this is one of my favourite things that i've written

i’ll never be your mother’s favourite

Request: “Love your writing!! Can you write a Shawn imagine about him being nervous about meeting your family for the first time and he ends up feeling sick the whole way there but you tell him to just relax and it’s just nerves but once you get there later that night he just continues to feel worse and worse and ends up falling really ill and you feel bad for him and take care of him?? And maybe he’s embarrassed about being sick at your parents house??“

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x reader/female character
Rating: Teen and up
Words: 1353

John Mayer is playing softly on the radio as they speed past the trees on the side of the highway. Shawn buttons and unbuttons the top button of his shirt in the side view mirror for what feels like the hundredth time. They’re getting closer to her parents’ house and he can feel his stomach turn at the thought of standing in front of them for the first time. He looks hesitantly at the tie in his clammy palms every few seconds.

“Do I have to wear the tie?” he groans. “I feel like I’m already in danger of asphyxiation with this shirt collar.” 

“If I have to wear this dress, you have to wear that tie,” she says, eyeing the piece of silk in his lap. “Besides, it was your idea.” She receives nothing but a pitiful expression in response. “Fine,” she gives in. “But you’re helping me out of this damn thing when we get back home.” She rolls her eyes when she sees the smug smile on his face. “Not like that! This dress is tight as hell and I’m going to need help taking it off.”

“Oh, so no sex?” Shawn smirks at her. She smiles and shakes her head as she puts on the blinker and turns onto a smaller road. 

He’s spent all afternoon pacing around her apartment, his nerves getting the best of him. He found out only three days ago that he was invited for dinner at her parents’ house, which did not feel like enough time to mentally prepare himself. Thoughts of embarrassing himself by spilling food on himself or saying the wrong thing have plagued him since. Most of all, he’s scared that they won’t deem him suitable for their daughter. He tried telling himself that they will like him because he knows he’s a good boyfriend, and he had made progress until that morning, when the insecurities resurfaced. He had felt sick to his stomach, and barely managed a few pieces of sushi before he arrived at her apartment and the uneasy feeling had only magnified, crept back up his spine and he had nearly vomited. She had reassured him, calmed him down before they left.  

He’s had some time to calm himself down since then, he has even tried a mindfulness app, but as they get closer to their destination he can feel that same panic growing in the pit of his stomach. His left leg is bouncing against his will and it’s making him more agitated.

She reaches out her hand and places it on his knee, rubbing gently. “Breathe, baby, just breathe,” she attempts to soothe him. “You’re fine. I love you, and I know that they will too,” she smiles.


“Are the flowers too much? They’re too much. Oh my God. They’re too much aren’t they?” he speaks rapidly, his breath nearly caught in his throat.

“Shawn, they’re fine. Calm down, you’ll be okay. They’re just my parents. Besides, we have this,” she smiles, raising the bottle of Pinot Noir in her hand. “If we bring my parents wine we’re off on the right foot.” She places her hand on his back, him finding some comfort in her touch.

“Okay. Alright. Okay. I can do this,” he tries to convince himself.

The door opens and Shawn rushes to hide the bouquet of purple poms and baby’s breath behind his back. Maybe they’re too much after all. The woman who opens the door stands expectantly with a smile on her face and a welcoming greeting, stretching her arms out to embrace her daughter.

“You must be Shawn,” she turns to him. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you!” she exclaims in a cheerful voice, before going in for a hug. He feels a little relieved now knowing that her mother isn’t the type to intentionally induce fear in her daughter’s partners, but he still feels  flustered as he stretches his arm out to reveal the bouquet once she has released her grip on his shoulders. Maybe the flowers are okay, after all.

“These are for you,” he says with a smile.


Apart from the first half hour that’s spent exchanging compulsory pleasantries and answering questions that grill him, Shawn had felt just fine. The anxiety had died down, and he had felt confident that he could get through this, telling himself that it was only a matter of a few more hours. Until dinner. The second they enter the kitchen and the aroma of the steak fills his nostrils he feels a wave of nausea wash over him, and his body suddenly feels significantly warmer. Nonetheless, he makes it through dinner with small bites and quiet words. He voices his appreciation for the steak that her father has cooked and then avoids speaking more than a few words at a time.  

“I’m gonna be sick,” he says to her later when they find themselves alone in the living room while her parents are clearing the table. Shawn had insisted to help before being shooed out of the kitchen by her mother. While his palms have stopped sweating, he can feel his chest only getting hotter and his stomach cramp.

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about! You’re the first person I’ve brought home that my dad has actually laughed with, and not at.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m physically feeling ill, can you show me the bathroom?”

