#tbh i was planning to use the “go fuck yourself” for something in a fic but i couldn't think of another set up for my shitty kitten joke

[jichanxo]

grown man calls you his kitten in front of your friends, what do you do? (aka what happens when @four-white-trees and I have been very bad influences on each other)

[tyunkus]

use me

pairing: mean dom bf!taehyun x f!reader

synopsis: taehyun wants you to beg. maybe he should make you. 

wc: 2.2k

warnings: reader is fem-bodied and also referred to as a girl! established relationship, dirty talk, begging, masturbation, OVERSTIM, cowgirl/riding, you’re both mean to each other in this but he’s meaner U will never beat him, not really hard dom just mean dom, taehyun calls u: baby, angel, pretty girl, he also calls u stupid (sorry), princess Of Course

note: basically a continued? fic version of this ask. i was h word one day and decided that the concept was too sexy to be kept as a thought/drabble so i extended it! hurray! u could think of this within the same universe as amazon wishlist tbh. and also imagine taehyun with his blue hair and sexy arms and sexy face and sexy abs and sexy lips and

You would be lying if you said you didn’t know how you ended up here.

The truth is, you know exactly how this all began—with Taehyun fisting his cock in front of you, moaning like a whore, and you watching him and refusing to beg.

Still, if you were to be completely honest, you don’t know exactly why you were acting like such a brat. The night had been normal leading up to when you two entered the bedroom; Taehyun had cooked you dinner, washed the dishes while you made dessert, picked what show to watch while you sat on his lap on the couch. Maybe it was then that this all truly began, when you began to wriggle too much, just to feel the firmness of his hands on your waist, the swelling of his cock underneath your thighs. And that had led to him dragging you to bed, telling you to ask nicely if you wanted to suck his cock. You didn’t listen. You still won’t.

It had taken him probably about ten minutes of jacking himself off slowly in front of you as “punishment”—pretty hand wrapped around his even prettier cock, hard and lubed up—before he finally realized that his ultimate plan to make you beg was never going to work. Not if you kept staring up at him from where you knelt down next to the bed, looking like some sort of perfect, clueless angel. Like something he could break if he wanted to.

That definitely gave him an idea. And so it started with you on your knees, looking up at him all sweet and perfect, and your stubbornness has led you back on his lap, biting your lip nervously as you try to decipher the look in his eyes beyond carnal hunger. Taehyun gets like this sometimes. And it’s fucking hot.

“You okay, princess?” he asks, running his calloused hands down your thighs. Checking in, as he always does; not only for your sake, but it turns him on knowing you want to get fucked as much as he wants to fuck you. You don’t mention it, though—you don’t say anything at all, just nod, giving him a tight-lipped smile. As bratty and uncaring as you had been acting earlier, seeing Taehyun get himself off had affected you a lot more than you let on. You had felt the wetness seeping between your legs literally seconds after he had gotten his cock out and started fucking his fist. That wasn’t something you could control—however, being all solemn and acting like you didn’t care, that was something you excelled at. “What’s your safeword, baby?”

“Blueberry,” you mumble back, running a hand through his hair, and he graces you with a smile.

Satisfied, he settles hsi back on the bed, reaching an arm behind his head to rest on. “You know what to do, princess,” Taehyun rasps, giving your ass a small pat. You squirm, giving him a look. “C’mon. Ride me.”

“What?”

“If you don’t wanna beg, that’s fine. Just make yourself feel good. Use me. Use this cock to make yourself come,” he tells you lowly. “I know you love it. Don’t pretend like you don’t.”

You make a small noise, miffed, but you obey anyways, grabbing the base of his cock. You make sure to look him in the eye when you slide him in, but a part of you regrets it, because Taehyun truly doesn’t back down, gazing up at you with every second, every inch of his cock that fills you. You can’t even muffle the small moan that you let out after you take him all in, and you certainly can’t hide your blissed out face when you start moving up and down. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it—how good he feels, how good he looks, staring down at the place at which your bodies connect. You can’t help it, you’re obsessed with his face, the way it scrunches when you clench down on him and smoothes itself out when you slow down your hips. There’s a lot of things you could love about Taehyun, and one of them is how he looks during sex.

Taehyun, to his credit, spends the next ten minutes or so pretty quietly, evidently trying to stick to his own plan of letting you fuck yourself on him. It’s a weird punishment, you must say, not one that you’re really used to, but hey. Taehyun’s already ruined you for anyone else’s cock—it’s not like you’ll complain at the chance to ride him. And he likes it, too; you can tell even if he won’t say anything, from the slight grimaces he makes, the way he tilts his head back whenever you grind back down.

His plan might work. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend like riding him isn’t affecting you. Your legs start to shake. The moans you let out are higher, shakier. You can barely hold yourself up by the time Taehyun finally takes the initiative to grab your hips and help you move against him, grunting out a Got you, baby right as your first orgasm crashes down on you.

“Fuck,” he says, as you slump over and your head meets his chest. He runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your torso, dancing them all about your skin until you’re shaking even more. Goosebumps spring from where he touches you, but he doesn’t stop, smiles at the way you twitch when his hands brush the ticklish spot underneath your tits.

And then his hands still on your waist, and his fingers fasten around them a little tighter, and then he’s moving you up and down by the pure strength of those goddamn arms. Fuck. You must say it out loud, squeaky and accidental, because below you Taehyun lets out a chuckle and then his fingers are on your clit and fuck. Fuck.

“T-Taehyun,” you breathe out, your voice wavering, “I j-just came.”

The steely look he fixes you is enough to shut you up. “And I haven’t, so keep fucking riding me,” he snaps. “You know what to say if you really can’t take it, right?”

You only nod helplessly, moving up and down his cock again, the feeling of him inside you sending a spark of electricity down your spine. Blueberry, blueberry, fuck, it’s too much but you would never say it, not now, when it’s so much that it feels so good. Fuck, there’s no reason it should feel this good. Taehyun twists at your nipples and chuckles when your hips jolt at the sensation—fuck Kang Taehyun and his skillful hands and perfectly composed self. You can’t even think but he’s quite literally pulling at all of your most sensitive parts.

You feel Taehyun’s hips start to grind up into yours. You can tell from that, as well as his fidgeting hands, that he’s starting to get impatient. “Come on, princess, keep going. Thought I was boring you, right? Don’t tap out on me now, baby, be fucking grateful I’m even giving you my cock—”

You shake your head, adamant. “No, no, nonono I can’t I can’t, ’s too much, fuck, Taehyun, Taehyun please—”

“Aw, it’s too much? You begging for me now? Wanna be good for me?” he rasps, smacking your ass. Leave it to Taehyun to say just the right thing to have you squirming, even if he’s technically upset with you. “Fuck, look at you, sweet girl, fucking shaking for me. Keep going. Keep riding my fucking dick, I’m not gonna ask you again.”

You wail, finally lowering your hands from your face to steady them on his shoulders. You move up and down, slowly, trying not to think about the sounds you’re making, the sounds of skin against skin and your wet cunt.

“Be good and make me come. Make me come, you were so mean to me today, this is the least you could do for me—fuck, fuck—”

“How have you not come yet?” you whine, and fuck, you can feel your strength slipping away from where your hands are fastened on his shoulders. Taehyun only lets out a breathy laugh underneath you and lands a soft smack to your butt. “Taehyun, please, I can’t—can’t, I just... Pleeeaaase, please, hmngh, fuck.”

Taehyun’s grip hardens on your hips, and you still. He tugs you down so you’re face to face, and your tummy flutters at his expression—eyes narrowed, lips swollen, fucked out and so fucking hot. “Too much, baby?” he pants, threading his hands through your hair. You nod, moaning and nibbling against his collarbones, and there are a few seconds of this breathless quiet, as you both find your breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Eventually, he tugs you away from where you suck on his skin. Gives you a winning smile. You almost forget he’s annoyed with you. “Okay, angel. Too much? All tired out? Fine. Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

You can feel his hips moving underneath you, his cock still inside. “Hyunnie,” you mumble, scrabbling at his chest, but he only grunts. It takes a few moments for him to adjust his position and really dig his heels into the mattress before he’s suddenly fucking up into you with a loud, desperate moan. The pace he sets from the start is staggering; you can barely process the new position before he’s all up in your guts, pounding into you, until you can’t even fucking think.

“S-stupid girl, can’t even ride her poor boyfriend properly, always gotta do everything myself,” he mutters through gritted teeth, eyes transfixed on where his hips slam into yours. “Ff-fuck, don’t you feel sorry for me? Can’t even make me come without getting all dumb ‘n drooly. C’mon, kiss me. Kiss me, princess, make me feel better.”

You mewl and move to oblige, pressing your soft lips all over his face—cheekbones, jawline, nose—but it’s hard to land them properly with how fast he moves underneath you, completely throwing you off-balance. You resort to whimpering while struggling to keep yourself up with your arms, hands still resting on his firm chest. Taehyun doesn’t even care, too busy fucking up into you to notice.

