#I have tips for rewrites if anyone needs them

[shepherds-of-haven]

The End of an Era, and the Road Ahead

Hi everybody, the recent news about Dashingdon shutting down feels like it's a bittersweet turning point for many in the ChoiceScript community. Before Don stepped up and took things into his own hands, volunteering his own money, manpower, and time to create and maintain the site, there was no good way for people to host ChoiceScript demos and games in one place: I think the previous solution had been different Dropbox links (which was eventually nuked by security changes in how they hosted files) and possibly separate Neocities sites? Without the Dashingdon site, none of us would have had such an incredible space to gather, share and explore and experience games together, or--for some--even feel motivated to write a ChoiceScript game in the first place, not without an easy and intuitive way of sharing it with others in a playable format. The Dashingdon site significantly lowered the barrier of entry for anyone wanting to make or play or share games; more than that, it was a place of memories, creativity, and connection, and I fully believe that it served as a vital backbone of the ChoiceScript community for many years. A lot of that community relies on the efforts of volunteers--including the creator of CSIDE and the moderators on the forums--and, as with them, I can only thank Don wholeheartedly for his generosity and his 10 years of tireless, selfless, and often thankless work. The fact that a lot of people didn't even know he was a volunteer shows his altruism!

However, all of that work could have only fallen on the shoulders of one person for so long. It's a sad loss to see, though, and I'm very sorry to everyone mourning the loss of the community space, old or inactive WIPs, and save files that will be lost when Dashingdon goes dark at the end of the month. I do wish that there could be an official, stable, company-supported place for authors to host their games in one place, but at least there are alternatives for people to migrate to! (Thank you too to @hpowellsmith and everyone in the community who's taken it upon themselves to spread the news and try to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone surprised by this announcement. And thank you to the volunteer who's taken up the banner at cogdemos.ink!) I don't know if cogdemos.ink has a page set up to help defray costs, but Dashingdon himself has a ko-fi if you want to leave a tip or thanks for his years of service to the community!

To that end, I want to reassure you all that Shepherds of Haven is safe and isn't going anywhere, and that this change won't affect the game's future. The news has, however, sped up my announcement of something I've been working on for a long time: transitioning away from ChoiceScript and moving Shepherds of Haven to Twine.

Granted, this wasn't how I originally planned on sharing this news. Patrons have known about this move since I decided on it, but I'm a dogged perfectionist, possibly to a fault. I wanted everything to be absolutely polished before unveiling the Twine build, but this unexpected news has been the nudge I needed to take the leap sooner. It's always been my habit to polish my work to an extreme degree: I will rewrite entire novels five, seven, however many times it takes before I send it to my agent or editor... or even before I show it to my own fiance! I still haven't let him read Shepherds, or the novel that I've been talking to him about since 2019, because it "isn't ready" yet, not in my own mind. A common refrain I've always heard from career associates is that my work is "unusually impeccable" by the time it hits their desk. When I do share something, it's usually done. But if I'm learning anything as I grow as a writer, it's that progress matters over perfection. The sudden closure of Dashingdon has made me realize that no one moment will ever feel perfect--and that’s okay. I have to accept that things will never be as perfect as I want to make them before I let them out into the world. Instead of holding myself to an impossible standard, I’m embracing this opportunity to push forward and bring you something I'm truly proud of. (However nerve-wracking that may be!) So, instead of reuploading the ChoiceScript demo somewhere else, only to take it down again later, my efforts are going to shift entirely to getting the Twine version ready for release. It’s a huge task, but it ensures I’ll have complete control over Shepherds of Haven and its future. If I drop everything and focus entirely on this for the next several weeks, my best estimate is that it will take 3-5 weeks of full-time work to make that final push and finally get everything caught up and ready.

Why Twine? There were a lot of reasons behind my decision to move. The biggest of all was that, as the game's wordcount grew, so too did my creative vision for it, and I found myself longing for a version of ShoH that could be just as visually rich and mechanically engaging as I was imagining. Codex entries, interactive maps, infinite saves that can be downloaded directly to your device! Moving to Twine removes the limitations of ChoiceScript's simpler engine, and allows me to honor the game's creative potential and deliver on it in a way that feels true to the journey we've shared so far. It's also a platform that offers greater flexibility and independence for both me and the game: I've put so much work into this project that I'd prefer for its success to rest more in my hands, even if that means taking on the monumental task of publishing it myself, rather than anyone else's.

So. Both the public demo and the alpha build will be released in Twine as soon as I can make that happen. The majority of the work's already done--I just need to get the alpha build caught up with some lingering day off interludes and Chapters 8.5 and 9, and I need to address a queue of lingering quality-of-life questions and tweaks. I want to also note that, while there are very exciting additions to unveil, everything foundational to ShoH remains exactly the same. The story, text, and original functions have been ported in their entirety to Twine, outside of basic edits and refinements that would have happened in the normal course of revision, anyway. I have even taken pains to implement a visual "classic" setting that will replicate the font, colors, and general simplified look of the original version, if players want to use that instead. :) But otherwise, this thing is stuffed to the gills with awesome new features. Custom music soundtrack! Clickable maps! Actual trading card collectibles! Stunning new art! Revamped codex and store and inventory systems! Helpful tutorials and autosave points! Important quality of life improvements, like being able to select pronouns separately from gender and change them any time! This doesn't even touch the surface of it, but needless to say, I think we're going to have a lot of fun. Thank you all for your patience, encouragement, and support so far, and please give me some time to get my ducks in a row. A new version of Shepherds of Haven will be ready for you to play soon!

[im-sleepdeprived]

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again. 

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him.  The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away. 

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion. 

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged. 

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad. 

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch. 

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it. 

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved. 

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.” 

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place. 

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her. 

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight. 

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already. 

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything. 

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book. 

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving. 

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though. 

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you. 

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together. 

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more. 

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter. 

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten. 

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge. 

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly. 

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe. 

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response. 

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird. 

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail. 

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay.  He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start. 

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that. 

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away. 

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred. 

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay. 

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. 

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again. 

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault. 

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated. 

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. 

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you. 

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe. 

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit. 

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home. 

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away. 

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer. 

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little. 

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead. 

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face. 

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!” 

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again. 

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging. 

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.

[coffeebeanwriting]

15 Writing Tips from Authors

1) “You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are.” - Joss Whedon

2) “First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow them.” - Ray Bradbury 

Coffee bean’s analysis: Letting your characters lead the story can result in an authentic, character-driven story, full of real conflicts and natural emotion.

3) “Turn up for work. Discipline allows creative freedom. No discipline equals no freedom.” - Jeanette Winterson

4) “Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” - Isabel Allende 

Coffee bean’s analysis: In order to write or eventually share your story with the world, you have to sit down and do the work, even if your brain is empty. Once you show up, the creativity has a chance to spark.

5) “All bad writers are in love with the epic.” - Ernest Hemingway

6) "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." - Leonardo Da Vinci

Coffee bean’s analysis: Being able to turn a complex idea into simple words is harder than one might think— but can elevate your writing. Not everything needs to be epic or overly flowery.

7) “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” - Anne Lamott

8) “I went for years not finishing anything. Because, of course, when you finish something you can be judged.” - Erica Jong

9) “Don’t write at first for anyone but yourself.” - T.S Eliot

Coffee bean’s analysis: Perfectionism will kill any chance you have at having fun and finishing your novel. Let go of that pressure of being perfect and do not worry about being judged. Write for you.

10) “Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.” -Henry Miller

Coffee bean’s analysis: Don’t overwhelm your schedule with trying to write a ton of projects at once. Focus your energy into one (or two) at a time.

11) "A short story must have a single mood and every sentence must build towards it." - Edgar Allen Poe

12) “Every sentence must do one of two things— reveal character or advance the action." - Kurt Vonnegut

Coffee bean’s analysis: Even if you’re writing a novel, this advice is brilliant. Whether it’s a sentence, paragraph or whole chapter... make sure they are meant to be in your story. Keep your scenes tidy and thematic, building towards something.

13) “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” - Anton Chekhov

Coffee bean’s analysis: When writing a novel, give your reader details so that they can picture the scene in their head. Don’t do too much telling (though it has it’s places).

14) “It is perfectly okay to write garbage— as long as you edit brilliantly.” - C.J Cherry

15) “If it sounds like writing … rewrite it.” - Elmore Leonard

Coffee bean’s analysis: Allow yourself to write messily and worry about editing later. Once in the editing phase, if your writing sounds stiff, rewrite it so that it sounds natural.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting  

[thewriterg]

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

paring(s): Miles Morales x fem!reader, Miles morales x spidey!reader

summary: you were two months pregnant and it was only a matter of time before you had to stop hiding the child growing inside you and tell your boyfriend miles little did you know he has his own surprise for you as well

word count: 1.3k

request: Hi, can I ask for a, Miles Morales x pregnant reader please. Where reader is pregnant with Miles baby. She doesn't know how to tell him because she is skared that he's going to leave her and the baby. She doesn't realize that he knows and that he can hear the baby's heartbeat and not just hers. Just the rest love and fluf please. You can write the rest however you want. If you can do this thank you, if not that is ok.

warning(s): pregnancy, some tears, hormones, kisses, pet names, just a pinch of perinatal depression, I’m thinking this can be college-ish set, pet names, fluff, drinking while pregnant (a glass of wine is okay!), and language

A/n:—GIFs; @dailymilesmorales— I had to set my little angst whore brain aside for this and kept rewriting to make sure it was more happy than sad

Miles watched You in awe as you lied in bed staring at the feeling you were glowing under the late sunlight that seeped through the curtains of your shared bedroom Your was shiny, your nails were growing out, and your skin

that damn skin

“Hey love, I’m gonna go out on patrol for a little while” Miles had brought himself to your side of the bed down on both knees to get down to eye level with you as you let out a small breath before replying

“Okay, I’m sorry I can’t go with you” You felt beyond guilty for lying to your boyfriend this long he’d been taking up your shifts to patrol the city and holding you tight when you needed the comfort

What you had been telling him hadn’t necessarily been a lie you were feeling sick and the running to the bathroom every morning at the crack of dawn for the past two weeks was enough to prove it but you weren’t really telling him or anyone for that matter the full story

“Don’t apologize, ill be back soon okay?” Miles reassured you with that warm smile of his pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose as you nodded and soon enough the brunette was out the door on the way to protect the city

You finally decided to get up heading to your bathroom as you ducked to the cabinets level pushing aside the cleaning supplies and razors to wear two individually wrapped pregnancy test lied flat

You had already took some plenty actually that had all gave you the same results in someway

Two pink lines

or a

blue positive

You unwrapped them both carefully making sure not to tamper with anything even though deep down you knew it was true and that you were pregnant

You sat on the toilet as you went through the process you had many times before as you found yourself staring at the wall waiting as the timer on your phone silently ticked away the remaining time left

You would be more than overjoyed if you didn’t have the voice in the back of your head taunting and chastising you for even hoping Miles would stay with you and raise your baby together why would he you’ve been together merely four years your anniversary was three months from now

Or it would’ve been. Your little family would’ve been something breathtakingly beautiful.

You stared at yourself in the mirror a hand over your belly you weren’t showing but nonetheless it was a little version of you growing inside it and it made your heart squeeze in your chest

You slipped off your clothes and turned the knob to the hot water of your shower to sweep your thoughts clean you would tell Miles when he got back from patrol and would take care of your baby on your own if it came down to it

💌💌💌💌

Miles didn’t know what to do.

It was around two to three weeks ago that he heard something out of the ordinary, way out the ordinary.

