#really wishing all artists who do this for a break the greatest fucking time

[maxwell-grant]

HEROFY: Mysterio

I think the later decades have only made "disgruntled VFX worker who abandons Hollywood to strike out on his own artistically" easier to root for but let's do something new:

Quentin Beck has basically the same backstory, kid who loves movies and grows up making stop-motion shorts even against his family's wishes and develops enough technical knowhow to become a VFX artist and stuntman. The problem being, he's a VFX artist and stuntman, both of his jobs are unstable or unsafe, overwork him to the bone, and net him absolutely zero recognition. He keeps screwing up jobs because he plans for things that go way over budget, and he keeps getting screwed out of jobs because, he's a VFX artist and stuntman in film, it comes with the territory. He's only really a stuntman because he needs an extra source of revenue and he desperately wanted something that was still in film. He is trying to conciliate his all-consuming love for the artform with his need for money and dignity and conditions necessary to live so he can keep on with his work (and also his ego, because you can't divest Mysterio from his ego). He lives for one thing, and it's killing him.

Some people have put forth the idea that the rise of superheroes would cause special effects workers and magicians to be rendered obsolete and that being the kick-off to Mysterio's career, but I'm gonna argue the opposite would happen: film chases reality, not the other way around. So instead, the advent of the Fantastic Four and the Avengers puts a HUGE pressure on the film industry to advance and quadruple down on replicating the things that people go crazy for in the papers. Billion dollar budgets, CGI advancements rushed out the door years too early, actors being replaced by digital puppets, etc. Quentin Beck has to live and find work in an MCU world overnight and it drives him to the breaking point. And then, he hears about Spider-Man, this carefree flipping freak who abandoned showbiz to be a full-time superhero, this sellout hack in tights who will pretty soon be a franchise and a nightmare for stuntmen everywhere to play, and it's the last straw, so he decides to go and pick a fight with him. Partially because he wants to stop Turn Off the Dark from happening, but mostly to see if he can be the hero instead of this insulting little snot that needs to be put in his place.

And then he succeeds. He gets away with everything in that original story and Spider-Man actually gives up, bows out of costumed life. Mysterio is now a hero revered in the papers with a parade thrown in his honor, and best of all, he has FINALLY found a calling that makes use of his expertise. He can finally give Hollywood the middlefinger and use his artistic talents for something AND make a living AND be appreciated for it. He figures that with this, he can probably start making his own movies, maybe cash out the Mysterio character as a franchise, and eventually retire. But there's two problems.

One, is that he got what he wanted. He disgraced and replaced Spider-Man, and so now he gets to be the main character of Spider-Man comics, and thus, deal with all the Spider-Man problems. Two, that his fight with Spider-Man? The "greatest action scene in history"? This time, the cameraman got it all on film. Mysterio achieved the greatest, most thrilling and impactful scene of his career, and he wasn't even trying. Worse, his co-star, the villain of the scene, is now gone. Beck could just let it go, but he can't. He can't peak this early, by accident. He can't be a fluke. He can't.

So now he has to actually go out there and fight crime, again and again and again and again, in the hopes that he can get it all on film, in the hopes that he will find a villain as thrilling to fight as Spider-Man, in the hopes that it will be another hit, another masterpiece, because while nobody gives a fuck about Quentin Beck still, Mysterio is now a film icon. Not only can he not allow himself to be a one-hit wonder, he can NEVER unmask and ride this out into a lucrative retirement, and he can't turn to crime and risk being exposed either, because he can't ruin the character everyone loves now. He can't ruin his life's work. He has made a masterpiece, and now he has to make it forever.

With great art, comes great expectation.

[finsterhund]

I just don't fucking know man.

I guess "respect for the source material" is what I wish more people had for Heart of Darkness? The more and more time progresses the more it feels like I'm the only person who actually loves this game for what it is and what it's trying to do. So many other people just clearly want it to be something else and because it's such an important thing to me that is absolutely infuriating.

In the past there used to be more fans who were in live with the game akin to the way I am. Lili, Shynox, who are long gone now and I miss them. Fishy too was a lot more actively writing. Life hits hard. I myself have not created anything constructive or transformative or artistic in fucking years. Miserable.

I think back about how somebody refered to me as a "fandom of one" and yeah. That's what it feels like. That I'm alone. Or almost alone. Insert "American chestnut tree root stump metaphor" or whatever stupid fucking shit here.

Thinking now with the clairvoyance and functionality of my brain at 2AM a big factor I think for my mental collapse and loss of passion for things was that I had the entire year I was grieving Cazza this one guy who would not stop bothering and pestering and annoying me with shitty HoD ideas and they went as far as to repeatedly violate my personal space and do things that were a potential danger to themselves and others even though I repeatedly told them not to. How that quickly sapped away the energy I have for my loves and my passions. How I'm trying to take time to grieve the greatest thing in my life being torn from me and I'm getting someone shitting on my favourite thing in the universe that I should have been able to fall back on for support.

I'm still always going to be the biggest fan of heart of darkness. Uncontested. The power of my extremely obsessive brain will see to that. Nobody will love this game as much as I do, or the way that I do. But I'm just a husk of how I used to be.

I miss being active online with my friends. But I struggle to be there and present. Our new TTRPG was put on indefinite hiatus and things are a struggle for much of them as well. Nobody can fucking win in this world it seems.

It's about a week until my birthday and then a little over a week after that it'll be the anniversary of Cazza's death. I don't think I'm going to be strong enough to make it.

My roommate's evidently had a serious mental break so for the past month just about I've been the only pillar in this household. Despite how I'm falling apart and deteriorating I'm forced to be the glue that's the only thing that keeps this whole operation together. I think maybe t reason I haven't just gone and killed myself is the pressure of knowing that nothing will sustain itself in my absense here. It's a weight and a burden. It is not a comfort. In the end my roommate wanting to sit and lie on my bed just to be close with me things like that chip away at my sense of space. I don't want to hurt him but you know how territorial I get. How much I need for my space to be mine. Stuff like this. Little things that over time wear down what walls I do have to support myself.

I'm not saying I'm going to kill myself or anything. But I'm really fucking struggling here.

I think ultimately I am lonely? I know I've regressed back into a lot of aspects of my toddler years. I've been yearning for my grandparents more blatantly again. It's like they say where when you're dying your life flashes before your eyes.

Idk. I know there's people who care about me in my life. That I should feel loved. But it's hard sometimes.

I just wish there were people who loved HoD like I do. That I had a community and a family. Not that we were all separated by distance, borders, financial constraints of capitalism.

Sometimes I just hate being alive.

[someonebored0100]

Any time an artist I follow deactivates their blog I can’t help but feel like I lost something important.

[dapandapod]

Hey honey! I'm so glad for your 400 followers, you deserve the world. For the prompt... You know that pouty/grumpy face of Joey's, well, Geralt just happens to adore when Jaskier does that. He stares at him and at his lips trying not to get caught by the Bard, and his heart melts in a puddle of love because ugh, he's so cute. I hope you're well bb, yours Idiot syndrome anon™ 🖤

Oh my gosh how sweet are you!!!  So I said I would do something small right? I tried, ok? It accidently became a little longer, because you have the greatest ideas! 

So here, please enjoy 1/4 prompts for my 400 follower celebration!  Feel free to send an ask, comment or messege me if you have something you wish me to write!

Geralt being soft for pouty Jaskier! As a treat! On Ao3 here!

Geralt has a secret, a soft spot.

Jaskier pouts when he gets annoyed. There is a slight chance that Geralt finds that absolutely adorable. So he might be annoying on purpose. Maybe. Possibly. Totally. 

~

Jaskier sits on a log, it’s old and a little little rotten. Geralt told him not to sit on that log, that his (nice) pants will get wet, but did he listen? No.

And now there is a very stubborn bard still sitting on that log. Trying very hard not to look displeased in his wet pants, but honestly, he is failing very hard.

In his efforts to hide his discomfort he is pursing his lips together, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, staring into the fire with some rarely seen concentration.

He uses a long stick (also damp, because fuck you Geralt) to poke around in the burning logs, eliciting some very satisfying crackling.

On the actually less damp ground sits Geralt, legs crossed in a pose that would make a less flexible man cringe.

He is supposed to meditate but there is this very good feeling in his chest.

This is the safest I-told-you-so he has had with Jaskier in a long time, and the cutest. He is holding back a smile, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching, betraying him.

Jaskier notices, of course. He sends Geralt a glare, his bottom lip pushing up just a little, fighting off a pout.

“What.” Jaskier says, daring Geralt to say something. But Geralt has been around for a long, long time and he knows a trap when he sees one.

If you want to keep your tender parts attached to your body, you don’t say “I told you so.” You just feel it.

“Don’t start a forest fire.” He says instead.

Now there is the pout for real. Three dwarves in a frock, that is adorable.

Swooning is not something witchers do, but melting he can do just fine.

“Fuck off.” Jaskier says, as predicted, turning back to the flames and poking some more just to be contradictory.

Geralt allows himself a smile, feeling very much at peace, and closes his eyes again.

 ~

 “Noticed something new about me?” Jaskier asks, making a ridiculous little turn showin off his new doublet.

Geralt of course noticed, but it’s too good not to poke fun at him.

"Uuhh… did you gain weight?”

The outrage. The indignation. Imagine all the offended noises you can think of, and make them come out of Jaskiers mouth.

Jaskier doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. And Geralt just can’t stop smiling at that adorable little pout, so it was absolutely worth it. 

 ~

 "You don’t think I see you smiling?!” Jaskier says accusingly to Geralt, his hair is sticking up in odd angles and he is pacing back and forth in Geralt's room at the inn in Oxenfurt.

For once they had coin enough not to share (and Geralt will never admit how much he dislikes that) but Jaskier came storming through his door anyway, ranting away like no tomorrow.

“You think it’s funny?! Geralt, this is serious!”

It is not. It’s just Valdo Marx again, managing to start a show before Jaskier had the chance himself, and thus stealing the show for tonight.

But Jaskier of course takes it as a personal insult, and with as much dignity as he could muster left to rant at Geralt instead.

Not that Geralt complains. He is glad that Jaskier is there, and to be honest he expected this.

He heard Valdos nasal voice taking tone downstairs and unlatched his door so that Jaskier could come in and (pout) vent.

It is probably a little weird, but it makes Geralt happy. A little warm feeling in his chest that Jaskier chose to come to him.

“No.” Geralt says, because that is the safest, but also the truth.

It’s not funny, but it’s very cute.

Jaskier sighs dramatically and sits down next to Geralt on the bed.

“I guess you will never understand the woes of an artist.” he sighs, and produces the most excellent pout Geralt has seen in weeks.

 He can’t stop staring. His eyes are fixed to Jaskiers mouth, that lower lip sticking out and giving his lips a perfectly kissable shape.

This is not good.

Geralt tenses, taking control over his hands before they can do something dumb.

 Like stroking that lip with his thumb. Pushing at it to make it open up, to give him a puff of warm breath. Like leaning in and capturing it with his teeth.

That would be very dumb.

He is so focused on not doing that, that he doesn’t pay attention to Jaskier turning towards him.

Those very kissable lips fully turned towards him, giving him a perfect view.

He stares for another second before he catches himself and looks up. Realizing Jaskier hasn't said anything for a while, which is a little odd.

“What?” Geralt asks, but more like croaks really. Embarrassing.

Jaskier looks at him curiously, tilting his head. Geralt's eyes betray him and shoot down to the bard's lips and back up again.

The pout and the little frown with it is gone, but damn it makes him weak.

Is he closer than before? It feels like Jaskier is closer. And when did it get warmer? It definitely feels like it’s warmer in here.

“What are you looking at?” Jaskier asks him, like he doesn’t know, the little shit. The corner of his mouth is curling upwards in a satisfied little smirk.

“Nothing.” Geralt says, staring at Jaskiers eyes to make himself not look at his lips.

It’s a little awkward but he is holding on for dear life here, be nice.

 Jaskier is not nice.

 Because he is leaning forward, head still tilted and lips parted, looking somewhere below Geralt's nose.

“You sure?” He asks, the absolute bastard. His lashes are long and dark, his hair is still sticking up in odd angles.

Geralt wants to kiss him so bad. His brain is not listening to what Jaskier just said, he is too focused on those lips so close to his.

 “What?” He breathes, and then he loses the fight.

 He leans forward and closes the distance. Capturing that lower lip between his, finally. Jaskiers arms immediately circle his neck, one hand clenching in his hair.

Geralt's hand wants to touch, wants to feel that lip, but his own mouth is in the way, so it settles on Jaskiers slightly stubbled cheek.

Jaskier obviously isn’t satisfied with the one kiss, so there are two, and then three. And then Jaskier is the one licking Geralt's lip and he short circuits, breaks in at least five tiny pieces, forgets how to breathe, and then he lets him in.

 When Jaskier finally pulls back he makes a face. Geralt's stomach plummets, but it’s alright.

“I can’t believe Valdo Marx got to sing to our first kiss.”

Geralt smiles and leans forward, stealing another one.

“And second.” He smirks at Jaskier, who pouts. Ah, two trolls in a skirt, that is adorable.

 He feels his face doing something, his eyebrows moving and his lips pulling into something sappy.

Jaskiers mouth opens and then closes, eyebrows shooting up.

 “That’s the expression you have been hiding from me?! How dare you!” Jaskier accuses, and then throws himself at Geralt again, who just chuckles.

 A high, nasally and slightly sour note from downstairs and Jaskier pulls back again.

“Ugh. No. I can’t. Marx totally kills the mood.” Jaskier says, draping himself over Geralt's lap.

“Want me to go down and steal his lute?” Jaskier smiles and kisses Geralt's nose.

“Sweet of you. But that would ruin all of my hard work and we can’t have that.”

 ~

 It is entirely possible that Jaskier now has found out about this secret little soft spot. It is entirely possible that Jaskier is abusing this power against his witcher.

And they both love it.

[megaeratheefury]

i’ve been seeing a lot of outraged (and at times exaggerated given the cyberbullying eric’s VA has received) critique about the stalker plot in boyfriend dungeon but absolutely NOTHING about how racist portrayals are INESCAPABLE in the character writing. it honestly ruins an otherwise fun roguelite game and the lack of care and consideration for the characters of color makes me wish kitfox didn’t bother writing them at all. 

spoilers under the cut. strap in for the mess y’all lmao

first you have isaac, the sole black love interest, whose whole route revolves around his emotionally absent father, vincent. vincent is an elitist with impossibly standards that isaac has been trying to meet all his life. eventually vincent buys isaac out from the firm that he has built all on his own and discredits him to the board so he’s ousted. isaac then disowns vincent as his father and what does vincent do in retaliation? ADOPTS ISAAC’S WHITE FEMALE ASSISTANT AS THE HEIR TO THEIR BLACK FAMILY LEGACY. way to discredit the potential of two black male characters in one go kitfox

then you have sunder, the only brown love interest, who is a Special Person of Color (vampire) + commitmentphobic Slut (derogatory) wrapped up in a shirtless mess. his overly forward introduction turned me all the way off and he’s pretty much just as persistent as your stalker even when you tell him you just want to be friends. he’s constantly flirting with you and then backtracking with “oh but you just want to be friends” and generally just being uncomfortable af. you’re given the option to kiss him/be sexual with him even when you’re not romancing him. it’s like the game can’t conceive that you WOULDN’T want to pursue sunder even though it does nothing to make him appealing besides keeping his titties out all game. the end of his route is also him saying that he can never be enough for you and “breaking up” with you (regardless of romance status). there is no happy ending with sunder even though he is still an available weapon when you go dungeon diving. okay 

the secondary villain is a japanese man/katana that’s illustrated to look animalistic and snakelike. his name is masamune, after the greatest japanese swordsmith. real creative there kitfox 🙄 towards the end of the game you discover that masamune was the white male incel’s creation (from pieces of weapons that eric DAMAGED AND STOLE from the other LIs???) and that he is essentially the ugly manifestation of all of eric’s self-hatred and resentment towards others for not being loved. i guess they took inspiration from nagini and jkr on that one 🤢

there’s jake, who is the white female LI’s ex, that also has stalker tendencies. he follows valeria after she breaks up with him and his sister (yes there is an offscreen incest-adjacent poly relationship in this game) and is your “rival” if you’re romancing val. he’s illustrated as dirty and grimy and portrayed as disrespectful of val wanting distance from her past life and relationships

the only woman of color and black woman with lines is a rabid k-pop stan with no concept of boundaries who often interrupts your dates with seven. she legit calls you a yoko ono if you encourage seven to strike out as a solo artist. 

seven himself is the only LI of color that isn’t completely shafted by the racist portrayals but he still catches a bit of it. it’s questionable that the korean LI is a k-pop star tbh and there’s a LOT of inconsiderate plot holes in his story that should’ve been caught in the edits (his agent can track if he gains two pounds via his phone but doesn’t realize he’s been in a fucking mall dungeon for TWO WEEKS??) that just adds to the feeling of the moc’s routes being carelessly handled

i was honestly really looking forward to this game bc the concept of LIs turning into weapons that you fight with was really refreshing and unique but it’s not a diversity win at all to have half your LIs be of color if they’re a) mishandled and b) all men

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter One

Life has been running a mile a minute and I feel like it’s been a century since I’ve contributed to ~Outlander fandom/fic discourse~. So! To get back into the swing of things, I’m going to re-post an old AU of mine: Our Story (shout out to @gotham-ruaidh​ for giving me the courage).

I’ve chosen this one because A) I’m proud of it; it’s the only multi-chapter fic I’ve ever finished, but also B) it’s basically a timeline of my first year in NYC, which will (maybe?) make for some interesting commentary. I’ll post a chapter every other day and include my self-indulgent author notes at the bottom (songs, anecdotes, whatever dumb shit I come up with).

Yes, you can read the entire fic on Ao3 . . . but what’s the fun in that? ;)

Chapter 1

[December 24th, 1989]

It is the beginning of their story, the first time Jamie sees her. The dividing line between 'what was' and 'what would be.' The setting is a Christmas party: an Edinburgh flat, roaring on the cusp of a new decade. Champagne bubbles float in flutes and greetings. 

The players are just two university students, dancing across a stage of shaggy green carpet. Garlands of tinsel trip their feet.

And the opening scene? Well. It goes something like this:

She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins. It is the hard-won earnings of an hour’s wade through mothballs, she says, of a knee-deep dive in a charity shop bargain bin. All of this she relays to Jamie with a smirk, a precocious, all-knowing smile that he will come to know so well.