“Shit. Yeah, of course.” She holds onto his arm as she leads him out to the hallway and inside the small bathroom and locks the door behind them. He rests his palms on the edge of the sink, his eyes closed and forehead crinkled. He opens his mouth to speak, then quickly covers it with his hand before leaning over the toilet bowl and emptying the contents of his stomach. She rushes to his side to stroke his back. He hovers over the toilet for a little longer, then turns to the sink to clean up.

“Baby, I think the leftover sushi I ate was bad…” he says. She rubs his shoulders while he rinses his mouth. When he has finished, he turns to her to speak. “What if your dad’s offended that I threw up his food?”

“He’ll understand,” she smiles dismally, soothingly running her fingers through his hair.


Shawn apologises profusely, over and over again for having ruined the evening, but her parents are very understanding and wave them off the front porch when they drive away. They drive home in silence, him whimpering every now and then when he feels his stomach act up and his nausea return. She keeps a hand on his thigh, thumb stroking every now and then. He falls asleep fifteen minutes into the drive and wakes up when the car comes to a stop.

Back at his place, she undresses him and brings him clean clothes to wear before tucking him into bed. She joins him shortly after squiggling out of her own dress and getting into one of his shirts that she claims is actually hers that she’s left behind.

She holds him close after pulling the covers around herself, his back against her chest. He turns at her embrace, facing her and then snuggling his nose against her neck. They lie comfortably in each other’s embrace for a while until he breaks the silence:

“Do you think your parents will ever invite me back?”

She chuckles and strokes his cheek, moving her face down so she can look him in the eyes. “They loved you. Dad actually asked me if you’re free for Thanksgiving, but he asked me to warn him if you were going to be sick again.” She giggles as he groans at her words. She leans forward to kiss him when he stops her with his finger on her lips.

“You can’t kiss me. What if I get you sick?”

“I’ll take my chances,” she smiles, always enamoured of him, and pecks his lips. He nuzzles his face back in her neck, and her hand wraps around his head, scratching at his scalp until they both drift off to sleep.

And so here we are. More than a year later, and I’ve forgotten you in all the same ways that you forgot me.
And his hand fits perfectly in mine, and he kisses me both gently and passionately, and he holds me tight, and most importantly, I like him. I really really like him. And he likes me too.
I haven’t been this happy in a long time, and I don’t know what you’re doing out there anymore, because I haven’t heard from you in a while, but I hope you’re happy too. I hope you find someone who cares about you, and doesn’t hurt you in any of the ways that you once hurt me. I hope that you too, are able to find peace in falling asleep in someone else’s arms.
—  Everything is Still Different Without You, But Everything is Finally Good
From Now On (Taehyung x reader)

HEHE soo @unofficialtrashqueen I was also bored and was like please give me a prompt, and she said “Taehyung + immortal” ahh this isn’t supernatural or anything buuut a small drabble :3 Hope you enjoy ~

Genres/Warnings: Fluff, Developing relationship sorta idk

1.3K


The sun was setting slowly. The reds and yellows glowed across the water- waves rocking a gentle hush. After a full-day long Sunday date, the both of you sat on the bench with bare feet in the sand simply watching this gorgeous scene. Your hand intertwined perfectly in his while your head rested against his shoulder. 

You finally spoke.

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anonymous asked:

thank you for all your writing this year. what's your favorite thing that you wrote?

Ahh thank you for your kindness, anon! 💜  I’ve written so much that it’s hard to pick a favourite. Some of my headcanons are really close to my heart and probably take first place overall, but some of my one shots are up there as well. The End of Everything and Remember When come to mind immediately, but there are others.

For what it’s worth—I don’t think I’ve ever actually posted my favourite fic here on Tumblr. I wrote it before I joined the site, so it’s an oldie. But for some reason, every time someone asks about my favourites, this one comes to mind. So here it is because why not?? 


Television

January 1984

Mike is happy during the days.

He’s happy with his friends. They go sledding in the soft snow that’s dusted the hill in Cherry Park like powdered sugar. They spend long days that seem, to them, like short hours campaigning in his basement, fighting dragons and multi-headed monsters. They eat pizza, with pineapple, pepperoni and mushrooms to make them all happy. And they go to school, where their short-lived popularity has receded, though this doesn’t particularly bother Mike.

He’s happy with his family. With his mother, who always gives him just a little bit of extra dessert and has taken an hour off his weekend curfew so that he can stay up until 11:30. With his older sister, who he sometimes chats with just before bed; about her future college applications, about the latest book he’s devoured. With his little sister, who, without much trouble, convinces him to play ponies on Saturday mornings before he goes to Lucas’s for cartoons; who calls him My-Key in a pronounced way and a precocious voice. And with his father, who’s mostly just there, existing, though this doesn’t particularly bother Mike.

Mike carries the memory of a girl with him—in his heart, in the back of his mind. The memory of a girl with big eyes and a big heart. She lives in the moments he sometimes stares off into the distance. She exists in the stories he weaves for his campaigns; a warrior princess, proud and powerful.