He was lying next to your sleeping figure with an arm thrown across your hip draping over your stomach when he heard little rhythmic beats in the drums of his ears usually yours sounded more… lively and vibrant these ones were soft and dainty

Miles listened a little harder and he could hear both beats at the same time lively, vibrant, soft and dainty finally the realization had took his breath away

He was going to be a dad

you were going to be a mom

you had a family

Miles was so close to waking you up to engulf you whole and prepare kisses around your face but he settled you must have been tired carrying around the news of having a child growing inside you and maybe you wanted to surprise him he didn’t want to ruin that for you or himself so he waited

And waited

And waited

Now it was two weeks later and Miles was still trying to let you tell you on your own he tried to gently encourage you with warm smiles and checking up on you more than he usually would to the point where he thought it was overbearing

The only reason the man knew you were aware is when he offered you a glass of wine your favorite wine and all you did was take a sip leaving the cup deserted

The only reason Miles would confront you tonight is because he was simply worried for you and the baby’s health you hadn’t been to the doctor and the brunette didn’t want to wait too long to go

So he swung to the corner shop leaving with a dozen of white roses and some of your favorite snacks you enjoyed in a bag waiting to get home to you

💌💌💌💌

You sat on the couch your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation as you waited for your boyfriend to come back home you had six pregnancy test on tucked under your thigh playing with your hands in your lap

You finally heard the window beside you as you watched your boyfriend climb through the window of your home his suit skin tight on his body book bag residing on his back

you would miss seeing him like this

“Hey… how was patrol?” You questioned timidly and Miles would be lying if he said he weren’t surprised to see you out of bed

“Hi lovie it was good, calm surprisingly.” The boy responded as he sat on the couch next to you sliding the straps of his bad off his shoulders

“I got something for you”

“I got something for you”

You both chuckled at your in sync comment as you nodded for Miles to continue he didn’t speak he just reached in his bag before pulling out a bouquet of white roses and some of your favorite snack you had been eating on the last few weeks

“Thank you baby, your so thoughtful” The lump in your throat was more prominent that ever as you zoomed in on the feeling of the plastic test under your thigh

“Now what’s my surp-” Miles sentence was cut short as you shoved the test in his lap some facing up some facing down all of the saying the same result that you were pregnant

“I’m pregnant two months, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I-I was scared and I’m still scared and it’s okay if you want to leave I can do it by myself and-” This time you were cut short of your sobbing speech as Miles held your face In his hands his heart practically ripped in his chest as you sniffled heavy trying to keep your tears in your eyes for him to break up with you

“Oh sweetheart, im not going anywhere you hear me? I’m so glad you told me baby I’m so proud of you and I can’t wait to raise our baby together” Miles shushed you as you sobbed harder face pressed against his shoulder his suit soaking up your tears

“I’m so sorry it took me so long” You sniffled and Miles hugged you close rubbing small soothing circles on your back

“I’m just glad you told me okay? I’m so glad you told me baby” The brunette whispered running a hand over your hair smoothing it out as you began to fall asleep in his warm embrace

Miles would choose another day to tell you that he knew all this time but for now he would settle with holding you close in his arms and rubbing your belly

He held his world in his hands

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Houses of the Holy | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: MNDI 18+ ONLY, canon violence, canon gore, SMUT, breast play, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl pls and thanks), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, clit spanking, descriptions of religious trauma (there’s a lot of talk of the two things you should never talk about in here: religion and politics)

Word Count: 5892

A/N: need i say it again, goodbye, minors!!! Be gone!!! please!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Every twenty or so minutes, you reloaded the FBI’s database you’d managed to tap into. You were getting incredibly anxious about Dean’s presence on their radar following the bank “robbery” the week prior. 

Sam went out to pose as a psychotherapy nurse to interrogate a woman whose personality seemed to have changed overnight after killing a man, claiming an angel led her to do so. You were placed on “Dean duty” after Sam insisted his brother stay here to avoid being seen. You were right on board with that idea, but you needed to stay behind to make sure Dean didn’t go stir crazy and leave stupidly.

A thousand thoughts swirled through your head as you wrote in your journal. 

“When I was on my own, I was a fucking expert at staying away from police,” you wrote. “Now, suddenly, I’m on cases with these two where every time I turn around, a cop is on my ass. I’m not super crazy about that idea. However, I don’t wanna leave them. They’re my best friends, and I know Dean is something more to me. I don’t wanna give that all up just because I’m starting to sweat a bit, y’know? 

“I am not one to shy away from trouble, and I’m loyal. Those are two qualities I’m super proud of,” you continued writing, “I just am worried. And I feel like that’s completely normal. But it’s a different kind of worry. I’ve never had to be concerned about two other people when I’m hunting. This is the first time I’ve had partners who are just as good as I am. And I’ve never cared about my partners this much. And in a way, that sucks.

“And what the hell was I thinking promising Sam that I’d kill him if necessary? Am I out of my fucking mind?? I don’t know what I’d do if Dean hated me. But I’d still rather him hate me than hate himself. I can go it alone again. I really could. I just don’t think I want to.”

You dropped your pen and scrubbed a hand over your face before pulling it through your hair. 

“Sweetheart. C’mere,” Dean groaned from the other end of the room. He was laying on a vibrating motel bed with his headphones in his ears. He’d been obsessively fueling the “Magic Fingers” machine with quarters. 

You headed over to him just as the bed stopped vibrating.

“Damn, that was my last quarter,” he huffed, taking his headphones out of his ears. He seemed not to notice you until that moment. “Oh, hey.” 

You sat on the bed next to him, and he was still laid out in the center of the bed on his back.”Whatcha need?”

“You,” he said, smirking.

You laughed as he pulled on the ends of your— his— shirt, trying to get you to lay on top of him. You happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him. Between kisses, you giggled, “Dee, we already fucked this morning. You’re seriously ready again?”

He hummed against your lips. “Always.”

You rolled your head away from him. “I have sex with you once, and suddenly, you’re insatiable.”

“I can’t help it,” he smirked. “You’re gorgeous.”

You faux-pouted. “That’s it?”

He rolled on top of you and kissed up your neck. “And smart.” He kissed you again, moving to your left cheek. “And badass.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “And sexy.” He kissed your lips. “I hate how much I need you.”

You mocked offense. “Why do you hate it?”

“ ‘Cause I don’t like to need anyone,” he replied. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I need you, too.” You leaned up to him and pecked his lips before leaning back down on the pillows. “And not just sexually,” you clarified.

He chuckled. “Same here,” he told you earnestly.

You grinned widely, pulling him back down to your lips by the nape of his neck. He eagerly bit your bottom lip before trailing his lips down your neck. He sucked a dark spot on your collarbone, making you tug his hair and moan. He groaned against your skin before hiking the shirt up your body, swirling his tongue around your nipples. Still sensitive from your activities earlier in the morning, your back immediately arched into him and you keened, encouraging him to keep going. He switched to your other breast and chuckled as you continued writhing underneath him. “Wonder if I could make you cum just like this,” he said, looking up at you. 

“Stop teasing, Dean,” you whined, shoving his shoulders down to your pussy.

“Hmm, but it’s so much fun,” he replied. Dean skimmed his fingers down to the band of your underwear, playing with the hem. You sucked in a sharp breath and squirmed beneath him. “Why would I do what you want when this is so much more enjoyable for me,” he chuckled darkly.

“Dean!” you cried out. “Please!”

“Fine,” he responded. The man above you pushed your panties down your legs before dipping his fingers into your cunt. “So wet for me already?”

“Fuck you,” you murmured in embarrassment.

He tsked. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who made you cum three times this morning?”

“It is if he’s being a fucking tease,” you replied, running your nails over his abs just above his V-line.

He groaned at your actions before grabbing your wrist and pinning it next to your head. “Now who’s being a tease?” Dean used one hand to pin your wrist above your head and the other to grab your other. He pinned them above your head, instructing you to keep them there.

He moved back down your body, stopping when he reached your core. He eagerly ate you out like a man starved, and your hands flew to his hair. He immediately stopped. 

“What’d I say?” he asked gruffly.

“Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, grabbing the headboard above you to keep your hands there.

He moved back to your pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you grip the headboard tighter. “Fuck, Dean!” you cried out.

He curled two long fingers inside you, groaning at the slick pooling between your thighs. Your orgasm was quickly approaching as he hit your g-spot with the tips of his fingers and continued harshly sucking your clit, every now and again swirling his tongue around it. 

“Fuck, fuck, please, I’m gonna—” And then he was gone. “What the fuck?” you whined at the feeling of his fingers leaving you.

“You don’t get to come until I say,” he growled. “You understand?”

You nodded eagerly, still white-knuckling the headboard. You spread your legs wide, fully displaying your pussy to him. “Fuck me, Dean.”

His hand came harshly down on your clit. You yelped in surprise.

“You don’t make the demands here, I do.” He spanked your clit one more time for good measure before shoving his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them in earnest, closing your eyes as you licked them clean. Dean groaned at the feeling and freed his fingers from your mouth, gripping your throat as he bent down to kiss you. 

Before you knew it, Dean’s cock was inside you, making you gasp into his mouth. He sheathed himself fully inside you, and you locked your legs around his hips. He rocked into you roughly, each thrust making you come more and more alight. 

“Can I touch you?” you breathed out. “Please?”

“Beg,” he replied, still keeping his thrusts even.

“Dean, please let me touch you. Please, please, I need to touch you,” you groveled through shallow breaths. 

“Hmm…” he smirked, rolling his hips into yours roughly. 

“Dean! Please! Please!” you cried, gasping. “I need to feel you, Dee.”

“Okay, sweetheart, you can,” he said.

You were on him in an instant, one hand in his hair and the other winding around the underside of his shoulders. You kissed your way down his neck and nipped at the base of it, careful not to leave any dark marks; even though you really wanted to. Dean’s pace began to falter as you felt his cock twitching inside you.

“Cum with me,” he instructed you. He reached down to your clit, drawing rough circles, before burying his face in your shoulder. “Cum with me, now, (Y/N).”

You came with a high-pitched moan, your orgasm crashing into you suddenly. Your legs locked around the base of Dean’s spine, keeping him inside you as he came. You moaned again at the feeling of his cum spilling inside you. His thrusts slowed, and he pulled out, causing you to whine at the loss. Dean laid on your bare chest, breathless. 

You took a few minutes to linger in this feeling which you decided was your version of heaven. No monsters, no fighting, no police run-ins— just Dean laying on your chest, breathing in time with you. However, you knew Sam would be coming back any minute now.

“Dean,” you said, trying to wiggle out from under him.

“Hm?”

“We gotta get up, Sam’s gonna be back soon.”

“Who cares.”

“Me!” you squealed as his grip tightened around you. “I don’t really want Sam to see my bare tits!”

He kissed between the valley of your breasts, nuzzling your left one with his cheek. “But I wanna keep lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Dean!”

“Alright, alright.” He finally let go of you, and you pulled your clothes back on. This time, you put your jeans and the shirt you wore before you and Dean fucked for the first time that morning to avoid Sam knowing what had been happening. You headed back over to your laptop, and reloaded the FBI’s database page.

“What is so important over there?” Dean asked, coming over to you. 

You turned your laptop to face him. 

“Seriously? You’re gonna drive yourself crazy lookin’ at that.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested,” you scoffed.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

You looked away from your computer and back up to him with big doe eyes.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” Dean growled.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’m not gonna be able to control myself if you don't,” he replied.

Despite your earlier activities, heat flooded once more between your thighs. “Dean—”

At that moment, Sam burst through the door. “Hey.”

Dean jerked away from you, and you awkwardly returned to the computer in front of you.

“So, did you get in to see that crazy hooker?” Dean questioned, scratching the back of his neck. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Gloria Sitnick. And I'm not so sure she's crazy.”

“But she seriously believes that she was... touched by an angel?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward and she's totally at peace.”

You scoffed. “Definitely completely sane. What about the guy she stabbed?”

“Uh, Carl Gully. She said she killed him because he was evil,” Sam explained. 

