzzing. He wanted to run a mile or six. He wanted to go dance in the rain, or scream on the top of a building. Anything that would expel this energy out of him. It all felt too great. Too beautiful. In a way he was more fucked than ever, because he knew right there in that moment that performing was the only thing he was ever gonna want to do.

“Hey man that was a kickass set!” The sound guy from earlier exclaimed. “I’m Ronnie. I run the pub. You’re Shawn right?”

He nodded. “Thanks man. It was really a dream come true for me.”

“Yea? Well if you ever wanna come back and keep doing it more of it, you let me know okay? Take my card.”

The guy hands him his card and claps him on the back before going to announce the next act. He peered aimlessly down at the piece of paper feeling a big overwhelmed. Did this mean he could do it again? That he was allowed to keep performing? The thought had literally never even occurred to him.

He floats back to table where y/n and Niall were already clapping and screaming for him. He gets claps on the shoulder from random people as he passes through. It’s like the greatest night of his life or something.

And then she’s there. And he knows that he loves her because he drops his guitar case against the table to pick her up in his arms. He knows that he loves her because he has to hide his face in her neck because he thinks for a second that he might cry, he’s so goddamn happy. And he knows that he loves her because it’s all her. She gave him the moment and the feeling and the love. It’s her.

“I--I can’t believe you did that for me.” He mumbled fingers knotting in her dress.

She kissed his forehead and pulled him closer.

“That is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. And I’d do it a million times over, you hear me?”

He nodded breathlessly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He goes to kiss her only for her to wrap her fingers around the base of his skull and pull him in for the kiss of his life. Her teeth are punishing and her tongue is a dangerous heaven in his mouth. He very nearly lifts her up off the floor like they’re at home instead of in public, and he has a feeling that was her goal exactly.

“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes. Don’t think I forgot about that little song of yours.” She whispered.

And then she detangled herself from him and walked off like a dream and a sin all at once. Christ was he lucky. Needless to say he very quickly ditched his guitar with Niall and ran off to find his girlfriend in this dingey ass bar. The shit this woman could convince him to do.

He found her in a single stall family bathroom, which was honestly much cleaner than he expected, and the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other tells him he needs to write more songs. And fast.

She jumped up in his arms and started sucking on his neck in that way of hers that always turned him to goo. He was lost in her immediately.

“Are we gonna have sex in this bathroom right now?” He mumbled already letting his hands wander beneath her dress.

“That depends. Do you have a condom?”

This gives him great pause. He pulled back to stare at his girlfriend in confusion.

“A condom? N--No. What am I fourteen?”

Her eyes widened. “What does that even mean? Also what the fuck were you doing at fourteen to be walking around with condoms?”

“Well it’s just that...you have the IUD. And guys only carry condoms around with them in the hopes that they’ll get lucky. I’m a sure thing kind of guy. Plus, my dad gave me my first one when I was eleven.” He shrugged.

She leaned back in his arms to stare at the ceiling.

“Jesus Christ. He’s literally the devil. Had your balls even dropped yet? Oh my god!”

“Can we not talk about my prepubescent balls please? It’s really ruining the mood.” He whined. “Can’t we just...you know?”

She raised an eyebrow at him so sharp he nearly got cut.

“Can we just what? If you think I’m walking around for the rest of the night with your nasty ass jizz between my legs, you’ve got another thing coming. Also we simply have to work on your sexual health competency because that was the dumbest shit you’ve ever said to me.”

“I think we can get creative with where we put it y/n! I just think that the more we sit here talking about, the less sexy it becomes!”

“Excuse me?! Communication is the sexiest thing in the world. Sex without communication is awful and probably predatory.”

She paused and peered down at him from where he was holding her up against his waist again. She tilted her head as if to make a decision of whether or not he was worth fucking in that moment, which like….huge ego crush by the way.

“Ah fuck it come here.”

And then she started kissing him again, so he quickly forgot about all of that.

He turned to slam her against the wall, fingers searching for the edge of her underwear beneath the skirt of her dress. She moaned in his ear and bit at his shoulder, his hips grinding more and more desperately against her’s.

“You think you can hold me up long enough to make me cum?” She whimpered.

“‘Course I can. Now be a good girl and open wide for me.”

He sticks his fingers in her mouth until they’re wet enough to rub her clit. The denim of his jeans is rough against her skin but he can’t get enough of the way she moans when he rubs against her. Let no one ever underestimate how hot they could get for each other with literally no time at all. She gets wet for him on command and her thighs tremble when rubs her the way that she needs. It’s perfect. Her body sings for him in octaves that make his heart race and his dick hard and his heart warm. She’s sort of everything to him in these moments.

“Remind me to get some restraints that hold you up against the wall. This is really doing it for me.” He mumbled.

“Yea, yea. Less talking more humping.”

At least she wasn’t impatient at all.

As far as sex goes, it’s really good. There’s something about the sound of the bar right outside the door, knowing that there were still people surrounding them on all sides. Something about the way she can’t keep quiet, so he can’t keep quiet either. Something about the way she tastes, the way she always tastes.

“Fuck,” He panted pushing her thighs back against the wall as he paused to rest inside of her. “Fuck, y/n.”

Her head rested against the wall, her lips parted and panting. She looked so fucking good it hurt to look at her. He bit his lip and doubled down against the wall using his hips to drive harder into her in the hopes that the way her hips were held in his hands might get her where she needed to go. When her fingers grip so tight at the back of his head that he winces, he figures he might have done it right.

“Oh my GOD!”

Her legs trembled in his hands and he tilted his hips to push more ruggedly against her. Her hands slapped at the wall in desperation as she reached aimlessly for anything and nothing. She hit the paper towel dispenser with a sharp clang and cried out for him like a symphony as she clenched at him for all he was worth it.

“I’m cumming.” She whined. “Baby, I’m cumming!”

It’s the greatest pleasure in the world. He presses his hand against the wall beside her head, his other arm just barely holding her up and practically falls into her. He couldn’t hold back his own orgasm if you’d paid him. If she whined for him, he sobbed for her. Fell apart for her. Loved her and held her and came for her with everything in him the way that only she could make him do. Only her.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled wetly, kissing at her shoulder. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Shit, it’s okay.”

He lets her down onto shaky legs, both of them worse for ware. She made her way to the toilet to clean up, while he tried to regain function in his brain. Less than ten minutes later they were back at the bar as if nothing had happened. Though the look Niall gave him when he finally got his guitar back told him that maybe they hadn’t been quite as subtle as they could be. He didn’t care though. It was probably the best night of his life.

It’s later, back at his apartment when the lights are off except for the glow of his closet, when her head fits perfectly on his chest that the weight of it hits him. What she was willing to do for him to make him happy, for him to succeed. She was so good to him.

They got closer and deeper into this thing every day. He fell a little harder every time that he caught her smiling or laughing or even just being. The thought that she might return the sentiment was almost too much for his heart to bare.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered his fingers tracing shaping on her back. “I never would have done that if you hadn’t pushed me.”

She kissed his chest and snuggled closer.

“I’m happy to. You deserve it ya know? I know you think sometimes things are just the way they are but…it doesn’t have to be. I know that from experience.”

“I know. Or at least I’m starting to. You’re very convincing.” He snorted.

“Stick with me sweetheart, I’ll get us places.”

He didn’t doubt her for a second.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

You were trying to see if it was possible to get Shawn to forget about harry potter based off the sheer power of cleavage alone. It was proving to be incredibly difficult because you couldn’t get him to turn his head away from the movie long enough to see that your tits were on full display. Here you were thinking you were dating some suave, feeling himself, type playboy when in reality he was an actual dork hiding in a hot man’s body. The audacity.

“Shawn.” You murmured squeezing your arms together to push your cleavage up again.

“Not now babe, Snape is about to rip Harry and Ron a new one. I love this part.”

You rolled your eyes and collapsed against the sheets giving in to the magic that this franchize seemed to have over your boyfriend. What a shit show.

When his phone starts to ring, Shawn makes a face like someone just shot bamby right in front of him. The ridiculousness of it all was not in fact lost on you.

“Hello?” He sighed pausing the movie. “Oh...Hi.”

You peered over at him in interested as he threw his legs over the side of the bed to face away from you.

“No. No I haven’t been ignoring you I’ve just been a bit busy with work and what not. Yes, I know you’re out there all alone. No I--I don’t hate you. Yes…. Yes. Okay, but I can’t really just fly out to….Okay. Yes, love you too. Bye.”

“Well if that was your sidepiece or something can you at least ask her to respect Harry Potter time? I mean that just seems rude.” You snorted.

“It wasn’t a side piece.” He mumbled falling back into bed. “It was my mother.”

He pressed play on the movie again but his eyes and his mind were somewhere else. This was the first time his mom had ever been brought up besides casual conversation. And if the tension in the room was anything to go off, there was a reason for that.

“I thought...I thought you and your mom got along really well.” You asked softly.

“We do. I love her more than anything. It’s just...tough. She’s a little angry at me at the moment.”

You were far more willing to decipher your boyfriend’s traumatic experience than watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azaban for the fifth time that month. So, you paused the movie and let him nestle his face in the cleavage he should have been in all along.

“How come?” You asked, fingers gliding through his curls.

“She blames me for staying in California with my dad instead of moving back to Canada with her.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I didn’t realize your parents were divorced.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re not. That would cause too much publicity. But, my mum got tired of him fucking every secretary that he hires and being a verbally and emotionally abusive piece of shit. He pays for her to stay in Canada so that she doesn’t blast his shit to the whole world. It’s really more of a business transaction.”

You peered down where his head lied on your chest and you wondered if he could feel your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

“Jesus, Shawn.”

“Yea. I know. Trust me, I know.”

“Honestly the fact that you’ve come out half way as normal as you are is a true testament to yourself. I think you should probably be far more fucked up than you are.”

“I probably am. You just haven’t gotten a chance to see it yet.”

“We’ve known each other for clear over a year at this point, boy. I think I would’ve noticed.”

You ran your hands down his neck and over his shoulders where the muscles were tense and the stress seemed to be knotting in him by the second.

“She wants me to come home.” He admitted softly.

“Is that--that something that would be hard for you?”

“What watching her waste away in some mansion in Toronto under my dad’s thumb just like me? What son doesn’t wanna watch his mum be miserable? I’m never gonna be able to fix it. Things are always gonna be like this.”

“Yea, but they don’t have to be.”

He leaned his head up just slightly enough for eye contact. His cheeks were rosey and his eyes were hooded and sad. He looked sort of like he needed a nap. God he was cute.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean that...You could go home and be with your mom and it might take away some of her burden. It sounds like she loves you a lot, like she just wants to see her son. You don’t have to change the world to make a difference ya know?” You hummed.

Shawn sighed and just sort of collapsed on your chest all grumpy again. He was a little bit like a cat in those moments. A very large, very long, heavy ass cat.

“Fine,” he eventually grumbled. “What are you doing next weekend?”

“Hmm...Nothing that I can think of. Why?”

“I guess we’re going to Canada.”

That just simply was not what you meant.

***

“I really need you to stop fidgeting. You’re making me fidget!”

You rolled your eyes but settled a little firmer in your seat. You messed around with the bracelet on your wrist instead before reaching for your necklace to mess with that. The car pulled to a stop and your heart lurched into your throat again. Shit.

“Sweetheart,” Shawn sighed reaching for your hand to play with your fingers. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. My mum is the sweetest human being you’ll ever meet.”

“Of course she is. Everyone is sweet and dandy until the white boy brings a black girl home.” You mumbled still peering anxiously out the window.

“Y/n. Y/n look at me.”

You tilted your head slightly in his direction only for him to tug your chin so that you were facing each other head on.

“I know for a fact she’s going to be obsessed with you. But, if she wasn’t? If for even a second she wasn’t as impressed with you as everyone on this planet should be? We’d fly out today, okay? I don’t need anyone’s approval to tell me whether or not I should love you. Do you understand?”

You hated when he made sense. You were supposed to be the rational one afterall. Plus he looked a lot cuter when he did it.

Your head dipped down a little bit to stare at the console in the middle of the car, but he only tugged your chin up again for you. It was almost like if you couldn’t keep your head high he was hellbent on doing it for you.

“Trust me, please?” He whispered. “Just trust me.”

“Okay.” You sighed pressing your forehead against his. “Just don’t let me go okay?”

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He got out of the car and came to open your door, his finger quickly latching with yours. It turns out that you’d been so in your head over the thought of meeting his mother, against your will you might add, that it had never occurred to you to get freaked out over the size of the house. If you could even call it a house. The place was big enough to have it’s own fucking zipcode. It was a pristine, white mansion with a six car garage that looked like it could be its own house. You’d seen places of the sort for parties and what not in LA, but you’d never actually seen someone really, truly live in one. It reminded you endlessly of the difference in the lives that you and Shawn had. Sure, you might be in the same industry now, but your upbringings? Your childhoods? They could not have been more different.

Shawn led you slowly up to the house where he rang the doorbell that seemed to echo throughout the home. Your hand tightened around his, and so he tightened his own in response. He turned to kiss your temple and nuzzle his nose into your hair as an attempt to soothe you. It was just beginning to work when the door opened.

“My baby!”

She was a tiny woman. At least in comparison to Shawn. But you couldn’t tell by the way that she wrapped him up in her arms and kissed him as if he was a small child. And apparently he was. In her eyes, anyway. The more shocking thing was the way that he fell into her arms. He held her just as tightly as she held him. He kissed her cheek and he rocked back and forth with her. It was just about the sweetest shit you’d ever seen in your life.

“I missed you mum.” He sighed rubbing her back.

“I missed you too.”

You watched in awe as a kind of softness to your boyfriend revealed itself in a way you’d never quite seen before. Sure, he was affectionate with you. But clearly Shawn and his father weren’t running around professing their love for each other. This was a new side to him entirely.

Shawn stepped back out of his mother’s arms and reached for your hand to hold tightly just as before. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand and turned to you.

“There’s uh--there’s someone I want you to meet actually. This is y/n, my girlfriend. Y/n this is my mum.” He introduced.

