#The writer's block is vanquished

[sunny374940]

Let me hear your joy again

And I am back. Thank you @mercars-musings for the idea 💚

This is a short (and hopefully sweet) piece about Rook receiving a gift from Emmrich. Also, the purring elves hc is returning as I apparently can't get enough.

Here on ao3

And here is the rest of my stories as usual.

Rook was sitting on the small table upstairs in Emmrich's study, sharpening a dagger. He liked to work there, as it allowed him to be close to Emmrich without disturbing him. It was also a great place for a nap and he enjoyed the way he could lie there, basking in the afternoon sun, listening to the scrape of Emmrich's quill from below.

And he knew Emmrich noticed he favored the spot. Pillows appeared there overnight for Rook to recline on, books were removed from the shelf to make space for whatever he wanted to keep there. He smiled to himself and then his ears twitched, as he heard Emmrich call out from below.

“Rook, darling, do you have a moment?”

“Sure, love, what do you need?”

“Not need, as such. I brought you something.”

Emmrich arrived at the top of the stairs and held a small wooden box out to him.

“Oooh, what’s this?” Rook put the dagger down on the table and jumped up to take the box, admiring the intricate carvings on the lid. There were flowers of all kinds, interwoven to create a little wooden meadow.

“Just a little something I spotted at the Treviso market. It made me think of you.”

Rook opened the box and inside, wrapped safely in a bit of silk (lilac, Rook noticed) was a white ceramic cat with vibrant blue eyes, caught in a moment of play, batting around a tiny ball of yarn. Rook took it out to get a proper look.

“Your favorite non-color,” Emmrich said and there was a teasing edge to his voice.

“I had to leave the actual colors for you. You’re better at being poetic about them than I am,” Rook shot back.

Emmrich’s cheeks turned pink at that and Rook found himself grinning happily. He would never get tired of making him blush. And the revenge for all the times Emmrich had done the same to him tasted quite sweet.

He returned his attention to the figurine. It was artfully made, smooth to the touch and it had a slightly mischievous expression, as if the ball of yarn was only the beginning and the next time you saw the cat, it would be climbing up the curtains.

“Thanks, love, it’s beautiful,” he said, kissing Emmrich on the cheek.

“You're welcome darling. The resemblance was too strong, I couldn't resist buying it. It even has your eyes,” Emmrich added with a smirk that had Rook’s eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Are you seriously calling me a cat?” he asked with a touch of indignation. Emmrich's answering laugh was a warm sound, full of love, and Rook couldn't stay annoyed at him.

“Whatever made you think that, darling? The similarities are purely coincidental, I am certain. Climbing into my lap, making the sweetest noises…” Rook felt his cheeks heat up, mind going back to last week’s revelation of his ability to purr, though Emmrich never once teased him about it. He had actually spent most of the past week trying to coax the sound out of him whenever they were alone (to overwhelming success, as Rook just couldn’t resist him). But Emmrich wasn’t finished with his comparison, it seemed.

“And you move with such grace, every movement so precise, that I am unable to tear my eyes away. When you fight, I see the hunter in you and it thrills me to be allowed to witness your deadly intent, the way your body coils tightly moments before you pounce at your prey, blades ready to strike them down. You have the elegance and wild beauty of a predator and I cannot get enough of you.”

Rook was transfixed by the praise falling from Emmrich’s lips, watching him with round eyes, and he was sure his face was burning up now, but he really didn’t care. Only Emmrich could turn comparing him to a cat into waxing poetic about him.

He felt the rumble begin in his throat and old instincts were telling him to make it stop, but he stamped them down, unwilling to hide his happiness from Emmrich. He surged up to kiss him, trying to make known with a kiss what he couldn't put into words.

Emmrich returned the kiss with enthusiasm and stroked at the front of Rook’s neck when they parted, eager to feel the vibration of his purr, eyes lighting up in delight.

“Darling, your joy is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.”