“Was he?” Dean asked.

The brunet shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. I mean, he didn't have a criminal record, he worked at the campus library, had lots of friends. He was a churchgoer.”

Dean paced around, all-business mode. “Hm. So then Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko. I mean, phew, she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion. Know what I mean?”

“No, but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't ya think?” Sam countered.

“Well, little odd, yes, supernatural, maybe. But angels? I don't think so.”

“Agreed,” you chimed in.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“ ‘Cause angels aren’t real,” you replied.

“(Y/N/N), there's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted,” the younger brother reminded you.

“Yeah, you know what? There's a ton of lore on unicorns too. In fact, I hear that they, they ride on silver moonbeams, and they shoot rainbows out of their ass,” Dean grunted.

Sam sat down across from you, deadpanning, “Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?”

“That's cute,” Dean monotoned, “I'm just saying, man, there's just some legends that you just, you file under ‘bullcrap’.”

“And you've got angels on the bullcrap list.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’ve never seen one,” you chimed in.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “So what?”

“So I believe in what I can see,” Dean argued.

“Dean! You and I have seen things that most people couldn't even dream about.”

“Sam,” you started, trying to mollify both brothers. “I think that’s his point. We can actually see that stuff. Hard proof, y’know? We don’t have hard proof of angels.”

“This is a– a demon or a spirit,” Dean continued. “You know, they find people a few fries short of a happy meal, and they trick them into killing these randoms.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe.”

“Can we just— I'm going stir-crazy, guys. Hey, let's go by Gloria's apartment, huh?” Dean begged you and Sam. 

“I was just there. Nothing. No sulfur, no EMF…” Sam trailed off.

“You didn't see any fluffy white wing feathers?” Dean deadpanned.

“But Gloria did say the angel gave her a sign, right beside Carl Gully's doorway,” Sam huffed.

Dean perked up at that notion. “Could be something at his house; it's worth checking out.”

“I don’t love that idea, Dean. Please… stay here, okay? Sam and I can handle it,” you argued.

Dean groaned. “(Y/N), I’m going fucking crazy in here. Please?”

You crossed your arms. “No.”

He went to say something again.

“No. Sam, you’re on Dean duty. I’ll be back in a few hours,” you stated firmly.

“(Y/N)—”

“Dean,” you warned. “I’ll bring you back some beers, okay?”

He huffed. 

“I’ll throw a burger and some quarters in there, too, okay?” 

Dean huffed again, but said nothing in response. 

You tugged your boots on, and Sam tossed the keys to you.

“Not a scratch, (Y/N),” Dean told you firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

***

About two hours later, you returned with a six pack and burgers and fries for the boys. 

“Oh, (Y/N), thank god,” Sam exclaimed when you returned. 

“What, has he been that bad?” you asked. 

“I’m right here, y’know,’ Dean grumbled. “You bring any quarters?”

“Told you I would.” You chucked the roll of quarters and his car keys back at him. 

You put the six pack down on the table and began distributing the food between the brothers.

“Woman, you’re fucking awesome,” Dean groaned as he took a bite of his burger. 

Sam laughed. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Well, Mr. Gully had some pretty dark secrets,” you began. “I found three sets of bones buried under his house. Poor babies were kids from the local college who disappeared about a year ago. And get this; all of ‘em were last seen at the library.”

“Sick bastard,” Dean grunted. 

“So Gloria's angel—” Sam started, only to be cut off by Dean.

“Angel?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay. Whatever this thing is…”

“Whatever it is, it's struck again,” Dean jumped back in through a mouthful of food.

“What?” you questioned.

“Dean hasn’t put down the police radio since you left,” Sam told you. “There was this guy, uh, Zach Smith, some local drunk; he went up to a stranger's front door last night, stabbed him in the heart.”

“And then I'm guessing he went to the police and confessed?” you asked.

“Yep. Roma Downey made him do it,” Dean quipped. He took a post-it note off the mirror. “Now, I, uh, got the victim's address.”

“Dean—”

“(Y/N), I am not staying here again. Just this one thing? Please?”

“No, Dee. I’m not taking that risk. You have got to lay low,” you insisted.

“(Y/N), how are you gonna stop me from doing my job?”

“Because if it involves putting yourself at risk, then it’s not happening,” you protested. 

“My whole job is risk,” he argued, stepping closer to you. “There’s just… an added level now.”

“Exactly. Which means we have to be that much more careful. Especially considering we have the feds on our ass. I’m not letting this happen,” you shot back.

“Hate to say it, Dean, I think (Y/N)’s right,” Sam jumped in. “I’ll go check out the vic’s house. (Y/N), stay here.”

“Fine by me,” you said. 

Dean grunted in aggravation, and flopped down on the bed after putting a few quarters in the Magic Fingers machine. You knew he’d probably stay angry with you for the rest of the evening. 

After a few minutes of silence and when the rumbling came to an end, you spoke up again. “Dean,” you sighed. “I’m not trying to be a huge ass, okay? I’d be angry with me, too. But this is just… It’s a lot. And I’m trying to keep you boys as safe as possible. And I wanna help Sam with this case, but I can’t if I’m worried about you not staying put, okay?”

Dean didn’t respond, and you thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep. At least, that was until you heard him murmur, “Okay.”

*** Sam informed you and Dean that the most recent victim had been planning to meet with a thirteen-year-old girl. Your stomach turned when he told you, and Dean looked like he would’ve kicked the guy to hell and back given the opportunity. Sam also told you that both victims went to the same church called “Our Lady of the Angels.”

“That’s funny,” you’d commented. 

Following last night’s conversation with Dean, you felt more comfortable leaving him to his own devices. And so, it was up to you and Sam to go talk to the priests at said church.

“So you're interested in joining the parish?” the priest, who’d introduced himself as Father Reynolds, asked you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

“Where'd you say you lived before?”

“Fremont, Texas,” you said without missing a beat.

“Really? That's a nice town,” Fr. Reynolds noted. “St. Teresa's parish, you must know the priest there.”

“Yes, sir. He’s wonderful,” you nodded.

“You know, we're just happy to be here now, Father,” Sam broke in.

“And we're happy to have you, we could use some young blood around here.”

“Hey, listen, I gotta ask,” you began hesitantly. “No offense, but uh, the neighborhood?”

Fr. Reynolds sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, it's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that, but that's why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime you work your butt off.”

“Yeah, we, uh, heard about the murders,” you acknowledged.

“Yes. The victims were parishioners of mine, I'd known them for years.”

Sam quirked his head to the side. “And the killers said that an angel made them do that?”

“Yes. Misguided souls, to think that God's messenger would appear and incite people to murder. It's tragic,” the priest sighed. 

“So you don't believe in the whole ‘angel’ thing?” you questioned. 

“Oh, no, I absolutely believe,” he chuckled. “Kind of goes with the job description.”

Sam nodded toward the painting on the wall. “Father, that's Michael, right?”

“That's right. The archangel Michael, with the flaming sword. The fighter of demons. Holy force against evil.”

“So they're not really the Hallmark card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant?” 

“Well, I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. ‘An angel of the Lord appeared to them, the glory of the Lord shone down upon them, and they were terrified’,” the priest finished.

You nodded sagely. “Luke two nine.”

The priest seemed surprised you knew that. “Yes, actually.”

You laughed uncomfortably. “My, uh, my mom was a pretty zealous Catholic,” you explained as Fr. Reynolds began leading you out of the door. “She’d quiz me on the bible verses every now and again.”

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you while you began heading down the steps of the church. 

“Well, thank you for speaking with us, Father,” the brunet said. 

“Oh, it's my pleasure. Hope to see you again,” the priest nodded.

You noticed a collection of tribute items at the bottom of the steps; candles, flowers, pictures, and rosaries. “Hey, Father, what's, what’s all that for?”

Fr. Reynolds deflated a bit. “Oh, that's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here.”

“Was?” you questioned.

“He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt,” he explained.

“When did this happen?”

“Two months ago. He was shot for his car keys.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you told him.

“Yeah, me too.” The priest couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from his friend’s memorial. “He was a good friend. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighborhood. Ever since he died I've been praying my heart out.”

“For what?” Sam asked.

“For deliverance. From the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose,” he replied.

“Thanks, Father. We’ll see you around sometime,” you nodded solemnly. He headed back inside.

“Well, it's all starting to make sense. Devoted priest dies a violent death? That's vengeful spirit material right there,” you noted.

Sam seemed a bit uncomfortable.

“And he knew all the vics, because they went to church here,” you continued. “In fact I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them that nobody else knew. Reconciliation and all that jazz.”

“Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right? Right about the time all this started happening?” Sam countered.

“Sam,” you sighed. “I know you wanna believe, but I’m not really sold on this whole ‘angel’ idea. Why do you seem so convinced?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But I do know that I pray. Every single day. I have for a long time.”

You startled a bit. “Really? I had no idea.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “What made you stop?”

“Well, like I said, my mom was always a bit of a zealot,” you began. “And… let’s just say I saw how well prayin’ worked out for her.” 

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look. 

“C’mon, let’s go check out Fr. Gregory’s grave.”

Sam followed you down to the crypt. It was a bit of a maze of stone hallways lined with numerous stone angel statues. You headed a little ahead of Sam deeper into the crypt. You turned back when you noticed Sam wasn’t behind you, and then suddenly felt the ground beneath you shaking.

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured before running to where you thought Sam may be. “Sammy?” you called. “Get the rocksalt out—” You halted momentarily when you noticed Sam’s slumped over form on the ground. “Hey! Sam! Wake up!” you cried, grabbing his face in both your hands. He jerked awake as soon as you touched him. “You okay?!” you asked worriedly.

He looked past you at the angel statue behind you. “Yeah. Yeah. 'm okay.” He seemed a little startled.

You helped him to his feet and led him into the sanctuary. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, (Y/N), I saw an angel,” he said.

“You—” You shook your head, unsure how to approach this situation. “So. What makes you think you saw an, uh, angel?”

“It just, it appeared before me and I just, this feeling washed over me, you know? Like, like peace. Like grace,” he explained.

You swallowed harshly, feeling suddenly unsettled. “Wh—” You laughed uncomfortably.

“I know this is a lot, but I’m telling you, it spoke to me. It knew who I was,” he said.

You shook your head. “Spirits can do that, though, y’know that, right?”

Sam didn’t seem convinced. 

“Okay, let me guess,” you tried. “You were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You've just got to wait for some divine bat signal, is that it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam nodded.

“Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?”

“Actually I did, (Y/N). And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything. Yet. But he will,” Sam nodded.

You started pacing. “I don’t believe this.”

“(Y/N), the angel hasn’t been wrong yet!” Sam protested. “Someone's going to do something awful, and I can stop it!”

You scoffed. “You’re supposed to do something awful, too. Does that mean I’m just supposed to nuke you right now?”

“Y’know what? I don't understand! Why can't you and Dean even consider the possibility?”

“What, that this is an angel?”

“Yes! Maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop! Maybe this is God's will!”

“Y’know what, Sam, if that’s what you believe, fine,” you sighed. “If faith is what helps you sleep at night and brings you a little peace, then, that’s great and I’m happy for you. But I cannot rationalize worshiping a god who’s gonna condemn me to a pit of fire and suffering for the simple fact of non-belief. I mean, think about it, man. He knows exactly what it would take to get every person to believe, and he still chooses not to show it to us.” You began to pace faster. “And, and? Why would homosexuality be the thing he chooses to put his foot down on? And if you are this great and good god, why is that love wrong? And if people believe in other religions, why does that mean they’re going to hell? What if they’re Buddhist and an exceptional person; they still have to go to hell? Hindu? I don’t fucking get it, Sam. And if my options are going to heaven with all the churchgoers— who are mostly hypocrites and these fuck-os who are abusing kids and murdering on Tuesday after just leaving church the Sunday before, then send me straight on down to hell. I’ll take eternity with actually decent people over these yuppies and troglodytes any day.” You stopped, taking a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Sam seemed shocked. “It’s okay,” he said, despite himself. 

