#literally just decided to get naked in the middle of the street like MY DEAR... WKGSKSGDJ

[the-acid-pear]

Baki was such a hilarious manga, that Canadian straight up ate that old man

#luly talks #jack hanma my beloved... what a deranged motherfucker #there's not a single character in that manga who isnt funny as fuck #everyone is fucking funny and bizarre to some degree #hell remember the time doppo just got in his tiger fighting shorts to beat up that other old man? #literally just decided to get naked in the middle of the street like MY DEAR... WKGSKSGDJ #characters getting naked is extremely normal tho only one who is decent is my grandpa shibukawa and not even he was safe #bc that sumo descendant of nomi no sukune accidentally ripped off his kimono once #itagaki literally just sits on his ass drawing buff naked old men all day like damn man if that aint the dream... #and to close up worth mentioning yujiro who stopped an earthquake with his fists and can tank lighting and constantly hangs out with #american presidents (the ones shown were obama trump and biden) #he's also bisexual :)

[littlestarofthewest]

holy shit your work is 😍😍😍🥵🥵🥵 thank you for blessing us gays with your amazing talent. if you ever get the chance, could you possibly write something with a dom-leaning John and a m!reader? maybe lots of praise? i’m such a sub for that man 😳

Thanks for the .... praise ;) I’m glad you enjoy my writing :) 

I don’t claim to be very knowledgeable about dom/sub dynamics, so please forgive me if that’s not what you were looking for. I just wrote from the heart.

Title: Train to Submission | Word Count: 4319 | Rating: Explicit

Tags: light dom/sub, praise kink, masturbation, semi-public sex, voyeurism

Summary: Hitting a train in the middle of the day with two people is one of the dumbest things a person can possibly do, especially if the second person is you. That's what you should have said when John told you to come along. But then again, it's John freaking Marston. All common sense goes right out the window when you're faced with that man. 

You remember seeing John in camp for the first time, crawling out of his tent with a whiskey bottle in hand, his union suit so far open that you could have had him naked in seconds. The whole day, some of the other gang members were ribbing him about the most stupid things, and he just went away, emptying his bottle and giving no shit. You took him for some sort of loser then, but a couple of days later, you found out that hungover John Marston was very different from gunslinger John Marston.

Hosea told you to check out the local gun store after getting a tip that there's some backdoor gambling going on. When you had a look around, things went south fast, and John shot four guys before you even got your gun out. By the time you peaked over the counter you've been hiding behind, there was only one guy left, and John knocked his lights out with one punch. The gun shop owner was all too happy to give you whatever you wanted then, and you went back to camp with guns, ammo, and a nice pile of money. Personally, you also acquired a whole new way of looking at John.

Over the next couple of weeks, you tried to tell yourself that John was just reckless, but the more you saw of him and the more you heard about him from other people, the more convinced you got that he had more balls than most of the men in camp, and when he felt like it, he'd shove them figuratively down your throat. When he came to you this morning, telling you - not asking - to follow him, you had a sudden urge to literally swallow them down.

You're standing in a small pisspot of a town now, watching the other side of the road. Somebody comes up at you from behind, leaning in close. "He still there?" John asks in his raspy voice, and you try to ignore how the little hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Yeah, hasn't moved an inch," you grunt.

You were supposed to be in and out of here in a matter of minutes. Dutch asked the two of you to grab some plans from the mayor's office, something you might be able to use in a scam. The problem is the local sheriff. He decided to take up position right in front of the building, talking to anyone who comes near. Your desire to walk over there and punch him grows more prominent by the second, so you don't even want to know how John is doing. Waiting is definitely something he hates and often the reason why he gets into trouble. Dutch told you to do this quietly, though. Punching out the sheriff is a horrible idea.

"For Christ's sake, there's gotta be a way around that asshole," John growls, and you see trouble coming your way. 

"How about a distraction?" you suggest. "I could spook some horses over at the stables."

"Distraction," John muses, his eyes fixed on the sheriff as he talks to a young man who passes by, clapping his shoulder and looking after him for a while as he walks on.

A crooked smile crawls onto John's face, and he nudges you in the back. "That's it. You go over there and distract him."

"How?"

John watches you as if that's the dumbest question he's ever heard, and without warning, he slaps your ass hard, making you bite your lip to hold in a moan. "That's how. You gonna show him what an obedient boy you are for any man who takes from you what he wants."

"I'm not-" you try to protest, your heart racing at the thought that he figured you out. John grabs your arm and pushes you against the building you've been hiding behind.

"You gonna go over there right now and do what I say, or I'll have to make you."

You could ask how he's planning on doing that, but then you'd probably have to wash your pants. "Alright, I'm going."

John pats your cheek. "Good boy."

He says it like he's talking to his horse and your cock twitches uncomfortably as you walk over to the sheriff, fully aware that John will be watching you while you to try to seduce this man long enough to give John an opening to strike.

By the time you open your mouth, you already know precisely why John sent you over here. You met a lot of men like the sheriff before. He's definitely into dick and the young variety at that. As a man in a position of power, the sheriff thinks that he can get what he wants from you wherever he wants. In mere minutes, you find yourself in a side alley, the sheriff making lewd suggestions on what he can do to you.

You give John another five minutes, then you'll punch that guy and leave. As the sheriff begins to put his hands where they don't belong, you take a few steps closer to the street. "I fear I have to leave now."

The sheriff follows after you. "Oh no, dear boy. You can't dangle that perky little ass in front of me and think you can leave. I'll get what I want."

When he grabs your shoulders, the sound of a gun being cocked echoes through the alley. John puts the barrel right to the sheriff's head. "Get your dirty hands off him."

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" the sheriff bluffs.

"Yeah, a pervert." John smashes the gun over the sheriff's head, spitting on him before he hits the ground. "What a son of a bitch."

You couldn't agree more, but you're still angry at John that he brought you into that situation in the first place. "You're the one who threw me at him, asshole."

John shrugs, looking you up and down. "To be fair, it's tough not to bend you over and go at it with that perky little ass of yours."

You wish you could hit him or at least curse him out, but his words mean that he thought about this before, about you, and your pants grow a little tighter again.

"Come on," John says, the cocky son of a bitch knowing full well that he got you. 

You walk along the road, John's hand on the small of your back the entire time. It feels possessive; as if he needs to state some sort of claim. Like so many things about John, it doesn't make sense to you.

"We're heading back now?" you ask, trying to know beforehand what trouble he's getting you into.

"No," John grunts. "The office was a bust. There's nothing there."

"Are you sure?"

"Had a nice talk with the mayor's secretary. I'm sure."

If John didn't get the thing that made you come here in the first place, it makes even less sense to stick around. "Then what are we still doing here?"

"That," John says. "We gonna hit the train."

Hitting a train in the middle of the day with two people is one of the dumbest things a person can possibly do, especially if the second person is you. That's what you should say. But then again, it's John. All common sense goes right out the window when you're with him.

-------

The two of you sneak onto one of the cargo carriages as soon as the train takes off, hiding behind two crates to make sure you won't be spotted by the guard while you're still close to the town. Crouched down in the tight space, you become acutely aware of everything that you like about John. His lean frame, the fucked up hair, and above all, his dark brown eyes. Once in a while, you get to sneak a glance, and it's often the best thing of your day. 

John stands up to peek through the window behind you, his chest right in front of your face. He's wearing a vest today, but you still see his naked torso in your mind's eye, and you wish you could lick him all over. 

"I think we're good to go," he says, turning around and looking along the corridor. "Come on."

With you on his heel like a good little doggy, John makes his way to the other end of the carriage. He turns to you, his face inches from yours, and it's one of those rare moments where you can drown in his eyes.

"I'll take out the guard, you make sure nobody comes from the other side."

"Alright," you say, waiting for him to move again. He's about to sneak up on the guard when the train sways a little to one side. You spot something out of the corner of your eye. 

Without thinking, you grab John and swirl the both of you around, dragging him along by the lapels of his coat. Your back hits the crates standing in the corner, but you manage to stifle the sound of pain and pull John as close as you can. You both take a few deep breaths, and you swallow before looking up to him. John's furious. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches before he's stretching his neck. "What do you think you're doing?" he hisses.

"There are three guards, not one. I saw them coming from the other carriage."

John leans over the side of the crates but pulls back quickly. "Shit, they're standing right there."

"What now?"

"We can't go back," John says, taking another quick look. "They might see us if we try."

You swallow hard when you think about the other option. "Shooting our way out?"

John's hand lingers over his gun. He's thinking about it. Then he looks at you and shakes his head. "Too risky."

"It's only three guys," you say, wonder in your voice. Usually, John is the one jumping into the fray when he's outnumbered ten to one. 

"I said no."

"But-"

John puts his hand over your mouth, staring at you, his nose almost touching yours. "I already sent you after that asshole sheriff today, I'm not going to get you shot, alright?"

You nod under John's hand, and he pulls it away, giving you more room. Suddenly, you feel the need to touch him, so you reach up and pat his chest. "Wasn't your fault that this guy-"

"I've met his kind often enough," John spits out, something dark glistening in his eyes. Bad memories. "I should have known."

You don't say anything, but keep your hand on John's chest. He needs a moment to calm down, or he'll start shooting after all. The whole day turns out to be a total disaster. You wish you could do something for him that would break the tension, take the strain off of him. 

"We still have my perky ass," you joke, "that's something."

John stifles a laugh, but then his gaze drops to your hand on his chest. You try to take it away, but John grabs it, bringing it up over your head and pinning it against the crate before doing the same with your other arm. You squirm, trying to get free, but then John leans in and kisses you. It's like a string of dynamite is bursting in your chest, ripping through your body and leaving you in pieces. You thought about this, wanted it for a while, but there was never any indication that John wanted the same, aside from the usual teasing and lewd comments.

You melt against John's body, and when his crotch presses against yours, you roll your hips, desperate for more friction. He pulls away from your mouth, shaking his head. "Look at you, so eager."

His hand trails over your cheek and you can tell by the heat that you must be red as hell. John smiles. "So flushed, and we haven't even started."

"The guards, John," you whisper, and his smile turns into a mean grin. 

"Oh, they're still there, don't worry," he says, the hand from your face trailing down your neck, his fingertips tickling your sensitive skin. "One wrong sound from you, and I'm sure they'll come running."

"We can't-" you start, but John silences you with another kiss, licking into your mouth as if he needs a good taste.

His hand wanders down your chest, and along your hip, coming dangerously close to the growing bulge in your pants. While the sheriff disgusted you, there's nothing more arousing than John having you at his mercy. He could hold a gun to your head any day, and you'd thank him. 

John stops kissing you but only to bite down along your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him more access. He growls against your skin. "Jesus, you really are that obedient."

At first, he seems amused that a man could give up control like that, but you can see the wheels turning in his head. He steps back, making sure that he still can't be seen by the guards. Then he turns to you. "Open your shirt."