The lights dim, and her eyes flicker. Lit coals in the flat’s half-dark. She smells of fresh rain, of flowers just beginning to open, and the scent forms a sweet, perceptible weight in the air. It settles on him, around him, when she leans forward, straining to hear his stuttered—

“Hello,” Jamie says, or tries to. He forgets his vowels and it comes as, “Hlllll?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

Claire starts when his hand takes hers, crunches it firmly inside his palm. For Claire, this moment will never lose its clarity, and in the years that follow she will argue that this is where their story begins: nestled in the slight curl of Jamie’s lips; his voice, as smooth as the whisky he offers to pour her; another ugly sweater, this one boasting a lager-stained Santa and a hem of unraveling wool. The red string hangs there for her to tug and close the gulf between them, and she does. Twenty one (him) and twenty two (her) years of strangerhood reduced to nothing—and then, so suddenly, transformed into knowing.

They make small talk in the corner, mentioning the weather (“seasonably cold”) and her biology exam (“after break”). Eventually Claire asks, “Do you know anyone here?”, and bracketed inside this question is her secret hope that he does not. She wants to believe that Jamie is on her side, that it is only the two of them (it has only ever been the two of them) against the world. She is so used to feeling alone in crowds—but here! Oh, but here in the rainbow glow of tree lights, she feels a part of Something. She holds onto it, wishing her hand was as big as his so that his curling lips and his whisky voice would never seep through her fingers.

“Dinna ken anyone,” Jamie confirms, “though I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

He inclines his head towards the mass of bodies, all gyrating in a singular, chaotic wave. Music plays in the background, oppressive and electronic, as a third year belts Bowie between tokes. Jamie lets it fade away, forgets it all—the noise, how to blink, how to breathe. Forgets everything except her.

Claire wrinkles her nose.

“The problem with these people is that they think they’re interesting.” She is yelling into his ear but even so, it seems strangely intimate. Every word exchanged is a secret between them, one they tuck inside their pockets, will place under their pillows when they lay their heads to sleep. “But they aren’t. Not even remotely!”

“Weel, fortunately you’ve met me now.”

“Mmm. But are you truly interesting or only remotely?”

“That’s for you to decide, lass. You being the expert on such things.”

Claire grins at the floor. “You haven’t even told me your name, y’know.”

“James Fraser,” he says, all too quickly, and he’s unreasonably embarrassed. James, he thinks. How many ‘James’ were in this very room, wearing equally hideous and soiled sweaters? How many ‘James’ had she met in Scotland? Would she even remember him, one of 337 (to be precise), after this night? (She would, of course. During her biology exam, she will think of James Fraser and leave fifteen questions blank. She will get a C—a grade as average as his name.)

“But you can call me Jamie,” he adds over the roar.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp!”

And Jamie laughs—a beautiful laugh, the best laugh, a laugh Claire will spend the rest of her life wanting to hear (she will have to work harder on certain days).

“If I call ye anything, it’ll be ‘Sassenach’. Whereabouts in England are ye from?”

And Claire smiles—a beautiful smile, the best smile, a smile Jamie will spend the rest of his life trying to earn (finding success and failure in turns).

“Oxford by birth,” Claire says. “But from nowhere, really.”

She pauses, hearing the third-year shout, “Bowie, man! Greatest artist of all time!” and swears the kid is wrong. It’s God who was the greatest artist, and this six-foot deity with his lager-stained knit was his chef d’ouevre.

“Do you want to make this night interesting, Jamie?”

“Remotely interesting?”

“More than remotely.”

“That depends. What d’ye have in mind?”

Claire reaches for his hand, and he gives it to her. Jamie squeezes; she squeezes back. She leads him through the throng. He follows, licking his lips and at her heels.

(Who knew it could ever be this easy? Falling in love.)

Note: I started this fic with a variation of the last line (“Who knew how easy it was to fall in love?”) and worked my way backwards. I only had a vague idea of what I wanted to write: a cross between Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies, David Nicholls’ One Day, and the movie Blue Jay. Ah, ambition! I ultimately veered away from the last one, but leaned very heavily on Fates and Furies (more on that later) and stuck to One Day’s idea of tracking a relationship over the course of multiple decades. I thought I could do this in a couple of chapters, but after I wrote this opener—in the middle of the night; anxious as fuck because I was a one week away from moving to New York (also more on that later)—I chucked my original five-chapter outline. Still had no idea where I was going with it though.

In retrospect, I like this chapter as a whole, although I realize Jamie/Claire sound like pretentious snobs (the result of my Fates and Furies obsession!) and wish I carried the red string image throughout the rest of the story.

[josiebelladonna]

Everyone is an artist

“Oh my god, you’re so talented! Your art is a godsend!”

This was a genuine comment I got on a piece of art once, back in 2014. I was flabbergasted by it. I didn’t know how to reply to it other than an awkward “…thank you?” that nearly warranted an “I guess” at the end. My face was warm. My palms were sweaty and my mouth was dry, reminiscent of the “cotton mouth” feeling just prior to speaking before a group of people.

Some time later, I asked people to stop calling me talented because it bothers me and doesn’t help me. This riled up some people who told me I should be grateful for this and I should be confident about it, too. This was then followed by a comment telling me that they wish they had the talent that I have, to the point I felt that cotton mouth sensation again. It baffled me seven years ago and it further baffles me with the onset of the pandemic and a new world whether anyone wants to admit it or not.

Seven years ago, this cycle started and it was only recently that I decided to write about the problems that artists face, and why anyone and everyone is an artist.

I feel genuine discomfort at the sight of someone claiming they can’t draw or they have no time to do it, the latter of which simply doesn’t fly anymore especially when all the time you have is now. Certainly, art is a commitment: 2021 marks my third year participating in the annual Inktober challenge, and I already feel the pressure of time lingering over me since I received the thirty-one prompts a week early in my email.

It has always baffled me as to why people do this, to bust out excuses as to why it’s not possible, because it’s the most human thing any human being can do. Creativity and artistic expression is ancestral, dating back millennia, and it’s not only exclusive to humans and primates, either: corvids and certain insects and arachnids have been shown to demonstrate it. If a crow can figure out how to break out of a cage a la MacGyver, or a spider can craft an elaborate, intricate web, then a regular person can pick up a pencil and doodle.

The assumptions about artists are beyond the point of parody, that we’re starving or pretentious, but my favorite has to be this assumption that artists are freaks, like we’re drug addicts or we believe in the craziest things. There is a little bit of truth to that, in how some of the absolute greatest artists were in fact tormented and had a problem with drinking or hard drugs, like Jackson Pollock comes to mind; or they are in fact nuts, like Stephen Carpenter of the Deftones. But much like anything that the public has a slight awareness of, it’s the exception, not the rule. PJ Harvey once said that it’s not necessary to have a hard life and be a tortured artist.

But because the public has a small sliver of awareness to work with, the assumption remains, and to the detriment of not only the artist, but the public itself.

Let me ask this: why are there so many streaming services, and moreover, why do some of them completely suck, like Hulu, and why are some absolutely excellent like Disney+ and Discovery+? You know those names, especially Disney. They cater to us, feed into our sense of nostalgia and the common collective theme of a time bygone. These shows that take place two decades before, or reboots of shows from twenty years ago, or reunions of bands from twenty years ago? All there to take advantage of you and your desire to go back and relive those days.

Corporations do not care about you—they don’t give two fucks about you. They are only there to steal your money and exploit your nostalgia. They see us all as easy targets to keep us all quiet and not ask for what really makes us feel good and feel seen, something unusual and more human, something I demand for on a regular basis from my media.

I can’t think of better examples of this exploitation than the movies Soul and Luca.

When I saw the trailer for Soul, and I saw the soundtrack was done by Jean Batiste and Trent Reznor, I was amazed. I thought it would be a beautiful, realistic rendition of the struggles of the artist, in the vein of one of my favorite movies, Ratatouille, but no, it was an Inside Out sort of thing and I found it hard to follow as a result, and I walked away from it halfway through wondering what on earth was the point.

I honestly don’t get the appeal of Luca. I watched the first ten minutes of it and I shut it off after that because it panders and I found the art style irritating and hard to look at, which leads me to my next point.

I’m sure everyone has seen the character style on Facebook and Google known as “alegria”, the oddly colored flat shaped overly friendly looking people that resemble to big noodles. When I first saw this style upon my breaking my social media silence in late 2018, it genuinely perturbed me.

There are a few offshoots to this art style, I have found: one is the Facebook avatar which I find far more unsettling—3D renderings of you? Makes me shudder. Another is a bit more underground (“a bit” being a stretch, because Luca used it, as did Raya and the Last Dragon) called the “CalArts style”, the smooth rounded simplistically colored humanoid style that looks like it’s trying too hard. 

The cartoon Steven Universe used it, as did Adventure Time, Regular Show, one of my favorite cartoons Over the Garden Wall, and Gravity Falls, all great cartoons. This style came into fruition in the early 1900s out of necessity, but returned in 2010 as a means of saving money in the era of the Great Recession, and became wildly popular among young artists, and by wildly popular, I mean it was copied to no end. Somewhere along the way, artists began adding a reddish hue to their characters’ noses and cheekbones out of a hope of extra cuteness but wound up making them look as though they had a head cold. Meanwhile, the animators at Disney and Pixar picked up on this trend as well as the current zeitgeist and crafted Luca, the movie everyone expected, got, and forgot once it had been released for a couple of weeks because it doesn’t challenge you.

On an artistic level, we live in an era of copying and taking safe routes, which nulls the point of artistry all together. Those with a unique style are either ignored completely, such as is the case with me as of late, or they are fawned over to nauseating extremes.

Another facet of this mindset that I don’t believe anyone who says these things understands is the isolation aspect. Putting us on a pedestal is not only dehumanizing but it puts us on the spot. When you throw in something such as a lack of anything to offer the world, you inadvertently put down yourself in the process.

Granted, I am absolutely no stranger to this sentiment: I often feel like I have nothing to offer and there is no better example of this than my own writing. My art is, for the most part and especially now, consumed, rather than fully embraced and revered in a way that feels genuine, that i can run off of. When I am told that I am talented and the person telling me this wishes they had talent, it not only upsets me but I have nothing to work with. This commentary paints me in a corner.

This commentary is also antifeminist, which I find interesting considering how everyone claims to be a feminist. But consider this: you put someone down, in this case yourself, and lift someone else up at the same time. This behavior drives feminists completely insane, so why should this be any different?

It isn’t genuine and it feels so synthetic, like I wonder if the person writing it is even a person at all. I wonder if they actually enjoy my work or if they’re only saying this simply to make me feel good about myself. I liken it to fast food, which tithes you over and silences your stomach for a time but therein lies very little nutritional value and you yearn for the comforts and softness of home. 

You need something real at some point, to remind you of your time here. To remind you that you are a person.

I feel a need to talk about this man because he not only deserves it but he is probably the best example I can think of with this point: Alex Skolnick of Testament.

If you don’t know who he is, he’s easily the best guitarist I’ve ever seen and at this point, he’s my favorite—if you never listened or heard of Testament, they’re in the same grouping as Metallica, Anthrax, and Slayer, but they’re more like classic heavy metal, though: I always thought of them as like Metallica’s honor student younger brothers. Alex has written some of the craziest, most batshit guitar solos I’ve ever heard, akin to that of Frank Zappa, and the man is tight, too, in the vein of Mike McCready and Kim Thayil. On the other hand, he’s also a jazz musician, with his own eponymous trio, which I love with a passion: I describe them as the musical equivalent of a warm, soft hug. And furthermore, he also had a big hand in Trans-Siberian Orchestra, which—the best way I can describe them is Yes and The Who doing Christmas music.

Of the crushes I’ve had over the years, not a single one of them hold a candle to this man. He probably means more to me than my longtime crushes on Billie Joe Armstrong and Keanu Reeves, or the one I have on Joey Belladonna—that almost got me in trouble; more on that later. I’m also not very open about my crush on him, either: I want to keep it to myself. I figured out that it has to do with two things.

First, his mind drew me in. My infamous crush on Ben Shepherd was infamous for a reason: I liked his hair at first and then his playing. It wasn’t a longtime crush either like with Chris Cornell or Lars Ulrich: it started in late 2012 when my depression came on and I needed something to latch onto, and then it admittedly fizzled out back in late 2015 because the guy wasn’t replying to my two letters to him—I don’t think they were intrusive at all, and when I shared them with someone I knew at the time, he gave me the green light. Chris had entered the picture at that point, anyway.

But Alex struck me as odd. I was drawn to him but not in a “ooh, he’s cute” kind of way because objectively he isn’t: tall, sinewy, with his full expressive face and that singular gray streak right over his brow—just that part of his head, too, the rest of his hair is solid black; he’s had it most of his life—and those prominent Slavic features, so it’s more like “he’s funny looking… but in a good way”. When he opened his mouth, I was floored by his intellect, his humility, and his dry wit. I always feel that if someone, regardless of gender, can be the hottest mother around but if they can’t string a coherent sentence together or even so much as be in the know about things, I can’t do it. I just don’t have the strength. 

But the first time I heard him talk—coincidentally the first time I saw his name, too, during the tribute to Jeff Hanneman after he passed, which I watched just two years ago, I thought, “this guy right there is a smart one. I’ll remember his name.” When I started paying more attention to him over this past year, I never realized just how much I value intelligence and find it so attractive, especially in a world where it feels as though the higher level of stupidity and cluelessness, the more revered you are. I want to preserve his mind and his delicate wisdom as both are precious.

The mind should come first, followed by the heart and then the body, because looks tend to fade with time, but even then, if Dorian Grey has taught me anything, it’s that true beauty is timeless and transcendental.

Second, Alex has woken me up to a few things, especially in finding my way away from the rock world and realizing just how toxic and backwards it really is when held next to the rest of the world at large—I often see him as a true explorer because of this. This man has opened a number of doors to worlds I didn’t even know existed before, as well as doors I sort of ignored over the years or saw them as “just there”, like jazz.

One other thing that he’s done for me is confirm the fact that artists are just… people. 

All the times I’ve watched him on his Instagram livestreams, he’s always tucked away in his tiny apartment in the heart of Brooklyn, dressed in jeans and a plain shirt (I think he wore sweatpants once) and surrounded by his guitars and this genuine warmth. He takes us on a ride through a smorgasbord of his influences and he introduces us to something that might be new or unusual to us, and ends it with a glass of wine and speaking to us for upwards of thirty minutes as if we’re guests at his place. Without Alex, I never would’ve known about early obscure blues, the New York jazz scene, or people like Chick Corea.

But at the end of the day, he’s just a guy. A middle aged bachelor in this tiny one bedroom apartment that’s crammed full of guitars (literally—when I first started watching him, he was on his couch and right behind him is this big rack that’s nothing but guitars and a bass; there’s another rack on the opposite corner that’s even bigger. I wanted to laugh the first time I saw it because it was almost comical), equipment for recording music and also his podcast, and on the other side of the room is a beat-up old baby piano and a television, with barely enough room for himself and his cat—who’s black and white, too. 

Total slob, too: I once caught him saying his Abbey Road shirt was at the bottom of a very chaotic closet, which was even funnier to me because the times I watched him perform with Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and during the Jeff Hanneman tribute, he was real put-together with velvet jackets and his hair brushed real nice; but his hair is usually disheveled, and the last few times I caught him on live, he’s often scruffy. Loves to eat and drink wine and coffee—I feel his struggle with loving to eat and coming to terms with how your body reacts to it.

Add to this, he’s a total sweetheart and a gentleman, like he owns up to his missteps and I’ve seen him really swear all of three times, even when he’s angry. In a way, he kind of reminds me of my grandpa: a complete gentleman but has the absolute driest sense of humor, though.

He actually told me he loves me once and whenever he sees my name on live, he gets this soft look on his face: I liken it to a dog when they see their owner. Those stern sharp eyebrows raise up and those deep-set serious eyes enlarge, and those lips turn up into a sensual, rather tender smile, as if he becomes a young boy again. You can just feel the warmth in his deep chest and the full softness in his little potbelly. 

The time he told me he loves me, he had this look on his face like “I wish I could touch you.” If you’re wondering what I said to him that invoked that, I told him he’s criminally underrated, and he said the one thing I will never forget: “I’d rather be underrated than overrated.”

I should also mention that during the insurrection, he was absolutely shattered, just a broken man. The next day he literally apologized on Instagram, and I told him not to do that because he did what he could and it was hard on all of us: I also added that if it was any comfort to him, I couldn’t hardly focus on anything else myself and it actually made me cry, and he acknowledged my feelings, a beautiful gesture that has become an all too rare instance.

I would later acknowledge his feelings in his worries about touring and feeling alone in a simple “is everything alright?” message to him—my belief that a simple “how are you” can show someone you love them enough to save them.

About a month ago, he called me a great artist, and I know it’s because it touches him in ways that music and Anthony Bourdain always have. He’s genuine in his sentiments.

I figured out the prime reason for this is he knows the struggle and the shaky ground surrounding being an artist. Alex knows how difficult it is to be an artist, to have to deal with ungrateful people and people who put you on a pedestal when there really is no reason to do so.

And on a side note, I think this is why he’s gotten rather warm with me, too, because comments like that and the way the common collective treats artists make the both of us uncomfortable. It should make everyone alive uncomfortable.

There’s this strange unspoken feeling that the common person must compare themselves to the artist and how they will never be like them. It feels redundant and obvious to say this because there will never be another Alex Skolnick, there will never be anyone like me or him, and I’ll never play guitar like him. No one can: only he can do it. 

And no one other than you can do what you do, whatever that may be.

It’s because of this it induces ego problems and stigmata against artists, why we’re often seen as aliens or why a genuine expression of love or humor is seen with a crossing of a line. 

Referring back to Joey Belladonna: my infamous Inktober 2019 drawings for when I was writing my sci-fi fanfic now it’s dark. I made those drawings as both a storytelling means and a venture into my first Inktober. After the disaster with Ben “I don’t even have a computer” Shepherd, I didn’t think Joey was all that close by and thus I let loose with it. Cue his appearance on the Jamey Jasta Show back around my 27th birthday with his wife Krista and the man literally talked about me and those drawings, and with a tone of love in his voice as if he was just so touched by it. I guess Krista was a little out of the loop, hence why I say it almost got me in trouble, and that came in the form of coming onto my Instagram and liking a bunch of my drawings!

But even if it did get me in trouble, this is art’s bread and butter. To express yourself. To share and spread your love, even if it you think it’s not good enough. Especially when you think it’s not good enough.

To be human.

To be an artist is to be human, and to be human is to be an artist, as we walk along this vast canvas of life upon the wall, painting as we go along.

Why anyone would make an excuse against all of that and put each other on a pedestal for it is beyond me.

[sinemoras09]

The train ride to Kyoto was a long one, but Kiyotsugu's brother didn't care about the commute. He rested his head against the window and watched as the rolling landscape streaked through the glass; green grass and a bright blue sky, a few errant farm animals peacefully grazing. The scenery was completely at odds with how he was feeling, and he turned his head, closing his eyes.

It was his sister who invited him after he called. "You sound like shit. What happened?"

"I dunno. I'm just feeling really depressed."

"You should come over," his sister said.

He took the train the next morning.