Her eyes widened and you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were prepared for the worst. The moment she throws her arms around the both of you, you enter a moment of complete and utter shock.

“Oh my god! Shawn, oh my god. She’s beautiful!”

She reached for your hand and squeezed it warmly like you were old friends instead of people who were meeting for the first time.

“Mrs. Mendes, it’s so nice to meet you.” You smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, please, please call me Karen. Shawn has never brought someone home before, so excuse me if I’m a little excited. Please, come in!”

She tugged you forward into the house and quickly began to give you a tour. You looked back at Shawn with a questioning gaze at her comment. His cheeks were red and rosy, a clear give away, but he said nothing.

It really was an impressive home. You got the sense that she took pride in it, even if it felt sort of like a prison. At least she was here back home and away from all the craziness. She could lead whatever life she wanted in this place. And she seemed to have peace with that. It was a much more worthy narrative than some sad housewife locked away in a tower. She was strong. You could tell. And you liked that.

“I’ll leave you both to freshen up and unpack. I’m gonna finish up dinner. I made a roast.” She grinned at Shawn.

“My mum makes the best roast you’ve ever had in your life.” He assured you. “Hands down.”

“Wow. Well could you use any help, Mrs. Mendes? I’d hate to be a bother when you weren’t expecting me.”

Polite girlfriend shtick. You had that shit down. Shawn rolling his eyes and poking you in the shoulder was nothing but a slight hindrance on your performance.

“Honey, call me Karen. And I wouldn’t dream of making you help. There’s plenty to go around. Dinner should be ready in twenty minutes okay?”

She left with a pep in her step and a smile on her face, closing the door behind her. Shawn waited till the door was closed to tackle you down to the bed until he was lying flat on top of you like the giant he was.

“‘I’d hate to be a bother!” He exclaimed in a ridiculous english accent.

You quickly pinched his side and took solace in the pain on his face.

“Not funny dickhead. I was trying to make a good impression. You’d be wise to grovel when you meet my mother.” You snorted.

“Grovel? Mothers love me, y/n.”

“White mothers love you, honey. Black mothers will be skeptical of you at all costs. Who knows all the secrets you might be hiding in your hair alone.”

He nuzzled his head into your neck and placed a kiss against your collarbone.

“We’ll see about that. I hear I can be pretty persuasive. I got you didn’t I?” He hummed.

You bit your lip as his tongue traced your skin. He got you alright.

“I suppose stranger things have happened.” You chuckled.

“Is that...Is that something you might want sometime?”

“Might want what?” You asked running your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

“For me to...you know? Maybe meet your family. You seem a lot closer to them than I am to mine.”

You went quiet for a while. And it really wasn’t out of fear. You were just trying to imagine Shawn in your world. A small town in Georgia that kept its roots close and visible. The chicken places. The small, tiny two bedroom homes that built neighborhoods of children like you. Some who went to school and some who never made it “out”, whatever that meant. It was different. Home for you was a place of nostalgia and a place of comfort, but it also represented something outside of yourself. The industry could often make you feel like you had succeeded because you were here and not there. No matter how much you loved it, home was complicated. To take Shawn there would mean something far deeper than anything else you’d done thus far in truly any of your relationships. It would mean showing him a part of you that no one knew, except for Tiana. No one.

He leaned up far enough to peer down into your eyes. His thumb traced the apple of your cheek and it made your whole body shiver.

“We don’t have to. It’s not a big deal. Just wanted to ask. I would never rush you.”

You nodded. “It’s not that--it’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just a little afraid of what it might mean.”

“Of us getting more serious?”

“Not that. More so, of you seeing who I am and what I come from. What if...what if you don’t like it?” You asked. “It’s so different Shawn. We don’t have any of this where I come from.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said quietly. “You know that right? That I would never ever judge you for where you come from?”

You closed your eyes and worked to steady your breathing. You didn’t quite know how to explain it to him, but you wanted to so badly.

“It’s not that. I don’t think you would be judgemental I just think you would be...confused. I don’t know like maybe we’re so different that it might be too hard to find how we fit together.”

Your eyes opened to him cupping your cheek again. His eyes were gentle and calm and loving. The way that they always tended to be. You weren’t sure how he managed that.

“We already fit together, y/n. We fit better together than anyone I’ve ever met before. I’m not interested in anything or anyone else. I just want you.”

“Are you sure?” You mumbled fingers tightening anxiously in his shirt.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my whole entire life.” He breathed.

When he kissed you it felt like relief and tenderness and care. You still couldn’t quite believe that this man of all men wanted to be all in with you. But, it felt so incredibly good. And you thought that maybe you wanted to be all in too.

***

“You have got to be kidding!”

“I swear to God! Showed his little peepee to the entire pool, with not an ounce of shame to be had!”

“Mum!” Shawn begged. “Please, please tell literally any other story in the history of ever! She doesn’t want to hear this.”

“Well now I beg to differ. How many people were at this pool, Karen?” You snickered.

He pinched quickly at your side, just hard enough for you to yelp, and rub at the bruised skin. Asshole.

“Rude.” You muttered in his direction.

“Yes, how rude of me to not want to be re-traumatized in front of my girlfriend. I’m going to get more wine, can I get anyone anything? No? Good.”

With Shawn in the kitchen, it was the first time that you and Karen were left to your own devices. You had quickly learned that the bubbly nature and infectious attitude of Shawn was all his mother. She was funny and sweet and insistent that everyone around her feel as good as possible.

“The roast really is incredible, Karen. I’d love to have the recipe sometime if you’re open to it. I’m working on expanding his palette beyond take out.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’d be happy to. Every year he comes home, that boy gets a little skinnier. I worry about him in New York and LA with all those toxic people about. It’s so nice to know he’s getting home cooked meals every now and again.”

“Yea, well I’m a girlfriend not a maid. It’s nice to see him cook and figure things out for himself. He’s becoming a great sou chef.” You chuckled.

“You’ve got him to cook, aye? What else is he up to over there?”

“He actually just did his first open mic night just last week. It went incredibly well. I’m really proud of him for stepping out of his comfort zone and taking a little leap for himself.”

“An open mic?” She paused. “For what? Like for poetry, or spoken word?”

You shook your head. “No. He--He sang. And played guitar.”

At first you were worried that she somehow didn’t know Shawn was into music, and that you’d blown a secret of some kind. Karen peered back towards the kitchen before leaning over the table to reach for your hand. It was the most serious she’d been since the two of you arrive. Though her eyes were still kind, they were also incredibly still.

“Shawn got up in front of people and performed? You got him to do that?”

“I don’t know. I organized it, and I gave him a little pep-talk but it was all on him to get up there and actually do it. Why? Did I do something wrong?”

She stared at you for a second, hers fingers gripping lightly at your arm.

“You have no idea what you’ve done for him have you?” She whispered to herself. “Shawn hasn’t gotten on a stage since high school.”

You nodded. “No, I know. Because Manny signed him and he was afraid to break his contract.”

“No, you don’t understand. Shawn wasn’t afraid of breaking his contract. He found that performing was too painful. He didn’t like getting a taste of his dream, if it meant he was never going to have the real thing. If he got up on a stage and performed, he might have done it because of his love for music, but make no mistake darling. He also got up there out of love for you.”

You didn’t even know where to begin with that. It completely resituated that night and that experience differently in your mind. He hadn’t just been afraid of failing. He’d been afraid of doing well. Because if he did well, all that meant was that he never got to progress. He never got to do better. Suddenly you were reminded of that night on the Ariana tour where he told you he was stuck, that he would always be stuck. In your quest to make him happy, you’d missed a large piece of the puzzle, and you were a tiny bit afraid that you pushed him to do something that did more harm than good.

There’s no time to discuss the matter further before Shawn stepped quickly back into the room. He wrapped his arm around the back of your chair and launched into a story about the time Karen took him to see the Maple Leafs play when his dad was too busy to do it. The level of excitement that he had for her and for that small moment of his childhood was enough to hook you to the story. The rest could wait for now.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

“I’m gonna go to bed a little early.” She yawned. “I think the flight wiped me out a bit.”

He nodded rubbing circles as soothingly into her back as he could.

“Okay. You want me to follow you up? We could run a bath or something.”

She smiled and squeezed at his hand on her back before tugging it softly off her skin.

“No. I want you to go spend time with your mother. That’s why we came here, remember?”

He pouted slightly. “Is there a rule that says I can’t spend time with my mum and take a bath with my girlfriend? Not at the same time, obviously.”

“Not a rule. Think of it more as a delegation. I am giving you the task to go spend time with your mom. Me and a bubble bath are never far away. Trust.” She grinned. “Now good night.”

She’d made up her mind clearly. There was no changing it. He learned that more and more about her by the day.

“Good night Karen!” She called as she headed up the staircase.

“Oh goodnight, darling!”

He spent a few seconds watching the way her ass move as she walked. A bubble bath sounded better than good in that moment.

He returned to the kitchen to help his mum clear and wash the dishes. In all of the grandiose design of the estate; the garages, the garden, the pond, the chandeliers on every floor, his mum always refused to have a dishwasher. She said she liked the monotony of washing them herself. It was her favorite chore when she was a child. He may not have exactly shared the sentiment, but it was without a doubt a memorable moment of his childhood. She stopped letting him wash, when she decided he couldn’t scrub to her level of satisfaction, but always let him rinse and dry. When he joined her in the kitchen she tossed him a drying towel over his shoulder with a smile. They settled into work alongside each other just like old times.

“Thank you for coming to visit me.” She said to him, softly. “I know how busy you are in New York. And I don’t mean to be a bother I just...I miss you. I hope you know that.”

“I know. I do, I promise. I miss you too. I wish that I---I just need to visit you more out here. There’s no excuse. It’s just hard with everything with dad, and trying to get through work now. It’s been hard finding my stride as a man I guess. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing. I just know I don’t wanna be like him.” He mumbled.

“Oh sweetheart, you’ve never been like your father. Not even when you try to be.”

He rolled his eyes playfully at her and took the plate that she handed him to run under the hot water.

“Sometimes I see some of him in the things I do though. The cockiness. The entitlement to everything around me. That’s him mum. That’s all him.”

She ran her sponge over a pesky stain of dried mashed potato and hummed in thought.

“So much of that is my fault too. I never fought your father as hard as I should have. He wanted you to have everything, just so he could say that you did. And I tried to balance that, tried to give you a normal life, but I lost. I wanted to keep you here until you turned eighteen, and we both know how that went. Sure you can be a bit of an asshole, and so much of the world has already been offered to you because of who we are, who your dad is. But your heart is good. I’ve always known that about you. And that’s all that matters, baby.”

“Is it bad that...I didn’t really care how people perceived me until I met her? I was kind of happy with being more like dad. It meant that we fought less, that he was nicer to me, that being at the company was easier. I almost forgot what it was like to fight against that until she looked me in the eye and told me she wasn’t impressed with anything that I was.”

She laughed. Honest to god laughed.

“She’s a feisty one isn’t she?” She snorted. “Doesn’t take any of your shit, that one. I like that. I like her.”

He chuckled softly to himself. “You don’t know the half of it. She barely gave me the time of day the first three months I knew her. I tried to uh impress her once by showing up to her place with these...really stupidly expensive chocolate strawberries that were dusted in gold or something. But, I didn’t offer them to her as a gift. I just left them on the counter open for the world to see? She looked at me like I was a complete and total jackass.”

“My boy. You tried at least.” She giggled patting him playfully with a wet hand. “You really like her, aye?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. His heart literally jumped in his chest just at the words coming out of her mouth. He didn’t even know what to say.

“I’m like...stupidly, crazyily, overwhelmingly in love with her.” He mumbled, eyes on his fingers barely moving to dry the cup that was in his hand. “I think she might break my heart one day.”

“Hmmm. And what makes you think that?”

“It just doesn’t really make sense does it? For her to want me the way that I want her. I know what I see in her. I see everything. Everything that’s good in the world, and thensome. Me? I’m just some spoiled rich kid from toronto with daddy issues. There are gingerbread men with more uniqueness.” He sighed. “The crazy part is she thinks we might not fit together because of how we grew up, and I’m just terrified she’s gonna realize at some point that all of this is a joke. It’s me who doesn’t really deserve her.”

He felt more than heard the splash of his mum dropping whatever dish she’d been holding beneath the water. When he turned to her she had her serious eyes on. The ones she used to pull out to scold him when he was younger, or to get him to stop dicking around when he was too riled up. They were persuasive as all hell, and he stares deeply into them even now.

“You listen to me, Shawn Peter. I didn’t raise someone unworthy of anything in this life. I know your childhood wasn’t ideal but you’re a person just like any other person. And I raised you to believe that everyone deserves to love and to live and to be happy didn’t I?”

He smiled sadly. “Yea, mum. You did.”

“So then you get it too. Everyone gets it including you, do you understand me?”

She reached to touch his cheek, her palm wet and soapy, but he hadn’t felt so small in such a long time. He’d missed her.

“She’s lovely. She’s really special. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve her. That means you work every day to show her why you do. And hopefully, if you’re lucky, she shows you the same. That’s how it’s supposed to work. What the two of you have is special. So, don’t be afraid of it. Nurture it.”

He wrapped his hands gently around her wrists just to feel more connected to her. He nodded his head slowly to show her that he understood. When he did, she smiled and kissed at his forehead the way she used to when he was little. Any reservation he may have had about coming home was long gone now. And he couldn’t help but remember that it was once again y/n who had given him the push he needed to get here.

When the dishes were washed and his mum disappeared into her own room for the night, although not without leaving the hallway light on, he made his way back to her. It became incredibly evident that she hadn’t been sleepy at all when he caught her in bed answering work emails. She just wanted to give him alone time with her. And he was really glad that she did.

“Sleepy, aye?” He chuckled crawling into bed beside her.

She smiled as he nuzzled his face into her arm to distract her from typing.

“Is that all it takes to get the Canadian coming out of you? Just gotta get you back to the North star huh?”

“Funny. My mum said goodnight by the way. Guess she knew you weren’t so tired too.”