You huffed, scratching the back of your head. “Anyway, I got some hard proof we’re dealing with a spirit.” You led him over to Father Gregory’s grave. It was crawling with mangled vines, and you crouched down in front of it. 

“That looks like—”

You cut Sam off. “Wormwood. Plant associated with the dead; specifically the ones that are not at rest. I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Maybe?”

“I don't know what to think,” he said honestly.

You sighed. “Okay. You want some more proof? I'll give you more proof.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“We'll summon Gregory's spirit,” you responded simply.

“What? Here? In the church?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just need a few odds and ends and my journal for a séance ritual.”

“Oh, a séance, great. Hope Whoopi's available,” Sam quipped.

You deadpanned at him, “Cute. Seriously. If Father Gregory's spirit is around, a séance will bring him right to us. If it's him, then we'll put him to rest.”

“But if it's an angel, it won't show. Nothin' 'll happen.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And then we’ll know for sure. And then I can grovel in front of Michael or Zachariah or Castiel or whichever the hell angel it is and beg for their forgiveness before they smite me.”

“The hell kind of angel’s named Castiel?” Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Angel of temperance and serenity. Not traditional Catholicism, but I digress. I told you, my mom was a complete Jesus-freak,” you snorted. “Alright, let’s go get my journal. Hopefully Dean’s still there. I swear to god, I’ll send him to hell and back if he’s not.” *** Thankfully for Dean, he was right where you’d left him. He looked bored out of his skull, but he actually listened to you. “Jesus, how fuckin’ long does it take to talk to a priest?” 

“Not right now, Dean. Sam’s a little, uh, possessed? Cursed? Don’t know what the right word is in this situation. Divinely inspired?” you continued.

“What? He saw it?”

Sam nodded.

“We don’t have time to rehash all this. Now, Dean, you comin’ or not?” You turned to the elder brother.

“Wait, you’re letting me out?”

You scoffed. “Dean, you’re not a hostage. C’mon. We could use the help especially now that Sam’s been angel-drugged.”

Dean chuckled. 

“What?” you asked.

“Sam got touched by an angel,” he snickered.

You burst out in laughter, and Sam just deadpanned.

***

Your next stop was a small grocery store that you hoped didn’t have security cameras that would be able to identify Dean. Sam bounded out of the store holding a paper sack and chuckling. “Guys. I'll admit we've gone pretty ghetto with spellwork before, but this takes the cake. I mean, a Spongebob placemat instead of an altar cloth?”

“We'll just put it Spongebob-side down,” Dean shrugged.

Sam’s laughter subsided suddenly as he stared at someone across the street. 

“What is it?” you asked him.

“It’s him,” he replied. “That's the sign!”

“Where?” Dean questioned.

“Right there, right behind that guy! That's him, Dean. And we have to stop him,” Sam pleaded.

Sam started after him, but you and Dean held the giant man back.

“Wait a second,” you stated. 

“What are you doing? Let me go,” Sam grunted.

“You're not going to go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?” Dean hissed.

“Dean, I'm not insane, I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to stop him.”

“Define ‘stop’, huh? I mean, what are you going to do?” Dean pressed.

“Dean, please, he's going to hurt someone, you know it.”

“Alright, come on,” Dean said finally. You moved to the other side of the car, and Dean quickly shoved you down into the backseat. 

“Dean. Unlock my door,” Sam commanded, still standing on the sidewalk.

“You're not killing anyone, Sam. (Y/N) and I got this guy, you go do the séance,” he nodded.

“Dean!” Sam called after you, but Dean was already pulling away. He followed the man who’d been holding the yellow flowers down a short distance down the street before the guy stopped in front of a girl. She got in the car with him, and your heart sank as you climbed into the front seat.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmured.

“Yeah, me neither.” Dean gripped the wheel tightly and started trailing the blue car again. 

The allegedly evil man soon turned down a dark alley, and you temporarily lost sight of him. Dean cursed, “Dammit!” and slammed the steering wheel in frustration.

“Dean, Dean, follow him, c’mon,” you begged, and he slammed his foot on the gas, turning down the alley he thought he’d seen the man head down. Thankfully, his guess was correct, and you and Dean quickly ran to opposite sides of the man’s car. You could hear the young woman crying and the man shouting at her as you approached. Dean punched the window, and you took that as your opportunity to quickly pull the girl out of the car. 

“Are you okay?” you asked her, grabbing her shoulders.

“Thank god!” she cried, surging forward to hug you.

You called to Dean as the man sped off in his blue car. “Dean! I got her, you follow him! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Dean nodded, sprinting back to the Impala and following the man out of the alley.

“Did he do anything to you?” you asked her.

She shook her head, still crying.

“Do you have any friends nearby? I’ll walk you to ‘em,” you told her. 

The woman nodded. “Yeah, um, my friend—” she hiccuped, “my friend Sarah lives around here.”

“Okay, can you call Sarah? Let her know you’re on your way?”

She nodded again, and you rubbed her back with your hand to soothe her while you started walking toward her friend’s apartment.

You got to know her as you walked to help her calm down and distract her from what had just happened. Her tears slowly subsided, and you seemed to have calmed her down by the time you arrived at her friend’s apartment complex. She hugged you tightly after announcing the two of you had made it. 

“Thank you so much,” she told you. 

“Anytime,” you told her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She nodded and headed up the front steps. She turned to you when she reached the door, waving goodbye one last time.

***

You somehow managed to get back to the motel. Surprisingly, Sarah’s apartment hadn’t been too far from it. You only needed to walk about thirty minutes before you stumbled upon it. 

“Hey,” you said as you opened the door to the Winchesters’ room. Both Dean and Sam were packing. “How’s everybody doin?”

Sam looked demoralized. “You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory. I don't know, guys, I just, uh—” he sat down on the bed. “I wanted to believe… so badly. It's so damn hard to do this, what we do. You're all alone, you know? And there's so much evil out there in the world, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up—”

Dean sat next to him. “Yeah, well, don't worry about that. All right? I'm watching out for you.”

The brunet smiled. “Yeah, I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was something else, watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe…” he trailed off.

“Maybe what?” you asked.

“Maybe I could be saved.” He suddenly realized what he admitted and chuckled nervously. “But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes.”

“Yeah, well, it's funny you say that,” Dean said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. That guy in the car was bad news. We barely got there in time.”

“What happened to him?” you questioned.

“He's dead.”

“Did… Did you?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No. But I'll tell you one thing. If— The way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes I never would have believed it. I mean— I don't know what to call it.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Dean, what did you see?” 

“Maybe… God's will.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Free Use | Jeon Jungkook and Jung Hoseok

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jeon Jungkook x Girlfriend!Reader x Jung Hoseok

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), established relationship

Summary: Jungkook knew that you were his dream girl from the moment he saw you, but when you agreed to be the band's free Use stress toy, he knew he was a goner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: free use, cumshots, unprotected sex, pet names (pretty), threesome, oral (male receiving), fingering, light overstimulation, praise, homoeroticism lowkey, Jungkook is kinda a simp

A/N: Unedited because, I won't lie, I've been writing and rewriting this for ages and I just keep not being satisfied, so hopefully you guys enjoy it and I'm being overly critical. let me know!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @moonchild0325 // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1-blog

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

When Jungkook met you for the first time, his entire world shifted on its axis. He thought you were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and he could have sworn that when you spoke to him it was like music to his ears. But Jungkook didn't believe in love at first sight, he was a big boy now, long past stories of fairytale sorts.

So he took his time, he took you on dates, some elaborate beyond measure, and some mundane as anything, he learned you inside out, top to bottom. The most difficult part, he'd discovered, was letting you learn him back. He wasn't always good at opening up to people, but he found that with every piece of him that you became familiar with, it was easier to give you more.

And Jungkook gave as much as he received in return. He knew within months that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, but his fate was sealed completely on a late autumn night. Him and the boys had just gotten back from a particularly long schedule and he was enjoying his night with you over drinks. He knew as well as you did that you were something of a lightweight, the alcohol streaming through you always loosened your tongue and brought out a more relaxed side of you.

But once you were settled on his lap, your mouth inching down his neck, the moment took an unexpected turn. Jungkook gripped your hips as they rolled over his, head tipped back against the couch as he revelled in the feeling of you pressed up against him.

"Missed you so fucking much," You mumbled, nipping at the skin, but hardly enough to leave a mark. "Wish you'd just taken me as soon as you got home. Need you inside so bad, Kook,"

"You were cooking, babe." He laughed breathlessly as your hips rocked over his again.

"Don't care. I'm yours whenever you want me. Don't even have to ask, just fuck me."

So he had fucked you then, and again after that, and maybe a third time in the shower. But it was when you were laying in bed, curled against his side for the first time in ages, that he brought up your words again.

"You mean I could fuck you whenever I want? No matter what?" He asked you. You nodded sleepily against his shoulder.

"Within some pre-discussed limits." You answered. "If you wanted to. But that's not everyone's thing." You answered simply. Jungkook couldn't imagine anyone not wanting practically unrestricted access to their partner at all times, but he figured some people just didn't get it.

The limits discussion came in the morning, long and in depth, paired with safe words and mutual agreements. And after that, many more rounds until the both of you were spent. From that day forward, Jungkook took full advantage of your little kink, and you were happy to let him.

The allowance of his band mates to use you was his idea. He'd seen how stressed and frustrated his hyungs were, and sure it was easy for them to get laid, but it was also stressful to protect themselves as world famous idols if they did. So, he suggested they use you as their stress relief. You were more eager to help them than he'd expected. So another round of discussions came around, time frames when you were at their beck and call. And before you knew it, you were theirs to play with as they pleased.

It was during one of those time frames that Jungkook came home from a schedule, finding you laid out across the couch, legs pressed wide and Hoseok's fingers buried inside of you. When you noticed his presence, you buried your face in your arms, hiding from your lover's hungry gaze. He had already been looking forward to having a little fun with you, but he hadn't expected his hyung to be getting you warmed up by the time he got home.

"Starting without me?" He asked, crouching down beside the couch. Hoseok looked up, grinning at the younger man and continuing to scissor his long digits inside of you.

"Barely. Just got here." He answered. Jungkook reached up, pulling your arms away from your face and leaning down to press his lips to yours.

"Having fun, pretty girl?" He asked. You whined in response, Hobi's fingertips brushing against the spongy spot inside of you and making your hips jerk. "Look at how pretty you are. Always so embarrassed like you're not begging to be used."

His filthy words were still laced with a gentle affection that had your head spinning. Hobi pulled his fingers out of your pussy, pressing them to your lips and watching as you sucked them in. You had only just finished cleaning your arousal off of his fingers when Jungkook was turning your head, moving you so your face was pressed against the bulge in his boxers. You hadn't even noticed him stripping off his pants.

You mouthed at his cock through the fabric, suckling the tip and leaving a dark spot over it, wet with his precum and your saliva. Meanwhile, Hobi moved quickly, stripping his top half, then shoving his pants and underwear off his long legs. You wanted to look, but you couldn't turn your head far enough with Jungkook's hand pressing firmly against your jaw.

"Take it out," Jungkook told you, and you reached up, tugging his boxers down until his aching length was exposed to you. He didn't even have to tell you what to do, just sitting pretty while you wrapped your lips around the tip, tongue dipping against his slit. He grunted quietly, slowly rocking his hips to press his length deeper into your warm mouth.

Hoseok lined himself up with your weeping hole, tapping his cock against your clit and listening to the muffled whines you let out around his friend's dick. He pushed your thighs wider, and you winced at the stretch in your hips, but then he was sinking his cock into you and all thoughts were wiped clear from your mind.