The clouds darkened. Kiyotsugu's brother glanced back outside, surprised at how quickly the blue sky was suddenly filled with storm clouds. A flash of lightning flickered in the distance, and after a few seconds, he could hear the sound of thunder mixing with the sudden rain.

A loud crash, and the train slammed on the brakes. He pitched forward in his seat, people's belongings tumbling from the overhead compartments. The thunder clapped louder and the passenger car violently rocked sideways, the passengers screaming. There was a squealing sound as the train skidded on the railway. They screamed again as something exploded through the roof like an arrow, lightning slamming into the cabin.

"Why have you not contacted me?" Kiyotsugu's brother whirled around while the voice boomed and echoed through the car. "Do you not realize you can come to my shrine and pray to me?"

"Do you hear that?!" he said to another passenger, but another spike of lightning flashed, splitting the ceiling further.

"HUMAN," the voice said, and he looked up and saw a flash of lightning shaped like a dragon.

"What the fuck?!" he said, and the lightning crackled. The dragon form involuted on itself, revealing the figure of a long-haired man.

"It seems I finally have your attention," the man said, and Kiyotsugu's brother jumped up, pointing at him.

"What the fuck-- what was that?! Are you a fucking lightning dragon?! You look like a fucking priest, what's up with the way you're dressed?! Are you in some kind of freaky cult or something?!"

"What you saw was my true form, which forces beyond my control sought to suppress." The man sniffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have been looking for you, human, as I have not yet granted you your wish."

"What wish?" he said. "Dude, I don't know who you are, or if you're some sort of freaky shinto priest or something, but I ain't joining any cults, okay, so you can just find another shmuck and fucking move along."

"Does the name Hirano Kiyotarou mean anything to you?" the man asked. He tucked his hands into his sleeves.

"The fuck is that?" Kiyotsugu's brother said. The man sighed and shook his head.

"So the cursed vessel cast another spell on you. It is as expected. Come here, human," the man said, and he motioned for him to follow him.

"Dude, this is fucked up, I'm not leaving here."

The man threw his hand out and blasted open the side of the car, the passengers shrieking and lightning bursting forward and creating a man-sized hole.

"There are many ways to grant a wish. I could just as easily solve your problem and force you to reincarnate by killing you."

"Oh, fuck," he said, and the man yanked him up by the collar.

*****

"I cannot reverse this spell. The best way would be to kill you and make you my shinki."

"WHAT?!" Kiyotsugu's brother said. The man held up his hand.

"It is as I've said," the man said, and lightning crackled at the tips of his fingers. "I shall give you a name and let loose your true name. You have already been touched by a God's Greatest Secret, so I suspect the name I give you will remain intact."

"What the fuck-- wait a minute, you're gonna kill me?! Don't do that!"

"Do not worry," the man said. "If this works, you may continue to live your human life as you see fit, as there are many spells that can alter your appearance. Besides," the man said, the lightning crackling down his arm.

"If unleashing a God's Greatest Secret breaks your name and turns you into a phantom, it is of no consequence to me, I shall simply smite you where you stand."

"Wait wait wait, what the f--"

Lightning. He was killed on the spot.

Takemikazuchi sighed, annoyed, and lifted his fingers into a halberd.

*****

"Dude, that was totally not cool!" Kiyotsugu's brother said. He rubbed the brand on his shoulder while Takemikazuchi snorted.

"I have just gifted you with eternal life," Takemikazuchi said. "At the very least you should be thankful."

"I'm supposed to visit my sister, you can't leave me like this!"

"Then go visit her," Takemikazuchi said. He gestured. "You have all your memories, you know your human names. But know this," Takemikazuchi said, and his eyes narrowed.

"If you let loose a God's Greatest Secret to the other shinki or speak about your death, I shall revoke your name and exorcise you as a corrupted spirit, where you will cease to exist and have no hope of reincarnation."

"What the fuck!" his brother wailed. Takemikazuchi frowned at him.

*****

"Hey, Little Brother, you little bitch! Way to erase my memories ya freakin' nerd!"

"Wha- Nii-san?" Kazuma started. "How did you get your memories back?"

"Uh, maybe it's just 'cuz I'm frickin' awesome," his brother said. "Hey hey hey, don't walk away! We all did some things we both regret--"

"How is what I did to you remotely anything like what you did?!"

"Look man, I didn't mean what I said about Father, okay. I just wanted to piss you off, you know, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It was messed up and I'm really sorry.

"Wait wait wait!" he said, as Kazuma started walking again. "Dude, can't we just talk about it?!"

"I don't have time for this," Kazuma turned. "Forget."

His brother snorted at him. Kazuma frowned.

"Forget. Forget! Nii-san! Forget!"

"Not gonna work," his brother said. He grinned. "That stupid thunder guy killed me and gave me another name."

"What?!"

"And guess what, you can't see it, ya know why?" and he threw out his arm and showed him an ugly tattoo of a purple phoenix. "I got a tattoo artist to freaking cover it! And this guy's good, okay, you can't use your stupid voodoo bullshit. I don't know why all you guys don't do this."

"Nii-san, Takemikazuchi-sama killed you?!"

"Yeah, that's what I was saying."

"And somehow you know a God's Greatest Secret?"

"Well your stupid magic had something to do with it, but yeah, he told me my real name," his brother said. "Look, we're both shinki now, we're both gonna run into each other, let's just bury the hatchet, okay? I'll even let you beat me up, okay, punch me in the face or something, let's do this!"

"Umbra," Kazuma said.

"Wait, are you serious?!" his brother said. "What the fuck..."

*****

This is what happened the next time his brother ran into Kazuma.

"Umbra," Kazuma said, but his brother threw a bucket of paint on him.

*****

They walked to the training fields just before dawn, the sky still dark and Kazuma quickly scanning the area to make sure they weren't being watched.

"Okay Nii-san. I'm going to show you one of the most basic skills a shinki can learn: a simple borderline," Kazuma said. He lifted his hands into a halberd.

"A LINE."

A quick swoop, snapping tightly as he threw it. The borderline shimmered in front of them.

"Whoa," his brother said. "And this is a shinki's only weapon?"

"Well that and casting spells, and I suppose whatever physical training you've had, much like when you were a human." Kazuma looked at his borderline, pleased with himself. "Okay, Nii-san. Just copy the movements I made: put your fingers in a halberd and make a sideways swiping motion. And don't get discouraged if you aren't able to do it at first, it took me years before I mastered it."

"Like this?" His brother held out his arm.

"A LINE!" he said, swiping fast and hard, and the light exploded, the line that he threw easily twice as high and twice as dense as Kazuma's.

Kazuma blinked. "Oh...wow."

"Yeah! That's what I thought, son!" His brother smacked him on the back, making Kazuma pitch forward a bit.

Kazuma pushed up his glasses. "Well that went surprisingly well. We'll do the next step in our lesson."

"Oh?"

"Throwing borderlines like projectile weapons." Kazuma lifted his hand again.

He threw his arm out, back and forth, in successive sweeps, his borderlines zipping out like shuriken. One sliced the top of the training post, the other sliced the top of a tree. The third one split into two and sliced through the both of them. "It's just precision and concentration," Kazuma said.

His brother nodded. "Oh yeah, it's like throwing knives, I totally get it." And he held his arm forward.

Swipe! Swipe! Swipe! Swipe! He threw compact blades of light toward the training post, slicing it in four successive pieces. "Little Brother, watch this!" he said, and he threw a vertical borderline, slicing through the four pieces vertically, cutting them in half. "Okay, cool! What else have you got to show me?"

"Uh." Kazuma blinked again. "That was basically it for a borderline."

"OOOH! Can you make them change shape?" and he threw one vertical and one horizontal borderline, which combined to make a spinning cross, slamming into the tree in front of them. "Oh! Cool! You totally could!"

Kazuma pushed his glasses up again. "I mean, that's flashy and all, but there are instances when you can't use a borderline, you'd have to use a spell."

"What? And memorize shit? Please. I used to guard the emperor, gimme a regular sword and I can totally defend my master."

"I guess it makes sense that you'd still remember your training as a human," Kazuma said. "By the way, Nii-san, what is your vessel form? I heard that you're a bladed weapon."

"Oh, dude, I'm more than that, okay, I'm a frickin' lightning sword! And I can shapeshift into different weapons!"

"Wha- really?" Kazuma said. "My Rekki form is a divine garment and lightning sword, and I can turn into a bow and arrow depending on how Yato holds the scabbard."

"Oh, cool! What other weapons can you turn into?"

"Uh, just the two."

"Seriously?" His brother made a face at him. "I can turn into any weapon Takemikazuchi wants me to. I can even arm his stupid dragon."

"Wait, you can arm Ouki? How?"

"I can turn into friggin' armor and wrap around him, so that people can't go injure him," his brother said. He thumped his chest. "Just the other day I augmented his weapons and made them more accurate! All his weapons were crackling with lightning and it was way easier for him to kill phantoms!"

"You draw borderlines for the other shinki?" Kazuma stared at him. "Nii-san, you didn't even know what borderlines were until this morning, how were you able to do that?"

"I dunno." His brother shrugged. "Instinct, I guess. I mean, let's face it, Little Brother, of the two of us I've always been more physically talented."

Kazuma rubbed his head. "I couldn't even coordinate Veena's shinki until I became an earring," Kazuma said. He rubbed his head again, then looked up at his brother. "Do you think I can watch you in action, when you're patrolling with him?"

"Yeah, sure! I'll tell my master you wanna watch and learn!"

*****

She was sitting at her desk when Kazuma opened the door and flung himself into the chair next to her.

"Veena." He banged his head on the desk. "You should release me."

"What? Why?" Bishamon said. He banged his head on the desk again and covered his head with his hands.

"Because my stupid brother is a stronger weapon than I'll ever be, and I'm already a hafuri."

Bishamon frowned at him. "Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic?" she said.

His voice was muffled against the desk. "....No." Bishamon stifled a laugh.

"Alright." Bishamon patted him on the head. "You're just a bit rattled. You're still strong, I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"A shinki is only as strong as his confidence, and my brother has always been stronger than me. I can't convince myself otherwise - he was controlling Takemikazuchi's shinki and he's not even a hafuri."

Bishamon patted him on the head again.

****

"Nii-san," Kazuma said. His brother looked up. "Bind."

A flash. His brother froze in place, horror in his eyes.

Kazuma smirked. "It seems I figured out your name, Nii-san."

Another flash and his brother stumbled forward.

"Dammit, Little Brother! How did you know?!"

"Those feathers that make up that phoenix's wings, while well-hidden, all have an outline similar to the character 'Shio,' or 'En', as well as our obvious connection to salt mining and your unfortunate pen name. So your name is Shio, your vessel is Enki, and your human name is Shioun based on the family name used by Takemikazuchi. "

"Fuck!" his brother said. Kazuma sparkled.

("Why didn't he just ask Kiun?" Yukine said. Yato shrugged.

"'Cuz it's Kazuma, I dunno.")

Excerpt from the fic, Layers, where Kazuma runs into the reincarnation of his brother. AU. kazubisha.

[gothgovernment]

In Bed With Geo (Louis Tomlinson One Shot)

December 2015

"Hi friends and welcome back to in bed with Geo. As you can see, today I'm in bed by myself. This video has been a long time coming, which makes filming it right now absolutely terrifying..." I trail off with a nervous laugh. "Because I was so nervous, I spent three hours getting ready just to avoid this for as long as possible." I smile into the camera before taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

"As I'm sure you've all heard, One Direction announced their hiatus today. I've known this was coming for a few weeks now and it breaks my heart to see this all come to an end. These guys are the reason I have a career. These guys are some of my best friends. These guys are the reason I'm still here. And I am so proud of them for doing what's right and taking a break now before they all burn out..." I start to tear up. Fuck this video is going to be a rough one to edit.

"So, this is my story of how One Direction, and one member in particular, impacted my life in the best way possible."

September 2011

"Welcome Mr Tanaka," the petite lady at the door said as she let my father and I into the party. It was packed with important looking people wearing their nicest suits and dresses. One Direction signs littered the walls as everyone celebrated the release of the boy bands first single 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad is a musician with Syco. He helped write and record the guitar for One Directions upcoming debut album. I've always admired his work and I am so proud of him for helping aspiring musicians to realize their dreams.

Dad turned to me and smiled while throwing his tattooed arm around me, "you look so beautiful tonight, honey." He always knew how to ease my nerves. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I responded with a soft thanks. "I've got to go congratulate the boys, want to come meet them?"

"Of course! I've only been asking you to introduce me since your first session with them," I giggled as Dad stuck his tongue out at me. I quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray a waitress was carrying before following dad in the direction of 5 young lads. As we approached them, beautiful blue eyes locked with mine. I smiled politely at the handsome boy as Dad and I came to a stop in front of the group. He returned the smile and stuck his hand out for me to shake.

"Ahh so you're Geo. Izuki here has not shut up about you! I'm Louis," he said cheekily, giving my dad a playful nudge on the shoulder after our hands parted.

"Oh really? What has he said about me? All good things I assume," I bite back a smile as I see Dad rolling his eyes at us. Dad has told me a lot about the boys, but especially Louis. He seems to think we are destined to be friends.

"Alright, give it a rest," my Dad huffed with a smirk, "Boys!" My dad called to grab the attention of the remaining four band members. "This is my daughter Geo. Geo, this is Zayn, Harry, Liam and Niall." They all took turns shaking my hand with Harry even giving me a hug. "Right well, I'm leaving Geo with you while I go and talk business." Dad quickly turned and walked away, leaving me with these strangers. I watched Dad walk away before slowly turning back to the boys, immediately locking eyes with Louis again.

I spent the next 3 hours being dragged around the party by Louis, being introduced to countless important people. Something about this boys carefree and almost childish nature made me feel instantly attached to him. He is just so unapologetically himself all the time, it's almost contagious.

We had just finished raiding the food table when Louis asked me, "so, Geo... what are your plans for the future? Izuki has mentioned you're an incredible drummer." I should have known my Dad would talk about my drumming. It is, after all, his greatest achievement in me. Instilling me with a passion for music is the reason we are so close to each other. After my mother suddenly passed away, connecting through music has gotten us through our grief.

"Well right now my dream is to work as a drum tech but I also have an idea for a YouTube channel where I interview musicians, in my bed, pyjamas on, and ask them real questions. I want to talk to people about how their lives have influenced their music. How being in the industry impacts them. I want to know about their families, their hopes and dreams. I want to talk to artists like real people. Get to know why they are in this industry and if it's worth it. If the pros outweigh the cons... But that's just a fantasy. I would have no idea where to even start. I mean, the only musicians I really know are my dad and now you." I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger, realizing I just gave a much longer than necessary answer. Louis' silence causes me to look away from my ring and toward him. He is looking at me, mouth agape. His face suddenly splits into a smile which instantly helps to ease my slowly growing anxiety.

"You're a very interesting girl, Geo. Very interesting indeed..." He trails off as he quickly pulls out his phone, texting someone rapidly.

~

It's now close to midnight and Dad has decided to call it a night. As I bid farewell to the boys in the form of hugs, I reach Louis last.

"So..." I made eye contact with the Doncaster boy. "is there any chance I could grab your number? Ya know, in case you ever feel like making that dream a reality?" The cheeky glint in his eye makes me nervous.

"What? You want to come on my imaginary show?" Surely he was just being polite. No way would he actually want to waste his time on an interview that would maybe get 6 views.

"I text the lads about it earlier and we're all on board. It sounds like a brilliant idea. I fully believe in you, love." Okay wow, this feels like a dream. THE X Factor boy band One Direction want to be interviewed by me?

"If you're trying to make me swoon, you've achieved your goal," I giggle, pulling my phone out of my purse and handing it to him. When he returns my phone I see that he had text himself 'sup u sexy fuck'. I burst out laughing before giving him a long hug, whispering a goodbye in his ear.

December 2015

"I met One Direction in 2011 at the single launch for 'What Makes You Beautiful'. My dad was the guitarist for all of the recording and writing of Up All Night. All the boys instantly accepted me into their lives. Especially my now best friend Louis Tomlinson. After talking to Lou about wanting to start this channel, he immediately encouraged me and we set up the first ever 'In Bed With... One Direction'. That video gained 400,000 views within six months and affectively created my career. My whole life as I know it is owed to Lou. If it wasn't for his complete and utter faith in me, I don't think I would be here today." I start to cry, reminiscing on beautiful memories. I take a sip of my tea and think for a moment. I really wish L was here right now, but I know we would both be blubbering messes. I need to do this alone. For once, I need to do something without relying on him.

"Since my first interview with One Direction my channel has blown up. It has afforded me this house, my friends, the opportunity to meet some of my biggest idols and most importantly it has moulded me into the strong and powerful woman I am today. So I want to take this opportunity to thank you boys. Louis, Harry, Zayn, Niall and Liam. I love each of you more than I can put into words."

My phone buzzes beside me and I pick it up. 'Big Louser' sent me a text.

baby g, you okay? youve

not text me in a week :(

I sighed as I put the phone back down. I should have known he'd pick up on me semi-ghosting him. I have been so nervous around him ever since he and Eleanor split up about 9 months ago. It's like, I finally have my chance to tell him how I feel but I am so scared of losing the best part of my life. That's why, when he called me about a month ago to say the band had finally come to the conclusion of going on an extended break, I knew I had to make this video. So that the world can know and remember how important Louis and the rest of the lads are. And so that Lou can finally know how I feel. I pick my phone back up, knowing I should reply.

I'm sorry L. I promise

I'll make it up to you.

I'm filming a new video

right now that will be up

later tonight. I'll send

you the link when it's up!

Love you x

I turn my phone onto do not disturb and return my focus to the camera. "I want to talk a little bit about each of the boys from a friends perspective. Firstly, I would like to talk about Zayn. Z, you are one of the gentlest, kindest people I have ever met. You have dealt with so much during and after your time with the band. The constant racist and Islamophobic tweets and comments really wore you down a lot more than you'd let on. But Z, you would always rise above them, knowing that your culture made you into the incredible person you are today." I pause, hesitant about what I am going to say next. I would hate to overstep any boundaries here.

Choosing my words carefully, I continue. "Leaving the band must have been the toughest decision anyone could make. I remember you texting me about two months after you left to ask if I thought you'd made the right choice leaving behind your friends, your brothers. Your concern wasn't about if this would affect your future career, it was if it affected your friends. That's the epitome of the Zayn I love." I knew I would edit in a few videos I have of Z and I over the years throughout this mini speech.

I have a video of Zayn and I napping together on the couch in the green room before their show in Sydney in February of this year. He'd been really anxious about the first show of the tour and the nerves wore him out. We were originally sat together, talking about how huge this tour was going to be when he drifted off to sleep with me in his arms. I soon followed after and we napped for two hours before he was woken up to get his hair done. Who would have known that just a few weeks later he would crumble under the pressure and quit. I wish I noticed the warning signs.