She hummed softly. “She’s really sweet. I see a lot of her in you now. You make a lot more sense to me now.”

“Yea? In what way?”

He reached for her laptop, shutting it softly, and setting it on the bedside table. He reached for her next, happy to feel the way she could mold into his arms so perfectly. She played with the rosary around his neck while she spoke, and it was as soothing for him as it was for her.

“All I knew of you back in New York was Manny. And, so I could never piece together the whole fuck boy persona with this, who you are to me now. The kindness and the softness and the warmth is so much of you; it’s all of you. Those two sides are just so different. I didn’t know if like emotional attachment was the key, which would be kind of fucked up in my opinion, or what it was. Like only respecting women if you’re interested in them is horrible, ya know?  But now I know.”

She smiled smally to herself as if she had a secret that he wasn’t aware of.

“What do you know?”

She looked up into his eyes and it took his breath away.

“You’re not some dickhead, fuck boy. At least not really. You’ve been hurt a lot in your life by a lot of different people. And I think somewhere along the way you got the idea that being cold, being shut off from the world would just be easier. And I think I know who taught you that, and I’m really fucking sorry cause that’s such a miserable existence to have. I know from experience. But I like you. And it feels really good to know that this is who you are. This is who you’ve always been. A little fluffy Canadian.”

She reached up to tuck one of his curls back and he just had to kiss her, didn’t know if he could breathe for another second without it. She was too good to him in every way. And he was so incredibly in love with her. Kissing her felt right. It felt like the only way to express this thing that was just bubbling up inside of him always.

“I love you.” He whispered against her mouth. “I think you make me better than I ever was before.”

She shook her head at him. “Nah. I’m just here to show you what you almost forgot. You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

They lay there for a moment, with nothing but the feel of her skin against his and his heart beating in rhythm with hers. He felt the way that he tended to feel when he needed to write a song. A sort of energy was in him that felt like it might burst at any moment. His fingers were itching and he couldn’t really sit still. But instead of a song in his head and in his heart, all he had was her. And it was infinite.

“Are you tired?” He asked her.

“Not really why?”

“Get up. It’s my turn to take you to a random undisclosed location”

***

*y/n’s point of view*

You were shivering. Honest to god shivering. Your black ass was from Georgia and it did not like to be below 73 degrees at any one point. Shawn had taken you into the arctic as far as you were concerned. New York didn’t have shit on Canada. It was cold and your tits were chattering, and this boy was sitting here trying to be romantic or something.

“Shawn, I love you, but if you don’t tell me where we’re going my black ass is going back to the heated seats. I’ve grown soft. I don’t like this.” You whined.

Shawn laughed and paused to peel his jacket off. He then turned and wrapped it around you before pulling the hood to your sweatshirt over your head. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you through a little more grass until you reached your destination. A football field.

“This is it.” He pointed pulling you a little deeper into the field.

“Okay. And we’re here...because?”

He slid a backpack off of his shoulder and proceeded to pull out a large, thick quilt, which he laid out on the ground. Next were a few candles as it was dark as all hell out there. He turned to you with a soft smile on his face and reached for your hand to pull you close.

“This is uh where I would’ve went to high school if we hadn’t moved to the states. I used to go to games with Brian whenever my parents would let me fly back here. We would come here at night and fuck around and be stupid. I noticed one day that you can see the stars like really perfectly from here. And I always wished that we could have just stayed here and I could go to school like a normal kid. Maybe bring a really pretty girl out to the football field to look up at the stars ya know?” He smiled. “Guess I got my wish after all.”

Well wasn’t that just the sweetest shit you’d ever heard in your life?

You lied down on the quilt together, your heads pressed together, legs intertwined. The sky was so dark that it was overwhelming. It felt like it was falling in on all sides. But the stars were these beautiful little dots of light everywhere. It was wonderful. You’d never really been the type to lay down and look at them, but lying beside this man who had wanted to for who knows how long felt like the most amazing thing in the world. It was just you, him, and the stars. Nothing else. It felt incredible. You couldn’t have asked for more.

“It’s beautiful.” you told him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

You turned your head to see him, but he was already looking at you with that smile of his that was soft and goofy and full of love. God, how you loved him too.

“Thank you for everything. All of it. Everything that we are. I really wanna make you happy, okay? As much as I can.”

You tightened your fingers in his sweater and pressed your face closer to his.

“You do. You already do.” You promised.

And he did.

*twenty minutes later*

“Can I ask you something?” You asked hiding your nose in the warmth of his neck so that cold air couldn’t get to it.

“Of course.”

“Why did you perform that night. At the pub? What made you get on stage?”

His arms tugged a loose part of the blanket he brought for the occasion back over your shoulder to hold you better.

“Part of it was that I missed it. Niall and I have been fucking around between his sessions, and I’ve been writing again in a way that I haven’t in years. It felt right to get it out of me, to push it all out again.” He explained.

You took a deep breath and played with one of the frayed edges of the blanket.

“What was the other part?” You asked.

“You asked me.”

Shit.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” You mumbled.

“What? Why?”

He dislodged you a bit from his chest and laid you down against the ground, his body hovering just slightly above yours. Your eyes had well adjusted to the dark by now and you could see him for everything that he was. His eyes were confused and soft. Always soft.

“I didn’t mean to push you for something you weren’t ready for. I just wanted to see you happy. And I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re playing music. But I never want you to feel the need to do something out of some sort of blind allegiance to me. I--I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” He breathed and touched your cheek in that way of his that he always did. “that’s ridiculous. I’m so happy that you pushed me to perform. I--I never would have done it if it weren’t for you. And it was one of the most incredible nights of my whole life. I don’t regret it, and you shouldn’t either.”

You peered up at him hesitantly, your nerves getting to you as always.

“You’re sure? You can tell me if I fucked it up.”

He smiled and ran his thumb over your cheek again before tapping at your forehead with his finger.

“You get inside your own head more than you like to let on, and sometimes you get stuck there.”

You paused as he called you out in that effortless way of his, never having felt so attacked in your thirty years.

“I need you to know that if you asked me to do something, I would probably do everything in my power to make it happen. And I need you to know that part of it will always be allegiance and love and wanting to do right by you. But the other part will always be that you’ve never let me down. And you always do everything with light and goodness in your heart. So even if it all fell apart that night, even if it all falls apart tomorrow, I wouldn’t regret a thing. Just let me love you, y/n, in the way that feels right for the both of us. And try not to worry about the rest of it okay?”

You reached for his face with your hands to touch and to feel all of the love that seemed to pour out of him with ease. But only for you. Somehow only for you.

“You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

“It could be. We just won’t know until we try.”

You nodded softly and tugged at him until his body covered your own.

“Guess we’ll just have to try extra hard then.”

“I guess we will.”

*thirty minutes later*

“Hey y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“You think I could live out another dream I always had?”

“Sure. Which one?”

Your boyfriend ran his palms beneath the fabric of your sweatshirt, the chill of his fingers causing goosebumps to rise along your flesh. The fact that he manages to reach your tit in all the layers you were wearing was honestly impressive. And also absolutely ridiculous. He almost managed to hold a straight face but the minute you stared at him like the dumbass he was, he cracked into a fit of laughter.

“You are such an an idiot, it astounds me.”

Men.

***

Tag List

@simpledomain @liliane106 @thecurlsofgod @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven@learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @decewill @goldiean@bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven @justbeingoceana@loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi @september-lace@valedictorian65 @dimestorebieber22 @MixerMani @lifeoftheparty74 @sinplisticshawn @kamahriii @disaster-rose@justbeingoceana @thecurlsofgod

Arrangement Taglist:

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi@shawnsblue

@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker @blackharry@shawnwyr @speakingofmari @moniehp @softmendesss@ydolansss  @MixerMani @kitykatnumber @chonmnds @cottoncandyshawn

[timelock97]

Time Never Stops

Chapter One: Always Interrupting

Word Count: 1763

Prologue

Warnings: Language, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Present Day]

I enter my newly furnished recording studio with a water bottle in one hand and a plate with a sandwich on it in the other. I set the plate down and reach under my desk to start my computer for today's events. While I wait, I spin around in my swivel chair and look at the room. The black and green padding on the walls were set in a diagonal pattern, and a white board with this weeks schedule placed in between some of the padding. Two bookshelves sit nestled against the back wall on either side of the door; the shelves are covered in merch, fan gifts, and several pictures of friends and me. Most of the pictures had been of Tom and I throughout the years, my favorite of the bunch sitting beside my monitor on my desk. His arm is around my waist while he stands behind me, donning a pair of black swim trunks, smiling into the side of my face as I laugh in a black and white checkered bikini. We are standing in the ocean, vacationing in Hilton Head, South Carolina, when we were seventeen.

Tom Holland, my best friend for as long as I can remember, and long time crush. Gotta love that the one person that knows you the best, happens to be the one that you fall for so easily. I didn't know if it was his sunshine smile, the infectious laugh, or the fact that he knows me better than I know myself; but, he is the one person I wish nothing more to have at my side for the rest of my life. However, it isn't that simple. With him being busy with his acting career and me being busy with YouTube, we hadn't had much time to spend together, not that it would have changed anything. Tom is my best friend, and that was that. I just have to be happy that he is still in my life after all these years, and hadn't lost contact while we went from immature teens to slightly more mature adults.

I smiled when my computer finally loads. I log on and set up my software before I clap my hands together, testing the frequency of the mic. I set up the game, placing my headphones over my beanie covered hair, and check to make sure that everything is running smoothly before I click record on the second monitor. I smile at the camera and begin my intro, "What's up, guys? You're on with Timelock! And today, as you can already tell, we are playing Detroit: Become Human. I have been beyond excited to play this game for the past three weeks, but of course since I was away in the UK visiting with Dan and Phil doing some fun videos and joining Sean, aka Jacksepticeye, and Mark, aka Markiplier, for a charity livestream kept me from starting the game. Which reminds me, I cannot believe how well we did on the livestream and I wanted to thank everyone who watched and participated with us across all platforms. You guys are amazing. Now going back to the game, Sean said that it is worth the wait, so without anymore interruptions, I hope, let's get started!"

~

"Holy shit, so that's what happened to Kara." I breathe as I move the character from Alice's room down to the first floor. I glance up at the next activity for the character, "See Todd for further instructions." I let out a gasp as I watch the scene unfold in front of me, watching as Todd yells at his daughter and frighten her. "Shit, I thought that was going to end badly, I mean, it could have. This game is already super interesting, now I know why everyone has been talking this game up! But, guys, the clock is ticking! Thank you so much for watching, and if you enjoyed the video, don't forget to give that like button a little bit of love. And I will see you, in the next one! Time-" I jump as my phone begins to blare the old Spider-Man theme song from inside my desk. I glance at the drawer and pull it out to see a picture of Tom sticking his middle finger up his nose, his name place directly over his face. I roll my eyes and look back at the camera. "I said there would be no interruptions, I stand corrected." I answer the phone, "Hold up thirty seconds, I'm saying my outro."

Tom's laugh echoes through the receiver, "Okay, okay."

"Let's try this again. Time resume." I point at the screen for a few seconds before I end the recording and place my phone back against my ear. "You really have impeccable timing. What is this, the sixth time in the past two weeks?"

"Sorry, love, figured you would be done by now." He chuckled, "And I miss you."

"I miss you too, Thomas." I smile, grabbing my camera so I can begin uploading the recording to my editing software. "How's filming?"

"Good, good," he pauses, shifting in the background. "We actually finished yesterday and are going to be heading out to start promoting the movie, then I am off to start filming for the newest Avengers movie."

"Ooh," I enthuse, plugging in my camera and shifting to save and close out of the game, "That sounds amazing, Tom." I sigh, happy to hear that he was doing well after long months of filming, advertising, repeating. "But it also sounds exhausting."

"Honestly, it is," he sighs. "How was London and Brighton? My mum said you visited and Harrison was sending me snapchats of you at the flat."

"It was really nice. Actually, Harrison decided, even though I discussed it with him a month previous, that he did not want to let me stay. However, Tessa pushed past him into the hallway when she heard me." I pause my rant as I hear Tom laugh at the statement, "It was an entertaining two weeks in London, and I spend two days with your mum, dad, and brothers. It was nice spending time with them and not having to worry about working." I say, watching the video finally load up into the editing software. "And Brighton was amazing. When you're home, and I can find time to fly out, we have to go and spend a week out there. Its beautiful."

"Sounds like a plan, bug." He sighs.

"I do have to edit, do you wanna Skype so we can continue the conversation?"

"Yeah, I'd love that," he whispered. I quickly pulled up my Skype, after a few minutes, his face popped up into my screen.

"Hey! Its my favorite boy!" I yell, throwing my hands over my head. I watched as Tom's smile fades as he looks behind me with knitted eyebrows. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"That's not your normal studio, is it?" He asked, sounding concerned.

"Oh, I thought I told you the good news?" I said rolling backwards so that I was in the middle of my recording studio, "I got the apartment!" I looked at him in excitement, but I noticed he wasn't smiling. "What's wrong? I thought you would be happy."

"I- I am, I just," he runs his hand through his hair, "God, I've missed so much by being gone all the time."

"Tom..." I murmur, "Hey, it's okay. What you're doing is just as important-"

"But, it's your first flat," he whispers, "I was going to come and help you unpack, make sure that your first night wasn't spent alone," he pouts at me, but I can see the small smile on his lips at the promise he made me years ago.

"I didn't spend it alone! I made a girls night out of it! I had Izzy, Haley, and Mia spend the night with me and it was a lot of fun. I know you wanted it to be you, but when you get done with everything I can show you the place." Tom sighs and places his head on his fist. "I know what'll make you feel better, how about I promise next time you are here we marathon all the Marvel movies."

"All the movies?" he teases, his frown disappearing. I nod and he smiles back, "That sounds awesome." He laughs.

I roll back up to my desk to start editing while Tom tells me about some of the more entertaining things that have happened the last few weeks. Another Skype message pops up from JacKyleGameplays, interrupting his rambling. Hey, TL. We and the girls are going to play some prop hunt, wanna join? ~Jac

"What was that?" Tom asks, tilting his head to the side.