“Say sorry now,” he instructs, his tone still cold and unfeeling. “Say sorry for being mean to your boyfriend, tell me how much you love me.”

“’M sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cry, your lips still latched onto his skin. “I’m sorry for being mean, ’m sorry, you make me feel so good, always mmf, making me come—hnng, love you, I love you, Taehyun—”

“Good job. Good girl, good fucking girl. Fuck. Your pussy’s so—hah, so good, so sweet to me, so perfect—” He smiles wickedly, showing his teeth, and you almost come again just looking at him, his blue hair matted against sweaty, golden skin. “Love this princess cunt, love you. Gonna make me come, love you, I love you, sweet angel, fuck– I love you so much—”

“W-wanna come,” you warble, the feeling so sudden but so intense that all you can think about is how much you need it, regardless of how it was at the back of your mind before. It’s like your brain has caught up to you, all of your pent-up desire crashing back down on you in a landslide. You start begging before you even realize it. “Please, please, pleaseplease Taehyun please Tyunnie pleaseee let me come letmecome—”

You’re breathless, needy, begging like a fucking slut and you know it, but Taehyun—Taehyun has never looked prouder, gazing up at you with his achingly kind eyes, nodding at you slowly, like he wants to make sure you understand. “Gonna come again?” he whispers, lips pressed against the tips of your fingers, and you nod. He hums and smiles, the tip of his tongue peeking out to lick at your thumb. “Good girl, come for me again, princess. Just one more, you can do it, make me proud—fuck, c’mon, I’ll come with you, ffffuck, princess, I love you—”

There’s a brief second between Taehyun’s rambling and both your orgasms—and he chooses that second to twine his fingers with yours and kiss your temple. It’s probably the hardest you’ve come all night, but what really has you reeling isn’t your climax, it’s how Taehyun looks after his own; sweaty, breathing hard, still looking at you. God knows how long he had been holding back. You had half-expected him to black out right after, but no, he’s just gazing at you, like you’re something to be admired even with your face all sweaty and hair a mess.

You lean down to kiss him anyways, regardless of how you look, kissing him more for your own benefit than his—he receives it with his usual eagerness and a quick smile against your teeth, almost missable. He pulls away, letting the both of you breathe for a moment, chests rising and falling against each other’s.

“Princess.” Taehyun presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose and breathes out. “I loooove you,” he murmurs in a sing-song voice, and taps his fingers against the column of your throat. “Did so well, my pretty girl. You feeling okay? Need some water?”

“Water would be great,” you reply, nuzzling in closer to him. “Could you draw me a bath later? Please?” 

“Begging for me now, huh?”

You poke the side of his stomach and he jolts with a harsh laugh. What an ass, you think, kissing his cheek. I love him. “Shut up.”

[runawaymun]

Have you ever just stared at an idea and couldn't write it? You want to buy it's so you tailored that no one will read it, in fact your scared that people who ship the rare pair might be disappointed with it.

If so how do you deal with it because I am struggling. I lost a lot of my creative drive because I feel like no one wants to hear my stories. Has that ever happened to you?

Sorry to come in and like have a big sad in you inbox but I love your work and I always wonder if other people with such amazing work feel this way too.

Ah, nonnie, you sent this in a little while ago and I was laid flat, so I'm so sorry that it has taken me this long to reply!

But yes, this has happened to me! I think it's very natural. The only way you can get past it is by saying fuck it tbh. Write what you want to write; write what makes you happy!

I thought Stars was going to be way too hyperspecific to me. I hadn't really seen anything like it, and platonic OC & Canon Character fics as a whole rarely see any popularity, but I wrote it with my whole chest and surprisingly it resonated with a lot of people. That happened with Brimbrond (there were like, I think three people who shipped it at the time I started writing Partake), and now with my Zhongli x Baizhu fics, Genshin is such a large fandom and it is such a rarepair. Zhongli is attached to one of the most popular fics in the fandom and Baizhu is simply rarely ever written about. But I love them. And I feel that way about Dehya and Baizhu, too, and plan on writing stuff for them and making art.

Truly the only way to get past this is to write what you love. You don't even have to post it. Write what you want to read. It helps if you can find even one other person who ships the ship and likes your work, and the two of you can scream about it together. I know it really sucks when it feels like no one's reading your work. I've had flop fics myself, and it happens especially with art since people just don't reblog as much as they used to. It can be really discouraging. But you have to do it for you.

If it's really bothering you, then maybe take a step back and just don't post anything. You don't have to post it at all. Write it without posting. Let it be Bad, even. Put your whole chest into it, write whatever tropes you want, skip around. If you're bored then don't write it. If you aren't having fun, don't write it. Skip all the uninteresting parts and just write the shippy nonsense you want to read.

I guess what I keep wanting to say and keep repeating ad nauseam is that you really, really cannot be writing for others. Again, believe me, I know it's disheartening when something flops and you feel like no one wants to read your work, but that's where you have to decide that you're going to write for you.

And if you're burnt out and absolutely nothing is fun, then take a step back and just read. Like, fanfic sure, but I mean a physical book. It'll exfoliate your brain. Read for fun. If you aren't enjoying the book then don't be afraid to DNF it. Play a good story-based video game if that's your thing. Watch a show or a movie and really pay attention to it. When I'm lacking inspiration and everything Feels Bad sometimes I just need to get some input. As it was described to me years ago: your writing brain is like a well. You have to pour good stuff into it. Nothing is written in a vacuum, and if you're struggling to make anything come out it may be because your well is empty, and you just need to top it up a bit.

Anyway, yeah. Enjoy some good fiction. Kill the critic inside your head. Write for you. I am pretty much terrified 100% of the time when I am writing and posting that it won't be good, it'll flop, no one will like it, etc. etc. But you absolutely cannot let that paralyze you into not creating. Don't let the critic in your head win. Tell yourself it doesn't have to be good. Repeat that over and over. It's okay if it's bad. It's okay if it's bad. No one even has to see it.

Plus, when it comes to rough drafts --- accept that it is going to be bad. You are just shoveling sand into a box to build castles with later.

If you want to post, please try to remember that it is a gift to the community. It is a privilege that we get to read other people's work. For FREE. For FUN. And make friends doing it! You do not owe anyone anything. At risk of sounding like a broken record: please, please, please write for you and no one else. If you choose to share it that is up to you, and the rest of us say fucking thank you. The inner critic never goes away. That fear never goes away. I'm so serious. But it's fake. It's so fake. It doesn't matter. Imagine it in a silly, stupid little voice (mine sounds like a whiny kylo ren or sometimes like Donald Trump, and then it's easy to dispel). Tell it to shut up. If it's like 'this is awful' then say 'that's okay. I'm having fun', and if it's like 'no one will read it,' then say 'that's okay, i'm writing it for me,' and then write what you want to write, because you like it and want to read it. Fuck it you ball.

[splickedylit]

Just reread domestic diplomacy, so hype for the 3rd part. Was curious whether you planned on ever including other pale couples? I would love to see the meowrails or vrisrezi in this au where pale romance is actually. Romance. Lol. Anyway keep being cool (and share another snippet of the wip if you want pls 👀)

Aw, hooray! :D Tbh I don't really,,, plan these fics lol. This series especially I very much make up as I go, so I can't discount the possible future in which meowrails make an appearance, but I also have learned to make no promises about what's going to happen in uhhh any fic ever lol. But I can certainly share a snippet, since I'm getting writing done today!

--

Trolls don’t drink wine, it turns out—trolls don’t drink alcohol at all.  When Gamzee sniffs at your cup thoughtfully, he’s already recoiling before Karkat makes an urgent, warning noise and yanks at his arm.

“&lt;NO,>” Karkat says, and Gamzee rolls his lips back from a really startling amount of fangs and makes a low, throaty rising and falling noise that sounds disgusted even to your human ears.  “<Have a cup of (noun, gesturing at whatever’s in the wine bottles with troll labels on them) or something!>”

“<Shit smells like (some kind of descriptor with ‘window’ in it, for some reason),>” Gamzee says, and reaches over to snatch up one of the bottles Karkat pointed him toward, popping the top off with a careless twist of his wrist and taking a much more appreciative sniff.  “<Fuck yeah, that thing right there, makes good for motherfucker to have a good (fatal) time.>”

“<You’ll do good (warning shot) at worst,>”  Karkat says sternly.  “<And not with human home-cleaning liquid drinks. You would die.  Die fast—and boring, not funny, not fun, got it?  Humans drink home-cleaning liquid to get (troll-descriptor).>”

Gamzee chortles.  “<I bet the fuck they do get!>” he says, apparently delighted.  “<And then get (the fatal form of “funny” but flipped around to be a descriptor? A new construction, excellent)  funny-dead real quick for because of they’re nasty.>”

“What are you guys drinking, then?” you say, and reach over cautiously to the bottle Gamzee’s holding; he growls a little, possessively, apparently just as a warning that it’s his now, and then gives it up and watches you hold it up and take your own big sniff.  It doesn’t…smell toxic.  Sweet, mostly, in a weird, thick, smothery kind of way that makes your nose burn a little.