Jungkook stroked your hair, fucking lazily into your mouth and letting you swirl your tongue along the vein running up his dick.

"Look so pretty taking care of us." Jungkook purred, fucking into your mouth deeper until you were gagging around him, spit trailing from the corner of your lips, and as far as he was concerned, it was the prettiest sight he'd ever seen. Nothing compared to watching your body be used to help his friends.

"She clenches on my dick so hard when you gag her like that," Hoseok hissed through clenched teeth, his hips rocking into yours and big hands gripping your hips so tight that there would probably be bruises. "Fuck her throat for me."

Jungkook didn't have to be told twice, holding your head in place and thrusting into your throat like it was his favorite toy. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting to breathe with the tip of his dick kissing the back of your throat. He reached down, using his thumb to pry your mouth open a little more, drool and precum leaking down your face. Hoseok sped up, fucking you with deep, hard thrusts in time with Jungkook's hips. The feeling had you on cloud nine.

Your body had gotten used to the feeling of being used by them, but it wasn't often that you took more than one of them at a time, and it was even more rare for them to treat you like a total slut. Your chest was aching for breath when Jungkook finally let up, pulling his dick out of your mouth and allowing you to greedily gulp down air, coughing and spluttering and looking up at him through the tears spilling down your cheeks.

"Make me cum," He told you, bringing your hand up to wrap around his spit-soaked dick. You took over immediately, stroking him as well as you could with Hoseok's thrusts driving you up the couch. Jungkook groaned, feeling his orgasm building at the sight of you going dumb on Hobi's dick.

"Close," You warned, head tipped back as you swirled your thumb around the tip of Jungkook's dick. Every thrust Hobi made was dragging deliciously against your sweet spot, and your legs were trembling around his hips, pulling him in deeper. He reached down, expertly swirling his fingers against your clit and sending you careening into pure bliss.

The sight of you cumming was too much for Jungkook. He wrapped his hand around yours, tightening your grip on his dick and thrusting into it faster until he was spilling his cum onto you, some of it landing on your chest and neck, the rest dripping down your hand and along your wrist.

Hobi bit his bottom lip, fucking you through your orgasm until you were squirming away in overstimulation, then pulling out to jerk his cock a few times, his own cum painting your thighs. You closed your eyes, tired and sensitive, and a little too embarrassed to look at the two of them.

"Get her cleaned up, I'll get water." Hoseok said, standing up and pulling his boxers on. Jungkook still looked a little high off his orgasm and the sight of his beloved girlfriend getting fucked, but he nodded, using his boxers to wipe the cum off his dick and your hand before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Feeling okay, pretty?" He asked, brushing your hair out of your face. You nodded, blinking up at him. "Good, you were so perfect for us. Gonna go grab a towel and get you cleaned up and then you can relax again."

With that promise he was off to the bathroom to wet a rag to clean you up, and you were content to melt into the couch with the two of them pampering you and thanking you for taking care of them. Even if it left you exhausted being the personal stress toy for all seven boys, you wouldn't have turned it down for the world.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[kedreeva]

Hello, I've been following you since Good Omens~ I'm currently writing a fic, and it is growing bigger than I expected. So much so that I'm kind of at a lost on how to outline/draft it. If you have any tips you don't mind sharing on how to better plot a story, I would really appreciate it. :)

I can tell you what I do! It requires a little background.

Back in HS, I had a class about writing essays. Basically, it goes like this- you write on a page "intro, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, conclusion." Then you go back, and after each #1 (or as many as you want), you fill in a major argument/point you're making on your topic, and then under each #1, you write 2, 2, 2, 2, or however many you want. The trick is that each #2 must relate to what was said in its matching #1. If needed, you can add #3s under any #2 that needs it, again each #3 must relate to what was said in #2. It's mostly fill-in-the blank writing from there, and then you go back and fill in the intro/conclusion to match what you wrote.

ANYWAY story PLOTTING is kind of the same thing, to me, except instead of the intro/conclusion being the last thing I do, they're the anchors of the rest. I look at where I want the characters to be at the start, and where I want them to be at the end, and then I look at what needs to happen in the middle to get from point A to point B. I write down what major events need to happen (like #1s), and then under those, which building events need to lead up to them (like adding #2s), and if any minor events/character developments need to happen to get to the building events (like #3s).

Once i know what needs to happen, I block out any chapters, particularly if I know I need to get certain chapters to end on certain notes, and once i know what the chapter frames look like, I do a quick "first draft" kind of sketchy write up (as if I'm quickly summarizing for/telling a friend what happened) of a scene-by-scene. That way I know what to expect going into a chapter, and I know what to expect for the overall.

Importantly, if I don't really know what happens, I leave that room in the outline. USUALLY it becomes apparent what needs to happen, as I go through writing, because stuff happens (in the story) while I'm writing that makes it clearer. if not, then I write it wrong and see why it's wrong, and that sometimes makes something clearer. If THAT doesn't work, then I go to friends or strangers and ask for help. There's a lot of people out there happy to rubber duck with you, or to be beta readers, you just have to be very clear about what you actually need from them (for example, if you want storybuilding advice you can tell them to avoid picking at grammar or spelling, especially since whatever it is may change as you edit or rewrite).

Also importantly, it's okay to change your mind AND it's okay to edit previous chapters as needed while you are writing. EVEN if they are already posted to AO3. Anyone reading a WIP is likely to understand that the story is under construction and sometimes that means stuff changes. Sometimes, when you're writing along, you find out if you make a change to something in the past, it rewires a bunch of stuff down the line, or at least opens a door for you to get where you wanna go with the plot.

And sometimes... sometimes you just need to take a break. Sometimes you're trying to pour from an empty cup.

Good luck with it!

[evienyx]

im not too sure how to ask this, but i'm reading the first book in the fractures series, and really enjoying it, and you said that you started it when you were 14. i'm 14 at the moment and am thinking of writing a fic and was wondering if you had any tips on how to plan a longfic or for writing in general

Oh my god this was asked back in August I'm so sorry anon.

As it is, I can still give a pointer or two, regardless of how late it is.

So, as much as anyone hates to hear it and I hate to say it, the best way to get better at prose (as in sentence-level writing) is just by writing. You gotta train it, develop your own style, figure out what works.

I have a tendency to be very flowy and long-winded, often to my own detriment, which is something I'm working on trimming down in the Fractures Rewrite without sacrificing the emotional weight from the scenes.

When it comes to planning a longfic, generally the most important first step (for me at least) is figuring out where you want to end it. Anyone can write a fic whose plot goes on and on for eternity, but if you want your fic to kinda be a classic, having an idea of where it's going to end up will immediately help you.

After the end, the hardest part for me tends to be the middle. It is just as important as anything, and you want it to stay just as interesting. The middle part of the story is the plot, the beginning and end are just vessels for it.

Oftentimes, the earliest form of my outline is literally just a document with the entire plot written out. I don't care for length or details, I just sit down, write the beginning, and then write how the story gets to the end. From there, I clean the outline up. I figure out what makes sense to use and what needs to be added or taken away. I start separating the stuff into possible chapters and outlining those chapters to figure out what they will include.

As I'm doing this, I also write out (smaller) outlines for the arcs of individual characters. Depending on the size of the fic and what the focus is, I might do this for dozens of characters or only for a handful. Regardless, I need to know where they start, where they end up, and how the plot changes them to get them from point A to point B.

If you're ever struggling with coming up with a plot that flows well with good tension, one that feels like it's building to something satisfying, you can always just use a plot template from online somewhere. Even if it feels rudimentary, Exposition-Rising Action-Climax-Falling Action-Resolution works for a reason. It's often how I outline stories of my own that aren't related to fanfiction.

One more tip: Read. And I don't just mean fanfiction. The best fics are often compared to published novels, with some even being considered better than them. One of the reasons these stories are so good is because they don't flow like many fanfictions do - rather they flow like published novels, with a proper plot, arcs, prose, and a satisfying ending.

[snowdropluck204]

Magnetic Force - Spencer Reid x reader (pt 1)

So this is a sort of secret crossover between Criminal Minds and Numb3rs, the reader is going to be based off of Charlie Eppes in that show, but will still be referred to as (y/n)! Enjoy! Xxx

WARNING: This chapter contains mention of rape, death, guns and other weaponry, if you are sensitive to these, you probably shouldn't read this book at all. _______________________________

Third Person pov

The BAU hadn't worked a case this frustrating in a long time. A serial rapist, quite uncommon for what it was, they had a good idea of what profile the guy had, but the last of his victims, was the first one he had killed, so they had to rewrite the profile. This case was difficult on everyone, the rapist had attacked and raped twelve women, now killing his thirteenth. It had taken them this long to get a decent view on his mental state, but now, a wrench had been thrown into the works and they needed reinforcements.

Jason Gideon was stumped, something quite rare for him, he was looking around the room at his team.

JJ was reading through the case file, specifically the newly added victim, Rachel Abbott, most likely trying to figure out what to tell the press. The FBI was getting tips about the rapist for weeks but now that there was a new victim, more specifically a dead one, the tips were becoming too much for anyone, even the FBI, to keep track of.

Morgan was trying to reenact the crime, trying his best to get into the killer's head. Everyone had the same question in their minds, why now? What was so different about Rachel Abbott that the unsub had to kill her? If defiling women's bodies wasn't enough, he branded them too. A final show of possession, a brand, the mark was a ring with four small crosses inside of it, pressed into the neck.

Elle was dead quiet, looking over the files of the victim's family, all of the victims' families... Looking for possible psych matches or clues of the killer's whereabouts.

Reid was, as usual, reading everything. He was taking in the room, the case files, the crime board and photos of the scene, anybody else would have shut their brain down with the amount of information he was flooding into it, but Spencer just sat and observed.

Gideon knew they needed help, but didn't exactly know who to ask. Until it struck him. He stood up, grabbed Hotch by the elbow and led him out of the conference room, a flurry of confused eyes following them. Hotch had been busy looking over people to ask for said help when he had been dragged out of his task.

"(l/n)." Gideon said, a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face. Hotch looked confused for a moment, until he pulled out a file he had been looking at earlier.

Doctor (y/n) (l/n).

_________________________

The agents walked with purpose through the halls of Georgetown University, they knew who they needed and there wasn't time to waste. There was laughing and cheering as they stepped into a lecture hall, seeing 'Maths for non-mathematicians' written in fun, coloured, block capitals on the chalkboard. They also saw Doctor (y/n) (l/n), teaching the classroom filled with everyday people, not students who went to the school, just people looking to broaden their horizons.

"Okay, most people believe that they can trust their natural instincts, right?" She asked, looking around the room and seeing nodding of heads, her gaze met the stony eyes of Jason Gideon, eyes she hadn't seen in years, he smiled and gave a small wave, she smiled back but continued with her class. "However, maths suggests that our instincts aren't always correct. We're gonna play a little game, I want you all to pretend that we're on a game show," She began, gesturing over to three large cards that she had laid upright, the picture facing away from the crowd.

"And I, am your cheesy game show host," She said with a grin, earning laughter from the room. Gideon could practically hear the cogs turning in the room, the fastest cogs were that of Spencer Reid, who looked intrigued, before figuring it out.

"It's the Monty Hall Problem," He whispered, Gideon and Hotch already placing hands on his shoulders and covering his mouth, before the class for non-mathematicians became taken over by a very real mathematician.

Once (y/n) had finished setting up the cards, she looked back at the class, "Behind one of these cards, is a brand new automobile," She informed, wiggling her fingers at the cards, "And behind the other two, are goats. Yeah, goats, don't ask why, that's just what I wanted to put on the cards!" She declared, laughing with the room. Gideon smiled looking at (y/n), he hadn't seen her in years but could see that she had acclimatised to her position nicely, she had the whole class eating out of the palm of her hand, hanging on every word, including his team.