Rook felt the blush spread to the very points of his ears and purred even louder.

[dcawritings]

Hi! I've seen u used social dummy for fake texts, where did u find the app?😅 ive been looking for it for ages and i cant seem to find it? I only found social dummy notes, which does not look like it at all. Or perhaps u have to pay for the pro version which is the one ur using? Helppp plzz🥺

Hello!! I’ve actually had the Social Dummy app for several years now and at that point it was on the apple app store— it actually seems like it’s been removed, and the only reason I have access is because the creators are still supporting the app itself. After a bit of research it seems like they’re planning on getting it available for IOS at some point!

This is google’s atrocious AI answer but it seems to answer the confusion for why I still have the app while not currently in the app store!

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writers Don't Finish Writing Their Stories, and How to Fix It

Hello fellow writers and storytellers,

The journey of writing a story is an exhilarating adventure, but it's not without its share of obstacles. Many of us have embarked on a creative endeavor, only to find ourselves mired in the struggle to finish what we started. In this blog post, I'll unravel the common reasons why writers don't finish their stories and explore practical strategies to overcome these hurdles and reignite the flame of creativity.

The Perils of Unfinished Stories

As writers, we often find ourselves in the throes of unfinished tales, grappling with the intricate web of characters, plots, and themes. There are several reasons why the ink dries up and the story remains untold. Let's shine a light on the familiar adversaries that stand between us and the triumphant completion of our narratives:

1. Lack of Planning:

Some of us brazenly dive into our stories without a clear roadmap, resulting in uncertainty about the direction of the plot and the fate of our characters. The lack of a solid plan can lead us astray, leaving our stories wandering in the wilderness of aimlessness.

2. Self-Doubt and Perfectionism:

Ah, the relentless whispers of self-doubt and the siren call of perfectionism! These twin adversaries can cast a shadow over our creative vision, compelling us to endlessly revise and perfect the early chapters, trapping us in a whirlpool of perpetual edits.

3. Time Management:

Balancing the demands of daily life with the ardor of writing can be akin to walking a tightrope. The struggle to find consistent time for our craft often leaves our stories languishing in prolonged periods of inactivity, longing for the touch of our pen.

4. Writer's Block:

The mighty barrier that even the most intrepid writers encounter. Writer's block can be an insurmountable mountain, leaving us stranded in the valleys of creative drought, unable to breathe life into new ideas and narratives.

5. Lack of Motivation:

The flame that once burned brightly can flicker and wane over time, leaving us adrift in the murky waters of disillusionment. The initial excitement for our stories diminishes, making it arduous to stay committed to the crafting process.

6. Fear of Failure or Success:

The twin specters that haunt many writers' dreams. The apprehension of rejection and the unsettling prospect of life-altering success can tether us to the shores of hesitation, preventing us from reaching the shores of completion.

7. Criticism and Feedback Anxiety:

The looming dread of judgment casts a long shadow over our creative endeavors. The mere thought of receiving criticism or feedback, whether from peers or potential readers, can cast a cloud over our storytelling pursuits.

8. Plotting Challenges:

Crafting a cohesive and engaging plot is akin to navigating a labyrinth without a map. Faced with hurdles in connecting story elements, we may find ourselves lost in a maze of plot holes and unresolved threads.

9. Character Development Struggles:

Breathing life into multi-dimensional, relatable characters is a complex art. The intricate process of character development can become a quagmire, ensnaring us in the challenge of creating personas that drive the story forward. (Part one of Character Development Series)

10. Life Events and Distractions:

Unexpected events in our personal lives can cast ripples on our writing routines, interrupting the flow of our creativity and causing a loss of momentum.

Rallying Against the Odds: Strategies for Success

Now that we've confronted the adversaries that threaten to stall our storytelling odysseys, let's arm ourselves with strategies to conquer these barriers and reignite the flames of our creativity.