"GameSquad wants to play prophunt," I state, getting ready to tell them that I had some things to finish and wouldn't be able to get on today.

"I'll let you go then-"

"No, it's okay, I can stay on." I tell him, looking back at the camera, "We always get interrupted, I can play prophunt any other time. I almost never see you anymore."

"You sure? I don't mind, I can just call later." Even though he says it's fine, I can see in his eyes he really doesn't want me to hang up.

"Nope, I want to talk to you, I can always talk to the GameSquad." I finish sending the message and mute the rest of my chats, "There, no interruptions this time."

"Is it because I am Mr. Always Interrupting?"

"Damn straight," I say giggling, "Now, who out of all the people you have played as is your favorite character? And you can't pick Spider-Man."

"But, I am Spider-Man!"

"No, you are Thomas Stanley Holland!" I shout playfully, making him laugh, "My best friend since two years old, my tiny-toddling husband, knight in shining armor, and the one person that knows me better than I know myself."

He immediately begins to laugh harder, "My Mum sent me that video of us "getting married" last week."

"I asked if she would since we found it. I was hoping it would make you smile."

"It did, my little lovely wife." He sighs, "and my favorite character? Definitely your best friend, because that's the one I get to play for the rest of my life."

A blush creeps up my neck as I look away from the screen, "That's cheesy, and you're only saying it because I said it first!"

"But being your best friend is my favorite thing, you know me more than I know myself."

"I should, I've known you my whole life" I whisper.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," he says with a dopey smile. "Now, what were you recording before I so rudely interrupted?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Comment and reblog! What did you think? Let me know if you want to be tagged. IDK what else I’m supposed to put at the bottom. I’m going to try and post chapters Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday (since I already finished writing it).

@revenantwriting

Chapter Two

[dcarevu]

Batman TAS: The Clock King

Hi, guys! Gee, it’s been a while! For another week or two, doing these blogs are going to be incredibly difficult to accomplish. It’s the last two weeks of my school semester, meaning that it’s crunch time. Overall, school has kept me so busy that watching the episodes has been doable, but writing about them has been a huge problem. It sucks, because doing this blog and venting my thoughts is incredibly satisfying. To be honest, if I didn’t include screenshots and captions for most of them (like how I used to do things), these posts would likely still be coming out regularly. But they are a lot of extra work. It more than doubles the creation-time, believe it or not. It is work that is worth it, mind you, it adds a massive leap in awesome-factor. But I just don’t have time for it at the moment. I have watched up to Robin’s Reckoning as of the moment I type this. Because of how far ahead that is without actually writing anything about those episodes, it’s going to be hard to write meaningful blog posts about them, simply due to the episodes not being as fresh in my mind. I will try to rewatch them (or at the very least skim through them and read about them). I’m in a bit of a rut. I didn’t want to stop watching episodes entirely, because I’d like to get through the DC Animated Universe in a somewhat timely manner (I’d watch an episode per night if only I could). Luckily, after the 10th of May I should be back at it in full. I’m likely way more excited about it than you are, but hey, I’m mainly doing this for me (with a hearty “welcome” to anyone who happens to discover and enjoy these along the way). Just figured I’d keep any readers updated! This is the last post for the next couple of weeks. I’ll check in soon! In the mean time…

“Thirty-seven pages? That would take a copier exactly one minute and forty-nine seconds. One more delay like this and you're fired!”

Episode: 25 Robin: No Writer: David Wise Director: Kevin Altieri Animator: Sunrise Airdate: September 21, 1992 Grade: B

So lately I’ve been watching these episodes using my Blu Ray copy, and receiving the screenshots from my DVD copy. There hasn’t been too much for variance, aside from one looking obviously better, but The Clock King is an example of a pretty drastic difference in how two episodes can be presented. The Blu Ray copy is much brighter than the DVD copy, and while that does allow us to see what is going on a little bit better in dark scenes such as when Batman and Temple Fugate face off inside the clock, it also makes other scenes uncharacteristically bright, and honestly a little bit tacky. Seeing Batman walking around in broad daylight is odd enough, but when you further get rid of the illusion of how cool he looks by upping the exposure an additional amount, it makes him look really out of place. In the series bible, I can see why they wanted to keep Batman only appearing after dark. In the real world, it would be a lot easier to see Batman as a normal guy in a dorky Halloween costume when not cloaked in the shadows or when the ability to see him before he attacks is present. Of course, this isn’t saying that if Batman were to see trouble during daylight that he should just ignore it. It makes sense to break the rule sometimes, and it’s not even a problem to me in this episode, I just don’t think that the remastering of the Blu Ray release does it any favors in this case. The brightness also brings out the budget, revealing a whole lot of bland blues, grays, and browns. These colors have not been shy since the beginning, but there is no disguising them this time.

Fugate is a villain who’s main flaw is not only how obsessive-compulsive he gets about his schedule, keeping track of things, being on time, etc, but also the fact that he extends this to other people. He expects them to fall in line with his standards. For example, he keeps track of how long he and Mayor Hill have been taking the subway together, and expects Hill to know his name just from that. Also, his employee/intern who brings him a stack of papers too slowly for his standards, because apparently a photocopier should only take “one minute and forty-nine seconds” on that particular stack. And then, the biggest one of all, when he expects Mayor Hill to immediately know the significance of the time 3:15. This is the time that Hill suggested Fugate go on his coffee break, indirectly leading to Fugate losing the court case, ruining his life and creating the Clock King. But this was seven years prior! If someone came up to you and went, “1:47!” would you have any idea what they were talking about? Sure, a lot of things have happened at 1:47, maybe even some significant things, but as far as what they are, most people probably do not keep track. Another theme that I noticed was the idea of hindsight. Have you ever been in a situation where you gave someone a mere suggestion, they willingly took it, and then when something happened to ruin it, they blame you and insist that they knew it was a bad idea? Right, of course in hindsight it’s easy to say that, but truth is, neither of you saw the consequences coming! On top of that, any bad things that happened were completely unrelated to what you suggested, and luck just did not happen to line up. Maybe if Fugate hadn’t gone on that coffee break at a different time than usual, something else would have happened (not to get Final Destination-y on you). Point is, Fugate is completely missing the mark by staying mad at Mayor Hill for that long, and it’s like the old saying goes, “Shit happens.” Ironically, for a man so precise and knowledgable when to comes to all things time and clock related, looking back in time without heavy distortion does not seem to be something he is capable of doing in this case.

The main thing I liked about this episode (as I think a lot of people did) was its incredibly cruel nature. Just how mean to a guy can the writers be? “All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy”. That’s a Joker quote (taken from The Killing Joke), and it’s something I think about from time to time. I often wonder how much is between a rational brain and a completely irrational one. How much subconscious effort does being sane take? What’s keeping any of us from letting go and succumbing to the lunacy? Do our minds even work that way? Well, I sure as hell don’t know. And nobody worry, I’m not even the least bit afraid of snapping or anything, hahaha. It probably greatly varies from person to person as far as what would be enough to drive them crazy. In Temple Fugate’s case, it was a lot less than it would take for the majority of us. But this is hammered home by the drama of him being late to court. The bloody browns, dramatic shadows, and violent ticks of a clock do not necessarily represent how Fugate sees the situation, but they are there to represent how the situation affects him. If we were to be affected like him, this is how we would have to experience the situation. After all, everything is relative. This is juxtaposed brilliantly by the prior scene where birds are chirping and the sun is shining. Fugate seems like an alien trying to act casually as he struggles to relax for those few seconds. This is also more from our point of view than Fugate’s. These two scenes being back to back make us feel confused and baffled over our villain, all while allowing us to understand him completely. To me, understanding does not necessarily mean that something makes sense to us. Understanding is knowing the why. But, as an analogy, someone can tell me why they like the taste of zucchini. But that doesn’t make it any more clear to me those reasons can be enough for someone can like it. It just is what it is, and the bottom line is that all of our realities are different. For Temple Fugate, this is an unfortunate reality.

The producers of Batman set a goal of having a crazy set piece at the third act of every episode. They wanted it to aid in the excitement and to be memorable. I’m pretty sure not all episodes did this (it would become formulaic is abused), but this, along with Prophecy of Doom are the two that come to mind as demonstrators of this concept. Unfortunately, the animation lacks the spark that it needs. Luckily The Clock King wasn’t infected by Atom disease, and so the climax downright corny like Prophecy of Doom, and seeing the inside of the clock was neat, but… It wasn’t beyond just neat. I wish we got a bigger sense of scale, seeing further to the bottom of the clock, and maybe getting some better angles along with quicker action. I wanted a sense of height like what Mayor Hill was experiencing from the outside, as he was tied to the clock-hand. Plus just better fighting. It was such a tease of an action scene. I wanted to be at the edge of my seat, but feeling that way would require forcing it. And I just don’t have that kind of energy, man. Sunrise tried, they really did. The scene (and the whole episode in general) looks passable. But the blandness holds it back. It’s like eating the macaroni and cheese from my college. It’s mac and friggin’ cheese. So of course it’s going to be edible. Of course I’m going to like it. But where is the usual flavor? Where is the element that I usually am head-over-heels for? I can make vague comments about what it’s missing or what I would personally do to make it better. But probably the most firm statement I can really make is only, “Just do it better next time.”

I feel bad for people like this. We’ve all met them. They hold themselves (and others) to an impossibly high standard. Think about how much energy that must use.

The shock of Fugate hitting his coffee break at an odd time. She’s worked with him a long time. 

Batman’s idea of a nice, sunny day. As noted, it’s brighter on the Blu Ray. One of the scenes where the brightness adds to it. That tree is casting a shadow, but it almost looks like the clock is the one causing it...

The Blu Ray variant.

Great stuff! The tick of a clock gets louder and louder through the scene. 

“Then perhaps this will teach you to be on time for a change.” This line holds so much weight, as to someone like Fugate, it cements the idea that one moment of leniency was one too many.

This drawing could have been a little more grotesque, but not bad!

“I take it taxi-drivers are no longer required to obey traffic signs.”

I find it a little whacky that Bruce Wayne noticed trouble from way down on the streets.

Bruce going through that car was animated incredibly strangely. It looked like he entered the car, but then it looked like he emerged from behind it. But anyway, maybe this was a Superman homage? In one of the Superman movies, he walked through a car and emerged completely changed. Batman doesn’t have that amount of speed, so maybe this is kind of like his version of it. In the shadows, where he belongs. 

Wow, ugly screenshot. But see how odd it is to see Batman in the daylight?

Again, here is the Blu Ray version. And on a much better frame. 

Why he didn’t hurl the explosive directly at Batman is beyond me. He just kinda threw it into the distance. Maybe as a warning (much like Walter White vs Tuco for any Breaking Bad fans). 

See what I mean by blandness so far? A little more style would have gone a long way.

What an awful way to die this would be. Split in half by two hands of a giant clock. Imagine the impact this would have on Gotham if it had have worked. 

A few bits from inside the clock, including Fugate’s apparent death. But Batman doesn’t seem to think he’s gone... Some of these drawings of gears frankly suck. The line-work just isn’t there. This episode felt like a Twilight Zone episode, I’ve gotta say. I think it had to do with the personality of the villain along with some of the events that happened. Batman and Twilight Zone... Now there’s a crossover with possible potential...

Char’s grade: B Next time: Appointment in Crime Alley

Full episode list here!

[evelynzumaya]

Rudolph Valentino’s close friend & business manager, George Ullman in 1975 with one of his grand-daughters. 

S. George Ullman, An Affirmation by Evelyn Zumaya

In thinking about this making this statement, I thought of the Mount Rushmore National Monument, the sculpture carved into the granite of Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The artist Gutzun Blorglum worked on the monument for fourteen years, collaborating with many sculptors to complete the iconic masterpiece. I thought of this monument because it is a creation seen best from a distance.  It would be impossible to appreciate or even view the entire monument if one were to examine it inch by inch and in close proximity.

I use this as a metaphor for how I feel the legacy of S. George Ullman as Rudolph Valentino's executor should be appreciated.  To stand closely and examine his tumultuous performance inch by inch and by searching the cracks and creases, is to miss the actual monumental scope of what he accomplished.

On the sudden death of his close friend Rudy, he faced the daunting task and alone... of managing the star's complex and financially involved estate. Very little seemed to be left in perfect order; which was understandable as most 31 year-olds do not generally have their minds preparing to face their mortality. Ullman knew Rudolph Valentino's business and at the time was the only one who really did.

When I began my research into this man's performance as Valentino's executor, I had no opinion about him, knew very little about the settlement of Valentino's estate and will confess all the numbers and legal format made learning about it difficult. As I began to learn what George Ullman did and what happened to him as a consequence of his affiliation with Valentino, a portrait of this man took shape. I understood why Valentino held such faith George, why he discovered him and asked him to be his manager. I understood why he confided in him and ensured  it would be his pal George who would take care of things if he should die. Well that is what happened on August 23, 1926.

George did take care of Valentino's postmortem business; paying bills and some 200,000$ of them which by today' standard would be to multiply by thirteen. He organized two spectacular auctions, kept Valentino's various properties functioning, kept staff fed and worked feverishly to recuperate life insurance policy premiums and market Valentino's movies to generate income for the estate. At that time, no actor, dead for even a minute, was worth a dime at the box office. George managed Valentino's production company and he and his wife Beatrice accomplished this as an office of two and a secretary. George would say later in life that he worked harder after Rudy's death than he ever did before.

I wrote the story of what happened to S. George Ullman as a result of his hard work and you can find that in Affairs Valentino. Because he would spend his entire adult life living and working under the collection pursuit by Valentino's brother as he tried to collect money which he himself spent years before. This incredible story came about as Ullman dispensed money to Alberto believing him to be a rightful heir. When he was found not to be, the executor was deemed responsible for those funds dispersed to Alberto. Now logically the court told Alberto that the money which Ullman advanced to him years before and in good faith should be dismissed from Ullman's responsibility. Alberto was advised by the court to establish a “Fairness Lien” which is a fancy term for “Do not make George Ullman pay you back the money you already spent.” Alberto did no such thing and held George to the fire for thirty years.