"Now I need a volunteer," Once again, Hotch and Gideon kept Spencer back from volunteering any information.

"Come on, more of you than that!" She jeered, encouraging others to join in the demonstration. "Julie, why don't you pick one of these cards? Remembering, of course, that the objective is to win the car, not the goat, as cute as I have made them!" She muttered, earning more laughter from the class. The girl from the front of the class, Julie, picked a card, the one in the middle.

Before turning it over, (y/n) asked her class, "Now, what are the chances of that card being the winning card?" At this point, Spencer was silently dying and the team was looking over at him, smiles on their faces at their beloved brainiac.

"One in three." Julie responded with conviction.

"Brilliant, three choices, one car, simple enough right?" (y/n) explained, the class nodding along, "Now, here's where the game takes a turn, I'm gonna reveal to you one of the cards that you didn't choose," Turning one of the cards over to reveal a goat. "Cute isn't he?" (y/n) giggled.

"So, we have one card we know is a goat, two cards left to be revealed. Now, knowing what you know, do you want to switch your choice of card? Or, more importantly, for the purpose of this class, does it matter? Will switching your choice improve your chances of winning?" (y/n) asked the class, genuinely curious to see their side.

Julie looked confused, "Well, no. Because now there's two cards, it's fifty-fifty, right?" She asked, the class mumbling and nodding along with her. Spencer was frantically shaking his head, catching (y/n)'s attention and summoning a loud laugh from her.

"Well, it seems like someone in the back knows the next part of this class," She chuckled, leaving Spencer's face red, beginning to fiddle with his fingers.

(y/n) could already see how uncomfortable he was with this attention, so she moved on. "Seems like many of you agree with Julie, yeah? That's what your instinct tells you, but you'd be wrong." She said, her lips forming a straight line.

"Switching your cards at this point, actually doubles your chances of winning the car," At the volume of confusion, (y/n) gives a light sigh of exhaustion, "Let me explain," She smiled. "Since we started with two goats, it's more likely that your first choice, was in fact, a goat."

Turning the cards to face away from them again, (y/n) asks, "Here, what are the odds of choosing the goats, from all three cards. Two out of three, right. So it's more likely that this is a goat," She said, turning the card that Julie had originally chosen, revealing the goat, "And it's more likely that this one, is the car." She explained, revealing the car was on the card that had yet to be chosen.

"See, switching your choice, gives you a two out of three chance of winning the car, rather than the one of three chance that we all begin with!" (y/n) picks up the card with the car, jokingly making some car noises.

Looking back up at the BAU, she concludes her class, inviting them to make their own Monty Hall scenarios, waiting for them all to leave before turning to the BAU and inviting them closer to her desk.

___________________________

"It's been a while Gideon, how are you?" (y/n) asked, already moving forward to hug the agent, shocking the rest of the team, especially when he reciprocated.

"I've been better Peanut," He whispered at her, before moving back and gesturing to his team. "I believe introductions are necessary." He let the agents take over, wandering over to (y/n)'s desk to do what he was best at, profile.

Looking over at the agents, (y/n) gave a small wave, "Doctor (y/n) (l/n), it's nice to meet you all." She said, her voice dripping over all of them like honey, she had that affect.

First to step forward was a tall agent in a suit and tie, with dark hair, dark eyes and an air of authority. "Agent Hotchner, call me Hotch," He shock her hand briskly before following after Gideon, leaving the younger agents to introductions.

A dark skinned man in a Henley type shirt stepped up next, "Agent Derek Morgan, nice to meet you too," He then gestured to the women standing at the door, one blonde, the other a brunette, both gorgeous and intelligent looking. "Agents Jennifer Jareau and Elle Greenaway," He told the professor, and finally pointed to the lanky man with dark hair and eyes, wearing a cardigan and glasses. "And that is-"

"Reid, uh- Spencer um, Doctor Spencer Reid." The man he was pointing to sort of decided. (y/n) smiled at the man.

"Really?" She asked, almost chuckling, "You don't sound so sure?" She finished, Spender blushed a bright red, the rest of the team chuckling at the woman's teasing.

Gideon walked back over, "Listen, Peanut, we need your help." He began, a sombre feeling enveloping (y/n)'s previously cheerful classroom. (y/n)'s smile faded, stepping back a little.

"Gideon, you know I don't do consultant work anymore... After what happened..." She began, her voice taking on a much more meek sound as she avoided eye contact with the seasoned profiler.

Gideon smiled, his fatherly smile, "I know, but we need you Peanut, you helped the FBI with a lot of cases, what's one more?" He asked softly.

(y/n) looked at Gideon, then at the rest of the team, "This is about the serial rapist, isn't it?" She asked, "In LA?"

Gideon nodded, "We have a fairly comprehensive psych profile, but we still have no idea where to begin searching." He told the mathematician, "We fly out this evening, we want your help." He almost pleaded.

(y/n) sighed, she thought back at the work she had done for the FBI, questioning whether or not she should jump back into it, she sighed, pulling out her phone and calling her TA.

"Lewis? Hi, It's (y/n), I need you to cover classes for me for the next few days... I'm being called away for something... Okay, thanks." She hung up the phone, looking back at Gideon, an unsure look on her face. "You owe me." She murmured, "I'll meet you at the airport tonight, five o'clock, I'll look over the files on the jet, gives me four and half hours to pack what I'll need and prep classes, plus the five hours, give or take fifteen minutes for the flight over..." (y/n) murmured.

Spencer watched as she made the calculations, intrigued, he had never met this woman, anything he knew was based off of her FBI consult file and brief things he'd heard in passing from Gideon, apparently, he was her mentor when she was younger, not for FBI purposes, simply to act as a father figure, they were close, based on the nickname he had given her...

From what Spencer knew, she was a prodigy, similar to himself, no Eidetic memory, but she had an IQ of 182, a PHD in both mathematics and psychology and graduated early from basically every educational establishment. Spencer was hoping this was a person he could get along with, but he was also wary, she had clearly stopped consulting with the FBI for a reason, he wanted to discover why, but also knew that any investigating into her past would violate her trust...

But still... He was curious...

____________________________________________

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I know I keep starting and stopping on my series, but writer's block has a serious hold on me right now... Anyway! Love you guys! Xxx

[fangdokja]

"I learned to love writing the hard way: by fixing everyone else’s mess."

❤︎ Synopsis. Every writer starts somewhere—usually with a mess. This series reveals how embracing the chaos of bad drafts is the first step to creating something brilliant. Get ready to dig through the dirt and strike gold.

♡ Book. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Series. From Crap to Craft: The Writer's Journey - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,038

♡ Banner's Story. He’s the savior of many—but your destruction is his true mission.

♡ Storytime: From Loathing to Loving Writing.

Do you want to know a fun fact about me? I hated writing. Yes, the person who spends hours crafting intense, darkly seductive stories with complex yanderes? That same person used to despise writing.

Why? Group projects.

Picture this: I was a straight-A student surrounded by group mates who thought "collaboration" meant dumping their half-baked work on me. I’d end up doing the research, writing, editing, and basically carrying the whole project on my back. The cherry on top? Their contributions were often so horrendous I had to rewrite everything. Imagine editing sentences that felt like they’d been written in a foreign language and translated back into English by a broken AI. Editing, in those days, was far more grueling than writing. It was like polishing rocks and calling them diamonds.

This relentless cycle of frustration turned me against writing. What was once a childhood joy—scribbling poems and whimsical tales—became something I dreaded. But as ironic as it sounds, that experience became a cornerstone of who I am today. It forced me to hone my skills, learn to write under pressure, and develop an editor’s razor-sharp eye. It was tough love from God, but it worked. Writing research papers taught me rigor, structure, and discipline, which now underpin everything I create—whether it’s a yandere villain’s confession or a psychological deep dive into their madness.

So why tell you all this? Because sometimes, you have to churn out the garbage before you strike gold. It’s not just a personal truth—it’s a universal one. Let’s dig into why this mindset is essential and how you can embrace it.

♡ The Gold Starts with Crap.

Here’s the brutal truth: your favorite creators, the ones you place on pedestals, didn’t start with polished brilliance. They started with messy drafts, scrapped ideas, and work that made them cringe. And you know what? That’s okay. Because even the work you think is trash—the stuff you want to bury under ten layers of “never show anyone”—has value.

I’ve written pieces I was certain would get nothing but side-eyes, only for readers to hail them as incredible. Why? Because as creators, we’re cursed with the hyper-critical lens that magnifies flaws and downplays strengths. This isn’t just a quirk—it’s a survival tool for growth. But left unchecked, it’ll stifle you.

The antidote? Accept that writing crap is not just inevitable—it’s necessary.

♡ Why Writing Crap Matters.

It Breaks the Perfectionism Cycle

Perfectionism is like a envious lover, whispering that if you’re not flawless, you’re worthless. Don’t listen. Waiting for perfection paralyzes creativity. Writing crap is your way out. It’s messy, yes, but it’s progress. Let go of the need to be perfect on the first try.

It’s a Foundation, Not a Finish Line

Think of your first draft as raw ore. Nobody expects glittering gold straight out of the ground. Crap drafts are the bedrock of greatness—something to chisel, shape, and refine until the masterpiece emerges.

It Builds Momentum

Writing is a habit, and habits thrive on momentum. Even if your words feel like they belong in the trash, the act of writing keeps you moving. And movement is the enemy of stagnation.

♡ Practical Tips to Embrace Writing Crap.

Set Low-Stakes Goals

Aim for something manageable: 500 words a day, a single scene, or even 15 minutes of freewriting. The goal isn’t brilliance; it’s consistency. Quantity leads to quality, but only if you’re willing to show up.

Separate Writing and Editing

Editing while drafting is like trying to sculpt a masterpiece out of wet clay while the wheel is still spinning. Stop it. Write first. Get it all down—ugly, clunky, imperfect. Save the sculpting for later.

Use Timed Writing Sprints

Set a timer for 15-30 minutes and write without pausing. Don’t overthink. Don’t backtrack. Just write. This strategy forces you to bypass your inner critic and let the ideas flow.

Acknowledge the Ugly Process

Nobody’s first draft is perfect. Not yours, not mine, not your favorite author’s. The magic happens in the revision stage, but you can’t revise a blank page. Embrace the suck and move forward.

Focus on Progress, Not Perfection

Celebrate the small wins: finishing a chapter, hitting a word count, or completing a scene. Progress is progress, and it deserves to be acknowledged.

♡ Building Habits for Long-Term Success.

Write Every Day (or Close to It)

Even if it’s just a sentence. Consistency matters more than volume. Writing regularly trains your brain to show up, even when inspiration doesn’t.

Create a Ritual

Light a candle, make a cup of tea, or play a specific playlist. Establishing a ritual signals your brain that it’s time to write. Over time, this becomes a powerful trigger for creativity.

Learn to Love Rewriting

Editing is where the magic happens. Once you’ve laid down the bones, you can add flesh, polish the details, and bring your vision to life. But first, you need something to work with.

Find Your “Why”

Why do you write? To tell stories? To escape? To connect? Keep your purpose front and center. It’ll help you push through the messy drafts and stay motivated.

Surround Yourself with Support

Join writing communities, find critique partners, or follow creators who inspire you. Seeing others struggle and succeed reminds you that you’re not alone.

Sometimes, the journey to brilliance starts with a mess. Every masterpiece begins as a draft that might feel unbearable to the creator. But that’s the process—the secret sauce. You write crap. Then you refine it. And then? You strike gold.

So, stop waiting for the perfect sentence. Write the messy one. Dig through the dirt. The gold is there, waiting for you to unearth it.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Ink & Insight”:

[heronoegg]

*shyly pokes finger tips together* may I ask you to expand upon the blood quirk cousins thing 👀 ?

SURE SURE, i dunno what part you mean but i'll tell you what i mean by it.