"Liam 'good game' Payne, where do I begin? You are my brother, my teammate, my friend. You have always been my favourite person to play Fifa with. I remember a week after my Dad died, I heard the doorbell ring and when I opened it, you were standing there with a dozen of my favourite red velvet cupcakes and your PS4 controller. We played together in silence for hours. Once I was finally ready to talk, you stayed awake with me until 6am, sharing stories about my Dad, our lives and talking about our futures. I will always cherish you, no matter how frustrating you can be." Again, I know exactly what videos to edit in of Liam and I. One of them is him, wearing a crop top and skirt voguing after I did a full glam makeup look on him. He's going to hate me for posting it.

"Haz. My love. My guiding star. I would be a complete disaster without you. Although you are the worlds worst replier and you never answer when I call, you always seem to text me or show up at my house right when I feel like I'm falling apart. It's like the universe has linked you to me. You're my crisis line, and I am yours. I cannot even begin to count all the nights we have lied on the couch together just crying. Happy crying, sad crying, angry crying... It would almost have to be as many nights that we have spent laughing together. H, you were destined to be a rockstar. I can't think of any other job you could be more suited to. I know this is just the beginning for you, and I honestly can't wait to see you grow." I still cannot believe that my baby H is only 21 yet has achieved more than most people do in their entire lifetime. "I love you almost as much as I love apple pie." I am full on crying now. That last sentence really broke me. He and I have an inside joke that nothing in this world is better than a homemade apple pie. We would often text each other about incredible/rare/unique moments and rate them on an apple pie scale.

"Horan. I don't really have much I can say here because 90% of our conversations are inside jokes but I will say this; you have changed my life in such a unique way. I know we've had our differences, but I wouldn't change any of it. You're the one person who can make me laugh no matter what mood I'm in. You are such a light to this world. Without you in this band, I think the boys would've collapsed under the pressure a long time ago. Without you, this industry would've swallowed up every bit of joy they have. You have kept all of us sane with your stupid, loud laughter and irritatingly optimistic attitude. Please never, ever change for anyone you precious wanker." I know that I might seem a bit harsh towards Niall, but this is how we speak to each other. We've always been way too honest and, at times, cynical with only each other. He truly is one of a kind. Niall and I haven't shared as many moments together as I have with the other boys, but the moments we've had are definitely special.

"And last but certainly not least, Louis 'dumb fuck' Tomlinson. I don't even know if I can put into words how you have changed my life. You are my favourite person in this entire universe. Without you, there's a good chance I wouldn't be alive today. You are the reason I have so much self-worth, confidence and happiness within myself. You have single-handedly gotten me through some of my deepest depressions. I can't imagine my life without you. I've been trying to think about what story best represents how you're truly an incredible friend. I decided that although everything you do is a testament to how amazing you are, I would tell the one that made me cry the most.

"The year was 2013, I was 20 years old and I experienced my first heartbreak. My girlfriend of 2 years cheated on me with multiple people. I called you up, crying so hard I couldn't form a sentence. You sat patiently on the phone with me for an hour, never knowing what was wrong, just waiting for me to calm down. When I finally just hung up because I couldn't string two words together you text me that you love me. Six hours later and you walked into my bedroom, pulled me into your arms and laid with me for two days. You flew home early from your press tour without any idea of what was wrong with me. You just knew I was upset and you pushed everything aside to be there for me. When I finally told you what had happened, you hugged me tighter, looked me in the eyes and said, "you are the most perfect person in the world and you deserve to be with someone who recognises that." I think it was then that I realised that I'm completely and utterly in love with you. But you were with Eleanor, whom I adore still to this day. I would never have wanted to ruin what you two had. Because all I've ever wanted since I met you is for you to be happy. And El always made you happy." A sob escapes my mouth as I think of how broken hearted I have felt over the last few years, knowing that my true love would never be mine.

I decide to talk some time to cool down, so I walk to my kitchen to make another cup of tea. While I wait for the jug to boil, I rub my finger over my tiny teacup tattoo. Lou and I got matching tattoos not long after the boys finished recording 'Little Things'. He showed me the song and I fell in love with his verse, so we went out that afternoon and got our tattoos together, his shout. I walk back into the bedroom, press record on the camera again and get comfortable.

"When you called me up crying because you and Eleanor split up, I came straight over and returned the favour. I lived at your house for a week, doing anything I could to make you happy again. And then you went back on tour, and I returned home, and I've never felt so alone. After that week of us spending every second of every day together I realised that you're my soulmate. There's no one I want to be around more than you. And I know you're going to be so mad that I'm posting this video instead of texting you back but I want the whole world to know that you are perfect."

I finished the video with a few happier stories about my time with the boys, then wrapped it up. This was going to be an emotional afternoon.

~

Pressing public on that video was strange. I almost felt numb after all the emotions I had poured out while filming and editing it. I immediately text the link to all 5 boys and went to have a shower. The video was about 20 minutes long so I expected their responses would be a little while away. What I didn't expect was to walk out of the shower and into my bedroom to see Louis sitting on the end of my bed, tears streaming down his face.

We made eye contact once he realized I had entered the room. Frozen in my spot, Louis took the initiative of standing up and walking towards me. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice broke as he spoke, tears threatening to spill. I tried to form words but I was too scared of the impending rejection. "Geo. We're best friends. Why didn't you talk to me? I thought that... I..." His words trailed off as the tears streamed down his face. He looked down at his feet, he always gets embarrassed when he cries. I gently grab his right hand, causing him to make eye contact again.

"I am so, so, so sorry Lou. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I guess I thought saying it indirectly would make this easier but it's so much harder than I ever could have imagined." I look away from his bloodshot, blue eyes and focus on my hand in his. "I'm in love with you. I think I always have been... And I'm sorry that this will make our friendship weird now. I don't expect you to ever want to talk to me again to be honest."

"How fucking dare you think that. If you think I could live without you, you're insane." Louis swiftly pulled me towards him with his free hand, kissing me with all the love he could possibly give.

[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

🤔

Hey guys, F/Faby (@fa-by) here. I’ve been thinking about this whole mess and what’s most likely gonna happen, and I have a theory. I also guess that many of you have already thought of this.

What if they use the Shellfish and Burger’s song as an excuse for Shadowgraph and our Mila to break up? I doubt it, though, just hear me out and let me vent for a second. In the industry, it’s well known that scandals and scoops are the basis of entertainment. The more they are, the more people talk about their clients, the happier the sharks are. Publicity. That’s the greatest interest.

Take precisely Shitted and Biennial as an example. For years they’ve made them ‘enemy’, and now? Now they’re besties. And why? Clicks, clicks, clicks, clicks, clicks.

We know there’s been a division for months. Who, like his clients (also because they’re forced to do so), sided with Tricycle and who instead with Taylor. With this song (with a very appropriate title for the occasion) Sheepish has automatically chosen his side, although it’s also thanks to Taylor and her 1989 World Tour if people know who he is and give a shit about him today. What a nice friend, huh? He’s such a good guy, isn’t he? Anyway…

Camila’s gonna get dragged into this. Whether she wants it or not, or whether we want it or not, it’s gonna be automatic. There’s no point in deluding ourselves and hoping otherwise. The point is, what her team’s gonna choose to do. Will they make her continue with the farce of the fake cheerleader girlfriend who has decided to stick with her boyfriend 🤮 and support him, OR, will they use this excuse as an opportunity to break them up?

We all know what would happen if they chose to have her side with Shovel and consequently Scooby Doo. She’d be criticized, and this time ‘rightly so’ because she’s always idolized Tay. She’d be a hypocrite and would have not only the usual haters but also an infinity of Swifties against. And we know they’re really A LOT. BUT, they could make her side with Tay as it should be and as we actually know she would do since she defended her when the scandal broke out before the 2019 American Music Awards.

They could use these sides as an opportunity. Not only would they have the scandal of the divided sides of the ‘perfect couple’, but they would have the scandal of their break-up DUE to the sides! A lot of other artists who have taken sides would also be involved and this would lead to many more clicks. People would talk about it for months, and isn’t that what matters most to them? After all, bad publicity is still publicity, remember?

Anyway. I doubt this will happen, but thank you for spending minutes of your time to ‘listen’ to me. I love you, guys. Take care of yourselves and mentally prepare yourselves for what’s to come. With love, F ❤️

___

This disaster has my head spinning crazy and I no longer know what to think, but this twist that Faby has done is incredible and absolutely logical although of course, unlikely. They have been selling the perfect fairy tale with Showmila for too long for this to be the cause of a breakup. It's a great idea, but still improbably because it would derail all the years of strategy that have been mounted with this nefarious circus. A part of me, the most delusional wants to believe in the possibilities, but my other part, more practical and rational, knows that the more one is excited about the positive part, they give the bad surprise knowing that you expect something good and I will not fall into that fucking trap. Expecting the worst wishing the best. I will keep my reservations in this case. Thanks for the advice to be ready for the disaster. Paruparo, be strong darling. You are not alone.

[blouisparadise]

Another incredible year of fics is complete!

This list is always nearly impossible to make, so keep in mind that this is just a small selection out of hundreds of incredible bottom Louis fics that were posted this year. We hope every fic writer feels appreciated because your works mean so much to this fandom. And we hope there will be even more amazing BL fics coming out in 2020!

The fics are listed by length and we included AO3 usernames and links to the writers’ Tumblr accounts if we could find them - so please go give these people love! And give love to every other writer who wrote a bottom Louis fic that you read and enjoyed this year.

All Bottom Louis Fic Fest fics - click this link to the December BLFF masterpost!

This list would be twice as long if we included all the fics for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest, so we’ve decided to instead simply link to the December masterpost of BLFF fics. These fics are ALL favorites of ours this year, so check them all out and give them love!

That Summer Feeling by laurelhips / @laurelhips | Explicit | 2093 words

"It was still a lazy summer evening, the sun was still floating in the sky and the balcony window was letting in a warm breeze. Harry thumbed at Louis’ hipbone, easing his lips off Louis’ skin just to mumble “Turn over, darling.” Louis cracked a small smile, turning over slowly and revealing the back half of his naked body. Harry’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. He swallowed as he took in the sight. He’d never get tired of this."

How Easy You Are To Need by sweetums / @darlou | Explicit | 2356 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

A day in the life type of drabble where Harry returns home after a business trip to his boy and a surprise visit from his niece.

Fine Line by Speechless | Explicit | 3281 words

This is just a tiny fanfiction that in my head was really just a Survival Instinct spin off, but then became a thing of its own.

No One But You Got Me Feeling This Way by runaway_train / @runaway-train-works | Explicit | 3787 words

Harry is well aware he should be studying or watching T.V or cleaning the kitchen or doing literally anything from a list as long as his arm instead of this, but he is. The list of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this is probably at least double that, but here he most definitely is. He’s sitting on his bed, legs straight out in front of him, back propped up against the headboard and some fluffed-up pillows and his MacBook is resting on his thighs. His jittery fingers drum lightly on the edge of the keyboard as he stares at the tiny digital clock in the top right hand corner of the screen, willing the seconds to tick by faster. He wants to get into this and get it over with in equal measures.

Like Sangria by Harryskiwiposes / @hadtobelou | Explicit | 4152 words

As he looked up to the ceiling he imagined what it would feel like to have this man all to himself, all night long. He wanted the man in his bed, spread out underneath him, his skin begging to be kissed by a little more than just the sun.

Harry let out a small chuckle at the thought because he hadn’t even wanted to come on this beach vacation in the first place - he had wanted to go sightseeing in New York City. However, Niall and Liam had outnumbered him and so two days ago they had all boarded a plane to Jamaica for a lads holiday celebrating Liam’s thirtieth birthday.

Digging his fingers into the man’s hips, Harry sent a silent prayer up to the heavens that he was currently not sightseeing in New York and was instead on his way to hooking up with the sexiest man he had ever encountered.

Bad Idea! by rina_a / @lougendarey | Explicit | 4247 words

“I’m gonna ruin you.” And words had never felt so real in his life. Harry was going to ruin him in every way and Louis knew it. He had memories scattered all throughout his brain of the pain and pleasure of being destroyed by Harry. The feeling of ecstasy he was currently experiencing outweighed how much it was going to hurt in the next morning when Harry vanished. He was melting under Harry’s touch and that was the only thing that mattered. He could feel Harry’s smooth and strong biceps under his hands as he arched his back against the car door, unsure if he was leaning into Harry’s lips or moving away from them.

Can You Feel The Fever by delsicle / @emperorstyles | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

Gotta Catch 'Em All by larryent / @larryent | Explicit | 5186 words

Louis loves Pokémon GO, he gets a little crazy and ends up ramming into a guy. Harry gets mad, calls him a brat and treats him like one. Oh, and they're in central park.

I'm Slipping Under by purpledandelion / @purpledandelion | Explicit | 5351 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

What better way would there actually exist than starting it filthily with Louis falling apart on his tongue? Nothing else could have surpassed that.

Nothing.

That's what Harry had thought at first, at least.

Just Fuck by rbbsbb / @rbbsbb | Explicit | 5565 words

Louis’ so drunk off Harry, though—even more than all of the drinks that he’s had—that he doesn’t even want to look anywhere else. He’s dying for it, for Harry to hold him down and fill him up, mark him inside.

Burnt & Tied Up by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies | Explicit | 6327 words

Come to the show tonight, Harry told him. Begged him. Pleaded with him.

Louis isn’t doing this for him.

Act Out | by feermartsant / @boldbabe | Explicit | 6721 words

Harry leans forward so he's closer to Louis's ear, and murmurs, "If I was your husband, I'd never let you out of my sight."

It’s ridiculous. He is his husband. There’s hundreds of photos, and official papers, and rings, and two babies with the last name Tomlinson Styles that prove it. But it’s also possessive, and hot and Louis doesn’t know what he was expecting when Harry told him he wanted to try roleplaying a little, but so far he’s not complaining.

Kisses and Coffee Breaks by youreyesonlarry / @youreyesonlarry | Explicit | 9350 words

Midterm season was finally here and all Harry wanted to do was study, however his boyfriend, Louis, seems to have a better idea.

Tattooed Heart by KrisStylinson / @zourry-a | Explicit | 10035 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Is that fucking real?”

Harry grins. “Feel for yourself.”

A curious hand comes to trace over Harry’s chest, sighing in awe. “Harry.”

He watches him as he does it and wishes he had a camera on him, because the sight of Louis’ dainty hand caressing the beautiful L written in intricate cursive right over Harry’s heart has to be the single greatest thing he’s ever seen.

“Like it?” he asks.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, suddenly digging his thumb into the skin as if it was going to disappear at any second—it wasn’t, something Harry’s tattoo artist made sure of. “That’s—that’s permanent.”

“You’re permanent,” Harry replies, simple as can be.

Little White Lies by wickedarcher_08 / @wicked-archer | Explicit | 10450 words

Louis makes an off hand comment in an interview then comes home to find Harry has laid his old braces out on their bed.

All The Strings Attached by floweredhalo / @floweredhalo | Not Rated | 10517 words

“He wasn’t good enough for you anyway, H,” Louis says and continues eating. Harry’s still reeling from the fact that Louis is jealous. Part of him wants to prove that Louis has nothing to be jealous about, that Harry is fully Louis’ and no one else’s. The other part wants to punish Louis for acting spoiled. But Harry can’t act on either urge, he tightens his hand into a fist in his lap instead.

“No, he wasn’t. He didn’t quite fit the job.”

“Harry, it wouldn’t be a job to date you. It would be lovely,” Louis says, almost in a whisper. They’re sitting closer, Harry just now notices. Louis’ body is completely angled towards Harry and Harry’s body is not far behind.

Your Sins, My Vices by Jennifer_Kaid | Explicit | 12582 words

Louis hates soulmates. Harry has waited his whole life for one.

This Glorious Mess by theweightofmywords / @sunflowerrlouis | Mature | 14260 words

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

Pleasure Over Matter by summerwine / @smrwine | Explicit | 15204 words

Harry is a bit out of his element, and an unsuspecting stranger provides him temporary relief.

Everywhere And Nowhere by 2tiedships2 / @2tiedships2 | Mature | 16547 words

Niall took a seat and said, “Apparently Louis’ downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food.”

“What has he given you?” Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. “There was a rabbit’s foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can’t prove it’s from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though.”

“Wow,” Liam said, looking deep in thought. “That’s old school.”

“What’s old school?” Niall asked. “Giving creepy gifts?”

“I’ve never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he’s courting you.”

Louis couldn’t contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. “He’s courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they’d do in the 1800s or something?”

Tonight's Not Over (Come Over And Stay) by louistomlinsons / @microlouis | Explicit | 16690 words

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?” Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password. “No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?” “Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. “Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?”

I Been Feeling High When I Touch Your Body by notasawrap / @notasawrap | Not Rated | 16946 words

Harry is a boxer, Louis is an architect and Liam is the worst cupid that could ever exist.

The Post-War BP by jaerie / @jaerie | Explicit | 17732 words

The eight year war has left the country’s birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha’s child in exchange for benefits. Louis’ family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn’t recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it’s Harry that has to lie in it.

Be Mine, Dear by louisgrindsonharry | Not Rated | 20104 words

It really wasn’t fair. He was the oldest of all of them. He’s the one who dreamed about being bonded his whole life, while Liam laughed at the idea, until he met Sophia. Niall had always been indifferent, but when he met Heather six months ago, everything changed for him. He quickly went from being the only omega around two alpha’s, to the odd omega out. And it really wasn’t fair, because Liam and Niall both still protected him just as much as the did before, just as much they do their new mates now, but he was still bitter about it, so he’d pity himself as much as he wanted.

Deflower Me by thelesserneptune / @quelquesetoiles | Explicit | 20154 words

Everyone is 19 and horny, and Louis just really wants to get fucked by Harry.

Going My Way by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom | Explicit | 20261 words

"Hey Harry. Really sorry to do this to you but an emergency has come up with Vera’s mum and we’ve had to jump a flight home. My mate Louis is going to take over my LYFT clients while I’m away. He’s got my car and my phone and everything else. Hope that’s okay. He’s a good guy and I think you two are going to get along brilliantly. Catch you soon, Benny."

Drunk in Love (Last Thing I Remember) by MrsStylinson / @lovehoperomance | Mature | 22102 words

The one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger’s bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it’s foul play. Maybe it’s just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics.

Etched in Salt (Is a Cathedral of the World) by HelloAmHere / @helloamhere | Explicit | 24416 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH. This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he’s stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

Welcome Back From The Friend Zone by 2tiedships2 / @2tiedships2 | Mature | 32354 words

The one where an idea to create a fake wedding with the sole intent to receive gifts from billionaires took a turn no one, but also everyone, saw coming.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl / @angelichl | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat by angelichl / @angelichl | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

If I Stay by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings | Mature | 37226 words

Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

The Only North Star by Skyebyrd / @skyebyrd | Explicit | 39299 words

A story told in two parts.

