bobbertskeetz

[bobbertskeetz]

practical writing advice

part 2

avoid writing in bed if you can. writing in bed is the mind-killer. writing in bed is the little death that brings obliteration. you may think "but i can write AND be cozy" you will get sleepy so fast. 98% of the time when i try to get a nighttime writing session done in bed i go to sleep. maybe 70% of the time if it's an afternoon writing session. also it fucking kills your wrists.

STRETCH before writing. stretch as many parts of your body as possible ESPECIALLY YOUR WRISTS! i have chronic tendonitis in both of my arms from not doing this and it is manageable but it is Not Fun!

plug your phone in on the other side of the room. better yet, plug it in and leave it in another room. better yet, power it off and leave it in another room. "i'll just check one quick thing" do not underestimate the power of the doomscroll.

do a warmup. look up writing prompts (i like one-word prompts or prompts that focus on a general theme as it's easier to integrate into my writing style), set a timer for fifteen minutes, or ten, or five, and go ham. make it shitty or incomprehensible, as long as you make it. create a dump document for all your warmups. i currently have two novels in the works that started as one of these fifteen minute little warmups.

pick your background noise ahead of time if you use it, and look for something long. i listen to 3-hour-long silent hill ambient mixes on youtube dot com.

take breaks. around every 45 minutes, as i'm noticing myself begin to lose focus, i get up, grab a drink, get my blood flowing, and give myself some space to breathe.

sometimes i sit down to write and i think "every atom in my body is averse to doing this right now. i would rather dance barefoot on a bed of nails than open my laptop and start typing." and you know what i do? i go do something else instead. don't force it! it will become a chore.

that being said! write as often as possible. try to write every day. try to write at the same time. don't beat yourself up if you can’t, BUT the more often you write, the more often you'll want to write.

if you're stuck on a scene or a page or a chapter, go back to the last place where you felt like you knew what you were doing and start writing from there. keep a copy of your other writing in case you want to reuse it or refer back!

i don't know if this is something that will be helpful for other people but i start mentally preparing myself for my writing session a few hours ahead of time. i will say to myself, "today, at this time, i'm gonna sit down and write that scene where mina walks out on her book club, and it's going to be awesome and i'm looking forward to it." then, by the time i actually begin, i basically have the whole thing written out in my head and can just put it down to paper. it's a good way to at least kickstart the session !

ok thanks bye

[bobbertskeetz]

The Trap At Hand

My love burns dimly in the shadows, Neglected and all adorned In endearments, kisses and part-time riddles Of similar sentiments, recently bored.

My heart she aches for you, long gone. Our days, we bid adieu. You once told me you truly believed I would always come back to you. The long lost bright and brilliant beauty Now fizzles to a flame; My heart, she cries for days gone by. My heart, now mangled and mamed.

The flame spits on Now dangerous and drawn To the trap at hand. Dancing high to the brim of a battered soul; Eternally, occupied by a man.

[bobbertskeetz]

“you’re a writer, right?”

me, staring at the one sentence i’ve managed to add in the last hour and the 12 open tabs on the specifics of shoes in 1845 Ireland: In theory.

[bobbertskeetz]

I’m writing my novel atm I’m so sorry for taking so long to come back to these requests, I promise I’m working on them my lovelies!!🤍

As I mentioned before, I’m currently writing a novel and it has been in the works for the past 3 years… I was wondering if it would be worth it if I posted little snippets from it for you all to see? I’m a little unsure of how it would be received by readers and would appreciate any and all feedback, good or bad, that I could get.

[bobbertskeetz]

𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗗

all newest to oldest

page one

bombshell au

soft spot au

stripper au

new to the team au

single dad spencer

hotchner!reader

[bobbertskeetz]

garcia imagine almost finished and the second I add the description I hate it.. why am I like this

[bobbertskeetz]

Hi! How are You? Hope u are good.

Can I request Spencer with a reader that had unsub parents? It can be female ir male

You can ignore this is You want! Thank u for hearing me

I'm so sorry for the delay on this request, I'm crap at trying to come up with unsub plot lines but I hope this somewhat lives up to the imagine you had envisioned my love !! Thanks a million for the request and I hope you enjoy <3

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ ꜱ.ʀ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: After half a decade, Spencer's worst fears are assumed to come true...

Themes/Warnings: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, mentions of kidnapping, unsub parents, angst, general themes and violence of the show. | PSA!! This imagine is loosely based on Mosely Lane |

You hated having your picture taken. The knowledge that you could never truly have control over what will be done with it haunts you even to this day.

The physical danger may be gone, but your memory, one which was shared with the many children who, unfortunately, found themselves locked away behind the dingy cellar door, forever remains.