“It is human safe,” says Kanaya, before you can ask.  “I believe you don’t feel…tss.  Intoxated, by it.  But it is still very strong for you, differently.”

That’s all you need to hear.  You pick up one of the glasses and pour some out for yourself—it’s just a little thicker than water, a pure, light gold color, and when you take a sip it’s like getting punched in the sinuses by a sugar cube the size of a building.

“Oh, fuck,” you say, and swallow with an effort.  Your eyes are watering; your mouth feels aggressively candy-coated.  “Whoof.  Wow!”

Rose is laughing at you, just a little—not out loud, but you can tell by the way her eyes are creased and her lips are quirked up at the corners.  “Yes,” she says.  “Nectar requires some getting used to.  Trolls cannot metabolize alcohol but they are…quite sensitive to sucral compounds.”

“Give it,” Gamzee says, and gestures insistently to have his bottle back, then reaches past the nice wine glasses to pick up a distinctly human red solo cup and dumps a hearty half-cupful of nectar into it, then pulls a bottle of something that looks exactly like faygo with alien writing on the label and dumps a hearty measure of that in on top of it.

“<You can have one of those,>” Karkat says, looking appalled.  “<You (something)-less piece of shit.  One, got it?  What the fuck is wrong with you.  And you’re not kissing me until you clean your teeth.  I’ll get (troll descriptor) off your fucking breath.>”

Gamzee grins hugely and runs his tongue over all his fangs in Karkat’s direction, then tosses back a big mouthful of his mixed drink and gives a happy shivering rumble, fins fluttering and claws kneading delicately at his cup.

“You want?” he says in English, and holds it out at you, grinning exactly like he did earlier when he snuck a horn under your butt—like this is the kind of joke that has a winner and a loser, and he’s pretty sure he’s already won.

“Jade,” says Dave.  “He’s bein’ a dick.  You know you don’t have to take shit from this guy, right?”

“I know!” you say, and reach out to take the cup from Gamzee’s hand, holding eye contact in a way you’re pretty sure is kind of socially unacceptable.  Karkat starts “Jade—” and then you take a deep breath and throw the cup back.

[romanarose]

Darkness on the Edge of Town: Chapter 1

Joel Miller X Reader

Chapter 2

Masterlist

Summary: While heading home for a mandatory lockdown, Joel stumbles on something he wasn't supposed to see with FEDRA guards and steps in. This, unfortunately, lands with him spending unexpected time with a young woman. Oh, and there's only one bed.

warnings!: attempted gang rape, physical hard with a gun, mentions of blood, canon typical violence, lmk if I missed anything! EVENTUAL SMUT

A/N: This was supposed to be a one shot. Now I'm not sure how many chapters we're looking at. Three minimum. Also, I KNOOOOWWWWW this follows the biggest Romana trope: Protective! Man protecting a woman. I will not apologize.

EDIT: This was originally posted as an OC fic, because I had bigger plans for it, but I honestly lost a lot of steam on it. I was going to give up on it tbh but someone sent an ask asking about a chapter 2, and I hate to disappoint! So I'll be condencing the story and making it a reader fic. hoping you guys like it! ****************************

As the sun was setting, Joel walked to his home, trying to savor the last of the outside he’ll have for the next couple days. The local government had made a mandatory few day quarantine for no discernible reason other than to exercise control, remind the citizens who was in charge. A week, give or take, without work wouldn’t be great by any means, but Joel and Tess at least had a partnership, so they weren’t completely on their own. This week, however, Tess was gone. She was making a trade with Bill and Frank when the lockdown announcement came out, and Joel had to radio over for her to stay there until it ended. This meant that he had a week alone in his tiny apartment room without Tess knocking on his door for one reason or another.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” A woman shouted from the alley he was passing.

Joel’s survival instincts said to keep walking; wasn’t his business, wasn’t his problem, wasn’t him or Tess or any of their allies. He didn’t need to get involved. But Joel knew right from wrong, and as much as he liked to pretend to himself he wasn’t a good person, that he wasn’t the same person he was before Sarah died, he couldn’t keep walking. Plus, Tess would kill him if she knew he walked away from this. Turning down the alley, he saw you being pushed and pulled by some soldiers; all men. One pulled you by the shirt so you were flush against him, and you shoved him off yourself, making the young man hit the alley wall. This action earned you a pistol whip, causing blood to come out of you forehead as you cried out, stumbling backwards into the arms of another man, and Joel couldn’t stand back any longer.

“Hey!” He shouted, striding further into the alley. One of the soldiers grabbed your arm, keeping her to him and away from Joel. “What’s goin’ on here?” He said, eyeing the men. He was more or less familiar with them, some he knew their names, some he didn’t but recognized their faces.

One man he had dealt with, a trouble maker who liked to use his power to his benefit and was surround by rumors of his treatment of women. Nothing could be proven, and no real accusations were made; they wouldn’t go anywhere if there had been. His name was Ross, a younger man than Joel was by a few decades, one of those who had been teenagers when shit went south. That age had been terrible in the ‘before’, a time of confusion and soul searching for anyone, and all that had been interrupted by losing everything. This created a lot of inner turmoil that never settled for most. Some killed themselves, some managed it, some became god awful people.

Ross spoke, eyeing Joel with a smirk. “Curfew, Joel, you know the rules.”

“She’s still got ten minutes.” Joel spoke firmly, his stare intense on the younger man, letting him know he wasn’t backing down. His eyes connected with yours. Joel wasn’t an idiot, he knew there were different dangers in this world for women, something he’d likely never have to worry about outside of concern for Tess.

Not phased by Joel the way many others were, Ross continued his hold. “She lives on the other side of town, she’s not getting there on time. But don’t worry” He laughed lightly. “We’ll escort her”

If Joel wasn’t certain what they were planning, the way they laughed and smiled at each other told him. With a grunt, you kick your leg hard against his shin repeatedly, causing him to shout and push you off of him to stop the assault on his leg. Joel took the opportunity, grabbing your dirty shirt and yanking you back behind him. Surprisingly, you smack his arm in return. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“I’m trying to help you” Joel grumbled to you.

“I don’t need it” But none the less you stood behind his broad body.

Ross was less pleased now. “Lockdown is in 5 minutes, how you gonna get her home before then, Joel?”

Joel hesitated. This was the last thing he wanted this week, a week where he had an excuse to stay home, be alone and wallow in his own misery, but there was no way he could live with himself if he just left you. “She’ll come with me”

Ross eyed him, obviously irritated that he’s losing. “You didn’t seem like the type to take in a charity case… or do you have some ulterior motives.”

Joel didn’t play games. Turning on a heel, you were now in front of him and he pushed you forward and out of the alley quickly. “Go”

You shoved him off you, whispering harshly. “Stop fucking touch me!”

“Go” But he kept his hands off you.

As they turned the corner, he heard Ross call out to them. “Four minutes Joel!” His voice echoed mockingly. “Better hurry!”

But Joel was already speed walking.

“Where are we going?” You scrambled after him.

“My place.”

You stopped in your tracks. “I’m not going with you.”

Turning around only briefly, he took one long stride towards her, pointing his finger. “You have two choices. Go with me to my shithole,” He pointed back towards the alley. “Or you can do with them. Up to you.” He saw you glare at him as he turned back around; he did his part and you were an adult, you could make her own stupid choices.

He heard you footsteps. You quickly followed him.

Joel and you barely made it in time.

The room was… a room.

One bed, a beat-up old lounge chair, a dresser, table and two chairs. The ‘kitchen’ was a small stove with a single burner, but it didn’t look very used; the microwave did. To the left there was a door, presumably to the bathroom. You stood in the doorway awkwardly, body tense and stiff.

Joel gestured vaguely around the apartment and grumbled something she didn’t quite understand, but she assumed it didn’t really matter what he said.

“Nice place” You said, looking around.

Looking slightly defensive, he replied. “No one’s making you be here”

You frowned at him. “I was trying to be polite, but fine, you live in a shithole.”

“Yeah, well, this shithole is where you’re stuck for the next few days, unless you wanna risk it with Ross” He said with a little bite, before feeling just a bit bad. When he glanced over at you, you were harshly glaring at him. “I’m Joel” He muttered under his breath.

“Yeah” You scoffed. “I picked up on that between you yanking me around”

Joel turned to face you, crossing his arms in annoyance. “You’re welcome” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Undeterred, you crossed your arms back, hips cocked as you stood in defiance, seeming to consider your next words. Then, as nervousness flickers around your face, you seemed to realize the position you were in. Looking away and to the floor, you spoke softer. “Thank you. I know this isn’t… ideal”

“Don’t worry about” He grabbed a flannel shirt and sweats from his drawers and tossed them abruptly at you, then motioned for the bathroom. “Showers o’er there. There's… um…” He hesitated. “Under the sink.”

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What’s under the sink?”

Running a hand through his hair, Joel turned away and pretended to be suddenly very interested in the lamp. “You’ll see.”