Part one: Harry meets Louis at NYU and falls immediately and deeply in love, despite Louis’ overbearing boyfriend. Harry interns at the local Daily Bugle as part of the Superhero/Crime Liaison Unit and learns how to study and track superheroes and villains and the damage they inflict on the citizens of NYC. Harry does what he believes to be the right thing. Come the end of the school year, he uncovers more than what he cares to know.

Part two: Louis gets bitten, gets sick, and gets strange powers (which come with…strange responsibilities). He has to learn to control them while also helping NYC’s most famous superheroes to fight off NYC’s newest, baddest supervillain. He also has to figure out his slowly detangling relationship with Harry. He only has the summer to save the city, and Harry.

Latibule by thelesserneptune / @quelquesetoiles | Mature | 49946 words

A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

Dog Got Your Tongue? by seducedbycurls / @seduced-by-curls | Not Rated | 50914 words

Louis is a dog walker.

Waiting for the Tides to Meet by nauticalleeds / @nauticalleeds | Explicit | 59637 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate’s. It’s only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he’ll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis’ workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis’ heart.

I Just Wanna Get Back to Us by louiesunshine / @louiesunshine | Mature | 62131 words

Where Harry and Louis are divorced soulmates who are seeing each other for the first time in two years.

Swallow The Knife by whoknows / @crazyupsetter | Explicit | 76168 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

Consequences by allwaswell16 / @allwaswell16 | Explicit | 78566 words

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia AU.

Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by MCSSymon / @mcssymon | Mature | 119264 words

Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by Toomanytears / @toomanydreamers | Mature | 126057 words

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Inevitable by Etoilenoire | Mature | 185917 words

AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[cerastes]

SO AMONG THE 72 Arts of the Shaolin Temple, there is one named Tie Shan, or Iron Shirt, which everyone here is familiar with. You know the typical body hardening techniques of hard Chinese martial arts you usually see in Wu Xia? Like when this small and thin dude gets smashed by a giant of a man wielding a tree or a steel pipe and, against all expectations, it doesn’t do jack shit against the dude and instead the log explodes into splinters or the pipe gets bent? That’s Iron Shirt.

The guiding principle of it is to use “qi” (efficient breathing techniques and thoroughly trained muscle tightening) to harden the shit out of your body, usually one body part where you focus the absolutely totality of your attention and kickasstitude. It’s like when the sci fi ship its getting its teeth kick right through its asshole and the captain says “REDIRECT ALL ENERGY INTO SHIELDS!”, it’s basically that, but you train to actually be able to do that in the one-person crew stellar spaceship that is your body, and instead of a proton beam, you are blocking the punch thrown by the blistering white supernova of ire that is the kid at GameStop after you buy the last copy of 50 Cent: Blood On The Sand.

BASICALLY, it’s not so much a whole school in and of itself as much as a discipline you Responsibly Consider in the mastery of the overall fucked and wide scheme of Shaolin martial arts. But, as one of the 72 Arts, it gets its own full backstory because the ancient Chinese people never once fucked around in their entire lives throughout the Dynasties. Don’t believe me? Consider that Jing Ke was just an alcohol-loving scholar who just so happened to love dabbling in swordsmanship, and he spawned the fucking cusp of all anarchist legends, and well deservedly, too, but my point is, the moment the Chinese saw a dope ass technique, that shit NEEDED a backstory, else it would just fall short of the hype their real life entailed.

For real, I really wanna sit down one day and talk about how fucking crazy Chinese myths are simply because their daily lives were worthy of 45 minute long OVAs that leave wanting more: To be ancient Chinese is to live generations upon generations in “Current Events”, in shit that now shows up on history books as “And This Fucking Madhouse Was Going On Over Yonder, In Case You Pondered”. How the fuck do you make mythos attractive and relevant to The People if it fails to outdo Current, Real Events in the “Bruce Willis Shooting a Gatling Gun” meter? You don’t, which is why for every fucking blade of grass that swayed by the wind in old China, there was a specific reason, a legend, and a moral of the story as to why that shit happened, otherwise literally nobody would’ve fucking cared about the grass, the wind, or the swaying.

But today is not that day, today is the day I tell you about IRON SHIRT.

So anyway, the lore behind redirecting all of your energy into your balls so you could tank a kick to the huevos and possibly redirect damage to your opponent by breaking their foot with your mighty pain baby sacks finds its humble origins with our main man, Zhou Tong (who must not be confused with Zhou Tong, archery teacher of general Yue Fei of the Song Dynasty, two different people) in the very self-descriptive story known as... I’m not gonna tell you the title just yet because it kinda fucking spoils the story, which is something the old Chinese were fucking bad about, aight, but trust me, anyway, Zhou Tong! Zhou Tong was just taking a stroll down the road, going places as he usually did, when over yonder, he spotted, without any exaggeration or glamour, an absolute chunkster of a lad, an absolute unit, Agent Fat Fucck’s respected ancestor, a BIG BOY. This dude was MASSIVE and WELL BUILT. So Zhou Tong looks at this mother fucker real good, hits him with that Scan Lv.3, and comes to the very fair and safe conclusion that this man looked forward to humiliating him, if “very fair and safe” also encapsulated “paranoid fucking old man”. See, to be fair to Zhou Tong, he WAS a renowned master of martial arts, and if there’s anything you should know about martial arts, it’s that a great number of martial artists are always looking for that big break, that “get my name out there for those in the know”, and the shortest route to that is to beat up a renowned master. It’s why Bruce Lee always had challengers! It’s why this one time, this one dude threatened Bruce Lee’ family in order to get Bruce to fight him, which is about the single worst possible fucking idea you can get. Drinking molten glass with a dab of lemon is a better idea than picking a malicious fight with Bruce Lee, and yet, here we fucking are! And in case you’re curious, Bruce Lee demolished that dude, but anyways, the thing is, Zhou Tong was, like, 17% justified in thinking this way.

So what he did was what any other person would: He started redirecting all of his energy into his right shoulder. See, the way they were walking, they were going to walk by each other while crossing a bridge, so Zhou Tong was like “this mother fucker wishes to humiliate me by chucking me into the bridge in front of the hoes!”, so Tong, as a master of Iron Shirt, focuses like 1700 Magic Points into his right shoulder, which turns red, and then purple as it becomes harder than rock, harder than iron, harder than spending 5 minutes away from the boys, under his clothes. So, the fated moment comes, they brush shoulders, and the Big Boy gets fucking Destructo-Blasted. Big Boy was almost knocked out of the bridge just from brushing his shoulder. It was so painful that he was pouring saliva and the entire right side of his body was left numb until the next day. Zhou Tong fucking DUNKED on Big Boy and avoided being publicly humiliated in front of girls, the greatest accolade you could possibly append to any student of arts most martial.

Except.

It was a misunderstanding.

That Big Boy was none other than Wu Song, his future student. Wu Song didn’t even notice Tong, he was looking at his own feet and minding his footsteps because he didn’t wanna get his feet wet after last night’s rain.

So, I IMPLORE YOU, the reader, to hold my hand (platonically) and accompany me through a reconstruction of the events through Wu Song’s perspective:

There was a freak rain last night in a place known for how dry it is. You only have shit ass sandals, and there’s a trillion puddles of water between you and your destination. You, as a certified Immense Chunk Man, have large trotters and don’t wanna step in a puddle because then you get the common cold and then you fucking die because this is somewhere around the year 1121 CE and medicine amounted to “these pleasant aromas and needles either heal you or you fucking die”. You take extra care to not get the common cold by minding your steps, and suddenly, out of absolutely fucking nowhere, you get Destructo-Blasted while crossing a bridge, you get utterly ragdolled, you get Broly Punched through three fucking buildings and almost hole-in-one into the river, you are drooling, you can’t feel the right side of your body, and when you look up to brace yourself against your assailant, you see this older man just sort of chilling with a joyful stride, walking as if he didn’t just deliver your fucking groceries with that 200% Damage In Hyrule Castle Lower Half Of The Map Forward Smash. What the fuck?

And then some years pass, you get involved into some Pretty Important Shit, and you’re going to learn martial arts from a certified badass, and then he walks out of the bead curtain holding a lemonade, and guess who the fuck it is, it’s Mister Destructo-Blast himself. How fucking awkward was that encounter? No, really, what were their first words towards each other? “Oh, I remember you! You were the old dude that nearly ripped my arm off for no reason that one day it rained!” That’s a great ice breaker.

So, anyways, they go, train, become even stronger, and then do immensely hype shit in the classic story, Water Margin. Zhou Tong became the 51st of the 72 Earthly Fiends and Wu Song became the 14th of the 36 Heavenly Spirits in the 108 Stars Of Destiny. You should read Water Margin, it’s fucking nuts.

But anyways, that’s the lore behind the esteemed martial art of redirecting all energy to shields, Iron Shirt is pretty cool. The moral of the story is to not just fucking randomly ragdoll people because you’re a mite suspicious, but also? If you can actually randomly ragdoll people like that? You’re probably dope as hell and can get away with it, so practice Iron Shirt for political immunity, that’s all, the end.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Little Ceremonies: A Critical Role Fanfic

So I have a lot of feelings about Beau, and she has feelings too that she needs to work through. Honestly this fic just came from my desire to shake this girl and force her to talk about her issues with SOMEONE, literally anyone would do.

Alright BeauYashter fans who love a dash of hurt/comfort/angst/pining, come get your juice. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview:

Before Beau almost fucking died she realized she didn't know what TJ's favorite color was. 

They had gotten attacked by some asshole bandits, which wouldn’t have been too big a deal if they also hadn’t had some wolves with them too. One of them was buddy buddy with animals Beau guessed. Things were going rough anyways, and Beau almost wasn’t surprised when she was full-body slammed by an orc and smashed her head on something hard. Another hit and she was out. So long, farewell, no one home, lights completely off unconscious. It sort of sucked, but it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. This time felt different for some stupid reason having to do with her brother. 

It was a stupid fucking last thought before she went unconscious, but you can't help what springs to your mind in your last moments of consciousness. And that was it. She saw TJ's face in her mind as she came crashing down, as her vision wobbled and went grey at the edges like she was tripping balls again or it was being eaten in a haze of ash. She realized she didn't know TJ's favorite color. And then there was nothing for a long moment. It wasn't unlike falling asleep in the way that there was nothing. Most nights Beau was so exhausted that she didn’t have time for dreams. (The other times she dreamed of impossible things she could never admit but wanted so bad she wished she could break open her own skull to inspect and commit them to memory. But she wouldn’t admit those ever.)

And then, just as quickly, she was jolted away from the depths of her sleep. Divine light pierced the darkness that had settled quiet and peaceful over her like the waves from the ocean lapping at her toes. She saved me, Beau thought literally breathless, she-

"Beau!" Fjord gasped. Beau desperately tried not to give in to her disappointment. And then immediately she resisted the urge to slap herself because no, she shouldn’t be thinking it. It wasn’t any of those things and she shouldn’t be thinking that way. 

“Oh Beau!” Jester cried as she rushed over. Her hands were first-snow cold against Beau’s suddenly feverish skin as Fjord helped to settle Beau more firmly against Jester. “Oh I’m so sorry, I don’t have...I only have Healing Word prepared and…!” 

Beau felt another jolt of the divine spread through her at the brush of her fingers that fluttered like snowflakes. They felt good...Jester felt good. She was soft and even though she was washed with rain water and gore, somehow, her arms felt safe. Beau wanted to feel more. She wanted to sag against Jester, to melt into her arms and never leave-

“It’s okay,” Beau managed to croak, her ribs still didn’t feel great by any means. It was more like when Dairon had first knocked the shit out of her with her staff. But she was feeling far less...almost dead so it was a marked improvement at any rate. She could just file this away into the same place that she had put all her recent horrible traumatic encounters and everything would be fine. “Just...it’s alright, Jessie. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay, you look like shit!” Jester said, sounding half angry and half breathlessly relieved. It just made everything hurt even more somehow, though Beau didn’t know how that was fucking possible because she felt like complete shit. 

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of healing,” Caduceus apologized, hauling a ghostly pale looking Caleb with both Yasha and Nott’s help. Caleb swayed in their arms, looking like a bloodless ghost that haunted the halls in a shitty novel that Jester might read them all. Beau hoped she didn’t look as bad as Caleb, though she didn’t have much hope. 

“I’ll be alright,” Beau promised, gritting her teeth and forcing her legs up. Pain was a constant bedfellow. Usually she liked pain, it helped her feel alive and grounded, but this was a pain that was ripping deeper within her at places that she was refusing to face. Not now, Beau ordered herself. You can fall apart later. Not now-!

“Beau no-”

“I’ve got it!” Beau snapped at Jester, desperate to get out of her grasp. She was crawling out of her fucking skin. Jester flinched, and Beau felt her blood curdling in her veins because why? Why had she done this? Why couldn’t she just be good to those she loved instead of ruining it every time? 

“Okay,” Jester said, quickly rearranging her face so that the hurt dwelled somewhere deep where Beau couldn’t see it any more. It made Beau want to grab something with her hands and rip it apart right there and then. 

“There should be the inn a mile or two away,” Fjord said, voice even and as always the steady captain in the storm as he referred to the map. Lining up the troops, focusing them on an achievable goal. Beau could have hugged him for this gentle understanding. 

“I can help you into the cart,” Yasha offered both Caleb and Beau, her eyes dark and drawn with worry. 

“Ja, please,” Caleb asked, as Yasha better arranged him on her arm with Veth’s help. Veth kept glancing at Beau and Beau wanted to scream at her to knock it off. It wouldn’t change anything, none of this would, and in fact it was only making it worse. But Beau had always considered herself to be the worst kind of coward, so instead of saying all of that she set her jaw.  

“I’m fine,” Beau said gruffly to everyone, no one, and herself, gripping her side. “I’ll be fine.” 

As they walked along, Beau could feel Veth’s gaze digging into her skin. She pointedly ignored it. 

“I’m sorry,” Fjord murmured to Beau as they walked. He reached an arm around her to steady her, and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly as he did. Beau half wanted to punch him, and half wanted to turn her head into his shoulder and cry. 

“Why are you sorry?” Beau snapped though it felt half-hearted. She had always had a hard time arguing with Fjord, and even as wounded and skittish as she was feeling she couldn’t muster real anger at him.  

“You know why,” Fjord said as he continued to look forward and help her without saying anything. 

Beau knew why, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

They had found the inn and with little ceremony they had separated out to their rooms for the night. It was the usual arrangement, but Beau felt anything but normal. 

She was thinking about TJ again, thinking about her feelings that were all over the place, thinking about the stupid pain in her side that refused to just dim enough for her to sleep. Eventually all of those things had curled together until any outside stimulus had her startled half out of her skin. 

Jester’s voice was quiet in the darkness of their room. It stabbed into Beau like that shitty dagger the bandit had stuck into her not so many hours prior. Beau was wide awake now, curled into her side. Her breath was drawn so tightly that she was afraid that something inside of her would snap. And maybe it should. Maybe things would be better if they did. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with Fjord’s quiet concern and Cad’s long looks, and the quick glancing gazes that Veth peppered against her skin like freezing rain. It was because everyone knew the secrets that Beau was so terrible at keeping...everyone except the girl who could miss that point but tell she wasn’t asleep from the irregularities of her breath in a dark room. It would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. 

“ ‘m not mad,” Beau said, hoping her voice sounded sleepy and that was enough to discourage this conversation. Beau could hear Jester shifting again in the darkness, and new that hope was a dream to be dashed on the rocks with the coming tide. 

“If I did something wrong…” 

“You didn’t, Jessie,” Beau said, finally rolling over. She didn’t have her goggles on and so she could barely see in the darkness, but the lump she assumed was Jester moved in tandem with her. Beau had spent enough time gazing at her to know the curve of her horns...her artist’s hands...the freckles that dusted her skin and nose. Beau colored in the lines like she was a child, and didn’t need her sight to tell her what she would see. “I was just upset at having been stabbed. It hurt. And it was lame.” 

“It was a little lame,” Jester said, a half-hearted laugh in her throat, a pout forming on her mouth. 

“Not just a little,” Beau said, self-depreciation a comfortable skin to slip into. This was charted waters, this was safe with Jester. This is what she wanted, she told her errant heart. She wanted her heart and her friendship to be safe. If it was safe, there would be nothing precious to lose. Beau didn’t think she would be able to stand that. 

“A lot a bit then,” Jester corrected. “But I am sorry anyways I...I’ll try to be a better cleric I swear.” 

“You are already the greatest cleric,” Beau promised her. “After all, there aren’t many clerics who make their own gods.”

“The Traveler and I are cool like that,” Jester said and Beau could hear the smile on her voice. She could see it in her mind’s eyes, the way it drew across her face and just brightened her and everything around her. She was precious and sacred and Beau was none of those things. Not for me, a part of Beau cried with hot, childish tears. Not for me, never for me. Why would she ever want me? She is a vessel for a power greater than I can understand...why would she ever want someone who uses all their strength to simply not fall apart?

“Yeah, you guys are,” Beau said as she drew in her strength to sit up despite the way her muscles and bones protested. “I’m gonna go for a quick walk. I’ll be back.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jester asked her, sitting up suddenly. 

“No,” Beau said, doing her best to smile for Jester. After all, only one of them could really see in the dark. “I’ll be back.” 

“Alright...if you are sure,” Jester said, not sound happy about this arrangement. Just that was enough to almost send Beau back, but she didn’t. She steeled herself and moved forward instead. Beau fumbled for the door, groping for the knob in the darkness. She opened it and was out in the dark, empty hall. She almost made it all the way down the hall when the pain in her side forced her to stop. She crumbled against the wall, her eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed. She smacked her hand against the wall as she slid down, the dull ache doing nothing to distract her from the pain in her chest. No one else was there...it was far too late for anyone to be wandering the halls anyways, and Beau had never been more grateful to anything in her whole life. 

Make me understand, her mother had once whispered to her. Why can you not just behave? It will be so much easier, was what her mother hadn't said but it had been written all over her face. 

Marry a nice boy from a good family, have your dalliances quietly on the side, shit out kids because that's your job and it has worked for a million women before you and it can work for you. Why can't you just accept the things that are settled in front of you for the way they are, was what her father had meant when he refused to look at Tori as Beau was hauled from that jail cell that night. 

Beau felt the urge to cry again. How much more orderly...how much smaller was she going to be forced to make her feelings? She simply couldn't force them into any more boxes to be labeled and filed away when they were pounding at her ribcage...bleeding out all over her like a fresh wound. It was bad enough that she had fallen in love for the first woman who hadn't cringed at her touch, but now this? Where was the fucking justice in this? She was supposed to be made of stronger stuff than this, but apparently all she had done was gilded her ribcage without accounting for the things within it.

“Beau?” Yasha’s voice was quiet and worried as she peaked out of the door of the room she was sharing with Fjord and Caduceus. Her dark hair swept out like a curtain as she did, and Beau wanted nothing more than to tuck it behind her ear. Was Yasha’s hair soft? And though those thoughts were surely not practical at this moment, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking them. “Beau...are you alright?” 