Over those years, the amount owed reached almost $200,000 with interest accrued (again times 13 by today's currency standard). George did repay the monies he was ordered to pay back for a portion of his own salary not allowed, but did not pay Alberto the money he advanced to him. George struggled financially throughout his life, declaring bankruptcy along the way. I was the first person to report on his performance as executor and tell the truth about the monies he owed the estate. Despite sharing my documentation, the innuendo still bandied about today implies George Ullman was ordered to pay this money to the estate because of mismanagement. This is not the whole story or the correct one. He was completely exonerated by the court and praised by the judge.

But as in the case of the viewing of those faces of the four US Presidents on Mount Rushmore, it is best and fair to judge this man's performance from a bit of a distance. Of course he fumbled, he was not infallible and not a saint and yes he could have used 4 or 5 other people to work with him. Despite facing many obstacles, including the fall of the stock market in 1929, what he accomplished as the country sank into a deep depression, was truly remarkable.

George voluntarily resigned as executor; saying he did not want controversy to mar the memory of his friend. Now, there exists controversy surrounding his own legacy and this as an act of revenge against my book Affairs Valentino. Threats have been issued in what known bullies have gleefully called, “ a wonderful debunking” of my work; threats that defamatory hit pieces on Ullman will be generated with the intention to certainly mar his legacy and mine. This by people who would surely judge Mount Rushmore by crawling over the surface to judge the work by the tiny cracks here and there... rather than examining the facts as revealed in  those court records and standing in awe of this performance.

George Ullman is the hero of this story and I am sure Rudy would be very pleased with his friend's loyalty and performance. I am also sure Rudy would be amazed to know how George's story of managerial fabulousity would finally be told as the result of his godson Bobby Ullman's efforts.

I could post all the numbers here, line after line detailing years of accounting and hard work in the millions of dollars to document Ullman's accomplishments made by himself, on behalf of the Valentino estate and out of loyalty to his friend Rudy. But it would be a substantial list for it is a long tale indeed. I direct you instead for more information to Affairs Valentino where the story is laid out. And then if you wish to still have more numbers sent your way, I refer you to the Affairs Valentino Companion Guide where I share some of the critical documents and if you still want more then yes, I will provide. By the way, I hope to soon have a digital archive of the entire case file online. And the books are available on Amazon.

The current threat of those Ullman hits pieces stands for me as the lowest possible  low in the destruction of the memory of Rudolph Valentino and the absolute highest of the high in these people's bullying efforts against me. The vilification of Ullman is, and always has been, erroneous and ludicrously unfounded when the documentation of the events he faced are presented for review. As far as any more injury, petty rumor mongering and name-calling which has been promised to be hurled his way, for me this is tantamount to these bullies driving by this fine gentleman's home, at the end of his life, to just throw shit at him. These bullies out to hang Ullman high, have their drive-by hit poised against this man who Valentino trusted implicitly and who played such a critical role in Valentino's career, life and death. I consider these threats particularly shameless and dishonest because they are openly executed as being just against my work. Despite this, I remain proud of my discovery of S. George Ullman's story along with the actual court records testifying to his Mount Rushmore level of monumental success. 

[sithlordintraining]

Little Lucy I

A/N: This fic is old and I decided to FINALLY share it. It's only four parts and will be posted on Wednesday. I'm taking a break from my other works because of midterms. So I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Everyday Kylo thanked God for sending you to him. You were something different, something fresh. Like now, as you two walked in the autumn breeze back to your apartment, your eyes were glued on him lovingly while everyone else stared at you: ‘The most beautiful being God himself created.’

Little Lucy Masterlist

Everyday Kylo thanked God for sending you to him. You were something different, something fresh. He stills remember the first time you guys met. It was at one of the Halloween parties in the city that were overpriced and overpacked. Kylo was perched on the wall in his black jeans, leather jacket, and ‘Darth FUCKING Vader’ tee, with his Vader motorcycle helmet in hand. His free hand raked through his voluminous raven strands. His dark eyes scanned the crowd. He was dragged out here by his cousin Rey and her friends. Rey begged him to ‘get out and have fun. Tiffany sucked anyway.’ It’s been almost a year, seven months thirty-two days, seven ho-but who’s counting? He shook off the thought of his ex and continued to scan the crowd. It wasn’t hard for Kylo to get girls, that was no problem, there was no doubt he was the hottest man in here. But he just wanted a connection, someone to talk to. He heard his friend, Phasma’s voice echo in his head “Don’t fall so hard, so soon, head first.” He chuckled at that. But of course, that thought when out the window when he caught your (y/e/c) eyes intensely staring at him. His dark eyes cast over your rather revealing red dress, very devilish. You sent him a smirk, which gave him the confidence to push himself off the wall. Of course, it wasn’t easy to get to you. It seemed like there was every obstacle was in his way: the crowd, the dancers, waiters, the women and men throwing themselves at you. But, it was worth it when he finally made it. He thought you were so cute with your little devil horns. You were far from your costume and he spent the whole night with you. Midnight was quickly approaching and there was no denying a connection or attraction that you two felt towards each other. So Kylo wasn’t that surprised when he woke up with you cuddled on top of him sleeping peacefully. You were too good to let go and he didn’t know how, but he convinced you that there was something more and to go on a first date.

One date turned into many and now, almost a year later here you were snuggling yourself on his arm. This was by far the best relationship he was in. There were ups and downs, just like any, but, he was pretty sure you were the one. Kylo loved you with every fiber of his being and always made sure you knew it. He knew you felt the same just the way you looked at him. His heart would race with every look you sent his way. Like now, as you two walked in the autumn breeze back to your apartment, your eyes were glued on him lovingly while everyone else stared at you. ‘The most beautiful being God himself created.’ Kylo would praise you, which you would reply with a chuckle. Today was movie night, and you were on your third movie. Kylo didn’t always have a chance to stay the night, seeing that you were one of the heads of a Fortune 500 company, despite your age, and was always traveling, but when he did, you made the best out of it. Kylo’s eyes roamed around the room waiting for you to come back with the Spanish food you guys had ordered. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard your phone rang. Not your cell phone, your landline. You were the only person he knew, besides his parents, that still had a landline. It was a vintage red rotary phone that sat alone on your nightstand. You said it was for work emergencies only and you liked twirling the wire. Kylo ignored the first time it rang, because who was he to answer? But by the fifth time and you still hadn’t come up, he just answered. “Hi, she-” He was cut off. “Lucy, Lucy you need to come down.” A rather old, eerie voice called out. “Um, I think you have the wrong number. There’s no Lucy here.” Kylo explained. Another voice began to yell in the background as the voice still asked for Lucy. “No, no, no, you have the wrong number. Lucy doesn’t-” “KYLO!” He jumped at your screech. You looked like you had just seen a ghost as you rushed over to take the phone. “Why did you answer it?!” You yelled. “It’s for work emergencies!” He could tell something wasn’t right by the way you were acting. “I know, but they called five times, it seemed like an emergency!” He exclaimed. “But they’re asking for someone named Lucy,” Kylo swore he saw your heart stop at that name. In the blink of an eye, you grabbed the phone and rushed into the closet. He stood there confused as to what was going on and how were you talking without the phone being connected to a cord. Minutes later you appeared from your closet and cautiously approached him. “The wire was never hooked up to the phone.” The statement sounded more like a question. “I can explain.” You put the phone back in its spot. Silence filled the room before you started. “I have to go.” “WHAT?!” Kylo caught your arm before you tried to leave. “You can’t say you can explain and then leave, what’s going on here?!” His hands rested on his hip as he tilted his head, definitely a Han move. “Kylo, it’s just-it’s hard to explain, I’d rather not!” You exclaimed. “What’s the problem? If it’s work, I understand. Everyone gets a little crazy, but I would love to help you relax.” His arms started to work their way around, peppering kisses on your face. You became more comfortable, and turned on, to tell him exactly what your job entailed.

“I’m the devil.” “No baby,” he said between kisses. “You’re far from it!” You pushed him back. “No Kylo, I’m the devil. My job is the ruler of the underworld.” His face screwed up into that crooked smirk that you loved so much before he started to laugh. “You don’t believe me?” You said hurt. “Y/N, I know a job can make it seem that way-” “NO! Kylo, I’m serious. I am Satan.” He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You don’t believe me, fine. I’ll show you.” You grabbed his large hand pulled him to one of the extra rooms in your apartment. “Go inside.” You told him, without hesitating he walked in to find a burgundy painted room with a couch and a television. “Y/N, do you literally have a TV in every room?” He rolled his eyes as he entered. You followed and locked the door behind him. “Sit down, I don’t know how you humans would react to this.” Kylo sat on the couch pondering what you said before he heard a faint ringing in his ear and felt as if he was slowly losing gravity. His body felt more lethargic. All of a sudden it all stopped and you opened the door. Kylo tentatively walked behind you taking in the new change of scenery. It looked like a golden-hued bedroom, large with no windows. “Y/N…” He said slowly. He watched you walk into the closet and suddenly appear with a more regal look, than the sweats you had before. You also seemed to glow a little bit more, hair shinier and skin just a tint redder. “But? Y/N, how...you don’t...I mean you don’t look like the devil.” You let out a scoff. “Oh you mean, red skin, hooves, goatee, horns, a man?” He slowly shook his head. You walked towards him letting your hair fall down revealing two little-horned stubs. His fingers hovered above them. “Don’t touch them! They’re super sensitive since I have to file them so you won’t notice.” “You have horns.” He said, mouth agape. “Kylo, I can take any form I want to be.” He gulped. “Is this- is this your true form?” He asked nervously. “Yes, this is how I looked all along.” A knock on the door interrupted you two. “Relax,” You sauntered towards him. “I’ll back before you know it.” You pressed a kiss against his lips and his tongue licked it. He felt a burning sensation, no a flavor; it felt like he had been chewing a whole pack of Big Red, cinnamon. “Lucy, we need you.” It was the same eerie voice from the phone. You took long strides to answer, obscuring the view for both men, leaving, as Kylo still watched you with fear and confusion.

P.S.: It's cute and different, right? Kylo is always the devil, let him be the cute little human. I also on the lowest of keys want to rule the underworld.

[captain-kingliamsqueen]

I Know It Hurts But Its Going To Get Better...I promise!

Part 8 of Life Before Him

Ive been so caught up with work that I haven't gotten round to posting but here we go!! finally!! the next part!! I love reading all of your comments, reading how people reacted and felt whilst reading my stories it makes it all worth while! <3 

CATCH UP!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

 MASTERLIST! 

Pairing: Liam x Riley 

Summary: …Riley isn’t sure how to cope with all of the emotions of the past events.

Word Count: 3067

Tagged : @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @drakelover78 @queencatherynerhys @devineinterventions2 @jayjay879  @kawairinrin @hopefulmoonobject @flyawayblue56 @gardeningourmet @blackcatkita @syltti78 @decisso @theroyalweisme @hhiggs @mfackenthal @bruteforcebears @pens-girl-87 @speedyoperarascalparty  @starstruckpixelberryhistoryvoid​ @darley1101​ @crookedslimecreatorpasta​ @jamjar84​ 

 ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE! (USED THE TAGS FROM MY “ALWAYS” SERIES LET ME KNOW IF ANYONE WANTS UNTAGGED!!!)

  I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance! 

Some of the Script has been taken from the choices trr Book for flashback purposes!

 It was just a few days later that Riley was released from the hospital, the doctors gave her permission to go back to the palace, however she had to check in with them every few days so that they could keep an eye on her head and track her amnesia. No one was allowed in her room except him and the doctors.

Liam and Riley sat in the back of the car whilst Bastian drove, Riley, sat staring out of the window she hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. Liam watched her the whole time, never taking his eyes off her.

“your staring” she whispered

“I’m sorry” he flustered “I’m just worried about you”

“I’m okay” she stated bluntly

“Riley…”

“I’m fine Liam” she barked

“alright…I’ll take your word, shall I?” he sighed

“I’m sorry…” she whispered as she laced her fingers with his “I shouldn’t take that tone…I know it’s because you care” she added

The car arrived at the Palace just thirty minutes after leaving the hospital. Riley and Liam headed inside. Riley looked around as if it was the first time she was seeing the place, in her mind the last time she was there was the coronation.

“everyone looks so happy” she whispered

“because they are…they’re happy your home” he smiled as he squeezed her hand.

“everyone has missed you” he added

“Liam…do I stay with you? now that we’re…engaged?” she asked once they were out of view from everyone, they walked up the stairs heading down to their quarters.

“yes, you do, we have our own suite, like an apartment, a very big apartment” he smiled

“we live together?” she giggled

“yes” he smirked “we very much live together”

“that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day” she whispered with a smirk. Liam and Riley headed into their quarters, Riley's smile reached from ear to ear as she looked around the suite.

“it’s gorgeous…why on earth have I been wasting away in the room down the hall when this place is here? You’ve been holding out on me!” she giggled

“many nights I wanted to bring you here and just hold you” Liam stated as he took his coat off in the sitting room, whilst Riley was in the bedroom looking around.

“just hold me?” a smirk found itself on her face “you sure that’s all your wanted to do your Majesty?”

“Riley!” Liam laughed

“what?” she chuckled as she walked back into the sitting room.

“could you show me where my clothes are…I-I would like to change out of these” she asked him softly

“of course,” he replied as he took Riley's hand and showed her back into the bedroom, he walked her over to the closet then opened the double doors. Riley's eyes widened as she seen the size of it, it was bigger than her old apartment back home.

“th-this is all mine?” she asked

“yes, since becoming a duchess and the queen in waiting, you’ve gained quiet the wardrobe” he smiled as he walked in with Riley by his side.

“you see this one, this is the dress you wore in New York…when we got engaged” he squeezed her hand.