“Sounds like a threat, but okay.” You murmured as you shuffled into the bathroom before stopping and turning around, telling him your name.

He gave a nod, barely acknowledging you as you disappeared into the bathroom. This was going to be a long fucking week.

When you took in the dingy bathroom, you decided to see what he was talking about beneath the sink. When you opened up the small cabinet, you found possibly the last thing you were expecting to see in the bathroom of the world's grumpiest man. Pads. The initial surprise you felt was quickly overtaken with a swell of warmth. You wondered about the type of man he was before the outbreak. The last 20 years had broken some of the best people down, the need for survival tearing people apart… but you firmly believed good people remained good deep down, someone inside them, even if it only came out when necessary. And today, as you faced down a group of men with evil intentions, it was clear that this was a situation he couldn’t ignore. You’d seen a lot in your years, more than enough for several lifetimes.

The bath felt nice, even if it was cold, as did his clothes, as well worn as they were. When you padded out into the one room place, you saw him standing over what could barely be called a stove.

“It’s just shitty canned soup, you can have some. I don’t got a lot here, but enough to get us through.”

“Thank you. I can pay you back once I get home”

“Hm.” Was his non committal answer.

A pause.

“And thank you for stopping-”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean it-”

Joel whipped around, his eyes intense and alight. “I said, don’t mention it.”

You shut your mouth but glared at him, letting him know he was being a dick. And yet, you really weren’t in much of a position to complain, were you? He had saved you from an attempted gang rape, the act of which caused him to have to put you up in his home, share his clothes, his water, his food… All the while giving no indication he had any ill intentions of his own. How many people would do this for a stranger?

He got his food, sitting at the table and once again gesturing vaguely towards the ‘kitchen’, prompting you to get food for yourself. You didn’t feel you weren't exactly wanted at the diner table, so you looked around for another place to eat, moving over to the chair. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d sat on, but it wasn’t the best either. A new problem was glaring as they ate in silence.

There was only one bed.

You piped up. “I can sleep on this chair.”

“Yeah” Was all he responded.

Clearly, he meant for you to sleep there anyway. It was going to suck, but it was better than whatever was planned for her in the alleyway.

Wordlessly, he walked off and shut the door to the bathroom and it wasn’t long before she heard the water running to take his own cold bath. Amazing bedside manner, really. Top tier. You tried to remind yourself you were looking a gift horse in the mouth, and brushed off your bitterness. When Joel immerged, he didn’t look at her as he walked past.

“So,” You started.

“No.”

“How long have you-”

“No.”

“Do you at least-”

A loud groan as he scrubbed his face, signaling you to stop.

You sat there, staring at the wall while Joel went about his business before you heard him call to you. “Hey. C’mere”

You turned around, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why”

“If you want your fucking forehead infected, that’s on you”

“Wait!” You scrambled up, walking over towards him where he had some basic first aid. “Sorry, I-”

“Sit” He directed to the chair at the table, not making eye contact.

Doing as you were told, you sat down at the table, looking up at Joel as he bent over you. You winced as he applied the disinfectant. “You could sit-”

“No” Despite his harsh tone, his touch was gentle, careful, and moving away when you winced.

“So” You tried to start a conversation again. “Joel. That’s Hebrew, right? Are you J-”

“Stop.” Joel briefly put his hands down, standing straight up. From your view on the chair, you suddenly realized how tall he was. His eye contact, when focused on you as it was now, was all consuming. “We’re not friends, we’re not going to come out of this as friends, we’re gonna be lucky if we don’t rip each other's head off. So how about you stop talking, and I stop wondering if I can drown myself in the bathtub every time you ask me a question.” When you didn’t argue, he oh-so softly applied a bit of antibiotic ointment, careful not to waste the little he had.

“Well, that was a bit blunt” You commented as you studied his face. Handsome, older; graying but not falling apart. His accent was southern, but where? You could not place, but that would explain his sense of duty.

“You asked if I was Jewish an hour into knowing me, and out of nowhere. I don’t think I’m the blunt one here” Joel muttered again, but this time there was a hint of… something else. Not quite playful, there was nearly no change in his tone, he was just as gruff as before, but the way he spoke indicated it was almost a joke. Almost. But not quite. He stood up without another word and washed his hands of the antibiotic cream and remaining blood that had oozed out. Grabbing an extra blanket from the drawer, he tossed it at you aimlessly and hit the light.

“Go to bed”

“It’s 8pm”

“Go. To. Bed.”

“Old man”

This received no response from him, but you laughed to yourself.

“Good night Joel.”

A loud sigh was the only response you got.

**************************

I'VE NEVER WRITTEN FOR JOEL SO PLEASE BE NICE! I don't know a whole lot about this universe or the world building so I'm so sorry if this is wrong. But I love Pedro so so so so much and I love TLOU so far!!! Please leave a comment if you like what you see so I know people want more, and reblog if you are so inclined! It's the only way to spread my work on this sight!

Shocker. The fic is titled after a Springsteen song. Joel Miller Listens to Springsteen, Melloncamp and Petty and I will not be taking criticism at this time.

And! Be sure to check out my other Pedro character fic, Take Your Time with my boy Frankie Morales! Tagging some I think may be interested, if you aren't interested in Joel fics just comment to be removed!

My love, @welcometostayingawake @trinkets01 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @luciannadraven33 @howaboutcastiel

[fireflyghoul]

Sending Nudes

SwissxDewdrop fic

So I had this picture in my head of Dew sending a hot nude to Swiss (I've even made a sketch, but I haven't been drawing in years and it looks terrible so I probably won't post it) and I had to write it!

Dewdrop was bored.

And horny.

He was laying on his bed, only in Boxers, and stared at the ceiling. He really wished Swiss was here right now. But he didn't want to get up to look for him.

Also, he thought he said something about a meeting earlier he had to go to.

So probably he was there now anyway.

But maybe he could text anyway?

Dew could use that and tease him a bit.

And he loved to tease Swiss.

So he took out his phone and texted the other ghoul.

Hey Swiss, what r u doing?

It took a few minutes until he got an answer from the Multi ghoul.

In a meeting with Copia and some others right now.

So you're busy?

Obviously

Dewdrop sighed. Okay, so he was right with that.

But it's boring tbh

Was the next text he got from Swiss a few seconds later which made him smile.

Need some encouragement?

Dew smiled at the thought of what he had in mind to do next. And when Swiss sent a simple 'yes' back, he got up with a smile and took off his Boxers.

Then he placed himself on the floor in front of his whole body mirror and took a picture.

He kneeled, his legs spread, but leaned on his hand, which was placed perfectly between his legs, to cover his dick. He had to move a bit around, so it was completely hidden behind his forearm and you couldn't see anything, but in the end, he worked a way out somehow.

His long hair fell over his shoulder, beautifully smooth and untangled,

covering one of his nipples. You could see a bit of the nipple piercing through it, but only if you really concentrated on it, but really just if you focused on it a lot. Thanks to the amazing camera quality on those new phones.

The other nipple was completely exposed and you could even see his nipple ring in all his beauty. A bit of light reflected on it and made the picture as a whole look even more beautiful.

On his lips was a grin, exposing his sharp teeth and he stuck his tongue out between them too, looking straight into the camera while doing so. You could see the teasing look in them even through the camera.

He really liked this picture. And send it to Swiss immediately.

Oh, how much he would love to sit in this meeting room right now, seeing Swiss' reaction. Probably looking at his phone below the table, so nobody notices him doing it. His cheeks get hot and blush. He looks up again, staring at whoever speaks right now, which doesn't make it really inconspicuous that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

Dewdrop imagines him swallowing, trying to hide how hot he finds this picture and that he even looked at it. He lets his eyes travel through the room to make sure nobody noticed his doings.

Dewdrop looks at himself in the mirror another time and smiles complacently. Then he gets up again, but doesn't put his boxers back on and just falls on his back back on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling again, then starts to scroll through his phone until he gets an answer from Swiss.

Dew

Fuck

Could you please warn me next time?

What the heck was your plan with that?

Dammit, I hate you

Dew grins. That's what he wanted to get from him. And he loves it. 

Hmm. dunno, but I don't think I'll warn you next time. And I know you don't hate me, love

He texts back, still with a grin on his face. 

But since you're not here, I think I have to take care of myself on my own

Again, he has to wait for an answer from the Multi ghoul.  This shitty meeting. Why can't he just stare down at his phone the whole time, texting him back and looking at this picture the whole time..? He sighs.

It takes a while again until he gets another message.

Don't you dare to touch yourself without me.

Dew bites his lips and his thoughts revolve around touching himself and sending Swiss another picture of it. But he stops himself from it. He will wait for Swiss. Even though this will be very hard. But he can tease him anyway. He can text him that he doing it and he won't know. 