Beau startled in spite of herself. She was usually so much better than this, but that night she was scraped from the bottom of a barrel. Yasha was standing in the hallway. Her figure cut imposingly, but as soon as she saw there was no danger she almost shrunk into herself as she usually did. Her shoulders rolled in on themselves in an attempt to be smaller...less obvious, despite the fact that such a thing was impossible. Beau had the urge to gather Yasha up in her arms and...no. It was bad enough that her heart was bleeding out for Jester, she didn’t need anything else confusing her already blurry perspective. 

And you almost threw it all away, and you think you deserve anything? What a joke, a vicious part of her snapped, tearing at her already shredded insides like she had swallowed daggers. You may as well just walk back to that hag in the woods and offer all of your happiness. 

Why couldn’t this just be a problem she punched away? It would make everything so much easier, Beau thought beyond frustrated with herself. She had more important things to worry about. She had almost died and left them behind, but she was crying over this? Pathetic. 

“My shitty cracked ribs fucking hurt,” Beau said sniffing as she angrily swiped her hand beneath her nose. Yasha looked down the hall, before settling next to Beau on the floor. Yasha held out her hand timidly, like Beau would shy away at the touch. When Beau instead settled her hand in Yasha’s they were both surprised. Beau felt Yasha’s magic move through her, hum against her skin the way that the scent of a thunderstorm carried in the wind on a summer night. This time, the pain substantially subsided, and Beau found she could breathe in deep and even hold it without her breath stuttering in her throat. Unfortunately, her breath caught on her jagged-edged sadness and she let out a half-sob half-chuckle. 

“Beau?”

“I’m sorry, Yasha,” Beau murmured and she settled her head against her knees. “It’s my fault, not yours.”  

“Being hurt is never fun,” Yasha observed, her expression smooth and revealing nothing. 

“No, being hurt fucking sucks and I hate it,” Beau said, not willing to admit she was talking about more than just her stupid ribs. From the look on Yasha’s face, she understood what she meant intimately. 

And of course Yasha did. Yasha wore her pain like a mantle of wings that spread out from her shoulder blades and cut across the sky. And she was beautiful for it. She was beautiful for how she continued to rise up and survive with such grace and fortitude, while Beau clawed and screamed and brought everyone else down with her. Beau broke the precious things in her life, while Yasha did everything she could to save them. And Yasha would understand...Beau knew she would. And the desire to spill everything was building in her throat hot and fast again. But with those feelings came others, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face any of them yet...not when Yasha’s eyes were the blue-violet of a twilight in the darkness. Their eyes met, and the moment was alive. 

“Are you tired?” Yasha asked softly. Her voice had always been quiet and hushed, almost like the sound of the wind through the grass. But now in the quiet and the dark the tones of her voice were resonating deep in the marrow of her bones. 

“Yeah...I think I’m just tired,” Beau admitted and just like that the moment was past. Tired of this. Tired of her traitorous heart that swung like a pendulum between her desires and didn’t settle. Tired of the fact her family could still hurt her even though she was done with them. Tired of this love that would only hurt her. Tired of knowing that she wouldn’t give her love up for anything regardless. Tired of herself. Tired of everything and nothing all at once and the fact that this just kept happening. She would have hoped that something would be different this time. 

“Rest then,” Yasha said, patting her own shoulder. “You can rest here, and I’ll keep you safe.”

You can’t, Beau wanted to say as she met Yasha’s knowing eyes. You shouldn’t. It’ll just hurt us all. There was a heart breaking there and Beau couldn’t understand it. Why? How could Yasha keep giving despite it all? Though maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, Yasha had always been able to carry her and Jester and everyone else.   

“Okay,” Beau said instead, leaning against Yasha gingerly. “Thank you, Yasha.”

“You are welcome Beau,” Yasha said quietly in return. 

And so Beau drifted off again, but this time, the darkness welcomed her warmly into its arms. 

[keyofjetwolf]

Bonus Question Answers! (non-anime animated noms)

This was SO. FUCKING. HARD. This question went so much better than I expected, and I’m only sad I lack the artistic skills to make it all a reality.

Below, my PAINSTAKINGLY selected top answers, If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

---

Q: The Senshi suddenly find themselves in a very different animated world. Which cartoon power (think Looney Tunes) do they each now possess?

*  Usagi can make literal rainbows happen when she smiles.  Rei can set anything on fire with her mind (she feels a bit cheated because she can do that at home too).  Ami can write down anything in her special notebook and it literally changes reality around her (she does not share this with her fellow Senshi, because she knows the full weight of this power.  She did, however, write Michiru having a bad hair day for just one day.  Just one.)  Makoto has the ability to pull out any ingredient she wants from any pantry/door/closet.  She usually uses this for cooking purposes, so she won't have to purchase groceries.  Minako has the ability to mimic any voice in the world, whether she has heard it or not.  Hijinks ensue.  The Outer Senshi sensibly escaped from the new animated world right after Michiru recovered from her bad hair day.  They don't speak of the experience. -- @amberlilly  [The whole thing was so solid, but what absolutely sent it over the top for me was Ami using her powers to fuck with Michiru in the most petty benign way, which is EVERYTHING.]

*  Usagi is definitely rocking the exaggerated tear gushers.  Ami can pull charts/diagrams out of nowhere at any time.  Rei combusts when she gets sufficiently mad.  Makoto has birds fly around when she sings while cooking or cleaning.  Minako breaks the fourth wall to make jokes and asides to the audience.  Chibi-Usa is somehow able to walk through ludicrous danger without getting touched, because the censors won't allow kids to be hurt in this show. Haruka can make girls melt into puddles of goo with her flirting.  Michiru can summon a servant at any time to take care of an unpleasant or potentially dirty task for her (including to take the slapstick comedy for her).  Setsuna has access to the script.  Hotaru just sort of appears sometimes, just standing there, silently and menacingly, but never does anything on-screen (though you may hear the occasional off-screen screaming).  Oh, and while I'd like to say Mamoru gains the power of inexplicable entrances... he kinda already has that one.  --Darkcloud k'California  [Again, I loved all these, but particularly Chibs saved by the censors, Michiru’s poor hapless slapstick avatar, and everything about Hotaru, thank you.]

*  Usagi: The power to be found charming by every character she encounters and somehow escape all consequences and damage by simply remaining oblivious, a la Tweety Bird.

Rei: The power to explode, reducing her surroundings to charred wasteland, but remain relatively unscathed (perhaps a bit singed)

Ami: The power to grow multiple arms, hands, and hundreds of fingers in order to do tech stuff

Makoto: The power to punch someone through a brick wall, possibly several, and into someone's family dinner. It's always some surprised-looking family's private event. Often the same family.

Minako: the power to, Bugs Bunny style, apply lipstick and seduce ANYTHING. Which, according to her, is a power she already has.

Haruka: The power to run off a cliff and keep going until she looks down. She never learns to not look down.

Michiru: The power to stick a pin into any other character and cause them to deflate like a balloon

Hotaru: She just gets to actually be used. It is thrilling.

Pluto: She will observe this strange planet from afar with her huge telescope and breathe the Martian air and look great in a kilt and Roman-style helmet. --  @incorrecttact  [Your set-up and punchline delivery style on all of these was perfection, and I legit lol’d at Mako and the poor family she continually interrupts.]

* to make dynamite go BOOM (Rei obviously); to have their opponent chase them to the point where they're floating in midair and then their opponent falls 5000 feet but they calmly walk back to land (like Wil E Coyote & the Roadrunner) (Usagi); the power to blow kisses to their opponent (which are clearly poisonous and end up killing the chap) (Minako); the power to have their opponent's entire arm shattered if they try to even punch them lightly on the arm (Makoto - this is canon anyways, but moreso exaggerated here hehe); to open a book and start reading it out loud and words start showing up on screen, confusing tf out of their opponent (Ami - also canon already)  --@midnightdrops  [Each of these were great, but Usagi and Mako as you described them totally sold me.]

* usagi: can now float on yummy aromas, so long as they lead her somewhere tasty! the others play a quick tournament of jun-ken-pon each time it happens to determine who will be responsible for steering her from blissfully drifting into traffic. again.

ami: is now possessed of x-ray vision! only she can neither turn it off, nor control its intensity. she is working on developing a set of goggles to dampen the effect, and secretly hopes they will make her look like geordi laforge.

rei: rei-chan is now blessed with the power of song! her heartfelt melodies soften the malice of even the most one-dimensional baddie, and influence public policy on a global scale. international success life, yo! i guess she's really a hard worker!

makoto: has become something of a cartoon cupid! in a poorly-ventilated room, her mere presence has bystanders declaring their love for one another within minutes*; and her decadent wedding cakes are the hit of second marriages across the country. *all of them so like her old senpai, and none of them falling for her, alas!

minako: employs her considerable powers of confidence and charm to convince the others she now has access to Plot Manipulation, mainly by engineering and taking ownership of a series of happy accidents. her real power is to literally jump out of her skin when she's startled*, and she has no intention of EVER letting the others know about it.  *minako discovered this new ability while she was changing a roll of toilet paper, and a spider dropped onto her hand. the leader of the inner senshi had never been so horrified. her bones were so slick and cold, her skin a hideous unwiped pile, and then THE SPIDER CRAWLED INTO THE PILE and she STILL doesn't know if it ever got out and sometimes her skin itches REALLY bad and you know what let's stop talking about this right now okay???

setsuna: can now manifest a giant pencil and erase the enemy! but doing so would be breaking The Greatest Taboo, and leave her impaled upon the pencil.

haruka: her new empathetic ability is remarkably similar to Ma-Ti's "heart" ring (Captain Planet and the Planeteers, 1990 - 1996). basically, she's just like really soft at you, and it inspires you to take more positive actions toward yourself and the world at large? she protests about wishing she'd received something tough and intimidating, but secretly is very moved by being made an instrument of kindness.

michiru: her intuition has mutated into fourth wall awareness, and the subtlety with which she makes this known to you is SO GODDAMN UNCOMFORTABLE OH MY GOD

hotaru: can now not only communicate with inanimate objects, but also render them permanently animate! you should have been there during the princess tutu crossover episode when she met lamp-chan - they're STILL inseparable, and chibiusa is SUPER jealous. speaking of which,

chibiusa: can now use hammerspace to store her endless series of magical geegaws and weird animal boyfriends.  -- @rasiqra-revulva  [Dude, you have got to stop making me snort laugh, it’s RUDE. Pure solid gold, every word, with a special nod to Haruka, MICHIRU, and Minako’s extended tragic cartoon backstory.]

* Usagi - like her name suggests, she is now Bunny. By which I mean she is now a very pink and blonde bunny (somewhere between Bugs and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit), but with super-elastic limbs to accompany her new form. Ami - Magical Science Powers up to and including ‘mix one brightly colored liquid in flask with another brightly colored liquid in flask, explosion, get hammer.’ Rei - An infinite supply of dynamite she can pull out of nowhere. This shouldn’t be as useful as it is. Mako - Literally suplexed a giant metallic youma not just untransformed, but before she has Senshi powers at all. I fully believe she could lift an anvil in canon. Minako - While Usagi looks like a rabbit, Mina now has the supernatural trickster abilities of Bugs Bunny. Implausibly effective bad disguises, persuasion, showing up out of nowhere. Chibs - Now that gun from her first appearance is a real gun, but it shoots anything from normal bullets to pies in the face to live birds. Pluto - The fourth wall is a real and tangible thing. Pluto can not just break it, but control it. If she wants to remove a layer of cel or suddenly turn things into sketch, she can do it. If she wants to teleport, she can skip in the animation. If she wants to suddenly appear as a Roger Rabbit-style cartoon in a live action field, or vice versa? Yeah, she can do that too. She basically uses this power to warp the layers of her cartoonish reality for pastry acquisition. Haruka - You’d think it would be Roadrunner speed. Haruka thinks it will be Roadrunner speed. But no, it isn’t. Space Jam is Looney Tunes, and Haruka’s power is Basketball. Michiru - Another power that’s just canonical: Wealth. Ridiculous, tremendous wealth. Hotaru - The funniest thing for Hotaru to be in a zany cartoon world is Even More Spooky. Nothing changes except the artstyle and a ridiculous supervillain cape.  -- Regalli  [Pluto, man. Fantastic and brilliant and I legit WANT THIS. Also though, Hotaru with a cape.]

*  Usagi gains the ability to eat anything and everything like the Tazmanian Devil, though she shares none of his aggressive personality; Minako enjoys fucking with people by bending reality (you know, diving into painted tunnels and stuff like that); Ami is able to utilize and test unreal technology without harm, like jet boots, massive bombs, tornado seeds, etc.; Mako uses body manipulations to change her size and shape--especially for blocking attacks to protect people or grabbing people (coupled with her immense strength); and Rei is the only one aware of the audience beyond the Fourth Wall... She tries not to talk to them but sometimes she just can't help it, especially when Usagi is getting on her nerves.  -- @thehubby  [I said pander to me, and you absolutely did. I can’t stop thinking about Rei trying not to make fourth wall eye contact, then just whirling around all “CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT??!?” and as it turns out, that IS precisely what I wanted.]

---

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry, so keep those answers coming! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 17

a/n: this is it y’all. And what a ride it’s been. With all the shit in the world, and the shit that’s gone down in the fandom, I wish we had a shawn like this. but alas all we have is fiction and this is the best way I could think to end it, so I hope you enjoy. That’s all folks. Peace. 

*six months later*

Breaking News: Shawn Mendes has topped the Billboard 100 for his fourth week in a row with his hit single Fallin’ All In You. The pop star crashed onto the scene with the powerful ‘Youth’ co-written with his friend and fellow artist Khalid, and he hasn’t left us hanging yet! Is this the start of a new force to be reckoned with in the pop world or just a flash in the pan?

And we’re back with E! News. Shawn Mendes has stolen all of our hearts and it looks like he’s not willing to give them back. Here he is on the cover of GQ looking absolutely dashing as always. But the pop singer is not just here for his looks, it appears he’s a bit of a romantic as well. In the recent interview he chatted about his latest record, the potential grammy nominations, and...his girlfriend?!

Shawn Mendes is the biggest thing in pop music this year. Here he is walking the red carpet at the vma’s after taking home five awards from the night. And perhaps more stunning than the leading man himself was his girlfriend in tow, top artist manager in the game right now, y/f/n y/l/n. The two were quite the pair at the show and insiders say they couldn’t get enough of each other. Sorry ladies, this one’s taken!

Uh oh! Looks like there’s some drama in the world of Shawn Mendes. The young artist was seen leaving his attorney’s office in LA after being slammed with a law suite from none other than his father, the legendary Manny Mendes of Mendes Industry. Manny Mendes claims that Shawn was under contractual obligation not to release or perform any music and that the star may have actually breached his contract prior to signing to Atlantic records!

Popstar Shawn Mendes was recently spotted out in New York with his beautiful girlfriend, y/f/n y/l/n. The two were seen holding hands at a coffee shop and taking a stroll to a bookstore. It seems even celebrities still read books my friends! Y/n made news when she became the first ever manager to win Manager of the Year at Billboard’s Women in Music while simultaneously having one of her artists, Ariana Grande, take home the Woman of the Year prize. It seems the two are a power couple far on their way to dominate the music industry. I for one can’t wait to see what they do next.

*y/n’s point of view*

Sometimes you wake up from a really good dream. And you can’t remember what you dreamed about, can’t remember anything that happened, but all you get is this really pleasant feeling in your bones. This was one of those mornings. You woke up and your back cracked as you stretched and you curled your toes and groaned quietly. The sun was streaming through the windows. Your sheets were all comfy. And you opened your eyes to what? Your boyfriend looking at you like a total creeper.

You immediately groaned and rolled over away from him.

“Why are you staring at me, weirdo?”

“Well good morning to you too, love of my life. I’m feeling great, by the way.”

You giggled and rolled back over to find yourself in his arms. He pressed his lips to your forehead and settled his weight against you. The warmth was unlike anything you could experience elsewhere.

“What time did you get in?” You whispered.

His palm cupped your cheek, eyes bright and adorable.

“A little after three. Didn’t wanna wake you. I missed you.” He mumbled.

“I missed you too. They keep taking you away from me for longer and longer periods of time huh?”

He nodded softly. “Yea, unfortunately. Andrew thinks the world tour is gonna sell out though. They’re...they’re talking about adding dates, babe. I have a huge fanbase in the philippines...The philippines, y/n?! Me!”

God he was cute when he got excited. And Shawn was pretty much always excited when it came to music. The kid must be a dream to manage.

“I’m so very happy for you.” You chuckled. “Something tells me you’re gonna love it out there”

“You think?” He sighed. “I guess I just...I’m gonna miss you. Like crazy.”

“Me too.”

“Will you come visit me?” He asked pushing his way between your legs. “In LA?”

You snorted and wrapped your legs and arms around him.

“Of course.”

“Yea? How about in Paris?”

His lips touched your ear and you bit your lip.

“Mhm.”

“Brazil?”

“Yea.”

“Hmm...will you be my good girl? Let me take care of you?”

Your thighs tightened.

“I don’t know. I can be very bad when I’m abroad.”

He pulled back to stare at you, eyes less soft and fluffy and more hard and dominant. His curls were everywhere, even going so far as to tickle your nose. How could someone so fluffy be such a dom? It was astounding.

“How bad?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Why don’t you flip me over and I’ll show you?”

“Good god, I love you woman.”

You laughed into the sheets as he threw your body around like a rag doll. It was certainly good to be home.

“Everytime I’m away for a long time are you gonna make me remind you who you belong to?” He hummed against the dip in your back. “Who gets to make you feel good?”

You sighed noisily. “If I can help it.”

His hands on your body are like tidal waves. You never get used to it. Can never catch your breath to prepare for the next thrashing hold, the next grip, the next slap. The sun raises steadily into your bedroom, but neither of you notice. He’s too busy undressing you, touching you, making you beg. In the grand scheme of things, if he was going to be away for so long, the least the could do was throw your back out upon arrival home.

“Can I try somethin’?” He whispered kisses trailing up your tummy and between your breasts.

Your toes curled against his calves. You had to hold back a moan.

“What is it?”

“Well...I’d need to tie you down first.” He explained. “And then, as much as I love these beautiful eyes of yours I’d like to cover them for a little while. I thought about gagging your mouth on the plane ride home, but I think I wanna hear you cry out for me. How does that sound?”

It was a Tuesday morning. If you’d even bothered to look at the clock you would know it was eight thirty in the morning and you were due in the office soon. Meanwhile Shawn had spent his time planning out a whole ass elaborate sex dream. What was one to do?

“Go get the blind fold. Hurry.”