“it’s gorgeous”

“I know, that’s what I told you when I seen you wearing it” he chuckled

“Liam…” she sighed happily

Many Weeks went by and Riley's memory hadn’t progressed at all. She tried to remember, she tried as hard as she should, she asked questions, she had Liam and her friends tell her about what had happened in the time between her last memory and what happened in the lot. She wanted to hear every story, everything about the things they had all done together: Finding Tariq, their trip to Coney Island…Liam's proposal…she wanted to know everything.

Riley hadn’t slept properly in weeks, most nights she lay awake, with Liam's arms wrapped around her waist. Liam would lay whispering sweet nothings in her ear whilst linking his fingers with hers. Liam had spent the last few weeks searching for rileys parents whereabouts, it was as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth.

It was about six weeks after the incident that changed everything. It was late in the afternoon, Riley was in their quarters after spending the day with Hana and Maxwell. She had been feeling off all day…nauseous, her head was pounding so she had retired from their outing earlier than she had planned. once she got back she changed into some comfier clothes then she perched herself on the sofa with a blanket and turned the tv on. She watched television for a short twenty minutes before she found herself dozing off. It was just a few hours later that she awoke abruptly, she felt like someone had set her on fire, her temperature was sky high, she jumped from the seat and took off to the bathroom, as soon as she reached the toilet she fell to her knees crying as she violently chucked up her insides. Her breathing hitched as she cried. What was happening to her. Her felt sharp pains shooting in her head. her heart was beating a million miles an hour, with her breathing speeding up. it was then that it started…the flashbacks…they felt so real…as if they were happening all over again…

Making her way downstairs Riley sang to herself. “Mommy?!” she called as she walked into the living room…nothing…Riley smiled as she heard a clanging from the kitchen “Mommy!?” she called ecstatically as she headed to the kitchen, she sniffled seeing no one there, just the cat jumping from the counter and pan lying on the floor…where were her mommy and daddy? Her sister? She walked through the living room to the front door, she reached up on her tiptoes pulling the handle down on the door, she opened it stepping out onto the front steps…the car was gone. the next day Riley spent the day waiting…watching from the front step…hours went by and no one came…every car that past she watched like a hawk just in case it was her family. They wouldn’t leave her…would they? How could they? they loved her…didn’t they? How could they just abandon her?

It was like her heart was breaking all over again…like they left her all again….it was like she was reliving them…she could feel the pain…the emotion, everything she had felt back then…she could feel it again…her hands shook as the tears feel…she wasn’t sure what she was feeling…there were so many emotions going through her body, she was hurt…she was scared as it all came flooding back…her parents leaving, basically being homeless. Just seconds later it started again

There Riley stood in front of the grey door in the block of apartments…she took a deep breathe then knocked on the door…just moments later she was met with a face she never thought she would see again…Tariq!

Tariq took a moment to steady himself on the podium as hundreds of paparazzi aimed their cameras at him.

“I am here to make a statement regarding the photos of myself and Lady Riley…it was a misunderstanding that led me to her room that night, mistaking it for my own. The photos that were taken of us reveal only this: a breach of privacy that I alone was responsible for, and an arrogant and unwanted advance on my part.”

“We did it!” Riley whispered through her tears.

“IM KING OF THE WORLD!!!!” Liam shouted at the top of his lungs at the top of the Ferris wheel.

As Liam turned to look at Riley, he gently took her hand. “do you remember the coronation?”

“how could I forget”

“I was going to propose to you that night…in front of the entire court, not doing so will remain the deepest regret of my life.” Liam gently brushed a strand of hair from Riley's head as a soft smile finds itself making its way onto his face. “still perhaps its destiny that it happened this way, that you broke free of the conspiracy against you just as we returned to New York…as we came full circle” Liam turned to face the statue of liberty and gently pats his leg a few times, Riley quickly followed Liam's gaze to find herself looking at one corner of the base, beyond which you can only see darkness. “here, Bash!” he called. Riley furrowed her brows not knowing what was going on, why was Bash there? Bash emerged from behind the corner and begins trotting towards the couple. “I hope you don’t mind, my borrowing him tonight” as Bash approached the two Riley spotted something attached to his collar.

“Liam, what’s going on? What is that?” she asked curious

“you’ll see in just a moment” Liam smirked as he removed the object from Bash’s collar then he turned to Riley.                                                                  

“Riley, you’ve opened my eyes, it has been a true honour to witness your strength in the face of every challenge you have overcome. It’s a strength that lends me courage. I know that I will be a better man for having you by my side. All I want in this world is to dedicate my life in being the best man and king that I can be…for you.” Liam fell to one knee, his eyes locked on Riley's, with passion in his eyes, he reached out and took her hand in his.

“Lady Riley Brookes, Queen of my heart, I have yearned to say these four words for a very, very long time…”

“Liam…” she whispered

“Riley, will you marry me?” he smiled

Riley's heart was going a million miles an hour as she relived the moment she and Liam finally got engaged, she cried and cried as she felt the love all over again.

“we left because we couldn’t afford to support both of you!!” Riley was taken back by her mother’s statement.

“Bullshit! Absolute bullshit!! You could afford to have nice cars…a big house…you gave Lulu everything she ever wanted! SO, DON’T YOU DARE COME INTO OUR HOME…AND TRY AND FEED ME THAT BULLSHIT!! IF YOU COULDN’T AFFORD TWO CHILDREN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE HAD TWO CHILDREN!!! WE HAD THE BIGGEST HOUSE ON THE BLOCK…WE HAD MORE CARS THAN WE WOULD EVER NEED…WE HAD A MAID FOR GOODNESS SAKE!!” Riley shouted as she got closer and closer to the woman.

“Riley-”

“NO! IM NOT FINISHED, YOU WERE MY PARENTS…YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LOOK OUT FOR ME…TAKE CARE OF ME…I HAD NO ONE! I SPENT YEARS EATING SCRAPS FROM THE GARBAGE BECAUSE I HAD NOTHING!! I WAS FUCKIN TEN! I WOKE UP THAT MORNING AND LOOKED FOR YOU…I LOOKED FOR BOTH OF YOU!” Riley turned her attention to the 50-year-old well-dressed man “I DON’T KNOW WHY YOUR SITTING THERE…YOU’RE AS MUCH TO BLAME AS SHE IS! BOTH OF YOU HAD A RESPOSIBILITY AS PARENTS TO CARE FOR YOUR CHILDREN, THE SECOND YOU LAID DOWN TOGETHER AND HAD ANOTHER CHILD…THAT CHILD WAS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY!!”

“Riley please don’t shout at me like that, I’m your mother, I’m sorry riley” the woman apologised

“FUCK YOUR APOLOGIES, MAYBE YOU CAN SIGN MY THERAPISTS BILL WITH IT BECAUSE I DON’T WANT IT! MOTHER? HAH! YOU STOPPED BEING MY MOTHER THE SECOND YOU ABANDONED ME! I WAITED FOR YOU…I WAITED FOR YOU ON THE STEPS OF THAT HOUSE…I WAITED FOR YOU TO COME BACK FOR ME” Riley cried hysterically “WAS I THAT BAD A CHILD THAT YOU DIDN’T WANT ME? WAS I THAT WORTHLESS TO YOU…DID I MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU THAT YOU COULD JUST LEAVE ME WITH NOTHING? …LIKE I WAS NOTHING! AND THEN YOU COME HERE EXPECTING ME TO FORGIVE YOU…I DON’T THINK SO…YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST COME HERE AND SAY YOUR SORRY AND I’LL FORGIVE YOU? …MAYBE IF YOU TOOK ME WITH YOU, YOU WOULD KNOW THAT, THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN…IM A FORGIVING PERSON BUT YOU CAN’T RUIN MY LIFE THEN EXPECT AN APOLOGY TO SUFICE?” 

Riley started to hyperventilate, she didn’t know hot to handle all these feelings at once, she sat on the floor of the bathroom, knees pulled up to her chest as tried to make sense of everything. It was her next memory that threw her over the edge though…the one that really got her.

“Riley!” Liam shouted, “Riley please open the door!”

“why” she cried “why would they do that!? W-why would they leave me like that!?” she sobbed

“Riley…sweetheart” he said just loud enough for her to hear “I know…I don’t know mentally what you’re going through but if you let me in, we can talk, let me help you riley”

“no…wh-why would anyone want to help me…I’m worthless…my own parents didn’t even want me…why would anyone else” she blubbered, he felt his heart breaking a little, hearing how she spoke about herself

“hey…you are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for Riley, your friends love you, I love you, we all love you so much”

“stop! Stop saying that!! You’re all just going to do the same as they did…you’re going to get m-my hopes up…then you’re going to l-leave me…b-but I c-can’t let m-myself…b-be hurt again…I-I’m so sorry L-Liam” she started to hyperventilate.

“Riley!!!” Liam shouted panicking when he heard her moving, all her could hear was her crying and throwing things around…he banged his fists on the door, then he heard a scattering on the floor as if she had dropped beads or something of that size then the tap started running.

“Riley!!! RILEY!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!”

“I-I love you Liam” she cried as she moved from their bathroom to the bedroom.

“Riley move away from the door I’m coming in!!”

“y-you can t-try but…you’ll be too late” Liam stood back, lifting his leg and forcing his foot into the door with all his might. The door flew open, banging against the chest of draws just beside it. When he got the door open he ran straight for Riley who was balled up next to the bed with her back to him, he fell to his knees pulling her into his hold with his arms wrapped around her and her back against his chest her hands covered her face. Her hands were bleeding from her nails digging into her palms so much when she was clenching her fists. Liam sat holding her as tight as he could when he looked up he got a straight line of sight to the bathroom…that’s when he panicked…painkillers…all over the floor.

“Riley? how many did you take?”

“enough t-to take the p-pain away” she cried “how could they leave me?” he held her back to his chest. Riley started to become hazy…not responding as fast as she normally would

“Riley…Riley talk to me!!! How many did you take?” the tears started to fall from Liam’s eyes…overwhelmed with everything happening before him. “BASTIAN!! BASTIAN! GET THE PHYSICIAN!!” Liam shouted at the top of his lungs.

At this point Riley couldn’t hear a thing around her…they mind was set on herself and that’s its…the whole court could be in that room and she wouldn’t have noticed, her hands shook, her nose ran, her face was red from the tears, she had cut the inside of her hands with her fingernails due to clenching her fist too tight.

The next flashback took it out of her, it was a memory…she hadn’t yet felt the backlash off, because of her amnesia…no one knew how she would feel or react when she got her memories back.

once Riley climbed out of the shower, she wrapped her towel round her, then headed into the bedroom, she changed into some comfy clothes then made her way into the living room, as she walked in she seen the balcony door lying open, assuming it was the wind or something, she just let it go and went to shut it, as she went to pull it shut, she felt someone hit her on the back of the head then a hand went over her mouth, she struggled, trying to get away, she kicked she wriggled she tried as hard as she could to get out of their hold…but no avail. she cried and screamed only for it to be muffled. Her eyes widened as she heard her mothers laugh. She was pulled from the palace, out onto the balcony then she was pushed over the edge, Knocking her out.

Everything fast forwarded. Next thing she knew, she was in a small room, about the size of a broom closet, she was alone…the only person in there. The room contained, her, a chair and a camera.

It was like her life was on fast forward. She may have just been sitting on the cold bathroom floor, but in her mind, she was in that room…she was locked up…with no oxygen.

“Liam” she stated looking at the camera so tired and beat up.

“Th-There’s no windows…the door is sealed…i-im the only person in here…they’re trying suffocate me” she coughed then winced “they s-said…If you want to s-see me again…t-they want…m-money…one hundred million. The cameras on a timer…it’s going to interrupt every channel every thirty minutes for ten minutes” She cried “Liam…d-don’t give into them…Don’t do it” her eyes were like faucets.

“I love you Liam” she whispered before the camera went off. as the red record light went off on the camera, she burst into tears…she knew she didn’t have long…she wasn’t stupid, every hole and space was sealed there was no oxygen getting into that room, she had hours and she knew it.

As the hours went by in that room, it felt like seconds to Riley sitting in the bathroom, her breathing wavered as she felt the loss of oxygen…Riley screamed and cried as she tried to stand up but quickly fell back to the floor again. As she fell to the floor, she gripped the sink basin pulling the glass soap dish down with a crash, it smashed all over the floor, pieces flew everywhere. She couldn’t handle the pain in her heart…it was all too much. It was like all her heartbreak that she had ever felt…all happening at once. She was repeatedly vomiting, hyperventilating, crying, 

“…Liam…I don’t have much…time left…I…can hardly…breathe” she gasped “so I …want to say…this now” she was dying…she could hardly keep her eyes open…no energy to keep her head up

“…I want you to know…how much…you’ve changed me…for the better…how much you’ve moved me, you made me…a woman…by loving me, Liam” with gasps between each word she carried on, she knew she should really stop talking to save oxygen but she had to tell him before it was too late…he had to know she loved him “and for that…I am…eternally grateful!, promise me Liam…that…that whenever your…sad…or unsure…or you lose…complete faith…promise me…that you’ll try to see yourself…through my eyes…thank you…for giving me the honour…of getting to …know you…I have no regrets when…it comes to you…you’ve made my…life, Liam…but I’m just a …chapter in yours…there will be…more…I promise…don’t be afraid to fall in love again…marry for love Liam…I love you Liam” she gasped as her eyes flickered shut.

she couldn’t breathe and because she couldn’t breathe she couldn’t shout to anyone…she couldn’t call anyone for help.

Riley's scream could be heard throughout the palace, Liam was in a meeting he heard it, as one of the lords at the table spoke,, the scream broke the conversation, Liam quickly stood from the seat and took off out the door, he ran…he ran faster than he ever did until he reached their quarters, at this point the guard on door post duty was already in there, he was stood at the bathroom door just watching…he wasn’t sure what to do, he didn’t know if he should go near her, she was in such a state he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, he had been trained to deal with all sorts of situations but he wasn’t trained for this.

Liam came running in, stopping at the bathroom door, as soon as he seen Riley, the glass all over the floor, the blood on her hands, the glass shards that had pierced her feet, her hair was mangled from pulling at It, her skin pale as snow from all the vomiting, her cheeks stained red from the tears. Liam dismissed the guard as he carefully moved closer to her, kicking the glass away, once he reached her side he fell to his knees pulling her into his chest, he knew exactly what was happening.