Not sure if I'll be able to do so. Maybe I'll have a solo round before you join

Even though Swiss wasn't there, Dewdrop thought he could hear his grumble through his phone. But he <em>knew</em> Swiss would do it if he could, but he couldn't, because he was in a meeting. And Dewdrop liked the thought. He could tease Swiss as much as he wanted and the poor Multi Ghoul couldn't do a thing. He had to sit there, be silent, behave, and watch Dewdrop sending him those naughty messages. 

Don't you dare, you little naughty shit.

I'll be out here soon, and then I'll be in your room within seconds.

Mhh.. I like it more when you take longer and don't come too fast. It's more fun then

Dew, shut up.

Why? Scared you will get caught staring at your phone? Or that you have a boner?

Sad that you can't touch yourself right now, not like me.

But you're not going to touch yourself now, I know that

That confused Dewdrop kinda. What was that supposed to mean now?

Of course, he would wait even if Swiss wouldn't have said that, but what was his thought behind this now?

But before Dewdrop could ask, he got his answer already.

You can make yourself come, but we both know that I can make you come better. And I know how much you prefer having my hands touching you, feeling them all over your body. And especially on your beautiful dick, instead of your own beautiful hands.

Dewdrop swallows and feels his cheeks heating up. He's lucky nobody can see him right now. Probably the color of his face is the same as a tomato. Because Swiss was so damn right, and he hated it. But at the same time, only the thought of Swiss' hands made him get a little hard. Fuck, he can not let him get control now.

But right when he starts tipping he gets another message.

And with my dick inside you, you not only make such beautiful noises, but also come even better and harder.

Dewdrop bites his lip. Only the thought, oh damn.

Thanks for the pictures in my head, now I can do it myself even better

Swiss doesn't have to know his impact on Dewdrop right now. And that he will wait, even if it will take hours for Swiss until he will be here and even if it will be the worst time ever for him.

Oh, since you're talking about pictures...

Dewdrop grins.

Liked the view? You want another one? Can take plenty more if you need.

No, it's fine. This is more than enough already. I'm pretty sure at least one person in this room caught me staring at my phone already anyway. This Picture is forbidden hot and attractive. But that's not my point right now.

What's it then?

I think you like this Picture too. I know you and I'm sure you think it looks hot.

Maybe... So?

You can be sure that you'll look at yourself in that mirror. Exactly in that position, with my dick shoved deep inside you and one of my hands will be around your neck, having you choking for air and letting out choked-off moans because my other hand will be around your dick

Dewdrop lets out a pathetic sound. Swiss won and he can't deny it. He could try to turn this around again, but he knew he was inferior to him, he couldn't win anymore. He had started this with a complete other intention and now Swiss was the one making him get hard and whimper. He hates this damn multi ghoul. Why was he able to do this so easily?

Oh, and Dew?

He bites his lip. Not more, please. It was so hard not to touch himself already. If Swiss is sending him and other text now he can't wait for him anymore. He has to touch himself. No matter how hard he would like to try and not do it. He was so hard already. One more text and he couldn't resist anymore.

I'm standing at your door right now

[eoieopda]

hello, jade! 👋 congratulations on 2k followers 👏 👏 you deserve it sm!!! I'm so proud of you! 🫶 if it's okay, I would like to request something for your 2k drabblepalooza event, please. it would be a JungKook x reader e2l drabble with the trope "cuddling for warmth", please. :) (it's been hard for me to find some great fluffy fics with jk and I love everything you write, so I know it'll be good if you decide to write it ♡) thank you in advance, take care! 💕

tysm, sweet bean! as i am wont to do, i went a bit left field. hope that’s okay 😵‍💫 tbh, this one was actually really difficult for me to attempt in drabble format because those things feel so opposite to me and would normally justify a lot more backstory, i think?? but i loved the challenge!! i went more with a “life decided we are enemies” kind of thing.

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 811 | 18+ genre: hurt/comfort, angst au: enemies to lovers(ish), organized crime summary: you didn’t plan this far ahead. you should have. cw: implied gunshot wound & blood (after the fact, not described in detail) / implied criminal enterprise / reference to threats (a hit) / a plot twist? in this economy? / ambiguous ending

Jungkook hisses as he tightens the belt around his bicep. Not far below it, invisible with the deep black of his jacket, is proof that he isn’t invincible after all. In fact, he bleeds much more freely than anyone else you’d ever met — or, more specifically, anyone else you’d ever shot.

Clipped, rather. The bullet barely grazed him.

He sits two meters away, half-slumped and wholly displeased. Between you, there’s a spent shell casing — your last — that had previously been sitting pretty in a magazine, itself nestled in a pistol once strapped snugly against your right thigh. The gun was confiscated and that thigh strap is useless now, just like the black denim underneath it; the turtleneck sweater above it; and the radiator behind you that likely hasn’t worked at any point in your lifetime.

Cold concrete nips at your ass despite your jeans and you shiver. As it saps what’s left of your body heat, makes the back of your thighs tingle until they’re numb, you do your best to squeeze yourself tighter. You can’t reduce your surface area to zero, but if you shrink as much as is physically possible, you can try your best to keep warm.

For the same reason, you can’t lean your exhausted body against the stone wall behind you, but you can crumple forward and rest against the bent knees you clutch to your chest. You can’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, either, but you can use the fallout from your ponytail as cover and pretend that you aren’t.

Suffice to say, this was not how your night was supposed to go.

“Worst fucking shot I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook mutters through gritted teeth for what you imagine to be the hundredth time. His scoff is visible when it hits the air; his rage doesn’t dissipate the way his breath does. “Kim was right there and you hit me instead? Unbelievable.”

You don’t respond.

If you unclench your jaw to do so, the chattering of your teeth might reduce them to dust in your mouth.

Without your cell phone, you can’t tell how much time passes while you sit in silence. You can’t confirm your suspicion that the temperature outside has, in fact, dipped far below zero. Similarly, you can’t tell if anyone stuck around after locking you in this basement to see how long it would take for the cold to take you out — or to finish the job themselves if you beat the odds.

Jungkook huffs as he shifts in place. Now, with his back resting uncomfortably against the wall, he glares headlong at you. Unfortunately for him, looks can’t kill.

If they could, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Against your better judgment — again — you give in to the primal part of your brain that begs for self-preservation. Your muscles are stiff after so much time spent in knots, and they ache as you push yourself off the ground. Your joints protest too, clicking uncomfortably as they resettle. Wordlessly, you ignore the confusion knitting Jungkook’s brows together and cross over to him.

When you reach him, you drop into the space at his side — his good side — and lean against the arm that isn’t trying hard to clot. He doesn’t flinch or attempt to move away, either because he doesn’t have the energy or because he wants to live, too. So, you rest your head against his shoulder and your eyes drift shut as your combined warmth starts to soothe. Eventually, his cheek claims the top of your head. You have to glance up at him to confirm that this is a choice and not a sign.

Still breathing.

For now.

“Boss know how bad your aim is?”

He doesn’t because it isn’t.

You’re an expert marksman — the best of the best — and you don’t miss. Because he knows that, he now knows that your failure to take down the target wasn’t an accident; it was an illusion. Worse, it was a blatant refusal to carry out a direct order. One he gave to you because he’d wholeheartedly believed that you, more than anyone else, could be trusted.

Not like Jungkook, who isn’t the surreptitious infiltrator he thinks he is; and who still doesn’t grasp the rules or the stakes of the game he’s playing.

Who doesn’t know that the purpose of this errand wasn’t to kill a member of the Kim family; or that he was never meant to leave this warehouse with you.

Who will likely die regardless of your subtle attempt to dodge that outcome; and who — like you — didn’t plan more than two steps ahead.

Whose hatred for you and all you stood for was predetermined by circumstance; and who doesn’t know that you know.

It’s not a question when you reply.

“Boss knows you’re a badge, agent.”

[hollybell51]

ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

The other thing

Navigation

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?” 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach. 

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath? 

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.” 

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach. 

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan. 

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy. 

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that. 

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?” 

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!” 

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit. 

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–” 

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” 

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.” 

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.” 

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.” 

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab. 

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).” 

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?” 

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head. 

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat. 

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!” 

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said. 

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same. 

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.” 

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–” 

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.” 

“Dean–” 

“(Y/N) hold on!” 

“Dean!” 

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way. 

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad. 

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.” 

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…” 

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach. 

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been. 

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.” 

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me” 

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips. 

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes. 

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.” 

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.” 

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.” 

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.” 

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.  

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. 

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.” 

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.” 

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...” 

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.” 

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying. 

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.  

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that. 

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?” 

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?” 

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.” 

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. 

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?” 

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.” 

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.” 

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?” 

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.” 

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.” 

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.” 

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.” 

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping. 

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you. 

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually. 

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.” 

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.” 

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face. 

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him. 

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.” 

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again. 

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.” 

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.” 

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!” 

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said. 

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times. 

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand. 

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on. 

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. “She mentioned it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me? 

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.” 

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it. 

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him. 

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing. 

Sam nodded. 

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.” 

“I was too late! She was out!” 

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.” 

“What if–” 

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?” 

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it. 

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.” 

“Good.” 

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing. 