Embrace the Power of Planning:

A clear roadmap illuminates the path ahead. Arm yourself with outlines, character sketches, and plot maps to pave the way for your story's journey.

Vanquish Self-Doubt with Action:

Silence the voices of doubt with the power of progress. Embrace the imperfect beauty of your early drafts, knowing that every word brings you closer to the finish line.

Mastering the Art of Time:

Carve out sacred writing time in your schedule. Whether it’s ten minutes or two hours, every moment dedicated to your craft is a step forward.

Conquering Writer's Block:

Embrace the freedom of imperfection. Write, even if the words feel like scattered puzzle pieces. The act of writing can unravel the most stubborn knots of writer's block.

Reigniting the Flame of Motivation:

Seek inspiration in the wonders of the world. Reconnect with the heart of your story, rediscovering the passion that set your creative spirit ablaze.

Reshaping Fear into Fuel:

Embrace the uncertainty as an integral part of the creative journey. Embrace the lessons within rejection and prepare for the winds of change that success may bring.

Navigating the Realm of Criticism:

Embrace feedback as a catalyst for growth. Constructive criticism is a powerful ally, shaping your story into a work of art that resonates with readers.

Weaving the Threads of Plot:

Connect the dots with fresh eyes. Step back and survey the tapestry of your plot, seeking innovative solutions to bridge the gaps and untangle the knots.

Breathing Life into Characters:

Engage with your characters as if they were old friends. Dive into their depths, unraveling their quirks, fears, and dreams, and watch as they breathe life into your story.

Navigating Life's Tempests:

Embrace the ebb and flow of life. Every pause in your writing journey is a chance to gather new experiences and perspectives, enriching your storytelling tapestry.

The Ever-Resting Pen: Harnessing the Power Within

Fellow writers, the journey of completing a story is filled with peaks and valleys, each offering us the opportunity to sharpen our resolve and unleash our creative potential. As we stand at the crossroads, staring at the canvas of unfinished tales, let's rally against the odds, armed with the power of purpose, passion, and perseverance.

Let the ink flow once more, breathing life into tales left untold, and watch as your stories triumphantly reach their long-awaited conclusion. You possess the power to conquer the adversaries that stand in your way, and within you lies the essence of untold narratives waiting to unfurl onto the page.

Here's to the journey that lies ahead, the stories waiting to be written, and the unyielding spirit of creativity that thrives within each of us.

Warm regards and unwavering encouragement, Ren T.

[addicted2coke-theothercoke]

I AM PICASSO

I

CAN'T

FREAKING

WRITE

[dilfomaniac]

❝𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙠❝

leon kennedy x fem!reader ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

ft. Death Island Leon S. Kennedy

wc: 3.409

cw: ddlg, age gap, innocence kink, p in v, riding, creampie, praise kink, rough sex

note: This was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being a rushed fic ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა writer’s block has me in a chokehold lately, ignore parts that don’t make sense !! i’ll fix those tmrw cuz 3 in the mornin… ͟mdni 18+

The silence in the room is steep, the lack of light even more than so. Wind knocks itself against the window, every tremor making you feel like its aim is to break in. Your heart is racing, your eyes wide and on the lookout for the source of your alarm. Of course, there’s none, but you haven’t really grown out of childish habits. You’ve heard stories after stories about houses being haunted, ghosts residing in each and every corner waiting to pounce on defenseless girls like you, and it’s been stuck to you ever since. Stored inside your head as a core reminder that something’s creeping in the dark.

You’re the ripe age of nineteen, there’s no particular reason for you to believe this still. Fear of the dark should’ve been abandoned when you were twelve - when the failing of classes and smothering glare of teachers vanquished the rest of the worries. At this point, it’s just laughable. Even your stuffed animals are starting to look awfully odd. You look past one shoulder, past the other, detect no strange entities and wash down the dryness in your throat. You’re curled up in a ball, snug like a puppy, hoping to fall asleep like one when something welts your window. Your head snaps towards the sound and you see something flit behind the windowpane, flashing its ominous identity to you. The child inside you screams - you’re quick to comply with it, tossing the blanket off yourself and scampering out of your bedroom like an overgrown puppy.