"John, if somebody-"

"Don't make me ask again," he says, and you wonder why you're even arguing with him. This is what you wanted, after all.

You reach down, opening the buttons on your shirt, your skin growing hot. When you're done, you put your hands down to your sides, waiting for more instructions. John's eyes wander to your pants, and even while playing with you, John doesn't like waiting. "Let me see your cock."

The thought of the guards being right around the corner is still at the forefront of your mind. It's one thing to make out, but you sure wouldn't want to be caught with your pants down. This is more dangerous than shooting it out, but looking at John, you think that's what intrigues him.

You ignore the flutter in your stomach and open the buttons on your pants, pushing them down just enough so you can get your cock out. Again, you let your hands hang down beside you, waiting for orders. You feel more exposed than ever before, but that's what keeps you hard.

John's eyes flicker to the guards, but then he fixes you with a heated stare. "Play with yourself."

"What-?" you start, not quite sure if you get his meaning.

"I'm gonna watch you while you get yourself off," John says. Again, there's not the tiniest bit of doubt in his voice that you'll do what he says. "You better make it worth watching."

You've never done anything like this, haven't even thought about it. Why would you get yourself off when you have somebody else in front of you? But if John tells you to do it, then that's what's going to happen. You can't deny that you're wired that way. You want to follow his orders, please him, make him happy in any way you can.

Still, you have to close your eyes. You try to imagine that John is touching you while you do it to yourself. Starting at your neck, you run your fingers to your shoulders and further south. You squeeze your chest a little, your thumbs teasing your nipples. It's one of your most sensitive spots and your dick twitches at the sensation. 

Keeping one hand there, you run your other hand down your stomach. Usually, you would just go at it, but you're supposed to put on a show, so you trail with your fingers all around your cock, keeping the touch light. You never thought it's possible to tease yourself that much, but you're beginning to become desperate for your own touch. 

"Open your eyes," John says, and you follow that order like any other, but you keep looking into the ground. John clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Look at me, darling."

Having to look at him while you're almost naked and touching yourself is bad enough, but the pet name makes you melt inside. Your fingers claw into your chest, and you reach for your cock. You squeeze hard, needing to ground yourself as waves of pleasure roll over you.

John is holding your gaze, even when you reach down to cup your balls, massaging yourself. You're caught in his eyes, and somehow the shame evaporates. You both want this, there's nothing wrong about it. You lean back against the crate and run your other hand down along your body, your fingers teasing your cock with light touches.

"That's it, you're doing good," John says, getting a moan out of you. His voice and the way he talks to you get you more riled up then the touches.

You close your fingers loosely around your cock, warming yourself up to the touch. Finally, John's eyes wander down your body, following each up and down of your hand. "A little more, darling," he says, "you're already there."

Grabbing yourself tighter, you pick up the pace and run your other hand over your body. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, and you press yourself harder against the crate for more stability. 

You let go of yourself for a moment to lick your fingers, before running them along your length, spreading drops of precome over your skin. It's not much, but you feel slicker to the touch now, and when you grab your cock again, you fall into a quicker rhythm. 

"Goddamn, you make quite the sight there," John says, shifting his stance a little. 

The thought that he's getting hard from watching you sends a jolt of electricity through your body, and you let out another moan. Bucking your hips, you thrust into your own hand, your fingers teasing your nipples again. They perk up when you pinch them, and the heat shooting to your balls has you sway for a moment.

You reach up and hold on to the top of the crate, tilting your head back as your hand goes faster. Maybe you should put on more of a show, but it's been too long since you've touched yourself and the pressure is too much. You feel the strain on your muscles, begging you to relieve you from the tension.

With your mouth falling open, you care less and less about the sounds you're making, your moans and grunts filling the air between ecstatic breaths. You don't mean to, but you pump your cock even harder, twisting your hand at the upstroke to tease yourself. 

Looking down again, you watch John's face. He's torn between looking at your face and your cock, standing too close to take in the whole picture all at once. His eyes on you drive you wild, and you begin to miss his voice, still drunk on the kind words he had for you so far. 

"Is that what you want? Am I doing good?" you whisper, desperate for anything that he might give you.

"Goddammit," John groans and closes the gap between you, pressing his body against yours. "You're doing more than good, darling. You look like an angel. A sweet, dirty angel."

He kisses you again, open-mouthed and sloppy. More moans tumble from your lips, and you keep stroking yourself, not daring to stop until he tells you to. Then, John steps back, his hand on your shoulder. "On your knees."

You fall to your knees without thinking, enclosed by the crates and John's body. He opens his pants with as much patience as usual. None. You gasp a little when John pulls out his cock, and can't help but lick your lips. Leaning with one hand against the crates, he strokes himself right in front of your face. 

"So desperate, ain't you? You want me?" he teases, knowing full well that you do.

"Yes," you moan. "Please, John, I'll do whatever you want."

"Oh, I know you do."

Bringing his hips forward, John feeds you his cock, pushing inside without pause. You do your best to take him and lick along his length when he draws back, always looking up to him.

"That's it, angel, put those pretty lips to good use," he says, his voice even more broken than usual. "And don't forget to take care of yourself."

You're not sure you can do this for long. You're not allowed to stop touching yourself, but being on your knees for John turns you on more than anything else ever did. The heat and smell of him in your mouth drives you crazy, and every time his cock rubs along your throat, jolts of electricity shoot right into your own dick. 

The guards are completely forgotten, and you moan around John's cock, your own spit drooling down your chin. Your hand claps tighter and tighter around your dick, almost painful, and you buck your hips while you push your mouth forward to take as much of John as you possibly can. He moans and brings his hand to your head. The touch is soft, but something inside you breaks. It's like he's holding you and you can finally be who you really want to be. 

You pull back until you're holding John's cock just between your lips, keeping him in suspense for a moment before you circle your tongue around his tip. Then you slide back down, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock. You do your best to open up for him and swallow him down, your nose pressed into the little curls around his cock. 

His smell is intoxicating, and you stay there as long as you can without gagging. Then you draw back again and start all over, all the while, doing the same thing to your own cock. Up, a little tease with your thumb over your slit, and back down. Spurred on by your own arousal, you soon go faster and faster, and you know full well that you begin to lack finesse, but the rub of John's flesh between your lips is too good. 

You go harder and faster, John's cock slick from your spit. The noises you make are obscene, but there's nothing in the world that could stop you now. If those guards came around the corner, you'd keep going, sucking off John Marston till you have a bullet in your head. 

Your moans get louder, and you fuck eagerly into your own hand, your whole body squirming under John. Then, John's fingers tighten in your hair. He pulls himself out of your mouth and strokes himself. "Come on, darling. Get yourself off. I wanna see how you come."

All you need are a few long, hard strokes and your whole body tenses. Your dick pulses in your hand, your come running down your fingers as your hips still fuck into nothing. All the time, John's eyes are on you, and your head falls back, your mouth open and your breath still going hard. 

"Jesus," John grunts, his fingers clawing into your hair, "look at you. My perfect little angel. You gonna look so good with my come all over your pretty face."

He leans forward, stroking himself just as wild and hard as you did. For just a moment, he closes his eyes. You can see him come undone, his hips stuttering. Then he opens his eyes again and watches as the strands of his come shoot over your cheeks and chin. He runs his tip along your lips before pushing back into your mouth one more time so you can lick him clean. 

After he’s pulling back, you both stay like this, catching your breath. Then, John tugs himself back into his pants and checks on the guards again before helping you up. The muscles in your legs are still strained, and you lean heavy against John. He carefully pushes you against the crates before pulling out his bandana from the back of his pants. "Here, clean yourself up."

You try your best to look presentable again, stuffing the piece of fabric into your own pants when you're done and fully dressed. You're sure that John will want it back, but for now, it feels good to carry something of him around. John gives you a quick once over before grabbing his gun. 

"We gonna go back the way we came," he explains. "You go first, I'll follow you. One of the guards just went away. If we're lucky, they won't see us."

"We can't exactly rob the train without taking out the guards," you say, moving your legs around to get some feeling back. 

"Yeah, I don't really give a shit about the train anymore. There's a station coming up, and we'll get off there."

You have no idea where you might end up then, and even for John, that's somewhat reckless. "And then we do what?"

John puts an arm around your waist to pull you closer, his hand wandering to your ass. "Then we'll find you a place to have a nice bath, and when you're all warm and relaxed, I'm gonna take care of that perky little ass of yours."

You're too surprised to say something, but you don't have to anyway. John knows who you are now, and it seems he's planning on taking full advantage. Not that you mind. As he draws you in for a kiss, your heart swells in your chest. There's nothing in this world that could hurt you now because you just got claimed by John Marston.

#john marston x male reader #john marston #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #my writing #fulfilled request #Anonymous #answered asks

[freezinginacozyfoxhole]

Multifaceted

Female!Sniper reader X Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith

Synopsis: First time drinking can have serious consequences. You experience it on your skin when Hoosier has to put up with your shift of attitude.

Disclaimers: This story is based strictly on the actor portrayals of the characters. I respect the real people and their heroic deeds. Also, English is not my native language and my English level is somewhere around B2 so I’m sorry in advance for my poor language choice. Enjoy!

 Melbourne during wartime was lovely, you thought as you downed another drink in the wild hollers of the boys. In fact, it was even better than home. You could have a proper hot bath in the house of a stranger who then pampered you like their own child. You could enter a shop and be assaulted with questions from young boys and discrete glances from their mothers. You could talk to your father after two months and found out that Lew's sister was having a baby boy and that she would have hoped to have you by her side at the christening. The number of things that were happening around you and to you was overwhelming.

You were living the time of your life; you told yourself, a broad smile spreading across your face. You had a bed with a proper mattress, the opportunity to eat out every evening, and to jog around the parks in the morning. It was not even at home that you felt so peaceful, so self-accomplished.

Although, there was still a war raging on and the fact that you were to be deployed back in the Pacific in two days was no sweet reminder. A bitter thought. But as you were waiting for a refill, you let your eyes wander around the crowded bar. Barely wincing at the heavy cigarette smoke which you've eventually grown accustomed to, you briefly saw Chuckler making out with some Australian girl, Runner trying to hit on one and then Sidney, sweet and reserved Sidney, in deep conversation with his Australian companion you knew as Gwen. She was exquisite, you stared at her, without realizing that you, in fact, were comparing yourself to her. A perfect little doll face with an elegant posture and a shiny blonde hair with curls that embraced her flower-patterned dress. Glancing down at your army-issued trousers, you couldn't help but shrug and remember how a dress used to feel from the time you used to wear them back home. As another pint of beer was passed by the barman, he flashed a smile at you and leaned closer:

'Ain't enjoying the night out, miss?'

You gave him a reluctant look, knowing that he was hitting on you. Everyone loved the uniform.