Spencer knew of the horror stories. Of course he did. You made it your mission to tell him yourself before one of his FBI buddies could find out for themselves. However, hearing the admissions fall from your mouth did nothing to soothe Spencer's fear and anger. Fear, for your safety. Anger, for the knowledge that you lived in fear for the majority of your life. Anger, for the knowledge that the only thing separating you from your parents was a couple layers of cement and a cell door. He knew first hand just how ineffective prison can be for victims safety - if an unsub wanted to achieve something or other, all it took was speaking with the right person. He hated that he knew that.

Especially when he received a token in the mail.

A small parcel, barely the size of his palm. A little thin package addressed to Whom It May Concern. Assuming nothing of it, he opened it. You had already left for work, bidding him his goodbye kiss and promising a home cooked meal by the time he returned from the office. There was no sense in waiting until you were both home to open it, what if it was urgent?

And so he did.

And oh how he wished he never had.

There in his hand, sat a small polaroid of a child. At first, he didn't recognise you - for the ten years he had known you, and the five you spent living together, you have all but refused to dig up any childhood photographs. However, the longer he stared, the more he noticed your teary eyes. Your scrunched nose and furrowed brows. The same expression you wear to this day when you wake from a nightmare, when you watch a scary movie, and when you first told him of the horror house your parents ran. When you told him of the polaroids you were forced to take of your 'brothers' and 'sisters', and of your task of lugging those who disobeyed your mother to the crematorium.

Yet you'd failed to tell him that your picture was taken along with the other victims. That your little face had been a part of the morbid photo album which remained in the evidence case. Perhaps you didn't know? Did you even remember having this picture taken, you couldn't have been more than 7 years old. Spencer felt sick. Suddenly, it dawned on him what he was holding. How did he come to have this. Who had left this at your shared doorstep. They knew where you lived.

They knew where you lived.

He just about caught the bile in his throat before he felt his pocket buzz.

Struggling to pull his gaze from the omen in his hand, he reached for his phone and answered, failing to see the caller ID.

"Reid?"

"Yeah. Hotch I know, but I might be a bit late."

Before he could provide a half-assed excuse to buy himself some time - time to think on how he was to go about bringing this up to you and the team - Hotch beat him to it.

"Reid," His voice was solemn, yet calculated, "We've received a package. Well - JJ has."

"It's them Hotch."

The silence was pregnant. Deafening.

"I know."

--

Your foot shook, in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. The fluorescent glow of the BAU was straining your eyes, leaving a slight pound in your temples. However, the main focus of your stress induced headache remained on the ambiguity surrounding as to why David Rossi appeared at your work to escort you to Quantico. And why your boyfriend has locked himself and Aaron away in the conference room for the last forty minutes. You were scared. You couldn't let it show, you'd learnt that the hard way. But, in a room full of profilers, it was hard to hide - you were convinced that they could all genuinely smell fear.

In fact, your fear was so prominent, you failed to hear Morgan calling your name until he was crouched in front of you.

"How bout we go into Reid now, huh?" You met his eye only briefly.

Carefully, you chose your next words, "Will you all tell me what's going on?" Pleading with your eyes, Morgan felt his stomach twist.

"C'mon sweetheart."

You didn't take much convincing. All you wanted was Spencer, to curl up into him and forget all about this disruption to your day. Part of you began to wonder if you were being completely over dramatic and misreading the situation, maybe he had a surprise for you. A date? But you knew, in your gut you knew. They'd come back to haunt you. Why else would this dread be bubbling in your stomach?

Derek opened the door for you, leading you gently by the shoulder. There, you saw your boyfriend, bent over the table resting his hands on either side of what looked to me scraps of paper. His sleeves had been messily pushed up over his elbows, top button undone and his hair was tussled, a tell-tale sign that he had been pushing his hands through his curls. But for why? You still didn't truly know.

He looked up. His stomach dropped.

Wringing your fingers together, you stood before him with a sheepish look across your face. He knew you suspected something, something bad. And maybe you were right. It still didn't make telling you any easier.

"C'mere honey," He held his arm out to you, inviting you to slot into his chest, "Can you look at these with me? I'm right here."

You wished you'd stayed at work.

There on the table in front of you, sat three polaroids. One, you recognised to be Laney, the girl you had befriended for years. The photo, you had taken of her, as you had of all the others, to keep in an album. Why? You didn't know. Proof? Maybe a part of you knew that one day the horror would stop, and you'd need to show someone some day what had happened in your house. Someone had to remember all those who couldn't survive. Like your Laney.