-

You scurry your way downstairs, hand on the railing gathering dust on your fingertips. There’s better lighting here, because Daddy’s fallen asleep with the TV on, snoring to the mumbles of another sitcom you told him about, as if he genuinely watches those. You lower the volume until it’s mute, not daring to turn the TV off because it’s the only source that illuminates the room enough - save for the crescent moon which didn’t do you much help back in your bedroom. Making your way towards the sofa you observe Leon who's sleeping like a top - head over the back of the couch, mouth tipping agape. You fail to stifle a giggle, but this is no laughing matter, mind you. He promised you, oh, he promised you so many times he’d come and join you in the bed eventually, but he didn’t. “Okay, sweetheart. You go, and I’ll be there soon, yeah? Daddy has some things to finish,” No, Daddy just wants to make an empty promise and fall asleep on the couch. He always does, likes the feel of giving you a heavy heart. Your brows crinkle with lack of guilt when you go to nudge his shoulder. Leon’s a light sleeper, so his eyes burst open like a puppet, old geezer snoring cut short.

“Baby—” His chest rises in a beat, hand clutching your wrist reflexively. He takes a moment to shake the remaining sleep off, tossing his head back and clearing his throat to waken. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

The audacity he has to say those words, when you were supposed to be asleep with him, not without him. Ghosts don’t come up to scratch when Daddy’s with you, because you know he’s stronger and that they’ll be put off by his mere presence. “You didn’t go to bed. You lied to me,” the accusation comes down as you sink your nails into his forearm, small flecks of red imprinting onto his skin. “You promised me.”

“Yeah. Yeah— Daddy knows,” His brows furrow. Your antics extort a rumbly groan from his throat, but it isn’t until he glares at you that you let go of him sheepishly. It’s just that you can’t help it while you’re like this. Leon is your only safe zone, but he’s so old he can’t even control when he sleeps. “Well, I thought you’d be a big girl and be asleep by the time I’m back. Guess not, huh?” He chuckles silvery and before you see it he’s propping you over his leg, letting you sit pliantly like a puppet with your knees dipping in the gaps, entwining in his legs. You’re not easy to play like one, though - you opt to stay your ground by smacking him on the cheek to which he balefully clutches your wrist. “Don’t go throwin’ hands now.”

“You’re an A-hole.” You say bluntly. He blinks at you as if trying to say how insufferable you are in morse code. “Something— something was behind the window. I think it wanted to break in, and you weren’t here.” You say more like a protest than a distressed denunciation. Leon’s hands come to cradle you, from your back all the way to your scalp, holding you to himself like a baby who can’t support its head yet. He shakes his head, tongue in cheek, so sick of being woken up in the middle of the night because of things so mediocre, but all the more understanding of you. Because you’re his baby. His ray of sunshine. A pretty little thing who makes his day-to-day routines somewhat more endurable. “What, you scared of ghosts now?”

“I’m not!” You say crossly, God forbid your fragile little ego is hurt. “I’m not scared of ‘em, okay? I’m just saying, if someone were to break in, and you weren’t there, it’d be your fault.” It’d also be his fault if you had a nightmare and had no one to lull you back to sleep. Things like this aren’t easily forgivable, you want to tell him, but he already knows.

Leon takes in the scent of your hair balm, fingers threading aimlessly through your hair. You can tell he’s not as worried as you are, but maybe that’s because he knows better and you’ll never know as much even if you conjoined the three remaining brain cells in your head. “Well, I promise you sweetheart, no scary monster s’gonna take you while I’m here,” then he bounces you on his knee and you feel your senses liquify. “You know you’re safe with me, yeah? You aren’t a dumb girl, are you?”