'I'm fine, thank you,' you smiled politely at him, declining the drink. 'Although some bourbon would be nice -do you happen to have some?'

He leaned even closer so that there were only a few inches between your face and his. Winking at you, he let out a low whistle:

'Missin' the American flavor, missie? 'Cause, you know, the Australian taste is also unforgettable -if you know what I mean!'

  Feeling a warm blush creeping in your cheeks, you stood up and did what seemed perfectly rational at that moment: you slapped him right across his freshly shaven cheek. With a shocked but amused expression, he looked up at you with a mischievous sneer that scared you a little. No one but the two of you seemed to notice the sudden interaction, which made you aware of how drunk everyone in the room was. Including yourself.

'Guess the missie likes it the hard way!' he kept on with his shit-eating grin as he began to seize you with a hungry glance that made you feel literally naked. 'How about I show you my-'

 With your breath fastening at each of his words, you got up on your legs and hurtled out of the room. Your father may have tried to prepare you for this kind of uncomfortable situations. Still, he failed to mention the cockiness or the sheer lust etched across their face -or your drunk mind was unable to remember everything with accuracy.

 You stumbled to the door, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. That's how always things went -everything was great for a while, something unexpected happened, and everything fell apart. And you were right in the middle of it, a fool and innocent girl in a world of men. You fought to be a part of it, had to prove yourself to remain in it, and now all you wanted was to get the heck out of everything and cuddle with your blanket in your bed.

'Hey, Y/N! Was actually looking for ya!'

 A joyous shout came from the other side of the street and you hastily turned your head in the sound's direction, trying to wipe the anxiety off your face. Hoosier stopped in his traces to wave at you, and you tried to wave back, but you unceremoniously broke down in tears. A rush of relief surged through your veins, and the next thing you knew was that you were clinging to Bill's body for dear life, with tears streaming down across your face.

'Slow down, slow down. What happened?' he asked with a worried voice, his hands slowly brushing the hair out of your face. 'Did someone do something to you?' his tone suddenly raised as you looked up to him.

'I want to get out of here' you blurted the words out, unaware of how drunk you were until you tried to take another step and ended up in Bill's arms. 'Some guy tried hitting on me, I asked him for some bourbon, and then he began saying something about the Australian flavor and -OH MY GOD, just get me out of here, please!' you pleaded as the words just kept coming out of your mouth.

'And just how much did you drink before asking for the bourbon?' he felt compelled to ask as he had also drunk a few shots beforehand.

'Just enough to end up like this,' you smiled bitterly contemplating your state. 'I'm miserable, Bill, that's what I am. And you know what?' you asked him as you felt a sudden pang of hope. 'I'm so miserable that I am going to embark on the ship right now and sleep until they force me to land on another God-forgotten island! Yes, that's it, no one is going to stop me from-'

'Yes, you drank enough.' he stated for himself as he was looking at you blabbering and making plans with that drunk determination on your face. 'Wait, is this your first time getting drunk?' he asked you on a slightly high-pitched tone that betrayed his sloppiness. 'You look rather cute, actually...'

'You think so?' You suddenly asked with a small smile on your face. 'You know Sid's girl, Gwen? I think she's gorgeous with her gleaming long hair and her flawless silhouette. You should go and find your Gwen too, Hoos!' you suddenly exclaimed, giving him a serious pat on the shoulder.

A corner of his mouth lifted while watching your forehead creasing from all the connections you wanted to make with your drunk mind. You were so innocent and unaware of the fact that he'd been looking for you so he could confess his feelings before being deployed once again. But considering the pretty shaken up state he'd found you into, he couldn't make any move on you -he cared too much for you to see you being overwhelmed by too many feelings.

'Go ahead, lover boy! I'll be waiting for you right here!' you promptly stated as you sat down on the ledge of the alley.

    You looked at him with your tired and naïve eyes, your reserved smile revealing your actual condition: a first-time drunk girl who was just sick of being among strangers and wanted to go home. But for the fact that home was an ocean away. His brows furrowed at the distressing sight, and he lowered down on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours.

'How about I take you somewhere quiet and cozy?' he asked you gently, taking your cold hands in this. 'I think I know just the place.'

Blinking slightly confused at his way too gentle attitude, you shot him a suspicious look. Ever since you came here, he either spent his time sleeping or hanging around with you- you got closer during Guadalcanal, but you'd expected him to act like all the other guys did and find himself a nice Australian gal to waste his time with. Yet there he was, enduring your drunk self who kept saying things that made no sense in your head -what was holding him back?

'Come on. Up on your feet!' He slid a hand around your waist, trying to get you back up despite your quiet protests.

Eventually, you stood up and tried again to take a few steps by yourself until it proved a little too difficult, and you crashed ungraciously against a wall and let out a muffled pain sound as Bill hurried to catch you.

'Well, fuck.' You plainly stated, unaware that you just said a terrible word. 'I'm giving up!' You eventually shouted as you rested your head against Bill's body.

   He had wrongly assessed your state until that point. Even then he did not understand what kind of drunk you were -because your actions seemed to be a mix-up between the sad drunk and the sleepy drunk, but then again you had moments when you were highly realistic-

 A faint snore interrupted his train of thoughts, and he glanced down to realize that you had fallen asleep, clinging on to his shirt. He laughed to himself as he gently stroked your ponytail, enthralled by the vague smell of roses that it still bore.

 The sudden sound of shattered glass came from across the street and made him rise his glance in that direction, deciding that it's time he took you to a quieter place. Moving as silent as he could, he managed to place you on his back so that your hands we're barely brushing his chest as your regular breath tickled his left cheek.

As the night moved around you two, he slowly carried you through the quiet streets of the Australian city, the stars and the moon quietly watching over you both.

 He may not have been able to tell you what he was feeling like, but as you lazily wrapped your arms around his chest, leaving out a content moan, he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his last evening in Melbourne.

#the pacific #the pacific imagine #hoosier imagine #bill hoosier smith #the pacific hoosier #hoosier x reader

[honeypiehotchner]

Covered Memories -- part 1

TW for mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, paranoia(?), sadness. Stay safe lovelies.

Here is the Sherlock I promised. It has a couple parts, so I’m going to let this one settle before I give you the next (I’m also editing it as I reread it haha). This was inspired by Billie Eilish’s song “listen before i go” but you don’t need to listen to it while reading or anything. Enjoy! Love you guys xx.

I went to sleep watching Sherlock and woke up on a bus in London.

           It sounds crazier than it actually is, I promise.

           Just kidding, it’s absolutely insane. I’m on a fucking bus in London and I’m from Ohio. I’m from the United States of fucking America, and I somehow woke up on a bus in England.

           I didn’t realize where I was at first, to be completely honest. I didn’t recognize it. The first dead giveaway was that the bus was driving on the wrong side of the road – well, the correct side here, but the wrong side to me completely.

           I’m still in my pajamas, and I’m a little more than thankful that last night I fell asleep in a hoodie and leggings. At least I’m not half naked on a bus in downtown London.

           Things could be a lot worse than they are, that’s for sure.

           But the situation I’m in also isn’t exactly okay. I don’t have my purse, my phone, or any damn shoes on my feet. I don’t even have my damn glasses, so walking around is going to be a little more than challenging, which is partly why I’ve stayed on this bus for longer than I should.

           Eventually, though, I figure I’ve been on here for long enough, so I decide to step down and onto the sidewalk.

           Okay, bad idea. Foreign city, foreign person, and I have no earthly idea where I’m at or where I should go.

           One piece at a time. Okay, I have no money, so a cab ride is out of the park. And so is…basically everything else.

           Okay.

           When one wakes up in London, what does one do – especially if one has never been to London before?

           I have no earthly idea.

           The only knowledge I have of London is from the show I fell asleep watching – Sherlock – and even then, it’s a TV show. It’s fiction.

           My eyes widen at the idea that just came into my head.

           I know, logically, that Sherlock Holmes does not exist. He’s a fictional character, but in knowing that, I know that the show itself is pretty popular. I know a lot about said show. And I know that Baker Street is actually a real place. There’s a museum there now, or something.

           Well, if I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well take advantage. I’ve always wanted to come to the museum, and since I’m here basically for free, I’m going to go see it.

           Strange that I’m not freaking out right now, I know. I don’t know why I’m not freaking out either. I don’t think it has sunk in just yet. It always takes me a good week to really process things, actually, but who knows what that’s about.

           Okay, Baker Street. I need to find my way to Baker Street.

           Because I have no other option, I walk up to the least scary looking woman on the sidewalk with me, tapping her shoulder. Thankfully, she looks to be around my age, so she doesn’t seem too alarmed by me tapping her.

           “Hi, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Sherlock Holmes museum is, would you?”

           She smiles, sort of knowingly and nods. “You’re lookin’ for Sherlock Holmes?”

           “Yes…” I nod slowly, not sure if she’s messing with me and is about to tell me to get lost, but she doesn’t.

           “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

           If she wasn’t also a female and young, then I would not have followed her, but she looks like she means well, and knows where she’s going, which is evident when I vaguely see the awning to the museum in the distance.

           “So, what’s up with you?”

           I blink, letting out a weak laugh. “What?”

           “Why do you need to see Sherlock Holmes?” She clarifies. “What’s your case?”

           Okay, now I’m not sure if she’s the one who knows Sherlock Holmes doesn’t exist. I don’t even know how to respond to her.

           “Oh, I’m not supposed to be here right now,” I shrug. “Just wondering if maybe he could…help me out.”

           “Sounds interesting,” she nods seriously. “Well, it’s just up there. I’ve gotta get to work. Nice meeting you.”

           “Yeah, you too…” I furrow my eyebrows, watching her cross the street.

           I shake my head, rubbing my face with my hands. This no longer feels as concerning as it feels strange. Especially after that interaction.

           I continue walking, continue feeling the concrete underneath my bare feet as I walk. I come up on the awning of the museum only to find it’s…it’s not the museum. It’s Speedy’s Café.

           But Speedy’s isn’t here. Speedy’s isn’t supposed to be on this street – They don’t actually film the show at the exact 221B Baker Street. They film it on North Gower Street, everyone knows that.

           I look up at the brick building, and sure enough, she led me to Baker Street, where the museum should be, but it’s Speedy’s.

           I shake my head again, walking past the building to find someone else. I cast a quick glance at the door next to it, doing a doubletake when I see the golden 221B on the outside.

           “This day is just getting weirder and weirder,” I sigh.

           I rub at my eyes, stepping closer to see if it’s my eyes just playing a trick on me, but it’s not. It really does say 221B on the outside. Complete with the knocker turned to the side like Sherlock keeps it.

           Okay, stop it. Sherlock Holmes is fictional. He keeps it that way in his fictional world. This is the real world, and yes, it’s short circuiting right now, it’s still reality.

           It’s short circuiting? Really? I just woke up on a bus halfway across the globe after going to sleep in my apartment, and the best answer my brain can come up with is that the world is short circuiting?