“it’s alright…it’s okay…I’m right here” he whispered as he held her close. “deep breathes sweetie it’s okay…it’s okay…you’re gonna be just fine sweetie, I know it hurts, but it’s going to get better I promise” he gently pecked her head. “ive got you, your safe, your okay” he whispered softly into her ear, trying to calm her down. “shh, shh, it’s alright”

Liam could feel his own heart breaking as he watches the love of his life breaking in front of him, how two people could make someone feel like that…how they could break someone so easily…it disturbed him, what kind of person does that!

If You Like It...Reblog it! <3

[littleoldrachel]

Seventh chapter is (finally) up! Read it here on ao3, or here  on ff.net, or under the cut.  100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 7/100 - “I dreamed about you last night.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x 

Tw for anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight.

“I dreamed about you last night”

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it’s an effort to untangle his fists from where they’re clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that it wasn’t fucking real, get over it. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he’s been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For fuck’s sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just how much of this he’s supposed to take. How much more can he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly ridiculous. The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can’t remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he’s only thinking it because he’s exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It’s too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he’s suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus’ brain, and he’s spiralling; the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –

His lungs are tight again, only this time it’s like something’s sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he needs to do. The urge to hurt himself is a fierce, burning, boiling need beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there’s some kind of visible proof that the turmoil in his head is real and happening and valid – something that will make people not just listen, but hear him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as “distressed, but not a pressing concern” –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even attempt to stop them from falling.

(You need to call someone, his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms finally kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is past that, damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There’s an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he’s locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally – finally – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-up-I’m-awful-awful-awful rises so fast that it’s almost vomit-inducing. But then –

“Hello?” croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre relief-but-still-panic washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he’s woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning (selfish, selfish, selfish) –

“Prongs,” he manages, and hears James’ intake of breath.

Give me one second, Moony,” he whispers, and there’s movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he’s moved rooms. “I’m here, love, talk to me.”

“It’s – bad – “ Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to make it better.

“Breathe for me, love,” James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. “Did something happen?”

“Bad dream,” Remus’ voice cracks, and he hates himself, hates that he can’t handle a stupid nightmare, hates how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he’s nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he knows that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.

James doesn’t say ‘it’s okay, it wasn’t real, it’s over now, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’ doesn’t say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is scarier – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, “hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?” When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school’s science block up for sale. Remus doesn’t pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James’ expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, “how are we doing?”

Remus inhales, relishing in how easy it is now, and leans back against the headboard. “Better.”

“Good.”

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a thunk. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it’s not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

“What’s going on, love?” James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

“I… I haven’t been doing well,” he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn’t scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of ‘go on’ encouragement. “I can’t sleep. I can’t – everything hurts all the time. I – I – I –“ His chest is constricting once more, and this time he’s too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. “I don’t know what’s changed,” his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

“Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?” His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There’s a large part of him that is longing for James’ understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can’t do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock – two hours for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly does not understand what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, “no. No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It’s not a problem.”

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “No. Honestly, it’s fine.”

James makes a humming sound, “okay. Fine. But I’m coming over tomorrow after school, and we’re gonna talk.” He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he’s not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

“Thank you.”

Remus can’t speak – if he does, he thinks he’ll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

“I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow.” James hesitates. “Please take care. I’ll have my phone on all day.”

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, “I love you too. Thank you,” but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus’ chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow’s – or rather today’s – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It’s stale and stifling in here, but it’s far enough to the window that he can’t help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he’s slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown burning pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they’re gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm’s reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it’s the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It’s a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it’s severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there’s nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky’s bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because he hates this. He can’t keep doing this – he cannot.

Later that day, when he’s curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It’s only as he’s popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads ‘Pads <3 (5 messages)’.

Pads <3 (11:13): hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i’m here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

Pads <3 (12:15): do you want company?? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

Pads <3 (14:56): moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don’t remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

Pads <3 (14:57): you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don’t deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

Pads <3 (16:34): i’m sorry to do this bc you shouldn’t reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you’re ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i’m sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius’ messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

You (17:19): hey, sorry to worry you. I’m okay, I’ve been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

Pads <3 (17:21): moony! no no don’t apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do??

You (17:24): no it’s okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it’s fine [smiling face emoji]

Pads <3 (17:25): i mean. that’s not fine.

Pads <3 (17:26): prongs said he’s coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along?? it’s completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he’d called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James gets – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it’s because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that’s doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to try, he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it’s time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he knows Sirius will understand, it doesn’t stop the shame from mounting.

You (17:35): I’m really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I’m so sorry

Padfoot <3 (17:36): no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i’m here if there’s anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn’t shift, but Remus stares at the ‘i love you’ for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve anything good, the words don’t change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells vile, and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn’t much better, he knows, because he just doesn’t have the energy for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it’s not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn’t long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won’t care. James will understand. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how shit of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky’s litter tray, before there’s a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. “Moony!”

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James’ shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it’s overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus’ head, and says, “fuck, I’ve missed you.” Remus suddenly realises that he hasn’t showered in five days (disgusting, useless, lazy fuck), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

“It’s been literally a week,” Remus points out, though he adds quietly “I’ve missed you too.”

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he’ll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. “Exactly. A week without my moonshine.” He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You know I’ve been worse. Let’s clean up a bit though, yeah? It’ll help in the long run.”

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus’ cheek, “stop spiralling. This is not your fault. D’you want to talk as we tidy, or d’you want to wait?”

Remus’ chest tightens in anxious anticipation. “Tell me about your day?” he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of course he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can’t help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus’ bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus’ movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. “Sit down,” he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus’ side. (It’s different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it’s something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there’s a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an “it’s my treat.” Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

“It’s kosher, don’t worry,” James says, already munching on his first slice.

“It’s not – you didn’t have to do this, Prongs.” His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is more takeout, that he’s already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn’t fucking deserve any of this. It’s easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus’ heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

“How do you want to do this?” James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James’ eyes track the movement, and he says, “okay, maybe let’s start there?”

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge fuck you to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it’s an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

“Can I see your hands?” James says carefully. He waits for Remus’ assent, before gently turning Remus’ hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus’, and the tenderness with which he’s being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he is not worth such kindness. James’ expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus’ lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, “it’s been a while since you last did that.”

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “I – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even register it until it was too late.”

“What made you do it?”

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky’s position. “I was just – I was just so low and angry at myself. I just – I – I –“

“Breathe, Moony,” James says, tapping at Remus’ chest, and he nods distractedly.

“- I just wanted to hurt,” blurts Remus. “I wanted some kind of proof – that – that all this-“ he waves a hand around his head, “was real.”

“It is real,” James says immediately. “This shit is the realest thing you can feel.”

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. “I – I do – I know that. It just – I haven’t felt like this in a while. And it scared me.”

James is silent for a moment, and then says, “what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” Remus says finally, not meeting James’ unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be too much. “My fibro’s been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can’t get out of bed and everything is just so much and I’m gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time.”

“That was a lot of ‘fucking’s” says James lightly. “Keep going.”

Remus takes a shallow breath. “I’m just – unhappy –“ he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he’s in love with a man who is the actual definition of ‘deserves the world,’ but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and brilliant person. He has two jobs that aren’t completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it’s an income.

(He knows – he does know this – that this isn’t how depression works, that mental illness doesn’t just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

“I don’t understand why this is happening. Nothing’s changed. I’m not doing anything differently. It’s not supposed to be – I’m so tired.” His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has no reason to cry about this, he’s not even sad, he’s just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants out.

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James’ arms have tightened around him, and Remus’ cheeks are wet, and it’s too much, it’s all – too much, he can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’t –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it’s like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it all to stop. He’s vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he screams, wasting the last mouthful of precious air, because why won’t it stop. His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can’t breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything stop.

(Please G-d, let everything stop).

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he’s told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It’s hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like too much; even the feeling of James’ fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus could not feel guiltier if he tried. “Sorry,” he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it’s all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

“It’s okay,” James says immediately, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a pause, and then James sighs, and it’s an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus’ heart pang, because defeat is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. “Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?” James says softly, and even though Remus knows what’s coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. “Okay. Are you depressed?”

It’s easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn’t have to meet James’ concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has nothing to be depressed about, and nods again.

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Another nod.

Another pause.

“Do you want to die?”

And isn’t that the question? Because Remus knows what it’s like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen – to make that happen. He also knows what it’s like to want to not exist – because the two aren’t the same thing at all. There’s a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of ‘wellness’ isn’t perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he thinks he’s more the former of the two. Things aren’t all bad all the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he’s just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he’s not in the mood where all he does is leech the good from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he’s been to empty to even cry about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can’t get out of bed for wanting to just not exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and living, but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn’t pray often, he isn’t even sure if he believes in G-d, but he does know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn’t that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James does understand what it’s like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to them, trembling with nerves and wringing his hands. James is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it’s like to be too afraid to admit what’s happening to you.

He’s been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn’t have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he’s not able to.

“Can I hug you?” asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James’ lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. “It’s going to be okay,” James says just as gently. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ve got you.”

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won’t let him apply that same logic to himself, because the last thing he ever wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it’s only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

“You and I are going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning first thing. This can’t go on.”

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: “No – you have work, I have work-“

“This is a thousand times more important than work, Moony. I would choose you over any commitment every fucking time. When are you going to understand that?” He doesn’t give Remus time to answer, probably because he knows that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, “I can’t make you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-“

“I’ll go, I think – I want to go,” Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

“I – you – seriously?”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it’s the truth.

“You’re not going to be by yourself. I’ll be with you the whole way, if you’ll let me.”

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James’ chest as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, Moonbeam,” he whispers seriously.

(There’s nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven’t done the hard part yet, don’t be proud of me for finally admitting I need help, again) –

“The hardest part was telling someone,” James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. “And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this.”

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it’s something he’s told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it’s not something he can process. “What now?” he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. “I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep.”

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

“Do you want me to invite the others over?” James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn’t pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, “maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they’ll want to.”

“On it,” says James, already tapping out a message to them both. “Don’t be stupid, of course they’ll want to.” Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. “What am I ordering?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t,” Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he’s only just become aware of it.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Prongs-“

“Is this your fucking doctor again?”

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. “Don’t you think it’s better to listen to the ‘fucking doctor’ who actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Not if he’s trying to fat-shame you, then no.”

“He’s not – it’s not like that.”

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. “Well, I’m ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind.”

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing I love you without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter beams the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn’t curl his hands to hide the mess he’s made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, “I love you so much, Moony. You’re so fucking important to me.”

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius’ chest, his feet on James’ lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There’s a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you’re Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on Matilda. They’re barely a third of the way through before the day’s emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, “sleep. We’re here, I’ve got you,” and it’s like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn’t have to do it alone).

[toddlazarski]

The Bucks, PB&J’s, and Man’s Search For Meaning

Shepherd Express 

“I made sammiches, fellas.”

It came across as a weird statement. Especially given our relative state of adulthood. Especially coming as it did, one workaday Wednesday afternoon, through our office’s Slack messaging ether, a forum reserved for quote requests and shipment follow-ups and tracking numbers, for the occasional cat video, a not infrequent ponder as to the likelihood of a collective Cielito Lindo trek.      

But I’d spent the previous night slathering sliced brioche with Jif Natural Chunky and Bonne Maman Strawberry Preserves, compiling a venerable stack of PB&J’s, a ziploc bag tower of mushed bread-on-bread, berry bubbling its way through the creases like a razor-thin paper cut, feeling myself motherly all the while, getting nostalgic for childhood. Getting nostalgic, too, for high school senior year, where, despite being 18 and having little desire outside of finding beer access and listening to Zeppelin and putting distance between my person and my parents, how I had still, out of horomone-bursting hunger probably, allowed mom to make me a PB&J near daily. Even teenage too-coolness was overmatched by the sandwich’s essence of everyday art, it’s sort of ceaseless comfort. A meal anyone can assemble, but requiring, deserving of a certain ratio-ed touch. Quotidian, yet satisfying. Delicious, yet healthy enough that even the most Trump-budget-military-upgrade-caliber helicopter parents can agree. A benign, toddler-friendly foodstuff, still, endless in variations (i.e. the inexplicable calculus of the diagonal cut; the bewildering game-raising of toasted bread). It’s the “Misty” of school lunches - you’ve experienced it a million times, but where’s the guitar solo going this time? Is that peach jam!?    

ESPN’s recent caloric journalism flight, detailing said comfort and the prevalent addiction rampant amongst seemingly all NBA players, has indeed opened up a very general sort of reminiscence. Of sandwiches, of school day lunches. Of a now-gone time of possibility ahead. Of a day when I stood in front of my 8th grade class, and when asked about plans for the future, put stoically: “I’m gonna play in the NBA.” How I had stared down scoffs, how they all laughed. And how I had doggedly, in my mind, flashed on Mugsy, my same height back then, back when I was the John Stockton of before-school open gyms, and there was no reason my prepubescent crossover wasn’t worthy of at least a scholarship. It was a time similar to, say, about last week, when driving and scooping layups, how I had reminded myself, again, now, that I’m currently the same height of 29-points-per game Isaiah Thomas, and subsequently tried to walk with his same Pesci-like, something-to-prove swagger. It also has evoked a type of hometown nostalgia, as the Bucks top the article’s list of team’s with the most gourmet PB&J offerings. I was eventually brought back to thoughts of a near-great Bucks year toward the end of said high school sandwich days. And really, for Milwaukeeans, the way you remember that ‘00-’01 almost-Finals team says who you are: If you think of Ray Allen, your life strives toward elegance, Glenn Robinson means fierce blue-collar pride, if like me, you think of Sam Cassell, you’re an underdog. Or possibly just an unrepentant basketball nerd.  