The dom/sub relationship continued to be one of the greatest sources of pleasure and relief in your life.  There’s something about the way he kisses your ankle when he straps it to the bed. The way he checks that you’re okay when your legs are spread wide. The more vulnerable you became with each other, the more open that you were the more  that you let yourself fall into these moments. Bare and naked on the bed. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to act shy. You were on full display for him, just as he was for you. And he was in charge of your pleasure, a power that was not to be taken lightly. The good news was he knew exactly what to do with it.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“And the ropes? Do they hurt at all?”

“No, Sir.”

Without your eyes, your senses began to alter. You could sort of feel the air in the room differently. Your nipples hardened and your teeth sunk into your lip. He was watching you and you could feel it.

“What are you doing?” You murmured.

His voice came from lower, maybe between your legs at the bottom of the bed.

“Just looking. Appreciating.” He answered. “You’re beautiful baby.”

On the other side of the blind fold, Shawn was doing just that. He tilted his head back and sighed as he cupped himself firmly in his hand. While you were practically throbbing spread open for him to see, he was quite literally throbbing for you.

A groan entered the air, ending the silence.

“I missed you so much. You have no idea how much I thought about you while I was away.”

His fingers trailed up your leg and across your thigh causings your lips to part.

“S--Shawn.”

“How much I missed being inside you. Hearing you cry out for me. Are you gonna let me hear you, y/n?”

“Yes. Yes, just please touch me.”

He chuckled. “You get so impatient when I’m away.”

You sighed and pushed your hips gently towards the ceiling.

“Cause I miss what’s mine….I need it.”

You felt the bed move before you felt his presence over your body. And yet you knew the second that he was hovering over you because of the feel of his dick against your stomach. His nose skimmed your ear and you practically melted before him.

“Yours eh? You need it?”

You nodded shakily. “Please, sir? I need it so so bad.”

He sighed, long and breathy, and you could tell he wanted it just as badly as you did. You licked your lips in anticipation for it. Fuck.

“The things you do to me…Not yet. I’ve got plans for you baby girl.”

If only you knew. If only.

The buzz of it comes out of nowhere it feels like. There’s just silence. Your breathing, and the dips of the bed as he moves and nothing else. And then out of nowhere it comes buzzing. Your lips part instinctually, your body knowing something that your mind hasn’t even caught onto yet. The first time he touches it against your clit drives you wild, and before you know it the whole world sets ablaze.

“Unnnngh. Fuck.” You whimpered.

He hummed. “I got you something while I was away. What do you think?”

He’s an expert at playing you like his favorite instrument. The toy presses firmly to your clit and he rubs up and around so perfectly that you gasp. The fingers on his other hand join the party and suddenly you’re full in more ways then one. And the fact that you can’t see any of it? That there’s nothing but darkness and yet stimulation everywhere? It only heightens it all. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

“So wet for me. Is it because you haven’t been able to get off without me, or is it our new set up?”

You snorted. “I can get off without you just fine Mendes, just not quite this creatively.”

He chuckles and you smile, the ability to move in and out of this scene that the two of you play with one another, feels like all the love and trust that you’d chosen to given to him exclusively.

He finds his way on top of you again. The feeling of his presence and his weight rocking you to our very core. The vibrations don’t let up and your thighs begin to burn from the exertion, but here you are. You can feel the heat of his hard on and the feel of his breath against your clavicle. It’s too much. Your body can’t handle all the different sensations, but Shawn doesn’t seem to care.

His lips latch on to one of your nipples and the result is catastrophic. You burst from within for him. Like a wave crashing against the shore. Inevitable. Euphoric. Your back arches and the restraints dig into your skin as you threatened to bust out of your skin let along the ropes. It’s so powerful that it brings tears to your eyes, and a sob from your very gut.

“Oh my god! Ohmygod ohmygodohmygodohmygod! S--Stop!”

The vibrations disappear just like that. Suddenly your face in his hands and he’s ripping off the blindfold.

“Are you okay?! Did I hurt you?” He cried. “Y/n, speak!”

And then you started to giggle...softly at first and then loud and unabashed. Your knees were pulled awkwardly together against the resistance of the ropes. When Shawn saw that you were okay he rolled his eyes in that way of his. He was so cute and fluffy when he wasn’t making you cum your brains out.

“You’re gonna give a fucking heart attack one of these days you know that?”

You snorted softly and licked at your dry lips.

“Well damn daddy, how you gone tie a sister up and and put a fucking witachi wand to her and be shocked when she cums like she’s being electrocuted? You gotta commit, sir!”

He busted out laughing in that way that made his whole body shake, even his curls. You loved those laughs of his. They were everything to you. He hid is face in your neck. You could feel his laughter against your collarbone. You loved him then, more than anything in the whole world. The love of your life, he was.

It’s not until he pulls back far enough so that you can see his eyes again that the thing that is molten hot in your gut comes back. He is way too fine for his own good.

“How ‘bout I commit to making you cumall over my cock with that wand a few times? And then i thought I could take you to breakfast before work...and perhaps stop in again for a little late lunch?”

You closed your eyes and moaned.

“Put the blind fold back on.”

“Yes ma’am.”

***

There are things called insiders in the industry. It’s nosey, but very well connected people who just tend to know shit. And not like the people who leak to the tabloids, those were like commoners compared to royalty. Industry insiders could make or break a narrative. Which meant, y/n like to keep a few of them in her back pocket. It meant knowing the good shit before anybody, and more importantly...the bad shit so that you could plan and get ahead. Luckily this time it wasn’t news to get ahead of. Just perhaps news to keep a secret.

“Oh no. I know that face. You’re either about to wreck my life, or make my day. Either way one of us is leaving here in tears.” You sighed.

Into your office walked Caroline Graves, music industry insider, and one of your greatest friends though you didn’t see each other much. Caroline usually walked with gusto and poise. Today she was timid and shy, her big wide eyes tantalizing with secrets. She surely had something to share.

She smiled awkwardly. “Hi, babe!”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me. Have a seat.” You snorted.

She nodded and slid smoothly into the seat before you. She was slim and tiny with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was about as white as they came, but she was a feminist to the core and the two of you had vouched for each other for years. Today was no different.

“I have news…” She began.

You chuckled. “Sis, everytime you come in here ya got news. Now what is it?”

“Something is circulating about the grammys.”

This had you sitting up straighter in the seat.

“Yea?”

“The word on the street is...Manny Mendes is trying to get Shawn Mendes barred from a single nomination.”

You bit your lip in anger. “That cold-hearted, Voldemort acting ass bastard. I should have expecto patronum’d his ass when I had the chance.”

She raised her eyebrow at you only for you to shrug.

“My boyfriend likes harry potter. When he’s happy I tend to be happy too. Please go on.”

“Apparently he’s got no grounds for the lawsuit he slapped Shawn with. He’s gonna lose the suit and he knows it, so he’s trying to pay anyone and everyone to change their score cards. Because the other word on the street is...Shawn’s gonna be up for Best New Artist, Album of the Year, Best Collaboration, Record of the Year, and Pop vocal.”

Your eyes widened. “I’m sorry?!”

She nodded. “I was just as surprised. But his debut album hasn’t left the top ten since he released it. He’s got three of the top songs of the year under his belt, and the kid is damn charming. The world loves an underdog, but you know what they love even more? A rich kid who gives it all up to chase his dream.”

“Well...shit. Shit….I mean...Shit.” You mumbled, collapsing back in your seat. “Even I didn’t call that.”

“No one did. I just want you to be aware that if my sources are right, and I’m sure you would know better than most, if Shawn’s lawyers push for the dismissal of the case and for his master’s to be returned? Things might just get a lot messier than he’s prepared for.”

“Dammit. Okay. Well thanks for the heads up. Now tell me what else is going on in this fucked up world?”

***

You heard the most peculiar sound coming from outside your door. It was a whirring sound, the kind of hypnotic machine rumblings that might make one feel nostalgic about your mother cleaning on the weekends. Perhaps it was only peculiar because you weren’t on the other side of the door, and thus to hear the sound didn’t quite make sense.

You slid your key into the door carting your purse and laptop bag into the house. Your confusion quickly came to an end when you found your boyfriend standing on the couch in sweatpants and nothing else as he attempted to vacuum the rug in the living room. In any other sense it was a vision of complete and utter ridiculousness. And yet there was nothing but tenderness in your heart. You leaned against the door with glee watching him with his tongue poised between his lips in concentration. He lifted the cord to the vacuum cleaner way high into the air as he attempted to go under the coffee table. The result was that it knocked the plug out of the wall, shutting the thing off.

“Shit.” He muttered.

A giggle passed your lips alerting Shawn that he was no longer alone. The frustration on his face turned to pure joy at the sight of you, a look that you could never get used to in a million years. He was too soft for his own good, and you loved him endlessly.

“Hey,” He smiled. “Are you spying on me?”

You shook your head, finally setting your stuff down on the kitchen table.

“Not spying...just admiring. The place looks great by the way.”

His smile only grew larger at the praise, and he quickly hopped down off the couch to make his way over to you.

“Really? I’ve been cleaning all day. I wanted it to look nice when you came home.”

His arms came to wrap around you and you quickly wrapped him up in your grasp as well. The warmth of his hold and the love that seemed to radiate from within him was enough to make you melt. And he knew this of course.

“Well it does. It looks amazing.” You hummed.

“Yea? How would you know, you’ve barely looked around. You’re just staring at me.”

“Exactly. And I like what I see.”

“Oh yea?” He asked leaning closer so your noises touched.

“Mhm.”

His lips were soft and heaven like against yours. The entire day seemed to wash away when he touched you. And you still couldn’t fathom how he managed to do that. He pulled back just far enough so that your foreheads could rest against one another and you could peer up into his eyes as he spoke.

“I know work has been really crazy for the both of us with award season. And I know I haven’t been home much--”

You quickly interrupted. “Hey, you do not need to apologize to me for working your ass off. It’s been an incredibly successful year, Shawn. You deserve it.”

“No I know, I know. I’m just saying I can also recognize that for every second I’m out there succeeding, I’m not here. And I just want you to know that I still appreciate you and us and our life that we have here. I want to build and sustain a life with you more than anything. That’s important to me.”

He had those stupid pouty lips and those ridiculous big brown eyes. It was a wonder anyone had ever said no to the bastard ever. You loved him. Oh god did you love him. He probably could get down on one knee and your ass wouldn’t even hesitate. Oh how times had changed for you.

You nodded gently. “Thank you. That means so much to me. Thank you for cleaning the house and for taking care of me. I appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you too. I appreciate everything that you do for me and for our apartment and for the world.  What do you say I take you out to dinner tonight. Give you the night off from cooking.”

“Hmmm...Can I put on something sexy for the occasion?”

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Baby, I’d be hurt if you didn’t.”

Changing out of the outfit from a day of stress and anxiety into something that had your man taking pause where he lied on your bed as you got ready was beyond worth it. You’d gone for a silk red dress that hit mid thigh and wrapped around you tightly. It was the kind of dress that made you lean back with your shoulders, that brought the poise and elegance that could only be achieved when you knew you were that bitch. With winter came protective styles and you were more than happy with your high bun that was sleeked to perfection.

“You look so pretty.” He sighed from the bed.

His eyes were big and hesitant when you looked at him from the mirror. It was as if he wanted to touch but knew he needed permission. God what a man.

You bit your lip. “You look kinda pretty too. Come ‘ere.”

Shawn was decked out in a nice pair of slacks, an upgrade to his usual skinny jeans, and dress shoes to match. He knew you preferred them to the chelsea boots so he usually only pulled them out for special occasions. Speaking of things he knew you liked, his dress shirt was a beautiful ocean blue and the buttons were non-existent. Ya man had his tiddies out exactly the way you liked him. But no stress woke friends, your tiddies were out too. Equality.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed the side of your head as you stared at each other through the mirror. The way he pressed himself against your ass was not lost on you, nor was the way you arched your back lost on him.

“Damn we look good.” You snickered.

He grinned. “Baby I don’t mean to toot our own horns but like...we’re fine as fuck.”

“Boy, toot toot toot. We are FWINE, with a W. I know we don’t believe in publicly sucking face like those obnoxious PR couples that have to keep careers afloat, but I think the world deserves to see this.”

“I think you’re right, my love.”

Two selfies--one of Shawn in a crouched position with the prayer hands staring up at you like the GAWDESS you were and another silly cute one of you sticking your tongues out at the camera--later you were off to dinner. The fact that you end up at your favorite restaurant is a surprising delight. Nothing feels out of the ordinary because your man took care of you on a regular basis. Dinners out and dressing up was a weekly occurrence, especially when you weren’t busy. However with grammys looming over your heads alone time had been scarce. So him going out of his way to make time mattered a lot to you. A lot alot.

You kept your face hidden in his neck on the ride there, a personal driver now the norm for your hotshot boyfriend. He’d gone and made you sentimental and sappy and there was nowhere to hide how you felt. Shawn had been more than patient with your difficulties in sharing emotions. But you had grown significantly.

“I love you.” You hummed against his neck.

His hands had been intertwined with yours, and he paused from playing with them to squeeze tightly at the digits.

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything.”

You shook your head playfully, voice small in his ear. “Not but like a lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

He chuckled. “Yea?”

You nodded, the fingers not intertwined with his finding place in his curls.

“I just can’t really imagine my life without you in it, I guess. You’re my person.”

He turned in his seat so that your legs moved over his knees and your bodies were more overlapped than apart. His palm found your cheeks and you melted like only he could cause, like only he was capable of producing within your being.

“Well good. I don’t really plan on you being without me anytime soon. I hope that’s okay?”

You nodded again. “More than okay. Don’t go away.”

“Never.”

Dinner is splendid.There’s a new added layer of paparazzi appearing outside before you’ve even arrived. Shawn can’t really go anywhere unseen anymore, but you’d never met someone so worth enduring it for. It feels simultaneously like romance and love while also feeling like a random tuesday with your best friend. Somehow he still manages to make you laugh. Somehow he can still get your toes to curl beneath the table. He asks if you’ll be his date to the grammys. You agree only if he’ll take you out for pizza after. He promises. You know he’ll uphold it. By the time desert comes you don’t think the night could get any better. You’re wrong.

“Hey do you mind if we stop at the studio real quick? I left my guitar there earlier when I was laying down a track.” He asks.

You agree because what reason do you have to say no? In hindsight never in a gazillion years would Shawn leave his guitar at a studio. He’d hold in his lap on the plane if they let him.

It’s the same studio you took him too that first time he showed Khalid how to lay a vocal better than the producer could. When he asks you to follow him in and the lights are dimmed beyond belief, you don’t get it. The fact that his guitar is nowhere to be found might certainly be a hint, but apparently you were dumb as a bag of rocks.

“Will you uh...will you sit for me?” He asked pulling up a chair by the vocal booth.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’ll all make sense in a second.” He smiled. “Please?”

You hesitantly lowered yourself into your seat, facing Shawn as he smiled at you. His knees were bouncing, his hands waving anxiously as he tried to balance them. You hadn’t seen him so nervous since...since he asked you out on your first date. The hell?

“Shawn?” You asked. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

He swallowed. “I...I wrote you a song. And I just finished it this afternoon. Can I play it for you?”

There's that softness in his eyes again. The personification of puppy-love. He had only ever asked to give you the world since you met him, and he fought through every single wall you’d had put up long before he arrived, until he could. He plays with his rosary around his neck and flicks the beads back and fourth between his thumb and forefinger. The anxiety comes off of him in waves. He’d never been so nervous to share a song with you before. It must mean that it meant more to him than usual. The least you could do was indulge him.

“Of course.”

It’s beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d ever written. And drastically different from the album. Shawn had gone for R&B and soul on the record with that pop flair that made for a commercial hit. But this was all singer-songwriter. Intricate chords on the guitar. Raw vocals. Nothing else. And the words are just for you and him. It’s your life together in a song. Things that no one but the two of you could ever understand. Cooking on sunday afternoons because you hadn’t left bed until then. Your head in his lap, his fingers in your scalp when your braids were hurting. His lips on your neck. It was you. And no one else.

“Well...What did you think?” He mumbled spinning aimlessly in his chair like a toddler hyped up on sugar.

You smiled widely. “I think...I think I’m really fucking lucky to be loved by you. It’s beautiful. What is it, the next single?”

He shook his head and it made his curls bounce. God was he cute.

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, well what’s it for?”

“I’ve been thinking lately ya know? About us, and about the life that we have together. In our apartment. And I just have been thinking about how I could maybe make it better for you--no baby, just let me finish,” He whined when you went to interrupt him. “Not because it sucks but because I’m always thinking of how it could be better. And there are things I still wanna give you ya know?”

You bit your lip, for some reason willing to indulge him.

“Yea? Like what?”

He rolled closer and closer and took your fingers in his own. Intertwined.

“I wanna give you a house. With an office, so that you can get work done but I can still come see you and bother you. I wanna give you a jacuzzi  like that one we found in the Domincian Republic that one time? I wanna give you...a baby one day. You know if you--if that’s what you want. If we decide that’s what we want together. I want your mom to retire. I want you to never have to worry about anything ever again. I want to dominate the world with you, build an empire, a legacy.”

Now it was your legs that were shaking. You didn’t know how he could manage to make you feel so overwhelmingly full of love. You have not a clue how you had managed to snag him of all people. It was utterly unbelievable, and you simply would never be willing to give it up.

“And just how in the world do you expect to make all that happen, silly?”

He chuckled nervously and squeezed your fingers.

“Can I be honest?”

“That’s all I ask.”

“I haven’t quite figured it all out yet. Do you think you’d be okay with giving me a little time?”

You laughed. “Of course, babes. Take as much time as you need.”

“How ‘bout forever?”

“Forever? Well I’m not getting any younger, sir.” You snorted.

He shook his head softly, letting the wheels of his chair fall back so that he could make his way to one knee. The image had its intended effect. You froze like a lobster being tossed into the pot, and probably were just as red beneath all the melanin.

“I promise that no matter what happens, I’m gonna do everything in my power to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I want to love you for the rest of our lives. I want to be your partner in crime. Always. Baby, will you marry me?”

“Shawn….S--Shawn...That’s an engagement ring.” You whispered.

He nodded. “It is. It’s your engagement ring. If you want it. Do you want it?”

Your fingers felt over your chest to feel the way your heart was beating so fast it might burst through. You’d spoken about it. Had had the whispered dreams in each other's ears in bed late at night. He’d promised it one day even, but never had you seen this one coming. Ever. And certainly not this soon.

“I….YES! Gimme!”

“Yea?!”

“YEA!”

He fumbles with the ring and just barely gets it onto your finger before he’s in your lap kissing you, still on his knees for you like it was nothing. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as his lips melded to yours and it couldn’t have felt any better. He was yours. A fact you had known and felt secured in for so long you could remember no different. But this was different. This was him asking you for forever. Just the two of you. Thick and thin. The whole shebang. This was love at the highest level, and trust, and compassion, and heart.