           Just for that, I’m going to ring the doorbell. Just once. If nothing happens, then I’ll go…find the police station, I don’t know.

           Without giving it a single second thought, I step up, and briefly press the doorbell.

           Nothing happens. Literally, nothing. Which gives me the impression that this is the flat they film in, and that it’s just made to look like it really is Baker Street, even though everyone knows it’s just North Gower.

           I scoff to myself, feeling silly for even entertaining the idea, turning around to walk the other way. It’s when I turn my back that I hear the sound of the door opening, followed by an all too familiar voice.

           “Ma’am, wait!”

           I freeze. Absolutely not. There’s no absolute way that could be him.

           I take a deep breath, slowly turning myself back around, coming face to face with the man I’ve only ever seen on my laptop or phone screen.

           John Watson.

           No…it’s not. It’s Martin Freeman, come on, John Watson doesn’t actually exist. He’s a fictional character.

           “Would you like to come in?” He asks, stepping back and gesturing inside.

           My legs move before I tell them to, walking me inside the flat. I wait until John closes the door, before I turn back around to look at him.

           I probably look more than startled because he returns the expression, furrowing his eyebrows.

           “Are you alright?”

           “…no.”

           “Alright, well, come upstairs. I’ll get Mrs. Hudson to make you a cuppa.”

           I let him guide me up the stairs, checking on me every few steps to make sure I haven’t fainted, I’m sure. I’m not feeling faint, but I know I must look white as a sheet.

           This is just wrong. And not real. I’m dreaming. Surely, this is just a dream.

           “Mrs. Hudson, would you make…”

           He looks to me for my name, so I answer him. “Liz.”

           “Liz here a cuppa, please?”

           Mrs. Hudson – yes, the Mrs. Hudson I’ve seen in the show, Una Stubbs – nods, frowning. “Of course, dear. Are you alright? You look a little spooked.”

           “Yeah…I’m…I’m spooked,” I let out a breathy chuckle.

I glance around the apartment – flat, they’re flats here – with wide eyes. Everything is the same. The yellow smiley face ridden with bullet holes is on the wall above the couch. The messy coffee table that Sherlock always steps over is in front of the couch. The wall itself has various pictures and things pinned up, but I can’t see them clearly enough to know if it’s anything I’d recognize.

“Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Hudson hands me a cup of steaming tea. “Drink that and it should make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H.”

John freezes, staring at me with wide eyes. “Mrs. H?”

“I’m sorry, force of habit,” I grimace. I’m ruining this already.

“Habit? Do you know Mrs. Hudson?”

“No, I—” I sigh. “It’s not a long story, but it’s really complicated, and I’m still trying to process everything right now and— Oh my God.”

The grip on my tea loosens completely, the cup falling from my hands and shattering at my feet. Standing before me is the man I’ve watched on a screen for years. Sherlock Holmes.

He finishes buttoning his blazer, raising an eyebrow. “Client?”

John answers, whilst cleaning up the broken shards of the teacup. “Yeah, I think. She said it’s complicated.” He stands, tossing them into the trashcan that Mrs. Hudson brought over before taking the towel from her to soak up the tea.

“It always is,” Sherlock dismisses John’s answer, holding his hand out to you. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“I know,” I blurt, immediately smacking myself in the forehead. I take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Liz. Liz Singleton.”

“Singleton,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes. “I know that name.”

“You do?”

“Yes…I’m not sure from where. Well, it’ll come to me soon enough.” He walks around me, pulling the chair out from under the table and sitting it in the middle of the floor. “Have a seat, Miss Singleton and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I want to stand, actually,” I say, the past moments’ events coming back to me. “I’m sorry about the cup, Mrs. H. I’m having delayed reactions to things.”

“It’s alright, dear, I’ve got plenty others. Sherlock has a bad habit of breaking them.”

I smile softly, turning back to Sherlock, only to find him staring me down. Deducing me, most likely, so I brace myself for the onslaught of accusations and truths I’m not aware of.

“Why do you speak to Mrs. Hudson with such familiarity?”

I pause, nodding slowly. “That’s part of my story.”

Sherlock sighs tiredly. “Go on, then.” He stays standing as well, continuing to look me over while John sits down in his chair.

“I’m not from here.”

“Yes, I gathered that from your alarming American accent.”

Ignoring the ‘alarming’ adjective, I continue. “I’m from Ohio. The state in the U.S. Thing is, I went to sleep there last night. But I woke up about an hour ago on a bus in downtown London.” My heart is pounding in my chest, the severity of what’s happening finally settling in now that I’ve said it aloud. “Any ideas, Mr. Holmes?”

“A few,” he mutters. “Those are clearly pajamas and judging by your lack of shoes, the sleeping bit does make sense.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “What were you doing last night?”

“That’s,” I pause to chuckle. “That’s the kicker, really, because I was watching you.”

His arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s a show, on BBC, it’s called Sherlock. It’s about you and John and Mrs. Hudson,” I swallow thickly. “And Molly, and Lestrade, and Mary.”

“Mary? Who’s Mary?”

“No one,” I cover quickly, not entirely sure what I’ve done, but I know it isn’t good. It sounds ridiculous, but I must be in the world before he met Mary, so before…before the Reichenbach. “Just a random person. But my point is, it’s a TV show. I was watching it when I fell asleep last night, and I woke up on a bus here, in London. And now I’m talking to you. And you’re not supposed to exist – none of you are. You’re fictional characters. I thought when I first got here that it was a little weird, but I was coming here to see the museum. There’s supposed to be a Sherlock Holmes museum here, not this flat. This flat isn’t supposed to exist – none of it is.”

I turn in a circle, looking at everything I’ve seen over the years. I used to dream about visiting this flat – visiting the set and sitting down in John’s chair or grazing my fingers over the smiley face on the wall, but now I’m here and I don’t even want to be. Now I’m here, and this is the worst nightmare I could ever imagine.

I stop, pointing at John, my mind spinning. “You. Your name isn’t John Watson, it’s supposed to be Martin Freeman. And you,” I point at Sherlock. “Your name isn’t Sherlock Holmes, it’s supposed to be Benedict Cumberbatch.”

           John laughs loudly. “What kind of a name is that?”

           “You played Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit,” I tell John—Martin. He’s Martin. “And Ian McKelpie in Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. And you,” I turn back around to Benedict. “You played Khan in Star Trek. And Alan Turing in The Imitation Game. You guys are actors.” I cover my face with my hands. “This is one weird dream. I need to wake up.” I open my eyes, looking dead at Benedict. “Punch me.”

           “I’m sorry?”

           “Punch me. Right now. Knock me out in here, so it’ll wake me up back home.”

           “I’m not going to punch you, Miss Singleton.” He pauses. “Because I think I know what’s going on here.”

           John looks as surprised as I am. “You’re serious?”

           “Yes, John, I’m quite serious,” Sherlock tucks his hands behind him. “I’m at the height of my fame. You know that because we’ve been in the papers almost every day for the last month.”

           “No idea where you’re going with this, Sherlock.”

           “Oh, come on, open your eyes,” Sherlock cries. “Look at her outfit, look at her eyes. She’s an addict, clearly still high, and one of her delusions is that there’s a TV show starring the both of us. The TV show is incredibly popular, I’m assuming, which falls into the current pattern of my own popularity.” He turns to me. “I suggest you find your own way back home.”

           “What—”

           “Leave,” he points to the door. “I don’t have time to solve the delusions of an addict when there are more pressing issues on my mind.”

           I stare at him, thinking maybe he’s kidding with me, but it’s clear on his face that he’s not. I look to John and he doesn’t say anything. Why would he? They don’t know who I am here. I’m not supposed to be here.

           “Fine,” I mutter. “Sorry for bothering you.”

           I turn and exit the flat, stepping slowly down the stairs. I let myself focus on how the wood feels beneath my bare feet, something I was too dazed to feel when I first walked up. Now I’m feeling entirely too many emotions all at once and the stairs don’t feel magical beneath my feet, they just hurt. Like a million splinters being stabbed into my skin all at once. It’s not a dream like I wanted it to be. This is a literal nightmare.

           I stop at the bottom, letting my hand linger on the railing for just a moment longer. This is the first and last time I’ll ever be in 221B Baker Street and it couldn’t have gone any further from how I wanted.

           “Wait!”

           I ignore the voice – it’s John, but why does he care? – and pull open the front door, slamming it as I step out onto the sidewalk. I barely get past Speedy’s when I feel an arm on my shoulder, turning me around, making me face John Watson – stupid John Watson—

           “What do you want?”

           He removes his hand rather quickly, holding both up in surrender. “Hey, sorry.”

           I cross my arms over my chest. “What?”

           He hesitates, gathering his words. “Is what you said—Is it true? Is there a TV show about us?”

           I roll my eyes. “I’m not having this conversation right now.” I turn around, walking down the sidewalk, and much to my dissatisfaction, John follows beside me.

           “I just… I know what an addict looks like, and you’re not one. You looked too scared when I opened the door earlier and you walked around the flat like you’ve been there before—”

           “You know what?” I stop walking, turning to face him. “The show – You two idiots have gotten me through the roughest points of my life, alright? I’ve watched the show over and over until I could speak Sherlock’s dialogue in perfect timing, I’ve paused scenes to examine the background, I’ve even paused scenes to try to deduce things that Sherlock doesn’t to see what piece of the puzzle he doesn’t explain. So yes, I walked in there like I’d been there before, because I feel like I have. I used to want to live in this world more than my own, but that was a mistake because now that I am here – I don’t even want to be. I just want to go home. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw myself off a building and hope I wake up back in my bed. In my home. Because this doesn’t feel like home anymore. And I was so stupid to think it could’ve been.”

           John’s frown deepens the more that I speak, and part of me thinks I see tears in his eyes when I finish. But it doesn’t matter what I see because this isn’t real, and it never is going to be.

           “Good night, Dr. Watson,” I breathe, blinking and realizing the tears I see are actually in my own eyes. I sniffle, pressure rising in my chest as I try to hold back a sob. And I can’t cry about this in front of him, so I turn and leave, biting my sleeve to keep myself under control until I turn the corner, collapsing against the building in a fit of sobs that wrack my body.

           This is the biggest mess I’ve ever been in. If this is some trick the universe is trying to play on me to tell me that I had it good back home, despite the shit I went through, then that’s fine. I get it, Universe. Lesson learned. Take me back home now, please.