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around. 

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling. 

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?” 

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?” 

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked. 

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned. 

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.” 

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?” 

“And what about you, huh?” 

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself. 

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.” 

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.” 

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face. 

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.” 

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you. 

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?” 

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?” 

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all? 

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.” 

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance. 

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.” 

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?” 

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.” 

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?” 

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.” 

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it. 

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly. 

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair. 

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer. 

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?” 

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. 

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.” 

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop. 

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied. 

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.” 

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced. 

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.” 

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.” 

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck. 

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly. 

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.” 

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go. 

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.” 

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there. 

“What?” you asked. 

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.” 

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler. 

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing. 

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.” 

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.” 

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully. 

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?” 

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” 

“Have a little faith, Sam.” 

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean. 

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”. 

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.” 

“And it’ll be a date?” 

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.” 

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.” 

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Insinuation 2.9 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

 I had been justified in everything I had said and done, right? 

Yes, Taylor, 112 fucking percent.

Maybe it was just because I wasn’t used to violence or raising my voice.

Yes, that's exactly it, now get back to asserting yourself. Even if it does mean leading yourself down the 'Warlord of Brockton Bay' career Path.

Alec grinned as I came back, but I couldn’t decide if it was because he was glad or if it was at my expense. 

Based on what I know of him from fic, probably mostly at your expense, at this point.

“Glad you came back,” Lisa told me, a bit of a smile on her face, “Alec, can you go get the first aid kit?  It might be in the storage closet.”

Lisa probably is. Didn't Taylor remind Lisa of her brother that committed suicide or something?

There was only one spot of real damage, a puncture where it looked like a fang had buried itself deep in the top of my forearm and then dragged an inch or so down towards my wrist as it made its exit.  The area around it was already turning colors with bruising.  I wasn’t sure how deep the puncture was, but I was pretty sure it should have been hurting more than it did.  The blood from the injury had trickled down my arm, and was still welling out.

I shudder to think how many injuries and scars Taylor will have by the end of this

“That was awesome, you know,” Alec told me, as he returned with the first aid kit, “I didn’t think you had it in you to kick someone’s ass.”  I glared at him, but he just sat on the back of the sofa, his legs kicking like an excited kid.

I'm not sure Taylor realized she had it in her, tbh.

Alec complained, “We all do, Brian made us all take a comprehensive class less than a week after we were gathered as a team.  Such a pain in the ass, believe me.  He’ll make you do it too.” “I already did,” I admitted, “One of the first things I did.”

Good old planning schemer Taylor.

Brian just looked at me and flashed that boyish smile again.  I looked away, embarrassed that a guy like him would get pleased like that on my account. 

On the other hand, for all the reasons that people consider Taylor into girls, she definitely does also seem to be pretty clearly into guys.

The other day someone, while making a shitty argument about what fanfic is, said something to the effect of 'brian wasn't shipped with Taylor' in Worm, which... I mean, yes, technically, because OG characters aren't 'shipped' by their own writers, but also like... I mean...

That's pretty fucking shippy text right there.

While Alec continued laughing, Brian got to his feet and ran up to the smaller boy, at which point he got Alec in a headlock and began punching him in the shoulder repeatedly.  This abuse only made Alec laugh harder in between his cries of pain.

Is Alec just a masochist, or what? :rofl: (More likely this is mostly just roughhousing, but w/e)

 “It’s a bit complicated to explain, but basically, Alec can get into people’s nervous systems.  This lets him fire off impulses that set off reflexes or make body parts jerk into motion.  It’s not a dramatic power, but with timing, he can make someone fall over midstep, drop something, lose their sense of balance or pull the trigger on a gun.”

Really, seems like the Undersiders' whole schtick is powers that don't seem flashy but can be overoptimized. That's super powerful, situationally.

Sitting a few feet away, Bitch muttered, “They aren’t freakish.”

Yes, you fucking psychopath, they absolutely are.

(Whether or not I will grow to like her later doesn't mean I like her now)

It was hard to think of Rachel by her real name.  Bitch seemed really fitting given the stunt she had pulled.  I apologized to Lisa, “Sorry.”

Right there with you. But honestly, I'm with the PRT. Hellhound works better. I would not be able to take myself seriously calling someone by the codename 'Bitch' all the time.

Lisa added, “It’s not just hearing.  It also cuts off radio signals and dampens the effects of radiation.”

Powers. Are. Bullshit.

It was like someone had taken a scalpel to reality and the blackness was what was there when everything else was gone.  

So.... Vantablack?

Vantablack.

(Also, that is quite evocative, and yet not descriptive at all, but damn if it doesn't make the point)

“Home, I guess,” I admitted, “My dad will wonder where I am.”

The only member of the Undersiders with a concerned parent.

“Taylor, if there’s anyone that’s making you make this call… the bullies or someone else, tell me everything is fine.  If you’re not in trouble, tell me your mother’s full name.”

And the prize for "Father trying his best to actually be a good dad for change" goes to...

(genuinely though, he is trying)

“Better than ever.  I kind of made some friends,” I said.

I wouldn't go that far yet. You haven't even committed any crimes together yet.

“They seem like good people,” I lied.

I mean, for a given value of 'good', it's not even a lie.

[notjustjavierpena]

Hey! I was- still am obsessed with Switch and tbh, I kinda began yearning for something a previous anon mentioned. What if reader ends up pregnant and both agree on an abortion? I know it's a sensitive topic and you don't have to write anything like it at all if it's a nono, but I wish Joel would have been with me when I went to the clinic. I really missed the comfort and reading something like that would kinda heal a big wound for me, I haven't seen auch a fic anywhere. Again, no pressure, I think anon had a good idea there.

A/N: I made this very short because I wanted to do it tastefully and without too many details. I debated whether to write it because this author (it’s me, i’m the author) got a full hysterectomy three months ago and I still feel a little puzzled by the whole hospital experience. Additionally, this is a continuation of Switch, but it won’t be a canon part of my DBF universe since my Joel would never continue the relationship with reader after this. It would be a deal-breaker.  Furthermore, I wasn't completely sure that this suited the mood of my blog :')

Tags: Angst, hospitals, implied abortion, dbf!joel 

Word count: 472

Dbf!Joel x f!reader

You wake up in a hospital bed with eyes so tired that they make your eyelids sting, nausea present in your empty stomach. It’s all a blur of white, painful and sterile, causing you to look around with slight confusion and panic. 

“You’re awake, let me get a nurse,” Joel’s voice makes you instantly cry from relief. He is just about to leave the tiny hospital room, but stops dead in his tracks as soon as he hears the same sniffles as he had on the phone not long ago when you had told him you were pregnant. 

Were pregnant.

He hates to be the one who makes you cry. 

Whipping around, he goes to stand by your bed. Instinctively, he reaches out to run a hand over your hair in the most parental of ways and it soothes you whilst you push away the thought of how twisted this is. 

“Shh,” he coos, using his knuckles to wipe away a tear that’s on its way down into your ear, “S’alright, baby girl. Everything went according to plan. Nothing to be scared of anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel, I didn’t know who else to bring,” you sob, certain that the pain meds have upped your emotional reaction because your crying turns absolutely uncontrollable. 

Joel feels worse than after any gut punch. He leans down over you, but only slightly so as to make eye contact. His voice is firm but soft, “Listen. It’s okay. Alright? Breathe. You’ll be okay. What were you supposed to do? Go alone?”

You shake your head, fresh tears running down your cheeks so fast that Joel cannot catch them. You avoid his eyes.

“No no, look at me.”

You force yourself to stare up at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, and oh fuck, does he mean it, “This— this, us, can’t happen again. We don’t have to ever speak of it.”

That hurts you more than you thought it would, and you frantically shake your head, “No, no, Joel, no. I don’t want you to leave me hanging.” 

How do you tell him that he had made your loneliness a distant memory when you had been in his arms?

He says your name with a sigh, but you pull him down for a kiss suddenly. You hadn’t kissed during your meeting (You aren’t sure what else to call it) in your room. It takes Joel by surprise, even more when he finds himself kissing you back ever so softly. 

“No, we can’t,” he pushes gently at your chest to stop himself from feeling anything more, and you untangle yourself from him with disappointment. He swears under his breath, fist clenched by his side.

“But Jo–”

“Let me get that nurse.”

You stare down at your hands from where you are lying, not knowing where this’ll go.