You shake your head, peeking at him between your lashes. You are a dumb girl but don’t entirely want to be one. It’s funny to see how all your worries dissipate once the honeyed lilt sinks in, putting you into an entirely different mental state. “I was scared,” you murmur. Leon only hushes you, bobbing his knee like consoling a toddler.

“I know, baby. I don’t blame you for it.” His stubble scrapes your cheek and then you’re dipping your face lower, nose brushing over a bared clavicle. Leon smells so good, so falsely evocative and citrusy and paternal. Like a daddy you’ve never had but always wanted, and it has you addicted. “Guess I have to make it up to you then, huh?” He stops to look you in the eye, his glare piercing and yet soothing all at once. It’s like he’s trying to read you by your expression alone, find out what goes on in that little head of yours that can’t fit more than maybe a few social interactions per day.

You clutch the hem of his shirt and give him all the puppy eyes you’ve got, tilt your head and play dumb like he equally appreciates. “Uhm, yeah?” He cups your cheeks instantaneously, plants a slew of sloppy kisses across your forehead because cute aggression is real, and he’s more than likely to eat you up if your cheeks don’t deflate. “You owe me big time, idiot,” you pout, “ ‘Cause you never listen to me.”

You’re met with an eye roll and then Leon’s flipping you over so your positions are swapped, you now spread over the couch and him hovering above you. He holds both your hands in one hefty palm and pins them over your sternum, pushes down like he’s trying to submerge you into the cushions. You peep and fend off, even in your sleepy state because you know what comes after he’s fully overpowered you. You’ll scream bloody murder if he starts tickling you. However, to your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he shores you up on the couch and slumps beside you with a soft grunt. “Think we can reserve playtime for tomorrow?” He says. After getting you riled up? No, but, matter-of-factly, it’s way past your bedtime. You bat your lashes solemnly, cast your gaze elsewhere. When you think about it, there will be no playtime, really. Because Leon’s always off on business trips - always on the go to fill his devoir while you’re at home rotting away in pink comforters and stroking yourself to sleep. It’s unfair - so, so unfair, how he makes you wait like a puppy, because you’re so entirely co-dependent on him. You fold your arms and clamber to the opposite side of the couch, avert your face to hide the crimson scattering your cheeks. Leon knows this change of air by rote, knows that his pretty princess is upset, and he knows by heart what your doleful puppy eyes look like, even if you try to hide them from him.

“I’m just kiddin’. I had something else in mind, actually,” he coos at you, one hand planting itself on your thigh and parting it from the other. “Daddy would never lie to you, yeah baby?” The wetness across your neck takes you by surprise when Leon seals the gap between you, making you want to shrug off.

“Tickles,” you mew, raising your hand to his face which he swiftly takes hold of and sets down. You don’t object, ‘cause while you may be bratty, Daddy’s wants will never go over your head. Heat uncoils inside your lower stomach and you start rubbing your thighs with need, stealing glances from Leon who’s nipping you with such fervor, you start doubting whether this takes less energy than your regular playtime.

“Thought you’d get away so easily, huh? Not a chance, baby. You know me.” The metal clink of the belt has you transfixed when you’ve just started squirming, as you sit stockstill beside Leon. He looks at you with a grin - you sit there with panties soaked from one-sided kissing alone. There’s that tent on his lap, like he gets in the mornings. You try to wet your lips but clamp your tongue when he sucks a hickey onto a velvety patch of skin, tugging his briefs down until the forbidden part springs up and whacks him on the gut. Seeing it makes you shudder, snap your head away so fast as if a bare look will contaminate your innocence.

“Yeah, bunny? That so? Don’t like Mr. Horsey?” He exhales with a sneer - you try not to hyperventilate because of the amount of blood that gushes to your face then. You steal one small peek and turn away again, closing your eyes as if the thing will disappear on its own, making Leon chuckle heartily. “Well, I think Mr. Horsey likes you.”