#tw suicide #tw mentions of suicide #tw paranoia #tw sadness #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes #john watson #mrs hudson #sherlock

[kisskissbanggang]

@starxblossom - entirely overdue, thank you for your patience

Alright below the cut is literally just me responding to some fic feedback by my darling Rae it is just

too long

to not put under a read more so move along

Let me set the scene: I woke up entirely too late this morning, spending the previous night - more appropriately, early dawn - mourning the fact that my laptop crashed in the middle of me playing Stardew Valley. Rolling out of bed, I knew what I planned to get done today, but after such a sour night, the ball got rolling pretty late. Nevertheless, I’m more than glad to be overly-opinionated about something, if only you still want to hear what I have to say - otherwise feel free to ignore this 😂

Barely bothering with an outfit, I merely threw on my fluffy robe, slipped on the pair of glasses that I need, yet refuse, to wear more consistently, and tied my hair up in that half-effort pony tail that I only wear when I have a long day of analysing to do. By this point, I have powered through four cups of English Breakfast (because I am trying so hard to kick my coffee habits), and I’m overdue for my fifth one. 

The sun sets quite fast these days; or maybe I’ve just been waking up too late. But by the time I’ve powered through most of the list - my reading device has signalled its need to be recharged so I decided to hold off on the last two on the list (Prowl and The Sabotage of Simkung House) for the following day - the sun has set and the street lamps glow orange within the misty winter evening. 

I’ve always liked your writing - still very much do. And for a long time, I can admit that I was envious of how well you can write, how well you understand your characters and their motivations, and how aware you are of what’s happening in the story from start to finish. I used to punish myself for not being nearly as good as you. I say all of this not to guilt you, but to express my humbled gratitude, that you would turn to me and consistently seek out my opinion. So I tried to be constructive, not just bombard you with well-deserved praises, but also see the work objectively too. 

SO let me set the scene. Over the past few months, I have sent you every single thing I write because I’m a glutton for feedback and validation, but also because I found something so touching and forward in how you found me in the first place. You came to me, said you enjoyed my work, only to find out that you’re a terrific and talented writer and human being in general in your own right? I value your take on all art so, so much, and I’ve figured I’ve been greedy on numerous occasions, but I also treasured your critique when it’s difficult to do that to a friend’s work.

So here’s where I’m at. I worked from home today, and this morning starts out fine enough until I deal with a very agitated client on the phone. I’m dour as I sip on the cold brew boba I made this morning in a fit of restless self-criticism, and check my inbox on a whim because I know I’m terrible at keeping up and see your feedback on not just one or two, but nearly EVERYTHING that you hadn’t caught up on yet.

As an added note, I also don’t wear my glasses nearly as much as I should. They spend much more time on top of my head than they should.

Now, shall we begin?

Standby

What I like most about Standby, and really all of your writings, is that it often calls to question, something of a moral dilemma. In Standby, the dilemma is clear, ‘is love allowed to exist in the professional work environment?’, but not just that, there’s also the factor of Chan being an idol and MC being a staff member. Already, there are plenty layers of politics(?) at play here - public vs private, media/celebrity status, gender inequality, etc. Looking over my notes [yes, I wrote physical notes as I read each piece lmao I have too much time now that I’m on semester break], I reserve so many high praises to Standby for constructing a story well, start to finish, and for highlighting the power play effectively through their physical relationship - the sex isn’t just thrown there, it’s an intentional device to shed light to the motivations and the personalities of these characters. It’s not just porn with plot, as you sometimes jokingly claim your writings to be, it’s porn and plot. I’d say other examples of this would be the Keep Away and Asking For It series. 

Playing on this same idea, I’m very fond of Chan and MC’s dynamic - the naive and the hyper-anxious, or better, the idealist and the realist. We’ve all been both at some point in our relationships, so I feel like it’s almost too easy to empathise with both, especially when the stakes are so goddamn high. And because these characters are so fleshed out - as in we understand what’s in it for them - every action and every progression in the story makes complete sense. Every twist has a logical resolution as a result of the reader being able to understand who the characters are. 

In saying this, I don’t know if it’s only because I didn’t re-read everything from the start, but I would love to know exactly why Chan’s in love with the MC, or why he thinks he is. Their relationship is so circumstantial(?), that one could easily strike Chan out as merely delusional.  I think there could’ve been some really interesting storyline about his vulnerabilities as an idealist with such a demanding occupation, or that despite being human his job doesn’t allow him to make mistakes. Perhaps that’s just the pessimist in me refusing to believe he could simply be so ardently in love with the MC in other areas besides their physical romance, but I would’ve loved to see you make room for more emotional confrontations - put the reader right in the thick mud of it all! 

Oh, and before I forget: HyunJae! Best side character I’ve read in a fic in a long while. Well developed and contributed to the story in so many, almost blink and you’ll miss it, ways. I especially love the gradual development of her relationship, going from mentor, to sisterly, to borderline parental. And that line about humanising her in the same way as when you first realise your parent is only human too - genius !!

Your points here on Chan’s development is so entirely valid and a great critique to point out. His motives aren’t fleshed out, and we can blame MC’s lack of seeking that out, but I know it’s really on me. If I dig in, I know I originally wanted Chan to find someone who was efficient and professional he was, but even more in control without being as controlling as other people in his life. She challenges him and keeps him on track when he’s very much in that position with his members on a regular basis. He feels comfortable with MC because he feels he’s seen a side of her she doesn’t really show much, and she’s willing to break those walls down to let him in and that really intrigues him and lights his fire, while also encouraging him to let someone else be in charge when he take a break from being leader for a little bit.

And Hyunjae is best girl. She was so fun to write, and I knew right away she needed a solid arc. It’s heartbreaking to feel like you outgrew a mentor, but if you’re lucky they can still be dear to you in some way.

Young Wings

When you said you wrote Young Wings with me in mind, I was more nervous than I was excited; what could possibly warrant such a level of affection? As an unfortunate result, I read this piece while constantly digging for the answer. Does she think I’d make a good stewardess? Am I this skeptical of cute boys? Oh my God did the pilot just die?! Anyhow, I kept being pleasantly surprised as the story progressed, as the characters are stripped back layer by layer, until they’re both literally naked. And soon enough, I figured out why you said you wrote this story with me in mind. You once mentioned - and I’m gravely paraphrasing here - that you saw me as a romantic, maybe even a hopeless one. I refused to believe the title, convincing myself that I have such a hardened heart [despite loving rom-com’s to a fault]. But no, you’re absolutely right, I’m an absolute sucker for romance. And Young Wings has such a beautiful high, a very warm glow of romance emanating from the two characters. They’re very human, very easy to like. And even though it employs a character dynamic of one being professionally above the other (like in Standby, Chan’s job is clearly a lot more essential that MC’s), it’s a softer approach, in a lot better lighting - Also, tangent, but thank you for addressing sexism in the Flight Attendant industry! 

And I can’t not point out this heartwarming quote:

“The terrifying thing no one told us growing up was that finding your ‘thing’ isn’t a finish line. It’s not like you find it and that’s it. A lot of times it’s more like goalposts. You have to keep passing them and sometimes there’s never a finish line, but you love it and that’s what matters.”

I’m not an active stan of Stray Kids, nor an active stan of Chan. But I very much fell in love with him in this piece!

I forgot what, exactly, was the precise impetus for having you in mind when writing this (aside from your astute recollection of my labeling you a hopeless romantic) and now I remembered! I believe at the time I wrote it you were going through a period of cold feet around school and a career path and general restlessness and apprehension that I remembered regularly suffering through when I was in school. In my own way, I woke up one day and didn’t feel at home in the skies anymore like the MC does. I keep three or four drafts going simultaneously at almost all times, so here I believe I was wrestling with Prowl pt. 3 and feeling a bit harried on the feelings there. I usually end up pivoting to a project with compared or contrasted feelings, so this is the warmth to Prowl’s cold. And you would make a cute flight attendant for what it’s worth.

To Those Who Wait

I’m not gonna lie, I thought this was set up to be a rom-com of sorts, I really did not think this would take such a tense turn. I really like the premise! Again, it’s such an interesting moral dilemma, having to choose between being stubborn or taking the high ground. Perhaps it was in how well the narrative is set up, that I, too, kept waiting for the curtain to be pulled and for Changbin to reveal some underlying plan. I was antsy, and nervous. And as a result, I really didn’t expect the oncoming series of events - I seldom read the warning labels, especially when I trust the writer and I know what kind of content I can expect from them. But this one really did take me by surprise. I love that, in revising the story, it really was all hinted from the beginning - the power play was clear from the moment the MC was introduced as this ball-busting office worker, and Changbin as the polite and reserved assistant - but I was so invested in hunting down the truth, and being disarmed by Changbin’s sickly sweet performance, that I completely missed the underlying motives of their actions/reactions. I also seemed to have made a note about wanting to see more of Changbin’s submissive nature through real life interactions - ie. he had never taken the train before, so in this situation, he was being guided by the MC - but I think that reaches too far over the line of where you intended to put/write this relationship; it’s more of a personal preference really. Anyhow, this was a thrilling read from start to finish - underlined by the fact that Changbin is my fave in Stray Kids ><

A CHANGBIN STAN WE LOVE TO SEE IT. I fell head over heels for Changbin’s IRL rich kid upbringing, like he really did come from this cushy background and he’s still so talented and capable, and I wanted a fun scenario to plant that into. Funny and thrilling was truly where I wanted it, and I do have this projected as a series to really explore this relationship and what, exactly, these two characters are waiting for. And I’m glad you were caught by Changbin’s reveal! It had to be something he was truly ashamed of and that MC would be bitter about for years but could ultimately forgive.

What You Don’t Know

Funnily enough, my first note is that this reminds me a lot of a friendship I had with someone. Even from the way it began - the unbelievably clever line: It’s not like you hated Jisung when you met him. It wasn’t like you liked him, either. Really, you didn’t anything Jisung - with Jisung and the MC going from strangers, to friends, to questionably more than friends. The bloom of their interactions reads so organically -probably because it mirrors my own experiences- even down to Stephanie’s interference. I really do like this one for a lot of reasons: it’s my favourite AU, it’s a setting that is real to me therefore I can vividly feel everything, and the stakes of the relationship aren’t so dire that it makes the pining so much worse, because you can’t justify the jealousy properly. And the dialogues between Jisung and the MC also reads so realistic, it’s not stiff nor vague. It cleverly reflects the stages of their familiarity, from unsure and stilted to playfully affectionate - this is why I’m so especially fond of the first time she tugs his hair, the tense change in the air, asking you if they just crossed a line or simply made the natural progression in their very fond relationship. ( Also don’t think that scene with MC and Chan in the car is just going to fly over my head missy, I need to know the history there! ) I like this for a multitude of reasons, all of which are deeply influenced by the fact that I’ve been in the MC’s exact shoes. The only difference being that I did not sleep with that friend, and his Stephanie made us stop talking to each other. Otherwise, this story made me squeal, 10/10 for realism!