So, Aoyama,Monoma and Himiko's mom's are sisters, when i say blood quirk cousins i mean exactly what i said they each all have blood quirks a quirk that has something to do with blood. It's almost like being a mutant me and my friend made it a whole category of people this includes vladking he just isn't related to them.

People with bloodquirks have to take medication/supplements to keep them from biting other people to get that iron cause when you have a blood quirk your quirk regardless of what it is makes the body want/desire iron and their bodies require it/need it to continue functioning properly. When the body is on empty/the person is desperate the easiest way to get the iron in from another person easier then getting the supplements cause you gotta make an appointment, wait until the day,go to the doctor, instead of helping you right away they do some research tell you to come back while they do more research, you have to plan the next visit, ect ect you know the processes of getting to a doctor it's a hassle (at least in america) so this is the reason a lot of people with blood quirks bite people cause it's so much easier and at this point they are so out of it they'll take anything

BOOM accidents, lawsuits.

people that have bloodquirks in our AU is as mentioned - Vladking,Himiko,Aoyama,Monoma, and Hawks.

Himiko - has your basic blood-quirk, it works as it normally does for anyone she just uses the blood to transform into someone else.

Monoma - converts blood into energy, using someone elses quirk, therefore it's almost as if everytime Monoma is using someone else's quirk Monoma is bleeding because the blood is being used as energy but Monoma's body was made to do this so yes side-effects of blood-loss are a problem but not too bad cause muscle memory but with quirks. it's not entirely a good thing to be making your body get used to something like this but who's making any other kid stop using their quirk bc it hurts them

Aoyama - He was born quirkless HOWEVER his body was made to contain a blood-quirk but he has no quirk therefore he has fangs that is a clear sign of someone with a bloodquirk they have fangs. If he was born with a quirk it somehow would relate to blood in someway. The quirk AFO gave him probably consumes blood to make a blast even if the blast isn't blood cause that would be horrific therefore it's almost like Monoma in the way that it's using his blood like blood-loss they are in the same category of blood quirk

i'll rewrite this later when my friend wakes up and can explain it to me better this is just what i remember jvvngjf ndhj WHICH MIGHT NOT EVEN BE RIGHT so sadly i can't explain how she told me Hawks quirk is a blood quirk if you cared about that since you didn't ask me a question about Hawks.

i hope this is what you wanted answered i didn't propperly understand the question anon jrktnghjrfx

[rs-hawk]

Do you have any writing tips? Even if it’s not necessarily for smut?

I won’t be touching on tips for smut at all on this post but I can make a separate post for it if y’all want.

My Top 10 Writing Tips

Love all your characters. Yes, even your antagonists. Hell, especially your antagonists. Even if they’re evil for the sake of being evil, if you want a 3 dimensional character, you have to acknowledge that they’re more than just evil to someone. Their mother. Their friends. Their dog. You have to think of their motivations, and honestly?-acknowledge that every character you write has a part of you in them. Maybe just your anger, your fear, your trauma, but love them for that, and it’ll shape them and your works in ways you never thought of.

Don’t reread your work too often! It’s hard (so very very hard) but when you have to crank out 2k words a day every day of the month but 2 it gets easier. Lol. Fr though just keep chugging along. You can reread later. You can edit later. Just get it done.

Don’t edit too much while you’re still actively writing. I know that’s hard, I really do, but if you keep rewriting, you’ll never be able to finish. You’ll keep writing a handful of scenes over and over again until you hate it, your book and yourself for “giving up”. You can edit later.

Write for yourself. It doesn’t matter how good of a writer you are, how beautiful or eloquent your style, if you hate it with every fiber of your being, it’ll turn to dust in your hands. I consider writing work, and when people enjoy themselves at work, not only do they do better, but the consumer enjoys it more. Think about it. If you’re at a restaurant and the workers are laughing and smiling with each other and seem genuinely happy, you’re more likely to go back than if they’re miserable, on the verge of tears and seem to hate being there, right? The same is true for your writing. Readers will enjoy it more if they can feel how much you enjoyed creating it.

Don’t just write. Listen to music. Get up and go for a walk. Text/call a friend. Watch a TV show. Pet your cat. Experience something. It helps you write but it also reminds you that hey, you’ve been here like eight hours. Get something to drink. Take a screen break. Go outside.

Be comfortable while you write. I’m not going to lecture you on posture because I’m currently laying down with my legs drawn up under me, my upper body turned and my phone in the air because I’m trying to put enough pressure on my lower back to pop it. Anyway, even if you can’t stay in one position long, switch. Listen to your body. A “proper” posture can end up hurting you if you don’t ever relax or if you’re putting too much pressure on your lower spine. It’s okay to lean. It’s okay to lay down. It’s okay to sit cross-legged. Just not at the expense of your body. Be aware, and don’t forget to get up and stretch!

Take breaks. Eat. Drink. Stretch. Go to the bathroom. Some people need them scheduled, and that’s fine, but also listen to your body. If you need to use the toilet but you don’t have another break scheduled for an hour, just go. Pause your timer or delay your alarm if you want, but take care of yourself.

Don’t be too rigid with your “starting” plot. We know most of us have that one scene or one character in mind we want to write, so we create a plot around them. That’s fine and I love it, but your writing is like a living creature. You might change while writing it. Your characters and ideas might change while writing it. Let them change. Let you change! You can edit later.

Remember it’s not a race. Just because you see some people dropping 3 novels a year, or 5 Tumblr posts every day doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. No one can write what you write. No one can create what you can create. Your work deserves to exist and be judged on its own merit. Not compared to anyone else’s, even if it’s you five years ago who could crank out multiple posts daily. It’s okay.

Don’t expect anything. Start writing because you love it. It makes you happy. It itches that part of your brain that no other hobby does. That no other love does. I’ve been writing for about 15 years now. I don’t know who I am without it. I have tried giving it up, moving past it, doing other things, but I always come back. Nothing else makes me feel the way writing does. I have gone years without writing, but when I start writing again, it’s like a high. I can go for hours, and I have! I have been lucky to be able to monetize my work, but it took 10+ years and was only because I got goofy about werewolves on a PTR app. You can’t go into the arts and expect to make money right away, or ever. You can hope, and do your best, but don’t only do it because you think you’ll make a living. It’s a sad but real fact. Capitalism makes us think we should only do stuff we can make money off of, but that’s a lie. You can AND SHOULD create just to create. Humans are meant to make art, and if writing is your canvas like it is mine, write to create. Fuck capitalism. Your art existing is enough reason to create it.

[the-traveling-poet]

Hi! I just discovered your page and I’m so in love! You’re an amazing writer <3. I’d like to request something. I’d like to see how everyone would react to finding out that Levi not only got someone pregnant but finding out she’s also black. They can be together or whatever, but that’s the general request! Love you ❤️

Headcannon no. 7

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A New Family

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A/N: Thank you so much! I hope I did your vision justice! And I hope you don’t mind I made this in a HC format, but if you do I’ll happily rewrite!

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

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When Levi first opened the letter from Paradis, sent by Armin inviting himself, Falco, Gabi, and Onionkopun to a reunion of sorts, he froze.

He’d been kept so busy the past three years in Marley. So busy, he hadn’t wrote to his comrades about the personal happenings taking place in his life.

Not that he was one to indulge in personal topics, anyways, but still.

Now with his beautiful Ghana woman on his arm and bearing his child growing in her ever expanding belly, Levi realized just how little he’d let anyone aside from her into his new life.

Just how would they react, seeing this new chapter in their ex-Captain’s life, he thought?

He knew no ill will would come from them. It never had. But chancing to open up to someone other than her, about the one good thing to happen to him after the war?

He was nervous. More so than he’d liked to have admitted.

So he took a day to consider his response to the invitation. He counciled with his soon to be wife about how he should handle this.

But her over eager grin and constant reassurance that she’d love to meet the people he’d spent years living and fighting alongside, his decision was an easy one to make.

He sent a letter back to his young companions, thanking them for the invite and reassuring them all of their attendance to the gathering.

And at the end of the letter, with shaking a shaky hand gripping his pen, he wrote of someone he wanted-

No, needed-

Them to meet. Someone special to him.

Imagine the shock and surprise written on their faces when three days later they watch as Levi guides a very beautiful and very pregnant woman by the arm off the ship am onto their docs.

The grin on her face was so wide and so bright it nearly filled her whole face as she greeted each and every one of Levi’s old friends in turn.

They’d accepted her into the gathering easily, as thought she had been there since day one.

Please the amount of teasing and jokes Connie and Jean would throw an embarrassed Levi’s way at the sight of his woman’s obvious baby bump-

He’s be so proud but so flustered at the same time and just a MESS of emotions.

He’d watch on in contentment as Annie and Mikasa sat at a table with his girl, how tenderly they spoke to her about her pregnancy and what to expect as a first time mother, virtuous of Mikasa’s past experiences.

Annie was quick to offer any tips and tricks she’d seen from Mikasa and others around her to help the woman out, making her grin and laughs alongside their banter.

By the end of the visit, Levi’s left feeling full. Full of hope, of joy, of acceptance.

He realized then; he really did have a family after all. The one he was growing with his Ghana princess in Marley, and the one he’d left in Paradis all those years ago.

They’d always be available for him to come back to, and watching them all now, he knew his new family could forevermore do the very same.

[greml1nb0i]

Hazbin Rewrite. Angels Origins WIP

MAJOR TW FOR ABUSE, AND GUN VIOLENCE AND VALENTINO'S CHARACTER

{BEFORE YOU READ: i will say this WIP is the one that needs the most revision. I used a lot of slang terms from the 20s that was supposedly used. ofc my only sources are google and a random dialect pdf i found on Mafia slang. I apologies in advance if the slang terms used are incorrect and i will gladly change them accordingly, my goal isnt to offend anyone. If its too much i understand and will not fault anyone if they don wish to continue reading. The subjects in this WIP are dark and heavy topics. Readers Discretion is advised.}

Anthony is a careless and charismatic mafia son [from the 1920s ] who revels in his love for the thrill of a job. He is often cornered by his peers asking if he’s “one of those Daisies” but he doesn't think of himself as gay, just very “in tune with himself”, so he often answered with a confident “no”. 

His death was an unexpected one though.

One day he and his crew were being sent out onto a job, it was a real important one at that. Anthony was going bootlegging.

They got a big tip on a cache stored by their rivals; hidden in a ravine under the bridge. It was gonna be a risky job, Anthony liked risky. As his crew and him make their way towards the ravine, one of Anthony’s goons breaks the thick silence. 

“Hey- uh Tony, shouldn’t we be lookin’ out for the others?? What if they show up, then what? We wouldn’t be able to make it out without at least a few casualties.”

The goons' worrisome babbling was getting on Anthony’s nerves, almost as much as being referred to as “Tony”. He turns around and glares at his underling.

“Look bird, if you wanna breeze right outta here, i don’t have any beef, but i got a when you look in the mirror tomorrow are you gonna see Bruno or Chump” Anthony’s death stare didn’t let up, not til he got an answer.

“I ain’t no daisy, i got no kick,” the thug proclaimed, with what only sounded like offence. He marched on, as did the rest, and Anthony finally happy to end the discussion and get back to the job. 

“Alright This all had to be done before the high pillow gets here to assess his inventory. This is the spot, we just have to glom it all before it gets dark.” Anthony informed his crew, 2 had trunks to fill with the contraband, and the other was armed, ready for anything. Anthony decided not to take his gun out. He felt like the odds were in his favor.

He begins nonchalantly walking up to the cache, just barely visible, hidden poorly with tarps and very well placed trash. 

“DROPPERS!!! TONY LOOK OU-!!!” Anthony ducks into the cover of the ravine, pulling out his sidearm, as if it was second nature.