The other two forced your head to bury itself into Spencer's chest; one, was of your bedroom, or rather your cell, and one of you. Little you. When it was taken, who had taken it? You weren't so sure. Laney? Your father? Everything was a fuzzy mess of guilt, shame and fear, so much so you couldn't remember the half of it.

The one thing you knew for certain, you remembered hating having that photo taken. For what reason? You couldn't place. But you did know that to this day, you still hated having your picture taken. That would never change.

"Where did you find these?" He almost missed your words completely, you spoke so softly, voice strained and distant.

A shaky breath left his lips.

"They found us angel, I'm so sorry."

Your heart lurched. Surely you had heard him wrong. You asked him, silently begging you had indeed misheard, but to your horror, that just was not the case.

Just then, JJ stepped forward, a small piece of paper outstretched to you, "Spence received the one of you at your home. We were sent the other two here, along with this note."

Shakily, you grasped for the paper, sparing Spencer a short glance before guiding your eyes to the words scrawled out in front of you.

Your old home address, a date and time. A demand for you to be there alone, or you would be 'collected' regardless of your showing up or not.

Your head spun, had it not been for Spencer's firm grasp around your waist, you were sure you'd have collapsed then and there.

Tears welled up as your eyes locked with his. His own frown matching the drop in your stomach.

They were back. You both knew it, and for once, Spencer didn't have all the answers.

[bobbertskeetz]

what about aaron x inexperienced!reader,(Maybe she's a teacher? Or is that too close to ur other teacher ones?) who's like in her 30s but has never been in a relationship so is surprised when hotch asks her out, and she wants to date him yes but she is so awkward about it. She does not know how to date or flirt it's painful and funny, and this poor middle aged man has to navigate it because he likes her

“Hello.” 

Hotch talks to you with a fondness that gives him away, he knows. He likes your surprise too much. 

You flinch a few steps from your front door with one earphone in, the other falling out at your sudden movement. When you turn to him, he thinks you’re prettier than you know. You're shy and then smiling, all surprise swapped for an eagerness to see him. 

“Hi, Aaron. What are you doing here?” 

He’d parked at the end of your street to stop your annoying neighbours complaining, and it’s no surprise you hadn’t heard him coming —he can be light on his feet when he wants to be— yet he can’t help feeling remorseful for sneaking up on you when he hears that breathlessness that colours your tone. 

He laughs. “Sorry, honey. Would you have liked some warning?” 

And flirting is just as bad as sneaking. He can practically see the steam pouring from your ears as you realise what it is he’s doing. “Yes,” you say weakly. “I think so.” 

Hotch closes the stretch of sidewalk and gravel driveway between you to stop just in front of you. “Sorry. Can I apologise? Is that okay?” 

“What–” You clutch your phone and keys to your stomach. “What sort of apology?” 

“A gentle one.” He raises his brows. 

You touch his chest hesitantly. Hotch grins at your silent go-ahead, taking your upper arm into a hand to hold you as he ducks his head carefully to one side and leans in, your eyes falling shut. Your lips connect, a kiss he’d describe as tame and you perhaps wouldn’t shared between you. He’s very careful with you in your shyness, but his hand gets away from him, squeezing up your shoulder until his thumb is rubbing at your neck. You kiss back slowly. His chest burns with it. 

He turns his head and takes a short second kiss, leaning away reluctantly. 

He wants to ask, Forgive me? but he fears that’ll send you into a meltdown. Your eyes flutter open, mildly, mildly dazed, and he doesn’t have the self control to stop from stealing half a hug. Face pressed to yours, his lips on your forehead. 

“I’ve come to see you because JJ thinks we might be requested out of state tomorrow. Or, she’s hoping we will be. There’s a bad case she’s following in Tampa that won’t accept our help.” Hotch pulls away to see you clearly. “Are you busy?” 

“No.” You clear your throat. “No, I’m not busy. You’re welcome. I mean, you’re always welcome to come see me.” 

You’re so apologetic about it that Hotch actually considers sitting you down for the conversation he’s been planning early. It’s evident to him that you are… inexperienced. Hotch is in no rush, and so doesn’t care nor mind, and surely wouldn’t care anyhow. But he doesn’t like that you seem to mind. 

He quite enjoys you. It’s amazingly enjoyable to be met with this much timidity; it’s both endearing to watch you fluster and gratifying to think he can have this effect on you. It is only occasionally exhausting. (See: when he tried to rub an eyelash off of the well of your eye at dinner and you immediately closed your eyes to wait for it to be over, and then stammered for the rest of the evening, despite his well-intentioned hand on your thigh that failed to calm you.) 

“What do you want to do?” you ask. 