Yes! Who doesn’t love a college au? They’re so easy to retreat back to. I was literally inspired by a joke in Scrubs (“I nothing you” is the line there) and built an entire scenario around that. The sub argument is an infamous embarrassing moment for me where I did, repeatedly, label one of our friends as a sub and definitely definitely definitely thought of how easy it’d be to prove it like the MC does and NOW IT’S WEIRD WHEN HE CALLS MY PARTNER TO HANG OUT ON THE PHONE ALL THE TIME. I think we’ve all had to deal with a Stephanie (I certainly have) but I hate that yours drove you away! I always thought this scenario was a little universal, but I didn’t expect it to be to that extent. Also, don’t worry, the Chan story gets explained down the line.

Au Pair 

I cannot stress this enough, but I love this!! The premise reads like a telenovela, with a quiet tension that can only be found when a scene is handled as expertly as you have. As a result, from the get go, I think I was just waiting for the trouble to kick in. I thought it would hit during the pool scene, or perhaps even the dining room scene when Carson refuses his food. But what I didn’t expect was for the first kick to not even include the MC, but rather just be something that she observed - classic telenovela ! I re-read that paragraph thrice because my jaw dropped. I knew something bad was going to happen, but I really didn’t expect it to be that! I know you wrote is as a oneshot, but I really would love to read more of this. I feel like it could have been fleshed out a bit more, really unpack the characters and their motives. I feel like I’m just getting a taster of something amazing here, something really dramatic and jaw-dropping. I’d also love to see things from Carson’s perspective somehow too! Something I’ve picked up during my babysitting days, very young children tend to subconsciously reflect a lot of a family’s conflicts. Carson is obviously smart, but he’s also a kid, and in a family structure like that with - as you said - a rotation of authority figures, I feel like he could have a lot to contribute, especially as a narrative device! Also I love your choice of mystery member! I think it makes complete sense, I really couldn’t see anyone else for the role, he’s a very fitting choice! I’m obviously fond of this one, it got me really invested, and - I’m not meaning this in a demanding way - I only wish I could read more of it. 

A telenovella I LIVE. I guess growing up with Days of Our Lives paid off. This is one of those readings I never expected but I’m thriving off of. I love a good turn of a character feeling like they’ve exposed themselves as a fool, and I’m glad it read well here. Carson IS smart and I love that idea of his perspective. At one point I did picture a small epilogue where Miranda steps up to the plate while the Mystery Member and MC run away and start a new life in San Francisco where he becomes head chef of a trendy fusion restaurant.

Exposure 

This made me incredibly nervous in the same way Surreptitious made my hands clammy. Because not only am I (a) a photographer who (b) will pass as a child given the right outfit and mannerisms, but © I know what it’s like to be asked to give up your artistic integrity in exchange for money or exposure (ba dum tsss). So this hits home a little too hard, especially that you made Doyoung the photographic subject rip. But I really really like this one too! It was thrilling in the ways I least expected it to be, this undercover adventure of being a paparazzi, and the active use of disguises to reflect an outward character that Jungwoo has the pleasure of, well, pleasuring himself to - which I think is what makes her last outfit in the story, the black ensemble, all the more interesting!

I also love seeing Jungwoo portrayed this way, that you didn’t entirely sacrifice his disarmingly innocent aura, but you also gave him a devilish streak - so faithful to how I personally imagine him. It’s a wonderful balance that kind of perfectly hits the middle ground, and makes him such an interesting and almost unpredictable character. And I love the MC in this, that she has an inner integrity that is undercut by the way she dresses as these multiple characters throughout the story - I think two two characters compliment each other well. She outwardly presents dynamism, while Jungwoo represents it more inwardly. So when they come together, it’s so masterful and I cannot peel my eyes away from them. I also really like that you didn’t make either one a dom or a sub, which only speaks so much more to that dynamic previously mentioned. It works so especially well, given what we know about these characters, and the non-stakes of their story arcs. I want to see more of this, but I’d also be really satisfied with where it ends. It leaves such a well-rounded note of camaraderie between the two characters, that in my head, I’m rooting for them to somehow end up together. 

I felt like I entirely punted this one across the finish line so I am FLOORED by your reading and response. I wanted to try something a little different and felt so, SO self-conscious the whole time I was convinced it showed, so I’m honesty surprised it was effective. I’ve had my own experiences as well with lying to get a job done, but my biggest goal was to challenge the Jungwoo Innocent Baby Boy narrative that the fandom likes to feed into, so I’m VERY glad that was effective.

I just realised that this is now over 2k long, so it’s a good thing that I’m finishing here. Like I said earlier, I’ll be venturing to read Prowl and The Sabotage of Simkung House tomorrow, so expect to hear from me again soon. Otherwise have a good night, or morning, depending when you read this, and thank you for writing such wonderful stories! Truly, you continue to impress me as a writer, and I’m humbled to be your friend.

So by the end of my first reading of these notes, I was pretty much in tears because I loved that you took the time to do this, to read my work that you are not obligated to and give me feedback that I am not entitled to. I love you to bits, Rae, and it stuns me that I found a friend on the other side of the sunset that I feel like I can confide in and look to for guidance. I hope you know how much you shine. ❤️

#FEEDBACK #OH MY GOD RAE #starxblossom #my children #submission

[meteorwrites]

Out the Garden Gate

This is an old piece I wrote in college, but it deserves some love, so I thought I’d post it! Almira was my first tabletop RPG character, and she is still very near and dear to my heart. Her spunk and mischievousness never ceases to bring me joy. The piece is set around 1861 in Boston. 

On the day that the gate was left open, I had been given a brand-new dress. This particular dress was blue, with tiny white flowers patterned across its surface, and lace sewn in frills along its sleeves. It had been a gift from my Uncle Gilroy, who had decided to make the journey north from Philadelphia to visit us. 

I absolutely hated it, of course. It was far too tight around my middle, and the lace itched and scratched against my skin whenever I moved. 

If I had been at my family’s vacation home, I would have been able to sneak off and shed my burden behind some tree, free to dash about the forest and explore anything and everything that caught my eye. Unfortunately, I was at my family’s home in Boston, nowhere near the forest, so the garden out behind the house would have to suffice. And, since it was one of the few places I was actually allowed to be, I wouldn’t have to worry about my parents observing me as closely as they usually did. 

In the middle of the city, it is impossible to have a garden of any magnitude. But my mother had managed to create a small sanctuary of green among the smoke and stone. A few bushes, some grass, a single small tree, and a selection of flowers hardly offered the same opportunities for exploration as the forests, but I enjoyed being there nonetheless. I would sit against the wall that surrounded the property and listen to the commotion and bustle of the city beyond, peering out past the rusted gate in the wall to a world I could never truly touch. The daughter of a wealthy businessman was hardly expected to dash about the city like some street urchin, after all, even if the daughter in question happened to be seven years old at the time and bored to tears. 

But today was different, because as I wandered into the garden, I realized that the rusted gate was hanging open. I couldn’t believe it at first- every day of my life that gate had been locked tight, unmoving beneath my small, persistent hands…and yet, there it was. 

I stepped forward, peering around the gate into the street beyond. It was quiet, for midweek- the few people I saw seemed very intent on their business, and none of them seemed particularly interested in either me or the gate. The police were doing their usual rounds up and down the linear streets, glancing from side to side at the old mansions towering over them. The sounds their footsteps made against the cobbled stone sounded strangely loud to me, almost as though the garden wall itself had been swept away and the city laid out before me. More than likely it was my own excitement that was responsible for this, but to my seven-year old mind, it was almost as though the city was calling to me. Why else would everything seem so much more vibrant, more intense, as though the city wanted me to come and explore it?

I briefly wondered why the gate was open, but that thought was quickly overridden by a complete and utter delight at the opportunity presented to me. I felt my cheeks begin to flush as my mouth split into a grin. This was going to be fun. 

Without any hesitation, for the first time, I stepped out alone beyond the wall, and there was no one to stop me. Breathing in the dank city air and relishing the taste of smog against my mouth, I looked around, chose a direction, and began to run. 

The dress pulled at my legs and scratched at my arms; the lace itched more and more the further I went. I looked down at it in disgust, then glanced around for a place to be rid of it, somewhere my parents could never find it. I ducked down a side-street, and tried to struggle out of the dress, thinking I could just chuck it in some bin somewhere and be done with it, but the lacing along the back proved to be too difficult to reach and too tight for me to wrestle out of it by myself. Well, this was inconvenient. 

With a disgruntled huff, I began running again, barely noticing the stares of the passerby as my house disappeared from view. But I wasn’t worried about getting lost. Those who tend to wander can usually find their way home again- I always had. The streets began to wind the further away I got from Back Bay, and the air grew darker and thicker with every step. As I moved closer to the heart of the city, I could hear the bustle of the packed streets beginning to grow louder and more distinct. But, I couldn’t go exploring quite yet. There was still the matter of the dress to attend to. 

As I rounded another bend, I ran directly into someone else moving in the opposite direction. We both crashed to the ground, and I heard an oof! as the wind was knocked out of the other person. After coming to my senses, I looked up to see who I had run into. I saw a boy, about my age, dressed in the scuffed clothing of the working class. He rubbed his shaggy black hair furiously as he scrambled to his feet.

“Hey! Whatdya-” As his eyes met mine a look of utter astonishment crossed his face, and he cut himself off mid-sentence. We stared at each other for a few moments, unmoving, each taking the other in. There was dirt covering him from head to toe, smudged along the bridge of his nose and along his neck, and his clothes were loose and disheveled. I thought it looked like he’d been having a lot of fun somewhere. 

I managed to struggle to my feet in spite of my many layers. A golden opportunity had presented itself to me, and I wasn’t about to let it pass. “Help me,” I said, fingers scrabbling against the back of my dress. The lace was beginning to scratch again.

“…What?” The boy continued to stare. It crossed my mind that he might not be very smart. 

“Help me get this off!” I repeated impatiently, tugging at the laces. Something in my tone or my eyes must have gotten through to him at this point, because he shook himself out of his stupor and moved forward to help me. After much struggling, the dress finally slid to the ground, and I stepped out of the mound of fabric in nothing but my underclothes. Ah, sweet relief! 

“Thank you,” I said, grinning. The boy looked between me and the dress, and back again. I paused for a moment, waiting for him to reply. The boy’s lips stammered for a few seconds before he managed to get a sound out. I wondered why he seemed so flustered. It wasn’t as though I was naked. I was never quite that unrestrained, although I never lost my distaste of dresses. 

“You don’t want it?” he finally blurted out. 

I looked down at the dress I had abandoned. It was lying in a puddle, quickly soaking up the muck and dirt surrounding it. The white flowers stained brown as the taint spread. I curled my lip a little. 

“It itches,” I said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Even if it was beautiful and expensive, I couldn’t understand why anyone would prize something so uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” he said, then went silent again. Well, this was certainly a talkative one.  

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

He jumped a little at my sudden questioning. “B…Billy,” he said. 

“Hi, Billy. I’m Almira.” I held out my hand to shake, as I had seen my father do so many times before, giving him a winning smile. The boy only stared at me. After a few moments I let my hand drop, face falling a little. 