Now, as the current young Bucks stand days from a seemingly important playoff birth, so we stand at 5pm on Wednesday’s, in anticipatory glow of post-work warehouse 2-on-2. And we start to swivel hips and test hamstring dexterity while still in office wear. Roll out necks and hear the creaks, try to conjure up Giannis-like limberness. We eventually dribble two balls at the same time like we see Steph Curry always doing in slo-mo, collectively scoffing at our aging and aged bodies in various states of shape and debaucherous misuse. We hash out postseason Bucks impressions in pregame loosening good humor. We double check text messages to make sure our others, significant or semi, know we won’t be around for dinner. Make sure they know that when we do emerge from the warehouse’s cavernous battle bubble, that we’ll be sweaty and worn, proud bearers of war tales, much deserving of many manly beer swills.   

In our core there is Gino, the ubiquitous scrapmaster all good pickup games require. As the only non-employee on today’s lineup, he’s caught off-guard by my previous night’s culinary feat. But he’s rarely off-guard, as the hustle guy, the token tough, the rugby or futbol hooligan-type that doesn’t stop, the one who’s mostly-bald skull might appear exceptionally hard. It is. And I know this because over-leaning on post defense one Friday last summer caused a cranium-connection and gaping wound that looked like the 2nd round of a Rocky fight, required nine stitches, and left a one inch scar on my right eyelid. Day’s shortly after, someone at work called me “Scarface,” and it felt like an achievement I’d never realized I was yearning for.

There is also Andrew, who couldn’t wait to get into the break room fridge, correctly noting the article doesn’t specify exactly when NBA-ers down their youthful pregame snack. Thirty minutes prior to tip was the longest we could hold out. As a guitar player he has other goals, appetites, and also has fingerpicking fingernails, that sometimes make a reach-in foul leave a bit more than a slapping sting. He likes to mime Dellevedova floaters by faux announcing “Delly!” while putting one up. It often finds net, like it almost always does anytime he’s left even a smidge of an open window downtown, his bombed three’s yielding that feeling that good guitar player’s often do - a mix of head-shaking wonder and jealous annoyance. And he has to leave at a reasonable time, for a gig, to work more, to maintain his Shepherd Express-voted status as Milwaukee’s ‘Best Guitarist,’ to keep after continued validation that some voting systems in this country aren’t completely broken.   

And there is Dylan, who good naturedly shakes his head at my insistence on bringing up the ESPN article, over and over, a reaction like his kid just learned a knock-knock joke that he won’t let drop. In fact, Dylan often seems the group’s symbolic father. Not because of the Harden-cum-wizard beard and his existence as an actual father of two, but because of the endless series of bank shots and shifty craftiness, crafty shiftiness. Sometimes his game is pure Tim Duncan. Sometimes it’s a type of old man one-step-ahead smirking mindfulness, where he goads you into shots he knows he can close on, block. Sometimes it’s a hard sell on a pump fake that you regret immediately as you leave pavement, then watch him go by at a casual pace for a layup that he never misses - being a dad, being a miniature big fundamental, having a personality directly corollary to his court skills, and vice versa. Like Magic Johnson - if he’s on your team. Like he’s Michael Jordan and you’re the Cavs if not.  

Together, when the F-bomb’s fly, and the panting starts, and balls get smashed into the concrete floor in frustration, and you get your the first butt in the gut on a box out, and feel the familiar, exhausted hatred for a one-time - five minutes ago! - friend, we feel not so far off from what we watch on TV. From the Bucks, from the playoffs, from realizing all those school day aspirations. After all, I’m wearing Nikes. We’re all wearing Nikes. Except Gino, who is a soccer player, so Addidas are acceptable. But aside from that, anything sans swoosh seems senseless. I’m wearing the model of Cavs guard Kyrie Irving. Having decided at some point, for now, at least this year, “that’s my guy,” something moving deep within me as I watched him hit possibly the most clutch shot in NBA history, as I sat sweaty and expectant, hunkered in a dark sports bar on my first night in Rio de Janeiro, living out a different kind of dream, steps from the most famous beach in the world, amidst one of the most vibrant cities in history, thinking only of catching game 7, thinking on all the ones that got away from me, feeling late-game sympathy nerves. But now I tie and then velcro expensive Nike’s in his fashion and adorned in his ‘#2,’ and I can kind of mime that patented double behind the back dribble when I’m by myself on the court, in the warehouse. And that is something. But Irving also has the thick beard and sad eyes of my father. And that might be something else.   

Now, with the sandwiches churning, leftover peanut butter chunks being tongued at in wisdom teeth nether regions, collectively we’re all even closer, thrown together in end of day release to re-live, reimagine our days of middle to middle high school ballerdom. When identity came from being good, kind of good, at something that made you sweaty. Before any of us knew each other. Before we had to go to work and get to know each other. In order to pay rent, and then mortgages, and then babysitters. To put food on a table. And then somewhere along the line it having to be somewhat healthy food. Before we had to make decisions, like whether or not it is worth it to pay for cable, so we can go home and watch more basketball.

At this point in our career we could play bald guys vs. hair guys, husbands vs. boyfriends. In alternate lineup iterations we can play dads vs. non-procreators. Oftentimes, if we go on Saturdays, we'll play through hangovers. Afternoon's, every now and then, somebody cracks a can of beer before the last game of ‘21’. And you know, when D-ing up, breathing deep sweaty man beer breath, then actually, purposefully, boldly placing your hand in the small of a back that is mostly just soaked-through dripping cotton t-shirt swatch - this isn’t about exercise anymore. At work on sore days after, we'll stand at each other's desk and bemoan sore hamstrings, treat ourselves to nachos, with ground beef, that come, today only, without guilt. We’ll play the showered, clean clothes, office game, but sipping Gatorade the whole time. Some of us - the dreamier sorts -  maybe even going to a place of a fictitious postgame press conference in our head as we rehydrate like our idols.    

But before games, lacing shoes too tightly, jogging in place and hoping for no unexpected pains, warming up with layups that we mostly make all of, here we are, with everything possible, with Marv Albert explaining to expectant at home audiences how “Lazarski has to be aggressive tonight,” with gentle butterflies birthing in the stomach, if only out of shared remembrance for when such athletic contests meant something. Meant everything. And there’s no difference, just like down the street, in that bigger warehouse on 4th Street, with playoff-virgin nerves pulsing. Once we start it’s all the same as it is for Malcolm, for Khris, the only difference that last-second call home, reminding again our significant others that we’ll be home late, that we’ll reek of body odor. But probably, hopefully, not bleeding, or needing any kind of ride from Urgent Care.    

And tonight, I’ve missed a potential game winner. A 15-foot, pull-up jumper. My bread-and-butter, my PB&J. Staring stoically out the window of the 15, back toward real life in the night, it’s hard to let it go, to not punch my own thigh, thinking on all the times I’d practiced the shot for just such a moment. In all the driveways of my life. After school practices, with various stages of after-school friends. Solo sometimes, or in the rain like a motivational sports movie montage. On a court in Venice Beach with my uncle. With drinking buddies turned rivals. With rivals turned drinking buddies. With long forgotten one-time best pals. It all leading to this, the big moment, everybody watching, leaning forward, the time of “Kyrie for three!...”      

But, we'll be back next week. If kids aren’t sick and hamstrings aren’t tight and workout clothes aren’t forgotten and anniversary dinners aren’t written in pen in the dayplanner. And I know where it went wrong, what can help. I know how to get it back. And Andrew mis-hears me on his way out, agrees anyway, says, “Yeah, it was great.”  But it all seems so clear, the fix for the future, and I say it again: “next week, we’ll go with grape jelly.”

[tessatechaitea]

Kamandi Challenge #1

If this is as big a trainwreck as DC Challenge, I'll definitely solve it before DC does! I still don't think they solved that one.

I'm surprised Keith Giffen is doing the art. Unless this is Koblish trying to look like Kirby but instead looking like Giffen!

Kamandi, the not quite last boy on Earth, races off across town to try to catch the school bus at its last stop. It seems like if he can catch the school bus by cutting through town, he can probably just race straight to school. Not that I know the layout of his town! This is a mystery, by gorsh! Knowing the topographical features of the local locale could give away the mystery! Kamandi is stopped by a cop who takes the law a little too seriously. He says, "I don't care if you're the last boy on Earth, no one crosses against the red." Dude. If he's the last boy on Earth then there's no danger crossing against the red! Unless the last girl on Earth is driving like a fucking maniac and coming from the other direction. Okay fine. I guess the cop has a point. Plus there are all those sentient animals who drive in the future. But maybe in their society, they cross on the red and stop on the green? Take that, Mr. Fascist Cop! Some creatures crash through the sky as if it were just the top of a dome painted like the sky. Kamandi's fellow citizens pull out weapons to begin fighting them and urge Kamandi to rush home. I guess this is Command "D" and Kamandi lives in a simulated environment with his grandmother. Did I just solve the mystery? No? Oh, yeah, that's right. I just comprehended what I was reading. Never mind. I'll get that mystery yet though! The Kangarat Murder Society has broken into Command "D" because there's a bounty on Kamandi's head. The villagers protect him because they're just robots built to protect the last boy on Earth. Kamandi rushes home thinking, "So when I fucked Sarah Lou Ellen behind the bleachers, I actually had my dick in a...a...machine?!"

Is that the mystery? The Case of Kamandi's Missing Parents?

After being shoved through The Void, Kamandi learns he's in a terrible spin-off of Heroes when he hears a voice say, "Find your parents. Save the world." Also, Heroes itself was fucking terrible. I will admit there were some interesting things about it but it was lazy in that the characters in every series were motivated by either a vision of the future or a prophecy. When a writer uses those devices to get the action moving, it means they're terrible writers. Kamandi comes out of the other side of The Void with long hair and three months worth of piss and shit staining his torn up jeans. He winds up in the clutches of the Tiger-men! That means he's about to meet that pervert, Doctor Canus! Did I just solve the mystery? The pervert is Doctor Canus? But before he can meet Doctor Canus, Kamandi must survive in the arena against Tiny. And you know with a name like "Tiny," he's got to be big. Even in the future, they stick to nickname clichés.

Based on what Kamandi knows, this statement makes no sense. Even if he's riffing on what the cop told him earlier, Kamandi has no idea that he's currently the last boy on Earth so if he dies, he'll, um, still be the last boy on Earth but with a slightly altered meaning.

And that's the end of part one! That's a pretty simple cliffhanger to solve! Kamandi just needs to beat Tiny. I bet he's swallowed whole by Tiny and then he kicks his way out of Tiny's stomach from the inside! No wait. That's preposterous. Maybe he'll do that thing that Luke did to the Rancor but instead of using a large thigh bone, he'll use the last boner on Earth. Or maybe Doctor Canus will stop the match because he likes the smell of Kamandi's asshole. However it's solved, I'll find out immediately because Dan Abnett takes over for Dan DiDio right here in the middle of the issue! Oh yeah. Dan DiDio wrote the first story because of course he did. He seems to have called Dibs! on all of Jack Kirby's characters since The New 52 began (and maybe even earlier!). Part Two is called "K is for 'Kill'!" K is also for Kamandi! And kissing! And kleptocracy! Oh! And klue! A klue to the mystery! Which is still a complete mystery! Prince Tuftan watches bored as he waits for Kamandi to be torn to bits. I guess this is entertainment for tigers. It's probably like watching America's Test Kitchen on PBS. It's definitely making me hungry. As Kamandi tries to escape Tiny (who is much bigger when drawn by Eaglesham than when drawn by Giffen!), he discovers the walls of the arena are electrified. Boo! Hiss! That's a cheating shortcut! Electricity is always the way the hero takes out the unstoppable foe! This Cliffhanger Solution rates a 3 out of 10! Did I boo yet? BOO! Tiny is knocked unconscious from the electrified walls. That's got to be a lot of electricity running along those walls to drop a beast like that! I guess the Tiger-men's post-apocalyptic world isn't so bad if it has such generous power reserves. Prince Fuzzypants is impressed by Kamandi's resourcefulness even though that resourcefulness has been used over and over again in all kinds of books and movies and television shows. How lucky that there's always some kind of electrical danger nearby when the hero is about to be torn to pieces. Kamandi is brought to Doctor Canus to be trained. Doctor Canus begins slathering peanut butter all over his cock.

You'd be shocked too if your dog began talking to you while you were crouched in front of it with your crotch covered in Jif.

Doctor Canus takes Kamandi on a walk and shows him Tiger City. Upon seeing the Brother Eye symbol outside the Hall of War, Kamandi tries to investigate it. But it will have to wait until Kamandi becomes best friends with Prince Fuzzypants. For now, he's just a lowly animal being trained to fight in the arena. I hope the second cliffhanger isn't another bout in the arena! Maybe all the cliffhangers will be bigger and bigger opponents in the arena. Great Caesar returns with a load of leopard slaves and a nuclear missile. Kamandi slips his leash and loses Canus in the celebrating crowd. He heads straight to the Hall of War where he was just told he couldn't go. Somebody is going to be called a bad human and thumped on his tender nose. Guarding the Hall of War are a bunch of Jackdaws. They're sentient humanoid crows and probably the next cliffhanger. Oh, no. There are still too many pages left. I guess this diversion was just so Kamandi could learn that the tigers of Tiger City are stockpiling ancient weapons. That might be a clue for later! It's hard to tell though because I still don't know what the mystery is. But I think I do know what the next cliffhanger will be!

Silly tigers! Nukes are for...uh, I mean, they're greeeeeeeeat!

The stupid tigers set the bomb to detonate in five minutes. What a cliffhanger! Kamandi only has five minutes to convince Doctor Canus that the tigers will die if he doesn't disarm the bomb! And he'll only have thirty seconds to do that since he'll spend most of the time licking off that peanut butter! What Did I Learn? Well, I haven't learned what the mystery is yet, that's for sure! Is the mystery how the world was destroyed? Or why Kamandi needs to find his parents? Or why he needs to remember Command "D" (other than so everybody thinks that's his name)? Or why the world needs saving? Or why the tigers are so stupid and careless? Maybe the mystery is how a dog became a scientist! The Ranking! Well shit. It's not too bad because I love stupid gimmick comic books like this!