[n7punk]

i was watching a video on plagarism in cosplay and the girl making the video managed to put into words something that i've kind of struggled with and tbh am still struggling to adapt to my "field" but. it bugs me so i want to try. also i should say this wicked isn't a problem it has happened to me all of Twice (one from each end) but someone finally summarized why it felt the way it did.

basically, a couple times people have commented on a fic of mine likening it to another that exists. sometimes these are innocuous and even lead me to people with similar headcanons and interpretations of the character as me. sometimes i don't like the other fic so it feels less flattering, but it's by no fault of how the comment itself is written. i've actually written a comment similar to this once and hope it didn't come across as naggy, but i found out someone else used the same prompt as me for catradora, so i basically left a comment about how funny it was that two people saw that inspiration source and went "ah yes, this could be catradora." it was supposed to be a "like sees like" kind of salute (as well as an acknowledgement that i hadn't seen their fic before as i don't go in the tags often), but i've since gotten comments that i think are trying to at least toe the line of doing the same thing and felt off (bitter, self-promotey, whatever) to me, so i retroactively worry about how they felt about it.

but really this post is about the time i had someone say "is this fic actually inspired by [other fic]" and it was 1) something i'd never heard of and 2) insulting.

so why is it insulting, what did the video finally put into words for me?

when someone accuses you of copying, using/having the same idea as someone else, etc, it is insulting the creative process and labor it took to make it. It's saying that you didn't/couldn't come up with that yourself, that you didn't develop and nurture it and plan out all the impacts this event/plot/au etc would have on the characters; that any time and effort and love you put into it never actually existed because you just stole it from someone else. it's essentially accusing you of being chatgpt, putting someone else's hard work in as input and cranking something cheap and less valuable out instead. they don't care about the work you put in anymore.

like, when i did the bachelorette au, it was straight up inspired by one that existed and i openly sourced that because it deserved it, but even then i still spent hours reading recaps of the show, previously had an interest in the franchise from podcasts, went and read interviews to get an idea of the general timelines, etc. I put a lot of work - my work, unique work, creative work - into crafting an au that, in reality, only shares the phrase "bachelorette au" with the initial source of inspiration (again, a source i love and am happy to credit anyway). if someone else wants to write a cosplay au for catradora, even if they think to do it because they read mine, as long as they're not copying the plot, backstory, etc, i think that would be super cool! honestly, i'd be flattered to be an inspiration source for that, just like i'm flattered when someone takes on one of my headcanons. it's just the basics of how creativity works. no idea, no matter how much it may feel like it, comes from nowhere. you start watching a vintage car tiktok and it puts you on a train of thoughts that eventually leads you to "lol but adora bent over the hood of her broken down car" and then you build that out until it is its own world with plot, backstory, and characters who have been tweaked by living in this different environment.

anyway, i know i've been incredibly unconcise but it boils down to creativity being a lot of effort and it doesn't feel good when people claim you didn't put in all that effort ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ man this post could have been so much shorter. should i edit it. aw fuck i have to be at work at nine tomorrow. yeah no lmao

[cas-skz]

Protector

Changbin x Fem!reader

After a close call the previous night, you wake up at in your bodyguards apartment and his findings lead to something new

18+ MDNI!!! plz n thnx

WARNINGS: Mentions of drug use (coke) and being roofied, stranger danger, cursing,

BTS & SKZ FIC REQUETS: OPEN

EDITORS NOTE: yuuz hello. I may make this a series tbh. What do you think? Lil mafia secret relationship. Anywhoooz i hope you like it. love you always cas xx

CREDIT: @littleforeignaffairs

"How long have you been doing this?" Changbin questioned, his voice filled with anger and concern as a bag of coke landed on the table in front of you. You blink blankly at your body guard, hands gripping into the couch. Changbin had taken you to his place after your night out with the girls, carefree and partying until the early hours of the morning. Everything was running smoothly during the night, until a random guy had slipped something into your drink and tried to sneak you out of the club. Changbin wasn't planning on letting that happen, quickly catching up and laying out the stranger with a few punches. You had blacked out after that.

"Hey." He snapped his fingers, trying to get you out of the daze you were in. "It doesn't matter Binn." You said quietly, voice shaky as you tugged at the hem of the oversized shirt he had given you. "It does. It matters to me." You couldn't help but snicker at his remark. Sure, you had a close relationship with him and even found yourself admiring him from time to time. "Bullshit. You're just on Daddy's payroll."

The tension in the air thickened. You could tell by his face that Changbin had taken offense to your words. Rising to your feet, you took a step towards him, anger burning in your chest. "Isn't that right Binnie? I'm just another days work. So why the fuck do you care if I'm doing coke?" His thumb ran along the corner of his lip as he scoffed at you, shaking his head as his eyes pierced daggers into yours. "You know I fucking care about you."

"Bullshit." You half laugh, your jaw clenching slightly. "No one gives a shit about me."

It's how you felt most of your life, the middle child who was constantly forgotten. Overshadowed by your brothers who proudly followed in your dad's footsteps. Why they'd want to deal with illegal international trades was beyond you, but it was the family business.

Changbin had came into your life two years ago after a break-in left you afraid to be alone. Your father insured it would be a temporary thing but he still hadn't been dismissed. The two of you had built a friendship over time and Binn was even there to console you after a rough breakup. Now, standing in his apartment, wearing his shirt. It felt unfamiliar.

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't care." His words were soft as he took a step towards you, his brown eyes scanning your face. "He was going to hurt you and mixing a bunch of drugs? Do you realize how badly that could go." His voice trailed, eyes dropping as he started to walk towards the kitchen. Your hand unconsciously reached out in attempt stop him, but Changbin shook you off.

The apartment fell silent for a bit, Changbin leaning against his kitchen counter, strong arms folded across his chest. You hadn't moved, your mind was racing with memories of how many times he had been there for you. Not only as a bodyguard, but as a real friend. Something you didn't think you had.

Creeping into the kitchen, your heart dropped at the sight of tears streaming slowly down his face. His eyes red from his attempt to hold back his emotions. It left you speechless and confused but your feet moved across the floor. Your hand easily cupped his face, thumb gently wiping his cheek as if you'd comforted him a million times before. His hand wrapped around your wrist, not moving but just gently holding as his eyes locked with yours, lingering for a long moment.

His lips were gentle when they pressed against yours, lingering before pulling away slightly, only for you to finally return the kiss. A warm drop hit your cheek as you melted into him, his hand sliding down your arm to gently rest on your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. Kissing Changbin felt right, causing flips in your stomach as it deepened, your bodies pulling closer together.

"Y/n .." He whispered against your lips, his head pressing into yours. "Don't do this cause you feel bad." Your eyes opened to meet his, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "I did it because it felt right." You returned your lips to his, hand running down his chest and across his hands before resting on his stomach.

His arms quickly swooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms easily resting on his shoulders. It gave you goosebumps and you almost felt silly for not realizing just how good of a man he was. You messed his hair slightly, poking his cheek before kissing his nose. “I always thought you were cute.”

[coldpintglass]

👩‍🏭! 🌝! 🥇! Tell us! x

Laura, HELLO!!! I AM KISSING YOU ON THE LIPS, also I have to ask you a question back as a fantastic writer yourself!!!!!

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Lmao, truthfully? It’s going to be that WIP SouthKane dead dove I shared in question I answered from River….! It’s at the bottom under a read more if I can tempt anyone 😬 

Will probably get me chucked into the Hauge, if only because making men who are beige and otherwise pleasant into whatever the fuck that is. Well. JAIL. JAIL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS!!!! 

(Can’t help it I’m afraid, I love making Southgate have Attachment Issues(tm) to Harold 🤷‍♀️ 

…

Sorry what’s that? I’ve been told my lawyer is dropping me due to “incriminating incompetence”. Oops!) 

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

IAN WRIGHT!!!!! Jill Scott and Paul Scholes as well  - they’ve all got such wonderfully distinct ways of speaking and I think they’re totally charming as well. I have something (two somethings actually!!!) in the works with Ian and I’m excited to get back to it tbh. Jill is just such a laugh, I want to shove her in something so bad. And Scholesey….. the perfect foil to Gary 

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

How much I’ve written and actually how I find I can reread all three without cringing! That’s not to say I think they’re like perfect or amazing or the best thing ever - but I am satisfied I’ve done a good job with something others will enjoy. 