In retrospect, the boy’s awkwardness may have been due to the fact that a strange girl had, quite literally, just unclothed in front of him. But, to my seven-year-old self, there was nothing particularly strange about walking around in my bloomers. After all, I’d done it plenty of times before in the forest. I was completely comfortable. The boy, most definitely, was not.  

“Are you always so quiet?” I asked. 

The boy’s stammering was interrupted by a loud shriek from behind him. Both of us swiveled to see a woman sprinting down the alleyway toward us, broomstick in fist. Even at this distance I could see a vein bulging on her forehead. 

“Thief!” she screeched. The boy’s face paled. We exchanged a glance. A kind of unspoken communication passed between us. 

Then both of us were gone, scrambling and slipping down the alley as fast as we possibly could. 

As her bellows faded into the din behind us, I let my legs stretch out to their full stride for the first time in months. Darting through the twisting streets and alleyways of Boston, with the utter confidence of youth, I knew that this, this was where I was meant to be. My feet pounded on the cobblestones in time with the pulsing of my heart, the wind rustled through my strawberry blonde hair and along my undergarments, and it was perfect. 

The boy and I ran for several minutes, until our lungs were sore and our hearts threatened to burst from our ribcages. As we staggered to a halt, I realized that I had led us back into Back Bay. I let out a heaving sigh of frustration. Well, at least my skin wasn’t itching, although I was a little cold- the sea breeze called the goosebumps out from under my skin in shudders. 

I looked over to the boy. He was looking back the way we came; his eyebrows were creased, and he looked like he was thinking hard about something. “Are you all right?” I asked. 

Billy looked up at me, eyes wide. “I don’t think…I know how to get home from here.”

I let out a little sigh. Well, maybe not everyone knew how to find their way home. I shrugged. It was time I started properly exploring, and for that I needed to be closer to the city center, and, since it was on my way… 

“I can take you back,” I said, and started to lead him down the street. “Come on, this way.” 

As we walked, I couldn’t help but allow my eyes to roam across the unfamiliar streets and houses, fixating on one detail for a brief moment before flitting to the next. The glint of rare sunlight on a wrought-iron gate…the swish of a coat as a carriage and driver passed nearby…I drank it all in eagerly. 

Billy spoke up. “Um…if you don’t want the dress…can I have it?”

I looked down at him. Now it was my turn to be astonished. “Why??”

“Sell it,” he mumbled, looking down again. A faint blush crossed his face. 

I took a closer look at his clothes. They were worn, and looked like they had been through several owners before him. I blinked a little. I understood now. 

“You can have it,” I said. The boy looked up, and our eyes met for a moment before he grinned shyly at me. I grinned back. 

The dress was still where I had left it, soaking in a puddle of mud. The angry woman, thankfully, was nowhere in sight. Billy scooped it up, trying not to touch the damp parts as he folded it clumsily into a bundle. 

“Thanks,” he said, clutching the dress tightly to his chest. “Um…what exactly are you doing out here?”

“Exploring,” I said matter-of-factly. Exploring…or trying to, at least. It seemed as though everything was getting in the way. 

“I…I could show you some of the city…if you wanted…” The boy looked down again. “…and I could get you some real clothes, too…”

I let out a laugh, a wide grin spreading across my face. There was absolutely no hesitation in my voice as I said, “That would be wonderful.”

#fiction #historical fiction #writeblr #out the garden gate

[everythingshawnmendes]

Halloween with Shawn Through the Years (Shawn Mendes x Reader)

talk about last minute halloween fics lmao

4 years old

“SHAWN BABY DON’T RUN YOU’RE GONNA TRIP!”

Two toddlers were running to the next house brightly lit by orange pumpkins. Shawn was dressed up as a fluffy tiger, with a big orange and black striped hood that almost covered his entire head. Y/N was a princess Ariel, with a shirt with purple seashells on them and a green skirt with scales on. The ran beside each other in excitement. Never before in their life had they only had to knock on a door to get free candy! They have also never owned so many treats in their lives. Their mothers scurried behind them, knowing what they got themselves into when they agreed to let Shawn and Y/N trick-or-treat together.

“Trick or treat!” The pair yelled as the owner of the house chuckled at these two little adorable toddlers.

“I got a lady bug shaped chocolate.” Shawn frowned at the sweet he just received as the two walked down the front porch of that house and onto the next.

“It’s okee Shawn, have my caramel.” Y/N grabbed his chocolate and placed her own in his orange bag.

Despite being only four years old, they knew each other extremely well and looked after each other like brother and sister.

They walked onto the next house and Y/N recoiled in fear.

“Mommy I-I’m scared! I don’t wanna go in that one!”

“It’s okay Y/N the skeletons aren’t real. They’re just made out of uh what’s the word pastic (A/N: 4 year old Shawn’s way of saying plastic).”

Y/N was on the verge of a tantrum.

“I don’t want to go.” Tears raising to the little girl’s eyes.

“Come I promise you I will protect you!” Shawn took her hand.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

The pair clutched onto each other as they looked straight ahead, trying not to look at the slightly creepier and more life-like decorations.

10 years old

“Hermione is way better.”

“No Harry is.”

“If it weren’t for Hermione, you’d be dead by the first book.” Y/N poked Shawn’s red and gold tie. “Also, you put the scar on the wrong side.”

“Well Hermione doesn’t actually wear glasses so I don’t know why you have some on.”

“They’re yours, stupid.” Y/N took off the round spectacles and put them back on Shawn’s face.

“Alright my favourite Hogwarts students, go before the Dementors arrive.” Y/N’s mom ushered the two out the door.

“And remember only five streets! And if you get lost go ring a doorbell and ask to use the phone!” Karen yelled after them.

“We got this mom!” Shawn brushed her off.

“Those two make quite the pair, don’t they?” Y/N’s mom smiled watching them race on the sidewalk.

“Yes they do. They certainly like annoying each other, that’s for sure.”

“Well, you know what they say. Sometimes when kids like each other that’s how they show affection.”

15 years old

“Y/N I don’t like horror movies!”

“Stop being a pussy, this one is like the least scary one on Netflix.”

Shawn huffed and plopped on the couch beside Y/N.

“I’ll get it!” He got up when he heard the doorbell to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. “Hey go easy on the caramels will ya, save some for me.” He whispered in Y/N’s ear.

The pair decided to abandon the movie, because honestly Shawn wasn’t going to sit through it anyway. They merely sat on Y/N’s front porch and handed out candy while conversing.

“What do you wanna do later on?” Shawn asked.

“Not too sure. Would like to get into the science field. You?”

“Kay don’t laugh. Like seriously, cause it’s really stupid and practically impossible. But like maybe become a singer?”

“Shawn. I’ve known you all my life. This definitely is far from the stupidest thing you’ve said.” Y/N laughed, Shawn joining.

“So you don’t think it’s stupid?”

“Nah. I see you in Hollywood.” Y/N gazed at him.

“Aw if it isn’t the lovebirds.” The high school bitch exclaimed as she came up the driveway with her friends.

“Aw if it isn’t the dumbass who doesn’t realise a girl and a guy can’t be friends without being in a relationship.” Y/N raised her middle finger.

“Y/N!” Her mom said, as she clambered onto the front porch with Karen and Aaliyah. Shawn snickered at her.

17 years old

“I’d like to thank Taylor so much for having me on this 1989 tour.” Shawn gestured on stage to a Taylor dressed as a snowman. “It’s been great.”

+

Y/N downed the red cup full of beer alongside her friends, all dressed up as cats.

“Hey sexy.” A guy passing by them said.

“Bye.” Y/N waved sarcastically.

“Hey Y/N what happened to that friend of yours? Shawn?”

“You definitely know him. You have his song in your playlist.”

“Wait. Shit. Your old childhood friend is Shawn MENDES?”

20 years old

Y/N smiled at herself in the mirror. A decade ago, she was dressed exactly the same. Gryffindor robe, black skirt, wand in hand. Hermione was the true heroine of Harry Potter. She set out the door into her car and off to some party her friend has been raving about.

Shawn closed the Youtube video “how to tie a tie” as he managed to secure the red and gold Harry Potter tie around his neck. He unwrapped a caramel that was lying on his table then left his condo and over to Andrew’s house.

The pair stood side by side at the bar ordering drinks. Turning around, the both proceeded to say: “Nice costume.”

Their hand then flew to their mouths in shock.

“Y/N?”

“Shawn?”

“Oh my god.”

They hugged each other, dumbstruck. They then proceeded to sit down at a couch and reconnected, talking about everything that had happened in their whirlwind lives the past five years.

21 years old

“Wow cheesy.” Geoff commented on Shawn and Y/N’s costume.

“Shut up it’s funny.”

“Lemme get a picture of you too, it’ll get the media fawning. And the couples who are also wearing a bacon and egg costume not feel alone.”

Y/N chuckled as Shawn looped his arm around her shoulder.

“You’re cute.” Shawn looked down at her.

“As are you.”

30 years old

“THOMAS BABY DON’T RUN YOU’RE GONNA TRIP!” Shawn called after his mischievous four year old as he dragged his two year old sister down the sidewalk, who was barely keeping up with her two tiny feet.

“Shawn that’s literally word for word, what your mom told you when we were 4.”

Shawn grinned at the memory.

“How can I forget? My first trick-or-treating experience.”

“Hey you think we should do that Kimmel “I told my kids I ate their candy” challenge thing?”

38 years old

Shawn and Y/N sat in their kitchen, practically crying of laughter.

“Thomas, Rose come here!” They played a video on their phone of those two eight years ago screaming and pouting.

“Not cool dad, I actually thought you two ate all my candy.”

“I was only 2!”

“It was a joke!” Shawn chuckled. “Although I did steal some of your caramels.”

The pair of siblings left the room.

“We really are bad parents aren’t we?”

“The worst.” Shawn chuckled, pulling his wife in for a kiss on the cheek.

50 years old

“Hey hun look here what Rose posted on her Facebook.”

“Aw cute.” Y/N replied.

“What do you mean cute? She’s half naked! That isn’t a costume it’s lingerie!”

“Shawn she’s 22.”

“Still.”

“Imagine when we were 22. I’m sure you would have liked to see me in that.” Y/N cocked an eyebrow.

“Still do.” Shawn smirked, pulling her in for a hug.

60 years old

“Hi dears come in!” Y/N cried at the sight of her children and grandchildren. “Look at them! You are so precious.”

“What’s up guys.” Shawn opened the door to his son and daughter.

“And Rose! You dressed her up as princess Ariel!”

“What’s so special about princess Ariel?” Shawn said, popping a caramel in his mouth.

“That was my first Halloween costume.”

“Oh yeah!” Shawn remembered.

“And watch how many of those you eat, we ain’t 28 anymore.” Y/N chuckled.