Honestly, he’s not fussy. Hotch just wanted time in your company. He thought about it on the way over, and he knows that women appreciate dinner and drinks and being shown proudly, but he also knows you for who you are, and he assumes that without prior warning, you’ll likely want something small. Takeout, a cable box office movie. He wants to hold your hand and he wants to lay you out and kiss you, too, but mostly he wants to see your smile when you’re relaxed. It’s ten times as beautiful as the flustered one. Your eyes get heavy and you let yourself press your cheek to his shoulder when the lights are off. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides your lips back to his. 

There’s time for both tonight, kissing and your smile. 

“I have some stuff to grade,” you say, letting your face fall forward, your nose to his lips. “Lots of stuff I’ve been putting off, but I– I’m a free agent after that.” 

“Then let’s grade them, honey.” 

“I’ll order in?” you ask tentatively. 

“Yeah, whatever you want.” You laugh guiltily. He pulls back. “What? What’s that laugh mean?” 

“I think we should go inside.” 

You offer your hand, which he takes, but he’s too stubborn to let it go as you lead him to your door. “What’s funny? Don’t make me ask you again.” 

You laugh again. “Aaron, if I told you what I want, I think I’d spend the next week in hiding. Or hospital.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Stop. Just… let me grade my milk cartons and tease me afterward.” 

Hotch smiles to himself and gives the back of your hand a loving rub. It’s as good a plan as any for the night. 

[bobbertskeetz]

hi !!! just wanted to hop on here and let it be known that i haven’t forgotten about these requests i promise… they’re all in the works as we speak :) thanks so much for the patience 🤍

[bobbertskeetz]

happy father’s day to the one and only aaron hotchner <3

[bobbertskeetz]

i want to coin a phrase that's the opposite of writer's block. call it the muse's fire hydrant. thirty thousand story ideas are being beamed directly into your brain and if you don't write them all at once you will die.

[bobbertskeetz]

Me to my draft: You are a oneshot.

The draft: Wrong. I am the pilot chapter of a multichapter fic that you do not have the bandwidth to take on, but will haunt your every waking thought anyway.

[bobbertskeetz]

Derek Morgan x Female!Reader

maybe something where reader goes into labor while Derek is away on a case or reader surprises Derek with a visit to the office and brings their new born along with her ( kinds how Haley did with Jack in the earlier seasons )

AHHHH!! love this one, thank you very much for the request. Actually thinking of combining both of these into a two part imagine?? For now though, enjoy panicked Derek <3

𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙡𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙙.𝙢 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Summary: Despite his desperate attempts to be by your side 24/7, Derek is convinced the universe is out to get him during the final days of your pregnancy

Themes/Warnings: pregnant!reader, fiance!derek, general themes of the show e.g unsubs, graphic cases (not in depth detail) fem!reader, fluff fluff Fluff!!! angst if you squint...

"Don't-"

"Derek please."

"Sit! Ah ah, stay... good girl, you get a treat."

A quick sloppy kiss is planted on your left cheek while Derek holds you down by the shoulders, trapping you in place in the nest of pillows and blankets he created to accomodate your swollen stomach and achy back. Your fiance stands behind you, knees kneeling on the arm rest, while he massages the knot growing at the base of your neck, while you lightly scoff.

"Speak to me like that again and I will knife you."

"Easy Mama, you shouldn't model such a hostile attitude for the little man!"

Reaching up behind you, you grasp at his neck gently, bringing him back down to your level for a kiss. The kiss goodbye which you had previously attempted to get up and give him, before he left for God knows how long.

A cheeky grin grew on his lips as you moved to his ear with a whisper;

"She, will be the most well-mannered child ever born, taking after her mother..."

"Bet?"

"Shut up," another kiss lands on his lips, "Hotch is waiting."

Derek lets a low groan, one saturated in frustration, slowly spill into your shared kisses. Eyebrows furrowed together, accompanied by a small frown, he allows his head to lull to one side, rubbing the pad of his thumb tenderly along your jawline.

"Don't dare move from this couch, Sweetheart. Not without Garcia or your mother here to help you out."

"Der-"

"Humour me gorgeous?"

A final kiss, and a huff;

"Fine."

You can't find it in yourself to feel any sort of remorse for agreeing to his terms as his blinding toothy grin leaves a fuzzy warmth budding in the pit of your stomach. What harm will a few days on the sofa do you anyhow?

Hotch was growing impatient, although, trying his best to remain understanding. He knew how hard it was, how the guilt of leaving your pregnant partner at home eats you alive. However, these were the demands of the job. One last nagging phone call from Hotch, and Derek was half way out the door, reminding you of the meals in the fridge (kindly prepared that morning by Penelope) and of the vitamin supplements you have to take before you go to bed.