Anthony hears shots ring out, he swears one whisked past his check. He confirms his suspicions from the blood droplets that land, almost elegantly, on his sleeve. His weapon, it was trembling in his hands. Was he scared? No way, he can't be. He’s never been scared. 

“Anthony!!” one of his goons slides into the ravine next to him, he looks panicked but not over the situation,

 “ Anthony, are you okay?” The goon hugs him, he notices the blood on his cheek and wipes it away. Anthony’s face gets red hot so violently he feels like he’s going to pass out. 

“Sir, let's dust!!” Anthony doesn't hear his companion, he only feels the urge to do something really stupid. ‘Don't be a bunny’ he scolds himself. Unsuccessfully however. Anthony leaps out from his hiding spot and begins going on a knock off spree. 1 hatchetman, then 2, then 4 all going down. The only sound besides gunshots that can be heard is Anthony’s psychotic laughter. 

“I’m the Big Cheese around here, ya hear patsy?!” Anthony is broken out of his madness from the whistling signal of his surviving crew member. He makes his way over to him with haste. 

“That’s the crop, you want me to take most of this?” 

“Yea sneeze it, there’s enough here to be out on the roof” 

Anthony couldn't stop staring at his remaining crew member, as he began packing the contraband away, Anthony’s face only got warmer. The goon was beefy and tall. Anthony noticed that his muscles looked bigger than usual, or was he seeing thing. All Anthony could think about was he was a keen man.

 The fella stood up with a trunk full of contraband, strands of his dark hair falling in his face. Anthony’s body, as if possessed by someone else, began moving towards his goon, each step more unknowing and terrifying, “what am i doing?” 

 Anthony questions internally but finds himself right in front of his henchman, he then pushes the strands out his goons face. The thumping in Anthony’s heart was growing, harder and harder until Anthony couldn’t take it anymore, staring into his goons eyes he leans in and kisses him.

The kiss felt like the bee's knees to Anthony, but to his henchman. 

Anthony hears a loud crash, like thousands of pieces of glass windows were shattered in an instant and then a click. 

“What the fuck!?” Anthony turns around and sees their rival's big boss pointing a piece directly at Anthony and his goon. 

“I didn’t know your pops was raising a weak lil sisters, bet he won't take to kindly to finding out a couple of nance’s is stayin’ with em,” the Boss grins menacingly, pointing the gun at them both still, periodically switching to each side, 

“That is unless, this is a big misunderstanding, huh boys?” 

Anthony quickly pushes his goon out of the way of fire and takes a shot at the boss, it lands in his side and he collapses. Anthony rushes over to his goon, eager to help him up.

“Are you oka-” before Anthony can say anything more, he is shot from behind, straight through the eye, by the rival boss, who uses his last bit of energy to sit up enough to take aim and shoot Anthony before the goon grabs Anthony's gun and shoots the rival in the head.

--------------------------------------------

When he dies and ends up in Hell, he thinks about his final moments. What did he do wrong? Did he not hit the guy in his fatal side? Anthony racked his brain for answers, all but coming up short until he thought of it. The kiss. Did the kiss make him end up here? Did he waste too much time? Were the stories they told him in Sunday school actually true? Was he…a sinner?

Anthony begins to spiral, hyperventilating until he falls over what he could only assume was a curb, his vision was blurry. His vision!! Anthony quickly looks for a reflective surface, only to realize he never truly looked around. His face was lit up by lights and signs, all crude and crass in nature. Where was he??

 He quickly finds a dark window and sees himself, or what he thinks is himself. His body is feminine and covered in a thick fur, he inspects his arms and legs, their anatomy confusing him entirely as arms form from his sides and his legs were long and had a hoofed point to them, how was he even walking? 

Anthony suddenly feels a smack on his backside, he turns around to see a slimy looking creature was lurking behind him.

“Nice pins, hot stuff, you wanna have a smell of the barrel with me and see where this night takes us?” his tone of voice is so off putting Anthony didn’t realize he was backing into the window he was using to look at himself earlier. He looks at himself again; he does look like a dame. But why? 

“Come on tomato, don’t ya like men?” The creature spits some slime at Anthony, he needs to get rid of this guy.

“Look patsy, I don't know what’s going on, I just got here. Pipe this, I'm a guy! And I ain't no daisy, savvy?” Anthony retorts with venom in his words, frustrated and confused he pushes the slime creature away with a grunt.

Anthony, alone and scared, tries to find somewhere he can sleep for the night and finds a park with nice benches, the park has a fountain and a gazebo with flower pots lining each side. Anthony rests his head for only a moment, before he is whisked into a strange lifeless dream. 

Anthony is woken up by a strange voice.

“Hey doll…Hey dolly, you can’t sleep here”  beckoned a mysterious voice out of Anthony’s slumber.   

“How many times I gotta tell people, I ain't a woman!” Anthony resorts to frustration again, he begins to tear up, not knowing why.

“Hey now Angel Cakes no need to have a temper, i'm a helpful fella” 

“What’s so helpful about calling me Angel Cakes and disturbin’ my sleep” Anthony can hear the mysterious man chuckle to himself.

“Well, Angel Cakes, it's the simple fact you’re in my territory” Anthony rises from his slumber and looks at this mystery man. He was tall and buff, Anthony lost his train of thought for a moment.

“Your territory?” Anthony entertained.

“Yea, my territory, this stretch of land from this block,” the man places a hand on Anthony’s waist and directs his vision to where he points; from one side of the road, and a few blocks past to the other side, “all the way to over there.”

“Huh, what are you, some kind of big cheese?” Anthony giggles at his own joke only to realize the man might be serious.

“Well you could say that, all you need to know is this is my territory and you’re on it,” the man leans into Anthony’s face, “and i want to know why?”

Anthony didn’t see any use in lying; however he enjoyed the risky feeling of spilling his most dastardly crime to a complete and total stranger. What could it hurt? It’s not like this guy can be any worse than Anthony. He let it all out, his psychotic break at the shootout, the kiss, and then eventually his death, getting shot through the back of the head.

“Wow, that’s quite the lead up to a climactic death, your life must've felt like a movie huh Angel Cakes?”

“No, I never really cared for the jobs themselves, just the thrill.” Anthony lamented.

“And that kiss must've been thrilling huh?” the man smiled, a fang poked out.

“Uh well, i wasn’t really thinking and…i just made a mistake. That’s all.” Anthony’s dodging of the topic was quickly noticed.

“Hey now, Angel Cakes, what makes you say that, from the way you described it sounds to me like you like men, ain't nothin’ wrong with that.”

Anthony quickly gets up and walks away from the Mystery Man, huffing.

“I aint no pansy, i aint no dame,” Anthony begins to go on a tangent, “i aint no angel cake.”

“well something tells me you never ventured to Harlem, something also tells me you never really looked inward on yourself in that manner, might do some help” the mystery man insinuates.

Anthony shakes his head, only looking into the rippling water in the fountain.

“Did you ever look at gals, the way you did your henchman?” Anthony shakes his head, he doesn't understand. Before he knows it he’s being kissed by the mystery man. Anthony quickly pushes away. 

“What the hell? You don't just kiss people!” 

“But did you like it?”

“What?” Anthony was taken so aback by the man's strange question. He is no longer angry, just confused. 

“Did the fact I kissed you without permission make you uncomfortable? Or is it the fact that I'm a man?" 

Anthony didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t have to, the mystery man could read his face and he could see the guilt in his eyes. He did like the feeling of the mystery man's surprisingly soft lips, he didn’t like the fact the kiss was out of nowhere.

“See. so it's settled. Come on, come back with me and we can relax at my place.” the mystery man pats Anthony on the back, it almost feels degrading. 

“Nothing is “settled” i don't even know what to do now, i don't even know if my family knows i'm dead!" Anthony begins to hyperventilate again, going into a panic, he falls down. 

“Easy now Angel Cakes, there’s nothing to worry about, just come hang out with me; we can relax and figure this whole thing out together, ya know? Besides, i’m probably the only nice sinner you’ll meet around here, i know all the ins and outs of these streets, you’ll be safer with me, savvy?”  The mystery man's words almost felt like peaceful music to Anthony. He couldn't think of anything else better to do, and realistically who did he even know here that could help him. Anthony goes with the mystery man, against his better judgment.

That night, Anthony is wooed into a sense of security, for the first time ever Anthony feels the touch of a man. Caressing his fur and body with passion. Anthony felt at peace for once. 

Weeks and then months go by, Anthony no longer goes by his old name, completely giving himself to the Mystery Man, whose name is Edward. He calls himself Angel now.

Angel and Edward’s relationship was a fever dream. Angel wants to enjoy his afterlife in his own way, but Edward never lets up on the constant demands and tasks he gives Angel. 

‘Come here and clean my coats,’

 ‘give daddy some sugar,’ 

‘go take care of it Angel, you’re my best’

'you know no one else can do it, like you do'

It’s never enough, Angel complains; but he is shown his place, through multiple methods of breaking his self worth. Eventually Angel begins to revel in self loathing and self harm. Drinking his issues away. Angel’s habits, however, find himself getting into more abrasive and aggressive arguments with Eddy.

He is inevitably thrown out of Ed's home, but Angel is still under his contract, he has to do as he says even if he doesn't want to. Angel cries in the alley, his body hurting with each inhale.

Angel was found thrown away on the streets, wrecked with grief and bruised. Valeria took him back to the rehab center where Hans was given the responsibility of taking care of him. As his nurse.

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Yea so this one was a lot more, heavy, than the other ones. I hope y'all enjoyed it.

I'm open for critiques as usual.

If anyone was wondering why i made Valentinos character strangely endearing in the beginning, i did that purposely. Its because thats how most abusers are. They put their victims in this false sense of safety before ripping away that comfort, the victim is broken down to their most vulnerable and cant find the will to leave.

However for this rewrite I allowed Angel to be "thrown out" of Ed's Mafia house; instead of Angel just living somewhere else, he has a reason to be at the rehab center.

Also Edward is not a Pimp in this rewrite, he is a mafia boss. I wanted Ed and Angel to have something in common in order for them to even be associated with each other, and Mafia boss is what fit the most for me.

[lesbianralzarek]

pharmacy tips from a pharmacy technician:

if you live in the US, check to see what your state laws are for emergency refills (there are multiple tables with multiple updates, ctrl+f to see your state)

if you have a drug that can't have refills (so you have to get a new rx every time you fill), ask your prescriber if you can get multiple prescriptions queued. ex: sending in 2 prescriptions for adderall at once, but with one saying "do not fill until 09/01/2024" on it. idk if every state allows this (and some prescribers might say no anyway), but it may be worth asking

dick pills are so common. they are so so common. the cute lady handling your tadalafil has already filled 5 others today for people younger than you. its mundane job shit. it wont be weird unless you make it weird

google often tells you how busy a pharmacy is hour-by-hour. if you think there might be weird shit with your insurance, youre likely to get more attentive care if the techs arent doing 6 things at once. if you need the full attention of multiple techs and the pharmacist crowding around the computer, youre far more likely to get that during a slow hour

we know what goodrx is. we know this. i get why youre upset, i really am sorry, but if i say i've run it through the discount, i have. i am not getting kickbacks from the manufacturer, and have no incentive to lie and jack up the price. its worth asking why exactly insurance isnt covering it tho, cause maybe itll cover a smaller day supply or similar drug.... maybe

if youre worried that your family member may be stealing your drugs (via picking them up on your behalf and not telling you), ask the tech to make a note saying not to sell it to anyone other than you (or any other exception you wanna make). their system may also be able to send you texts whenever your meds are picked up

if you just got out of the hospital with an opioid script, ask if you can get it as a physical copy instead of them faxing it to somewhere. you cant transfer those to other pharmacies after its been sent, they would have to rewrite one for you. some places have opioids in time-locked safes and cannot fill them after certain hours, but if you have a physical copy you can just take it somewhere else