“Not my fault you make these so damn delicious.”

85 years old

Y/N and Shawn were sitting calmly on their armchairs in front of the fire.

“Hey.” Shawn said.

“Hmm?”

“It’s Halloween today.”

“Is it?” Y/N asked.

Shawn got up slowly and disappeared into the storage room. He reemerged into the room with a hat and a pair of glasses. Sitting back down, he placed the hat on Y/N’s head and put the round glasses on himself.

“Harry really couldn’t have survived without Hermione.” He said.

“Only took you over seventy years to figure that out.” Y/N laughed.

“I couldn’t have survived this life without you Y/N.”

Shawn said.

Y/N smiled at him.

“You want me to make caramel?”

ik this aint caramel but honestly i cant find good gifs on here anymore idk why

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes halloween #shawn mendes fluff #halloween

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                           OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE. 

                                eremika soulmates through time modern au

(ff. net/ ao3)

 (he’s just about to catch her when she falls,  slips through his fingers in a heartbeat, in a fraction of a second in-between breath; painfully calm and painfully beautiful, even after she is no more. Always one before her time, just as he’s always late to say things he should’ve said, late to see what he had standing in front of his very own eyes.

 she’s always chasing after him and he always remains out of her reach in his last minutes; she never gets to stand by his side and she never gets to say a proper goodbye, as he rushes towards his death like he rushes for everything else – carelessly and eagerly, head-on. Leaving her behind. )

                                   CHAPTER ONE: COUP DE FOUDRE

 COUP DE FOUNDRE ( noun.)

FRENCH, literally: lightning strike, it can be applied to falling in love at first sight, fast and violently

at last, hello, you’ve opened your eyes

but why won’t you even look at me, what’s wrong?

you angrily tell me I’m late

well, I’m sorry, but I ran the fastest I can

 my heart got here before my body could even make it

-          RADWIMPS -  Zen Zen Zense

  (he’s just about to catch her when she falls,  slips through his fingers in a heartbeat, in a fraction of a second in-between breath; painfully calm and painfully beautiful, even after she is no more. Always one before her time, just as he’s always late to say things he should’ve said, late to see what he had standing in front of his very own eyes.

 she’s always chasing after him and he always remains out of her reach in his last minutes; she never gets to stand by his side and she never gets to say a proper goodbye, as he rushes towards his death like he rushes for everything else – carelessly and eagerly, head-on. Leaving her behind. )

   ….

 Like everyone else, they meet by accident; pass each other on a crowded street, on Friday evening, with sky dark and cold chilling them to the bone.  And at first, they don’t even realize what has just happened, because books promised something different, parents warned them of something else. They both expected a violent phenomenon that would rip them into pieces;  a lightning strike through her veins, thunderstorms inside his head, heavy rain in the moment when they would share the same air.

Instead, this brown haired boy passes her and  Mikasa feels summer evening in early July;  setting sun caressing her skin as she sits on the wooden porch of her grandparents’ house, the smell of honeysuckle in the air, strawberry seeds between her teeth and crickets singing on the meadows.

Instead,  this raven-haired girl passes him and Eren feels spring morning; waking up at sunrise with birds chirping cheerfully outside,  old willow tree in his backyard sprouting fresh green leaves, the cold bite of the shower and a whole new, untainted day yet to be lived spread in front of him.

It’s not painful. It does not hurt. But it hits nevertheless, all those feeling both alien and familiar. The pair of them makes a few more steps before stopping in their respective tracks; she shivers, he gasps.

It feels- it feels as if they suddenly have two beating fast hearts instead of one, two hearts trashing in one ribcage.

When they turn around to look at each other, they do it like people on the streets, when they feel a delicious smell of pastries from bakery’s open door; with cheeks flushed and awe and amazement in their eyes wide open, with fresh snow making a strange squeaking sound underneath their boots.

And then they lock eyes; the girl with a long braid of dark hair meticulously pinned around her head and the boy with a red scarf wrapped carelessly around his neck. And every movie, every song, every romance movie turns out to be right, because as green meets gray, people around them stop half-movement, snowflakes halt frozen on their way to the ground, the time itself seems to have forgotten how to fly.

It’s not easy, sharing a soul with someone – said their elders.- This pain of the first meeting of your destined is not the last one.

But Mikasa doesn’t feel any pain as she’s looking into those green, green eyes, oh dear god how, they are so green, she dreamed him, dreamed about him and his eyes, how could’ve she forgotten?  

And all Eren can think of is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, each part of her so beautiful, each movement graceful, the simple surprised arch of her eyebrows exquisite; this diamond of a woman that he feels he already knows better than he knows himself.

It all comes back to them in a flow of emotions, of sensations; the dreams, the longing, this phantom presence they felt all their lives without realizing that.

In the middle of a snowstorm, two hands reach for each other simultaneously, fingers brushing –

And that’s when the lightning strikes.

 …

 I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so bad

So that’s what they meant by pain.- hazily thinks Mikasa, dazed, lost in the ocean of green. Sadness and happiness hit her like a tsunami wave, flooding her, pushing the air from her lungs. The ache of separation, of how could I live my life without you for all those years, for I cannot imagine not touching you now that I had – mixed up with the pure, unfiltered happiness as he entwines his fingers with hers. Mikasa gasps, basking in this warmth, overwhelmed with the feeling of contentment incomparable to anything she has ever felt. At the back of her mind, she wonders why she’s not ashamed of her reactions; why she doesn’t try to hide her amazement, be more composed. But why would she do that? The current of his emotions flows through her veins like a blood, she feels the buzzing underneath his skin. He’s bolder than her, more curious; while she’s content with standing still and looking at him, his fingers travel upwards, caressing her palm, her wrist, leaving a trail of blazing fire on her skin. It’s not even warm anymore, she feels hot inside as if she was burning alive.

She wonders if she should worry about that.

 Eren can’t stop touching her. She has small, pale hands, nails meticulously manicured, silver ring on the little finger of her left hand. His fingers trail along the blue-greenish veins of her naked wrists;  the tips of her fingers are red and somewhere, in the most down to earth part of his brain, he thinks they should both were goddamn gloves in this weather.

But why should he wear gloves, when it’s so hot, he’s almost boiling?

She’s silently standing in front of him and he still thinks she’ll disappear any second now, even though he keeps a firm grip both on both of her hands. He worries that the storm will take her away, that the snow will erase her footprints; that she’ll be gone and he’ll be all alone once again. And this thought hurts him, hurts him deep to the bone and so, before he can even think about it,  his hands lock around her wrists.

It’s all new and so incredibly fresh, this bond between them burning white and pulsing like an open wound but she must’ve sensed his discomfort from the way he grabbed her, because her expression turns from awe-struck to soothing; she gently  wraps her fingers around his wrists, her thumb circling on his skin -  the caress that almost stops his heart’s beating altogether.

“What’s your name?” he asks and he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice; it’s raspy and desperate and he nearly laughs at the irony of a situation. He’d know her anywhere, blind and deaf and lost and still, he knows nothing about her at all.

“Mikasa”  she answers, so quietly that the wind nearly steals her voice away before it can reach his ears. “My name is Mikasa.”

Mi-ka-sa

“My name is Eren.”  there’s a laughter in this introduction, lightness and less strain than before.  “Guess I finally found you, huh?”

She can only laugh back at that. Laugh, because while the tension between them turns so unbearable that she’s half a second away from letting go of his hands, she somehow wants to move closer. Because she wants to feel his arms wrapped around her waist, wants to bury her fingers in his shaggy mop of brown hair, wants to lean up so that the tips of their noses would touch. Laugh, because she has never felt so light, so alive and she knows for an undeniable fact that it’s all new to him too.

His smile is fond. Gentle is the way he slowly, carefully, unwinds her fingers from around her wrists, but they both hiss in pain and the sudden loss of contact. The burning warmth is replaced by biting cold and all in them screams to not let go.

They know the standard procedure of the first meeting - there is more than one and it’s all up to them. Sometimes destined couples give in to the pull straight away, deciding that they have a whole life for talking and disappearing from work and social life for days until they emerge with hair messed up and hearts full, so in love it hurts to look at them. Sometimes they make an effort to take things slow, gradually; get to know each other on a detailed level, untangle the tangled-up net of emotions, resist the temptation of just touching in order to sort out how they fit in each other’s lives first.  And sometimes they just try to completely brush it off, discard the bond given to them so effortlessly and try to play pretend that that’s a normal relationship; go to dates and chill out in larger groups before they take this one big final step.

Neither of those options feels right to Mikasa and Eren; she has already completely abandoned any notion of exchanging numbers and going home as if nothing happened. He, on the other hand, can’t deal with the itch in his bones, pull that urges him forward to touch her just one more time.  All of him is pushing him closer to Mikasa, but then he glances at her; at her shining gray opals for eyes, and the shade of rose painted on her cheeks by the frost.

He doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Not now, not with this girl. He can’t bear the thought of simply leaving, not now that he finally found her, but if she wants to leave and brush it under the rug, he won’t stop her.

( Carla’s voice rings clear in his ears oh my boy, this urge to put this person before yourself  - you’d think that’s something good, but it is why it all ends badly more often than not.)

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to want to go either; she opens her mouth as if to say something and the abruptly closes it, crimson flooding her face as she tears her gaze from his face to stare at her shoes. Curiously, Eren probes the string of emotions between them; and as Mikasa’s feelings echo back to him, he almost jumps out of his skin. It’s fuzzy and undefined, but undeniable at the same time – need burns inside her, need and happiness, and a healthy dose of fear, and – yes. She’s just as reluctant as he is to let go. He resists the urge to fist pump in a triumph.

She shivers as the cold wind blows right in her face and for  a moment he is transfixed by the way the loose streaks of her hair dance around her face, and then, just as he’s about to propose to find some place warm, she blurts out:

“ My apartment is near.”

Her face twists into a horrified expression and he fights himself so as not to laugh. Because, no matter all the grace and elegance she possesses, she is just incredibly cute like that; stumbling on her feet and flustered, so new to all of this.  However, she seems so incredibly irritated with herself, that he concludes that she must act differently in normal circumstances, far more stoic and composed. If that’s so, they’ll make quite a pair.

His stomach makes a somersault at that though and he can’t help but grin.

He leans down so that their faces are at the same level and moves closer; the sting of heat returns with the force twice as great as before as he brushes the stray hair from her face.

“ Can I come over, then?”  he asks quietly, voice warm and rich as honey.

She nods, wordlessly, drunk in his touch, struggling to pull herself together.

His grin turns into a smile and before she can notice, he unwraps the scarf from his neck and loops it around hers.

“ I know you said it’s near, but you look terribly cold.” he says by the world of explaining, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and blushing under her surprised gaze.

And so, she just has to smile at that.

#eremika #eremika fanfic #snk #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #eren jeager #mikasa ackerman