You’re sure neither you nor Leon imagined your lives would ever lead to this moment. Leon for an entirely different reason, but you due the fact that you’ve been turned down by every partner who failed to break down the nature of this play. You never realized how much it meant to you, though, to be purely virgin. “Um,” you teeter more to the edge, eyes darting to all corners of the room, “I like him too— I don’t know.”

He takes it for granted, moving closer until you feel his breath waver. The glow of the TV strains your eyes, casting a fluorescent light that disguises your blush. Leon sets your hand on his crotch, hums contentedly when your palm lays smoothly on his shaft and your fingers grip. “Yeah,” he says. “He likes it when you play with him, baby.” His hand comes to rest on his side and he lets you take the lead, leaning back and exhaling in a way that screams he’s pent, and you better get stroking.

You palm him to the best effort, watching closely to see if what you’re doing with your hand is good enough. All the jerking off you’d done before was winged, and you never really put your mind to it. Leon gave you a chance to learn to actually please a man, and you can never wait to suck up all the praise you can. “Like this?” Your voice squeaks - you suck the inside of your cheek meekly. Leon nods and lets his eyes fall shut when your hand delivers the wet squelches, pre slicking up the entirety of your palm and leaking through your nimble fingers. There’s the faintest bucking of hips and you see him tense before coming to a halt, restraining himself. You’re so wet it hurts. You need him bucking into you instead, and not holding back.

Leon’s cock oozes generously upon your ministrations, and before you know it you’re moving on top to straddle him. Real cowgirl in the making - so excited to have her first ride. He croaks dizziedly, hands hooking behind your knees and helping you up on his lap. You think back to how the Redfields see you two, what they don’t know about you. Maybe the fact that Leon has a college kid for a lapdog isn’t the worst thing that's been happening around here. Maybe that he breeds it on a daily without a pinch of guilt is a fair enough transgression. The waistband of your mini is yanked down when Leon hikes you up on his knee, forcing you to shimmy out of it. He feels up the plush of your pussy, prods through your dampened panties like that doesn’t make you all the more desperate. You’re drooling, practically. If Leon didn’t know any better, he’d stick his fingers down your greedy cunt, but you’ve got to work for it first.

“Come on, baby. Rub yourself on Daddy,” he pulls your panties aside, and you’re so quick to listen. You sink down, hands perched on your ankles until your slippery folds engulf his tip. You’re making quite the mess - to that he toots but otherwise leans back to observe how you’re willing to get started. You buck your hips back and forth, run your nub over his slit repeatedly and whimper like a bitch in heat. When you slide too close to your hole, he slaps your tit, cups your cheeks in one large palm like a warning. This is the root of this whole ordeal - him fucking you to a pulp, turning you into a full crazed nymphomaniac and then leaving like nothing happened. It’s not fair, not fair at all - and the worst part is he’s sure to serve you justice using the same treatment. Fucking you so hard you forget you ever doubted him in the first place.

“Just like that. Good girl,” he murmurs, speaking to you like you’re mentally deficient - which you are. You test your luck by squeezing yourself down, attempting to take him in a little, but Leon’s cock springs like a twig, flaps over you with a wet squelch. You whine.

You grumble like it’s his fault you failed so miserably. He shakes his head, “You know I spoil you too much,” and with that, Leon jams himself inside until he’s breaching you to the brim. You were wrong for being so hasty - he’ll give you a bitter taste.

Startled, you drape your head over his shoulder and sink your nails into his back. You could feel the jab to your cervix, and while that wasn’t particularly good, the feeling of Leon seating you to the hilt sent you straight to heaven. You haven’t had him since so long - you swore at times you clenched on nothing. Leon fills you so good, God, he fills you better than anyone has ever had, and it drives you mad when he doesn’t. You sit bandy-legged when his arms lock around your shoulders, bringing you up so he can slump you back on his cock. Horsey, right? Chris and Claire wouldn’t see either of you in the same light if they knew.