Tbh, having people (like you!!!) who are enthusiastic and happy to leave feedback is so encouraging. I can’t tell you what a breath of fresh air it is to be in a fandom that has people cheering you on from the sidelines and actually comments. It’s dreamy 💖

[just-jordie-things]

your writing is so so good do u have any tips? hope u have a great day! ^^

i’ve never been asked this before! i had to think about it!

a biggie take your time finding your style- as you can see on my masterlist i have a looot of shit on there from years of writing fanfic and experimenting. getting out of my comfort zone can be kinda hard for me personally, but with writing it was so worth it bc you can really see a metamorphosis there of when i was writing just to write and when i was writing with a drive.

don’t be afraid to ignore the rules of grammar. run on sentences are beautiful. i’ve found that especially so when the plot is driven by someone’s stream of consciousness as though they’re narrating it. thoughts are messy, they’re long and sometimes awkward and there’s no such thing as grammar in your mind !! of course spelling and punctuation are important and i’d recommend editing tho (idk her 😳) but get creative with it!!

thesaurus.com is my bestie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 i often find myself using a lot of the same words and i don’t want to bore readers with repetitiveness! and also it’s just an easy way to expand my vocabulary too. (in person i stammer and have the reach of a fourth grader lmfao so i always want my writing to be concise and make the reader feel exactly what i want them to with my language)

also something i’ve started doing recently !! when i’m away from my wip and daydream about it, i write it down right away! in my notes app or on sticky notes or even my hand hehe. sure if it’s a significant enough plot point i’ll probably remember… but there’s no time like the present!! i want A to look at B a little differently in that one quick scene? i want to make them eat something different for foreshadowing? little details like that can be huge in your writing !! something a reader might gloss over but then realize later it was all a part of a greater scheme?? yes. so take note of those thoughts and daydreams you have !! even if you don’t end up adding it to your work, it’s better than having a profound, fic changing idea that you forget before you get the chance to write it!

this one is simple but a biggie- think about what you would want to read. i’ve been trying to keep this in mind as of late, especially when writing longer pieces where i want to make y’all suffer. find new ways to build the tension in your plot. give us different points of view, give us an untrustworthy narrator that thinks they’ve got it all figured out. throw in extra conflict. fanfiction is the melting pot of whatever the fuck you want !! so go stupid go crazy and make it something you love, and you should be good to go!! not to be cheesy but as long as you love it then you’re solid. doing something you love over and over will naturally lead you through growth and finding your style. don’t be wrapped up in notes right away (yes it can be a bit of an issue on this app- but none of has have control over how people enjoy your work- so you might as well focus on enjoying it for yourself) because as long as you’re doing something you’re passionate about and sharing it with us, more people will soon flock to enjoy it with you <3

lastly i just enjoy making mini playlists for whatever i’m currently working on. they don’t have to correlate completely with your plot. sometimes the sound of a beat is good enough for me to throw it on. if it gets me excited and planning out scenes i haven’t gotten to yet then it’s good enough for me!! i will listen to the same song on repeat in the name of ✨vibes✨ even if the words themselves have nothing to do with the plot i’m writing. that’s probably lazy basic advice but it works well for me and i love listening to music so !!

i hope this helps, and i wish you all kinds of luck as you explore this hobby for yourself !! it can be so freeing to get lost in your own work, and tbh sometimes i feel a little cringe about writing fanfiction but… i just adore it. it’s my favorite thing to do and when i think like that i stomp it down bc i’m proud of my work! i’m proud of how far i’ve come and i’m eager to see what i can push myself towards next!!!

happy writing, happy reading, and if you ever need more help i’m happy to do the best i can for ya! this goes for anyone, please always feel free to reach out even if you just want to talk brainrot. making friends thru this hobby is amazing bc like-interests are 💞🩷

xoxo ~ jordie

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Bro, I just discorved your "Hands that hurt" fic and deadass read through it the whole night until I noticed it was already day 💀 like man did I srs love the conflict, and tension between Arthur Y/n! Tbh, I'm glad that I got in the right time for you to be writing the fic or rather rewriting it which im also excited for what new you could bring. That reminds that I do have some suggestions and maybe critique so I hope don't come off rude.

1. I would LOVE to see more about Y/N and Arthur's relationship from when they were young, especially with meeting John and the others thought out the years. It doesn't need to be completely the whole past event but perhaps important ones like the whole Mary and Arthur drama, Y/n going through how she feels about Arthur, and even Eliza and Issac event. This would not only would make us to get better eye to how Arthur and Y/n went from X to Y but feel us even more sad for Y/N who wanted to be with Arthur but couldn't. Although I know that would crave more creative for you to bear on how to write these events so dont stress yourself about it if you can't.

2. It would be cool if we could explore more about Y/N, especially with her wants, motive, belief and even more flaws that stand her out. I already love Y/N as she is though, I think the mildly annoying thing I had with her is how passive she is sometimes. MC don't need to be always active but seeing how she can only nod, agree or disagree, and not say anything. Now I know that Y/N is reader insert so I can understand why she is like this, but having her to talk up on others flaws when nobody can't, being a leader when she don't notice, showing us more how she struggle being the only women in man work where she is daily discriminated by other men and high society women. I could go on about that but it would be very long so.

I think that's it for what I can think of but I just want to say that I really love your story and looking forward more in the future hopefully! I clearly care about fanfic writers on wanting to improve to be better since I believe that even a fanfic can change a person's life better! Your fanfic don't need to be that of course, as long you have a good character with good development and everything else then your good!

Anon, you don’t know how happy it is to see that someone is still reading Hands That Hurt. I’m incredibly touched and honestly almost feel like crying lol

I appreciate your feedback and luckily since I was planning on rewriting the entire thing, I will most likely end up changing some of the stuff you talked about. I will end up making a post on the actual story to announce it will be rewritten and with the intended changes I want to make

This was my first actual real attempt at writing a fanfiction that had multiple chapters so there will be a lot of things and mistakes that I wish weren’t in there lol

1. I did end up wanting to do more with them as younger but it just never panned out to being like that, however I do believe now that I’ve had time to sit on it and time to overlook what I’ve written I might try to add small little snippets in there unless it fucks with the pacing

2. The reader, or “Y/n” (this might change) since it follows the main storyline of the game pretty closely wasn’t supposed to technically be the main character, you were supposed to be an onlooker to the story that unfolds in mind which was just a thing I was trying to experiment with however now that you’ve pointed it out I do understand where you’re coming from and will most likely change that as well. I kept the reader mostly a blank slate because it is a reader insert and I didn’t want to end up making it an OC when it’s not supposed to be, so that’s why it mainly feels like you are passive in the story.

I’ve learned more through writing other fics that it’s okay to give a little something more to the reader insert since it is interactive fiction and that’s just how it is.

Anyway! I just wanted to acknowledge your points but thank you so much for letting me know you read the story and enjoyed it. I hope to get into rewriting it (and finishing it) soon

[lilliths-httyd-blog]

Hi I have an odd question I’ve recently decided to get back into my old personal Viggo lives comic: “Beyond the Horizon” after seeing/reading other’s rtte art, theories, fics, and head canons on it (tbh your VLAU fic was definitely the kicker that made me want to get back into my comic) but I don’t want to seem like I’m copying or stealing ideas so I was wondering if you had any alternate names for Viggo’s Skrill (also some writing tips would be very helpful since I’m very rusty ;-;)

i mean

this is how i named viggo's skrill to begin with. just a random fucking chapter of a fic i started in early 2022 and abandoned until recently. i justified my choice of name because this bitch from black butler is also called beast and i think she's hot

in VLAU that story viggo referenced liking as a child about the boy with the magic eye was a reference to black butler i shit you not. i don't even like black butler anymore i haven't watched it in years and don't plan on watching it again any time soon.

i find using the Wings of Fire format of names really helps when naming dragons. lets look at the character names in WoF: Clay, Sunny, Starflight, Tsunami, Glory, Moonwatcher, Kinkajou, Deathbringer, Winter, Peril, Quibli and Turtle are some of the significant ones. go for something weather/sky/space themed for a skrill. just like that. combine weirder shit for the viking feel like hookfang or stormfly. but then you've also got like skullcrusher and cloudjumper so it's good. and then just words like barf, belch, toothless and grump so that works. steal the name Thunder from NR out of spite.

you can also search for old norse words that we're aware of and just find one that sounds like a name with a nice meaning if you want to be fancy and preppy.

another way i like to do it is steal species names from the httyd books like i'll just open up my copy of the incomplete book of dragons until i find something nice like... stickyworm? no... vorpent? no... toxic nightshade... NIGHTSHADE that would be a good name for a skrill you can use that if you want. doomfang seems like more of a dagur name than a viggo name but thats still a bangin skrill name.

and uhhh writing tips uhhhhh. i mean i don't got nothing tbh. be as self indulgent as you want. not everything has to live up to the standards of Scholars Mate and Choosing to Forget not everything has to be that good. my VLAU is genuinely just 17+(?) chapters of fluff and angst and vigcup being adorable and its just me projecting a bunch of my stupid little OOC headcanons onto my stupid little adhd blorbos. my other fics were either me being angsty, me listening a little too much to the httyd soundtrack, me just fucking daydreaming about random shit, or me going HAHAHAHAHAHA LETS MAKE VIGGO'S LIFE A LIVING HEL. i find inspiration from the most random shit. i took a bath once and when i hopped in my cold little toes burned like fire in the hot water and then i tried this coconut shampoo and now i have an entire WIP based on that one experience. there's no fancy thought or writing process behind it there's no "first drafts" (probably cuz i edit as i go lmao) there's no immaculate planning every little detail of the fic. it's just little magpie me going "oh shiny oh shiny oh shiny oh shiny" and then making a mosaic out of all the shitty pieces of glass i've found and somehow a couple people find the mosaic pretty so i am proud because i worked hard on it. and lemme tell you, writing self indulgent fanfiction where im not trying to please anyone except myself is so much fun like i've literally written about viggo being the twin's cousin and i literally made viggo a soft poetry boi and its just fun. i know some people aren't into that or aren't interested and thats fine they don t have to read it. write for yourself you don't even have to be good at it just do it who cares. thats the best advice i can give. just do whatever the fuck you fucking want