She’s become a ghost—mostly. At least during the days.

At night, she comes to life.

Her face, soft and trusting—only of him—fills his dreams; it’s burned onto the back of his eyelids that flutter closed, heavy with sleep, in the darkness of his bedroom. In his dreams, she’s happy too. She’s smiling and laughing and eating pizza in his basement.

It’s an icy night in January when Mike falls asleep on the couch in the living room, his science textbook open on his chest, pencil fallen to the floor. On this windless, cloudless, colourless night, she begins to truly haunt him, transforming from memory to ghost.

He wakes to the garbled sound of static, to a pale glow emanating from the television set across the room. Squinting through tired eyes, blinking away grogginess, Mike feels around his head for the remote, reaching under pastel-coloured pillows, certain he’d managed to roll onto the small device in his sleep. His search futile, hands empty and feeling nothing but some lost change, Mike stands and stretches, textbook clattering to the ground, the fall muted by the thick carpet. Goosebumps form on his bare arms, the t-shirt he wears not designed for a winter’s night, not even in the Wheeler’s comparatively warm home. He pads over to the television and twists the dial to an off position.

Mike casts his eyes around the room once more as he leaves, dark save for the soft light that falls through the window from the lamppost outside. He notes, with some surprise, the remote. It’s laid flat on the seat of his father’s recliner.

Weird.

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Hashimada minibang (2016) — Day 2: Acceptance/Denial

Continued from Day 1: Creation/Destruction.

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Everlasting Party - Mystic Messenger Time Loop AU (pt 21)

<- Previous Chapter | Chapter Index | Next Chapter ->

Summary: You’re caught in a time loop during the 11 days leading up to the RFA’s party unless you can do… what, exactly?

13+. Small spoilers for an event common to Yoosung, Seven, and Zen’s routes.

Busy week so this chapter’s a little later than usual, but it’s also pretty long. Thanks for reading!


You glance up at the security camera above the door to the apartment as you shift your grocery bags to one hand so you can type in the passcode. Briefly you wonder if you ever make eye contact with Seven when you look at the cameras. Well, you doubt he’s keeping an eye on them 24/7. Maybe he just has it set up to notify him if a stranger comes by or something. The only stranger you can think of doesn’t seem to have any trouble hacking the security feeds, though… Ugh.

There’s a click as the door unlocks and you nudge it open with your hip, using your foot to shut it behind you as you enter the apartment. You flick the lights on and give the desk a wide berth on your way to the kitchen to set your groceries down on the counter. You didn’t buy much – there’s hardly any point in stockpiling ingredients for later – but you do have a few vegetables, snacks, and other foods now. At the very least, you never have to worry about something going bad before you get the chance to use it.

Somewhere deep in your purse, your phone rings. You set down the milk you were about to put in the fridge and dig around in your bag until you find it, barely glancing at the caller ID before swiping to answer. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” His deep voice is instantly recognizable.

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i. you think you can learn
to walk on broken glass
the way you walk on eggshells.

ii. you bite on words,
but your tongue bleeds.

iii. the bruises on your neck
don’t match your fingers;
(you wear a necklace 
of broken never-agains.)

iv. you start a book of lies
you’ve told yourself.
you call it
one-last-day.

—  marina v., because leaving is never easy.

anonymous asked:

Hey hello! I was wondering if you have a master post of your favourite fanfic, either ff or kh related or even just something well written, or if you just have them bookmarked really, and could share some! The thing is I've already read every single one of your fics and I love your writing, so detailed and just well done so I thought you had something worth to share (uwu sorry if this upset you in any way! I love you T.T

Oh, no, I’m not upset at all! I actually don’t have a masterlist for my favorite stories, although I really should get around to making one someday. But I can recommend to you some of my favorite writers. 

Let’s see, there’s @hypaalicious @louisvuittontrashbags @saphscribes @cupnoodle-queen @ultimoogle @insomniascure @sonsoflucis @ffxvhoe @themissimmortal @xnoctits and @unlimitedthotworks

These are all incredible FFXV writers, and I’m sure you’ll find something you like!