There are tears on your face and on his. You try to wipe lip gloss from his lips while he rubs at your eyes that are leaking. It’s very much the two of you. Messy and dramatic and ridiculous, but equal. When he pulls you into his arms your heart is fully and infinitely his. And there’s no space to miss it because you’ve already got his in return to fill the space.

“I love you more than anything. I can’t wait to marry you.” He smiled.

“Me neither. Me neither. I love you so much.” You whispered. “Can we go home now and make love please?”

His eyes widened. “Just like that aye?”

“Just like that.”

“You haven’t even looked at your ring.” He chuckled pulling your arms from around his neck.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh Shawn you know I don’t care about material pos--WELL DAMN! Suddenly I can’t see. Suddenly I am blinded by the light! SHEESH!”

The thing was massive. A beautifully elegant, diamond encrusted band wrapped around your finger. It was easily overshadowed by the diamond itself. The classic princess cut, which he had somehow picked out without ever asking you. You didn’t know how many carats it was, and in reality it didn’t really matter. If you knew him, and you did, it wasn’t about being flashy. It was truly about giving you everything he thought you deserved. And this had just been another on the very long list.

“It’s beautiful. You know that.” You sniffled holding your finger up to the light. “Jesus, Shawn.”

“I had it designed after we moved in together. I might have asked Ti for some pointers.” He smiled reaching your hand. “I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is. It really is. Please come here?”

More kissing. More holding. More love. More emotion. Being in love is a lot of work y’all.

“Please...Please take me home now.” You murmured when the warmth of his hands on your hips had begun to burn through your dress and all you wanted was to thank him...and thank him...and thank him.

“You have no idea how much I want that….But I actually have another proposition for you.”

At this you paused.

“Oh for the love of all that is holy! Shawn my heart cannot take anymore tonight. What in the caucasity could you possibly have to show me?” You whined.

“I cannot wait to tell our children how you made me swoon on the night I proposed.” He snickered, suddenly handing you a thick, padded envelope. “I thought you might like to be my business partner as well as my life partner.”

In the folder were documents detailing the lawsuit of Mendes Industries versus Shawn. It documented the trial, and the win on Shawn’s lawyer’s part. It documented all of the songs that they'd won back, all his hard work that was now his possession again. And it offered the trademark to a new name, a new industry one might say….S+Y Industries. and it had the audacity to list your name as CEO.

“What in the entire fuck is this?” You gasped. “And speak quickly because you know I slap irrationally when I get excited.”

And suddenly his hands found your hips again, like a little rum rubbing against the gums of a teething baby, lulling you into his hold. You could smell his cologne and his heat and it made your heart beat calm if only slightly.

“See I had this incredible manager, who wasn’t a manager, decide to craft my contract on an album by album deal, which means after this tour...I have options. And so I thought maybe I might house all of my work from the past, present, and future, under my own label. And then I thought how crazy that was...how I couldn’t do it alone, so I just thought...maybe you might like to run it with me.”

His hands trembled against your waist. It was the only indication that you weren’t crazy, that this was indeed the wildest shit anyone had ever asked of you in your whole life. Of everything you could have ever expected from this, this wasn’t even in the same stratosphere. To run your own label had been a dream of yours since you were a child. When he had said he wanted to give you the world, the man wasn’t joking.

“Baby you--you gotta speak. My heart is pounding. I’m going crazy over here.” He mumbled licking his lips.

Your body slowly unfroze as you looked up from the paperwork and into the eyes of the craziest man you’d ever met in your life.

“Well that’s what your pasty ass gets for pulling this shit on me like this.”

He only smiled softly at you. “You’ve got a point. So uh...what do you say?”

“I say...I’ll have to have my lawyers read over it of course. And my terms for being CEO will only be founded on the basis that my salary increases from what I’m making now. We’ll need to discuss what your role as President will be, and what that will look like within the context of the company as you continue to tour and make music of course. And I want to make sure you’re protected from--”

“Sweetheart,” He whispered, pulling your eyes to him. “Just say yes. I’ll do whatever you want. You know that. Just say yes.”

You nodded silently, admittedly a little lost in his eyes and his confidence and his soul. Jesus.

“Y--Yes.”

“Come here.”

And he kisses you again and again and again until your bodies are more one than two. Until your heart beats both faster and slower at the same time. Until it’s just the two of you against the world. You liked your odds.

*two months later*

*Shawn’s point of view*

There’s a reason why he needs her with him at all times. There’s a reason why his hands shake when she’s not holding him. A reason why his breathing is out of sorts when she’s not around. There’s a reason why they’re sat in the front row at the Grammys and a reason why he makes them point out her seat in the crowd for him.

The grammys were the most terrifying night of his whole entire life. A lot of people felt like they could define a night, a year, an entire career. But they could never mean more than to a boy who had grown up with them around the house, who had seen them on the coffee table, who had to leave his life behind to even get a shot at one. The Grammys meant that the world had accepted him, had welcomed him in with open arms...despite his dad doing everything in his power to get them not to. But they also meant that she had believed in him like no one had, like not even he had.

So, that night when he performs he’s only performing for her. And he’s only singing to her. Perhaps for that reason alone it’s one of the smoothest performances he’s ever had. When the last note rings out, he lets his guitar fall against his thigh and he holds his fingers to his lips to send a kiss her way. He knows the camera is on the two of them. He wants them all to know that no one has ever loved anyone the way he loves her. And the kiss she sends back his way is all he’ll ever need. It’s the icing on the cake. To be loved by her. He was ready to go home with that and only that. You have to believe that.

He walks backstage and Andrew is waiting there with a guy dressed in all black and a headpiece in his ear. They both stop him, and he’s just a little bit annoyed that he can’t get back to y/n faster. They had a game plan to take a drink every time Alicia Keys performed a random song that night.

“What’s up?”

“They’re about to announce Best Collaboration and Best Pop Vocal. You’re up for both, so you’re staying here.”

He winced. “W--Wait can I...can I go back to my seat first?”

Andrew shook his head. “What? No, man. Come on the camera’s ready to go.”

“But y/n! She’s got my phone, I can’t even text her.”

“You can look  at her if you win the grammy, now stop whining!”

His heart pounds. His legs shake. His hands wreak havoc on his guitar until they yell at him for playing and take the damn thing away from him. It’s the scariest minute of his whole entire life. He’s lucky they hadn’t started drinking quite yet.

“And the winner for best collaboration goes to….Shawn Mendes ft. Khalid, “Youth”!!!!”

The curtain backstage opens and he doesn’t move. Because surely there’s a mistake. Surely Ariana Grande or someone else won. He was just a guy with a guitar. There was no fucking way.

“SHAWN GO!” Andrew huffed pushing him towards the stage.

Khalid is already there. Shawn feels so stunned he waddles awkwardly toward the stage. Fucking Lizzo is standing there for Christ sake. Khalid is all smiles and jumps on him with love and a squeezed hug. He still can’t believe it.

Lizzo hands him the fucking grammy and suddenly its in his hands. His hands. And the whole room goes silent because they’re waiting for him to speak. Him.

“I...I don't know what to say.” He mumbled.

“THAT’S MY MANS. STAND UP TALL BOY!”

He looks over in the direction of her and she’s standing for him. She’s got tears in her eyes. She’s smiling so big it looks like it hurts. For him. All for him. And because she said so his spine straightened. Because it was actually all for her.

“I...can only thank one person on this earth for this grammy and for this year and for this life that I have now.” He sniffled, throat tightening as he turned to her. “You found me when I was nothing but a trust fund asshole who couldn’t look more than two feet in front of him. You loved me and healed me and cherished me when no one else would. This is only because of you. Because you’re the most talented human being in this room, and you work harder than any of us. Because for some reason you think I’m worthy of your love. Thank you. I--I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you. T--Thank you.”

It’s like walking on butterflies. It’s like doing coke and ecstasy and molly all at once. His ears feel like they’ve burst. His heart is thudding so fast he’s given up on trying to calm down. He just wants to go to her. He’s not too proud to wipe away the tears in his eyes, and there’s a moment where Khalid and he just hold each other. Because they just wrote a song about how the world wasn’t fair, and it had somehow been recognized by that very world. In the middle of this hug, he is once again tugged in a different direction against his will, because why the fuck not.

Best pop vocal album doesn’t even make sense. Like it was actually wild. He had thought it was ridiculous when he got nominated, and for them to hand him the award is just absurd. Absolutely absurd.

“What the hell?” He asked y/n through the mic, because apparently he could only speak to her during his acceptance speeches. “I really thought Ariana had this one.”

Ari was sitting next to y/n in a ball gown that nearly swallowed her, but he could at least see the two of them nodding at each other.

“So did we!”

“I’m so sorry.” He mumbled to both of them, incredibly sincere. “Uh...I wanna thank my fans for even buying the music and coming to see me.That is the wildest thing in the world to me and I promise to never take it for granted. I’m gonna leave now. Okay bye.”

They finally let him go back to his seat during the commercial break. He practically falls into her arms. Her lip gloss coats his mouth and he couldn’t be happier. Finally, with her fingers on him he can relax.

“I can’t believe you used your first grammy speech to just ramble about me.” She whined wiping away the colored lip gloss. “Did you not write a damn speech like I told you too?”

He shook his head softly. “I didn’t think I would win. And you--you looked so pretty. I got starstruck. I won two grammys baby, I’m the happiest guy alive right now. Now can we please get drunk and listen to Lady Gaga? It’s all I want.”

“Sorry sweetheart. You’re up for three more tonight. No alcohol for you.”

“I...What? But--But what about our drinking game?”

“You have a reputation to uphold sir.” She said sternly.

He simply pouted at her with as soft of a look as humanly possible. She raised an eyebrow as if it wouldn’t work. His fiance was a tough cookie to crack.

*ten minutes later*

“Look babe! Alicia is at the piano again!” He murmured excitedly.

“Alright. Down the hatch!”

And the tequila kept coming for the rest of the night.

*an hour later*

“Babe, I wanna go home.” He whined into her shoulder.

“Mmm, can’t yet. There’s still like three more awards left. You’re three for five babe.”

“You smell so good. I think your collarbones are my favorite body part. I’d like to dedicate some time to them later if you’d let me”

She giggled. “Boy, we’re in public.”

He pouted at her, a bit annoyed that this award show was stopping him from making love to her already.

“Then let’s leave. Right now. We can elope. I don’t even need a wedding. Just you, me, a bottle of champagne, and that villa in Rome. What do you say?”

“I say….you need to give me your cup before you slip and tell the whole world we’re engaged.”

No fun.

He leans on her shoulder and stares up at her wondering how the hell she got so pretty when the next awards are called.

“It is time to announce Best New Artist. Past winners have included Alessia Cara, Doa Lipa, and me, Billie Eilish. Here are the nominees.”

“Baby, I love you.” He whispered pursing his lips for a kiss.

“You are on camera. They’re about to announce your award, babes.”

“There’s no way in hell I won, y/n. Look I’m so content right now I just wanna--”

“And the winner is...SHAWN MENDES.”

And suddenly he was upended by the gracious melanated pillow that was his fiance's titties. Truly a crime against humanity.

“GO!” The entire first row yelled as he stared around owlishly.

Tequila is a hell of a thing.

He reached for her hand and immediately began walking towards the stage, not at all concerned by her yelling at him or trying to remain in her seat. Fat fucking chance.

He gets her on the stage and they both hug Billie, and he has a moment where he realizes he actually fucking won, and what that means. They hand him the award and y/n tries to step back with BIllie but he won’t let go of her hand, wouldn’t dream of letting go of her hand. She’s not wearing his ring in that moment, and he knows exactly why, but he can still feel it -- the commitment, between the two of them. That will never fade.

“I’m so sorry that I’m up here again. I--I’m sure that you’re sick of me. But, I’m so glad I get the chance to have her up here with me just once. I don’t uh I don’t get to talk about all that she’s done for me, mostly because she won’t let me. And mostly because her job is to make people like me and a lot of you get to a place where we can share our stories and our passion through music. But not all of us are that lucky. And for a long time, I wasn’t.”

He peered over at her for courage and strength and perhaps because he just liked to look at her. When she smiled it made him feel safe. And so he kept talking.

“I signed a contract with my father when I was fifteen years old...and I thought he wanted the best for me, thought that he’d make me a star or something. But instead he took every song I ever wrote and kept it from being released. And he didn’t let me perform, record, or even write anything that could be viewed in public for years. And I think a lot of people in this room wouldn’t even know what to do with themselves if they couldn’t create. Music is what makes me--us--human. I’m nothing without it.” He peered down at his grammy and swallowed thickly. She pressed her fingers against his back and it was like he could breathe better, so he smiled at her “But uh it would mean nothing if I didn’t have you. I’m gonna write songs about you for the rest of my life. I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life. And if we get a couple grammys for it that’ll be cool. But I’m me because you allowed me to be. So this is for you. Okay? No take backs.”

He hands her the award and rests his hands upon her waist. They’re shaking, but he can’t tell when she’s kissing him in front of the whole world. The applause that rings out around them might as well be background noise. He’s got nothing in his head, his heart, his field of vision, but her. And he kind of wants it to stay that way forever.

That alone could be the end of the story. And he’d never ask for another thing again. But instead they take home album of the year and he has to get up there and make another speech. He was sick of speeches, and he was sure the rest of the audience was too. So he quickly thanked his collaborators, Khalid again, Niall for essentially creating the record with him, Andrew, everyone at the label, his mum. You know, the people he couldn’t thank when he was do busy praising y/n?

“Sorry again. I guess I could have thanked all those people earlier in the night but I just wanted to spend some time talking about my fiance tonight. It’s my favorite thing in the world. Have a good night everyone!”

And a bit of a gasp rings out across the crowd. And he pauses cause he’s not quite sure what’s going on. He looks to Alicia who gave him the award and her eyes are wide. Not a great sign. He peers over to y/n because surely she could tell him what the hell had happened. She stares him down like a wolf that hasn’t eaten in a few weeks. Even Ariana Grande is shaking her head at him in a big puffy dress like she’s disappointed. And the poor bastard that he is, he truly doesn’t know what he did wrong at first.

“Well that’s what it’s all about folks. Love. It’s a beautiful thing. I think I speak for us all when I say we wish y/n and Shawn nothing but the best in their marriage. That’s our show tonight. Have a wonderful night and spend some time spreading love and positivity.”

Oh God.

“What did I do? What did I do?!” He asked her walking down the steps of the stage.

“You told the whole world we’re getting married, boy. Get your pasty ass down here!”

He walks back to her like a puppy with its tail between its legs. He was genuinely the dumbest fucker alive.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I--I didn’t mean to--it just slipped out!” He apologized.  “At least I didn’t tell them about the label.”

She rolled her eyes. “I simply cannot believe you’re my forever. You just won five grammys. Shut up and kiss me already.”

That much he could do. 

The End.

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[16ruedelaverrerie]

You are adrift in a vast ocean of sadness and confusion much as I am, anon. Come, let us hold each other, in the knowledge that perhaps we cannot save each other from drowning, but at least when we complain about how much it sucks, we’ll have the other to nod empathetically and mutter “valid, same” through a mouthful of water.

Nole has been a source of visceral disappointment for me lo these many months. I too unhitched my wagon a few years back -- when the true extent of his bad opinions started to come to light -- and can truthfully say that at this point, I don’t wish him well in his professional endeavors, the way that he is. Being misinformed about food sensitivities is one thing, but being against equal pay? Being an antivaxer?? Being irresponsible with his influence by endangering the health of others??? It isn’t HILARIOUS QUIRKS anymore. Something about this incredibly disgraceful DQ from the US Open feels weightier than mere coincidence, even though 1. he’s physically expressed frustration before without managing to hurt anyone, 2. other players have physically expressed frustration in stormier ways, and 3. his on-court temper isn’t even what I would consider his greatest shortcoming. These points don’t seem to matter, because this DQ incident dovetails so seamlessly with the other genuinely terrible stuff that he’s been doing lately. Accidental though it might have been, it’s shaped like it’s part of a pattern, and that’s so unfortunate. I wish it had felt like the accident it was.

Maybe the sadness you feel is similar to the sadness I feel, anon. I’m sad that he couldn’t be a better person (or, even, a good person). I’m sad that someone who had so many qualities I liked couldn’t remain a source of joy for me! And I’m sad that he seems so resistant to change. Those are some of my feelings and I hope that my rambling has, in whatever small way, been helpful as you navigate this garbage time!

You’re too kind, thank you @magicmaks​! I think that I might not be the best person to give any art tips, most of all art tips that help you find a style different from anime (everything I do is so heavily indebted to anime!) but... I support you in this journey. And as David Cage would famously have it, I suppose that anyone who has ever drawn reverse AU Gavin has dabbled in ANIME STYLE CONNOR so we are none of us innocent in this.

I think that for faces, especially, thinking about the proportions of features in relation to one another is really helpful in establishing style. There are TONS of guides and tutorials on this subject and BASICALLY EVERY OTHER SUBJECT that you can find on Instagram and elsewhere, but it can be a bit overwhelming when you’re just trying to settle on one concrete thing that you can do first to develop as an artist! So perhaps what I would find helpful at your moment is to gather some art that you like, and to dissect the features on those faces to see how they measure against one another. If you draw a tight circle around each eye, for example, how many circles of that same size fit between the eyes? What is the ratio of height to width for each eye? What other features on the face seem to have the same length as the nose does?

This doesn’t really give you solid anatomical fundamentals to build the head on top of, which I think is really important too! But the study of anatomy starts from realistic proportions, which might not even be the style that you’re aiming for-- I’d say that identifying the general look you want and setting it as a specific goal (as opposed to something more general like “less anime”) will allow you to adjust as needed when you DO start getting into anatomy. Also HOW COULD I POSSIBLY RECOMMEND STUDYING ANATOMY FIRST WHEN I STILL HAVEN’T EVEN FUCKING DONE IT OH MY GOD I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ART WHY HAVE YOU SENT IN THIS ASK?????

Thank you, Pastor, but what aboUT MY IMMORTAL SOUL????????

*It’s Always Sunny theme starts playing*

“The Gang Explores Incest”

Well, you know, I don’t really incline towards fixed headcanons -- and if I were to search my soul, I’d probably say that I think of Elijah and Gavin not being related in any way much more often than I do -- but this definitely seems like something that Nines would dispassionately try to argue is no deterrent to whatever they have going on, all the while as Gavin freaks out and paces the break room.

“In the absence of any true imbalance of power--” Nines pauses. “Let me rephrase. In the absence of any imbalance of power which the elder family member holds over the younger, I fail to see how figurative kinship could function as an obstacle in this scenario.”

“I’M JUST FUCKING CREEPED OUT,” yells Gavin.

“Ah,” says Nines, “irrational human taboos.”

Later, Gavin barges into Kamski’s Fortress of Solitude unannounced. “YET ANOTHER THING THAT YOU HAVE RUINED FOR ME, MY NEMESIS!” he yells.

“Please get my brother a glass of water, Chloe,” says Elijah.