With a swift, yet endearing exchange of I love you's, Derek was finally on his way to Florida. He knew it was silly, hating an arsonist more for taking him away from his growing family, than the actual crimes committed. Yet, these were the demands of matrimony and fatherhood.

--

Three days of couch-rotting down, and you were verging on insanity. Every slight movement left a series of uncomfortable spasms in your joints, the braxon hicks were something serious, and you constantly felt as though you had a gaping hole in your stomach, almost as if you were riding a never ending rollercoaster. Baby Morgan needed to make an appearence soon, or she would have to be evicted.

With twenty minutes left on the clock before your mother was scheduled to come and help you to the bath, you awoke from your half-sleep with a start. Why were your sweatpants sticking to your thighs?

Yes, Derek forbid you from moving unless absolutely necessary, however, peeing yourself was definitely classed as an emergancy. Except, you hadn't. There, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, sat a weird bloody substance on the line of your underwear.

Fuck. Me.

Immediately you called your fiance. Should you be calling him first? What's he going to do from Florida? This was a bad idea, he's busy after all... But, before your anxiety could hang up the phone, the one voice you so desperately needed sang down the line like a prayer.

"Hey gorgeous girl, how's my little famil-"

"Baby! Now- baby is- Help."

"What?! Sweetheart hold on, are you sure?"

"Honey, my mucus plug is very much unplugged and my abdomen is being ripped apart."

A sharp wail escaped you as a dull ache made itself known in the pits of your cervix, and then the anger came.

"Derek. I need you. Now."

"Everything is going to be just fine sweetheart, let me call-"

"No! Don't leave me, please don't leave me."

"Okay angel, I'm right here." His assurance soothed you for the time being, both of you awaiting your mother's arrival. And it was safe to say, Derek was sick to his stomach.

--

Every damn day. Every day he tried his hardest to be there, especially nearing the end of your third trimester. His biggest fear was accidentally leaving you alone when that one awaited moment came; and his greatest nightmare had just come true.

"I should've been there Reid!"

Spencer nodded, sympathetically, "You couldn't have predicted this."

"Well, I should've. Fuck. It's just exactly what I should've predicted" He felt as though he could cry, and stifling a sniffle he continued, "Of course the second I leave that's when the little guy decides to make an appearance."

"Murphy's law! Essentially everything that could go wrong will go wrong. Named after Edward A. Murphy Jr, for centuries this belief has plagued several societies-"

"Spence." JJ shook her head gently, nudging it towards Derek's defeated countenance.

Grimacing, Spencer blushed and tried again, "Morgan, honestly you couldn't have done any more than you already have."

JJ then chimed in, "She's not holding this against you, shit happens, and you are getting ready to go home right now! I mean - you got the call a half hour ago, and already the jet's almost ready"

Opening his mouth the respond, Derek was cut off by Hotch swinging the precint's office door open, informing him that he could go home.

"Jesus, that fast?"

He was already rushing out of the room when he heard the discussion between JJ and Hotch,

"Special treatment for the family man."

Family man. He was a family man now. Non-commital SSA Derek Morgan had a bride-to-be waiting for him, and a baby on the way. And he could never be happier.

--

Within hours, Derek was bulldozing his way through the ward, stopping every nurse who was unfortunate enough to get in his way, to ask for your room. When he finally found you, he all but fell through the door with panic.

"Is everyone okay?" Kiss. "Hi baby!" Kiss. "Are you okay?! Is baby?"

The tenderness with which he held your face immediately soothed every anxiety within your body, even only momentarily. He was here, he made it. After an elongated silence, you shook yourself into action, reminding yourself that Derek was not a mind reader, despite what his job would lead you to believe.

"Everyone's okay honey, little rascal is still inside me," you replied softly, almost inaudibly, the fear felt previously when you had first called him suddenly returning, "You made it?"

His heart lurched and eyes softened at the vulnerability in your voice, and Derek finally took in the sheet white anxious expression settled on your face. Gently, he clasped his warm hand around your own, careful to avoid tugging at your drip, and dropped a sweet kiss to the cracks of your knuckles.

"I made it sweet girl." Another kiss, then travelling to your trembling lips, "I'll always make it doll. That, I can promise you forever."

[bobbertskeetz]

finally having free time to write is genuinely the best feeling.. cheeky little derek morgan imagine tonight as requested 🥰

[bobbertskeetz]

"not all men."

you're so right, greg montgomery would NEVER

[bobbertskeetz]

greg montgomery you need me