We might as well be strangers
Keane
We might as well be strangers

"As you get older you realise that things just get more complicated and it's just never a simple 'everything's delightful' - I mean I find that I feel very happy with that side of my life, but at the same time there always bad things and always difficult things, and I'll always like taking those and expanding on them and thinking where they might go and using those as ideas for writing. I don't know if that just means I'm a 'glass half empty' person or whatever, but in a way those are the most interesting things to write about - it's not particularly interesting to write a song about how 'everything's really lovely'. I think people are just very interesting, and those sorts of funny things that people say and do, and you don't really know if they're good or bad, but they're just weird. The way people behave to each other is so strange. We Might As Well Be Strangers is definitely one of my favourites songs I've written because it's so ... unbelievably depressing. I feel that it builds up and it just sort of explodes, it's like it smoulders along for a while and then there's a big cry of frustration, and then it just hangs its head, and then goes back to the 'for all I know of you now' bit. It's a very sad song." - Tim - Strangers DVD

anonymous asked:

HC for Super Spy Husbands: Iwa is super sentimental and keeps ticket stubs of their dates, etc. and Oikawa finds his secret stash when he is feeling insecure about their relationship

okay, this one did so many things to my heart (´ ︿ ` ๑)
I actually really like this hc so thank you, here’s a fic for you

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Fault Lines

Hey kids. I don’t know jack shit about college in America. I don’t know how old you are when you go. I don’t know how many subjects you take. I don’t know what kind of qualification you get. I don’t know how long you go for. I literally don’t know anything. None of this is really very important in this fic, but if this is wildly inaccurate, please just pretend that this is set in England. Because this is what students do over here. Well, it’s what I do anyway. Cool. 

College au. Mostly sfw. 1.5K words.

Fault Lines 

Everything is tipping away from Grace.

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~ Luna as a Mum ~
  • Nights of dancing around the house completely freely, just feeling the music and your magic rising to meet the beat as you twirl around the house. Fabric tailing behind you with colours mixing together creating their own symphony. 
  • Messy overalls with paint splatters, unable to see the colour that lies behind it. Great murals of nature, friends, family and abstract emotions coming into being on every surface of the house just to be covered again later in more paint. 
  • Bedtime stories of great adventures with princess’ saving the dragon and King’s escaping to go live in the forests with the wonderful creatures that live there. Sometimes Luna will open up a story book but never does she read word for word, using the stories as prompts to create her own wonderful world. She always incorporates whatever you say into her story. They’re always strange but never fail to be anything but perfect and you fall asleep with the sweetest dreams.
  • Kitchen concoctions that are so rich in magic they may as well be potions. You think they are either delicious or disgusting and there is no in between. 
  • There are crafts hung up everywhere around and outside the house in bright colours, some of which make sounds and on a windy day they create their own music full of chimes, whispers and bells. Luna never gets rid of any of them, proud of even the earliest creations of her children.
  • Bonfires with stories told through the smoke and roasting some of the things grown in their garden. 
  • Gardening is always fun, wrestling with the plants that try and hug you and poking the ones that scream to make each other jump. They’re all safe but not one of the plants are boring. You come inside with dirt all over and can never be happier. 
  • Exploring the property as great explores hunting for the ever allusive crumpled-horn snorkack. Pretending to be your mum, the greatest explore and adventurer there ever was.
  • Sitting on Luna’s lap as she writes articles, always answering questions whenever you ask, always making time to be a mum first. 
  • Lessons in writing, numbers, magic and philosophy are taught differently from the Weasley’s, Potter’s and Longbottom’s you are encouraged to object and question and break away from what is considered ‘fact’. 
  • Little magic - lighting candles with your breath and making flowers dance. 
  • Your mum, the greatest witch there ever was and no one can convince your otherwise. Beautiful, creative, magical, inspiring, brilliant and the best. mum. ever.
  • LUNA

anonymous asked:

Hey there! As someone who looks up to your writing and the way it tends to make a lasting impression on readers, I thought I'd ask you. I'm in need of advice regarding a motivational/cover letter for a company. I've never written one before, I really need a job, and more than that, I would really like to get this particular job which means that I need to write an impressive motivational letter that will be unlike the other candidates' letters. Any advice would be appreciated xx

To whom it may concern,

Here is a concise, enthusiastic statement about how great I think your company is. Here are one or two of my favourite things about your company/the humanitarian work it has done/its ethics/the charities it supports, etc, and here is a sentence tying this all back to my own values, beliefs and excitement to go to work in the morning.

Here are some things about me. Here are my skills, my attributes, and what I can bring to your company. Here is me telling you to read more of my work history and particular capabilities overleaf in my resume. 

Here is a cool idea I have for your company, or perhaps an implication of a cool idea that you would be super keen on getting me in for an interview to hear more about. This may or may not end up being the reason I am hired because, even if my idea does not come to fruition, it shows that I am an innovative, creative and independent thinker who will benefit the company not only next month, but for years into the future.

Here is where I mesh it all together, and tell you not only why I’m interested in working for you, but why you’re interested in having me on board. Here is me explaining to you why I would make a vital member of the team, in a subtle manner that suggests I know my strengths without being cocky or egotistical within the workforce.

Here is me offering the times I am available for contact should you have any further questions regarding this letter or any information overleaf. Here is me encouraging you to do so. 

Here is me looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Yours sincerely,

Me.