“You might be the dirtiest girl, yeah baby?” He groans, and the tone alone is enough to have you gripping. You shake your head, dirty isn’t exactly your most-liked title. “No?” Leon thrusts deep and you jump up with him, hugging him tight for comfort.

“No! ‘m not—” He rocks you on him, does all the work cause you’re a princess even on top. So spoiled, and yet he’s to blame. Maybe you’ll change one day, but so far he hasn’t had the guts to work you for that outcome. “But you woke Daddy up so you could have his cock up that drooly pussy, didn’t you?” he says and the words jab straight into that spot. Leon groans and then you’re moving on your own, sheathing yourself on him over and over until a ring of cream gathers around the base of his cock. Now you get it. Now it’s horsey.

“Sorry, Daddy. I missed you so much— sorry,” you recite like a plea, stumbling over your words until it’s just unintelligible moans, because Leon’s cock pounds you so good. You lick the sweat off his temple, watch his brows furrow when his hands grip your hips and squeeze impossibly tight, lips catching over yours when your movements grow shaky.

“Sorry— I’m sorry, sorry— Daddy—” Leon shushes you when he begins to thrust in tandem with your wobbly hops, thrusting to a depth you thought was impossible to reach before. You whine and soon he’s lifting your body, holding you up as he drives relentlessly into your cunt, hitting all the spots. Daddy fucks you so good. Daddy pampers you so much. Daddy loves you to the moon and back, and he’s going to give you warm milk to put you to sleep.

“Fuck, baby— You’re a natural. Rode the horsey so good, now it’s Daddy’s turn—” your heart sinks into your throat when you’re thrown over the coffee table, the surrounding items toppling over with a row of clattering and Leon being able to dig deeper into you. You throw your legs over his shoulders, hearing the table creak when he drives into you once more. Fuck. God. The pressure inside you amplifies and then you’re struck by unadulterated bliss, the familiar warmth coating your inner walls as Leon grinds against your cervix. His hair is wet and he heaves like a dog, hands still holding you tightly against the table which you fear might collapse any minute now. You shiver - he gives your side a good smack and pulls out of you with a lewd plop, all what he planted inside you oozing out in thick dollops. Not on his watch, though, ‘cause he pushes it back placidly, panting.

“Good enough for today, princess,” he says but you’re already out of it, lashes fluttering as you try to grasp your consciousness. Leon knocked all the breath out of you, you’ve expired. You hum, feeling your walls pulse and chest swell in a slow-paced rhythm. It’s like that one time you convinced him you’d be able to handle an all-nighter but fell asleep one hour past midnight. Well, you set yourself a record, because it’s just one hour later which is impressive for a little girl like you.

He’ll have to change you into something more comfortable. A miniskirt and knee highs on a winter day? What, were you trying to whore yourself out to the Ghosts? He gets it, you were just asking for it, just wanted to stick your cute ass to get his attention, but sometimes you’re genuinely stupid. His stupid girl. Drunk off Daddy’s milk - he’ll bear that in mind. Sliding his hands under your frail body, he makes the dire mistake of trying to lift you when the coffee table caves in and snatches you with it. Auntie Jill called Daddy a ‘fucking cheapskate’ once when she was over - now you get what she meant.

[jessicas-pi]

Perhaps some of you were beginning to despair of me ever updating, but fear not! Writer's block has been vanquished and I have triumphed over procrastination!

anyway here you go, I hope u like it :)

Taglist:

@keeper-of-sparkly-things @kanerallels @better-call-mau1 @seleneisrising @jedi-nurse @dootchster @ana-cantskywalker @thefinaljediknight

[sitp-recs]

I just finished a great romcom and now Im wondering do you have Drarry recs that are romcom-y? It doesnt have to explicitly labeled as such but just a vibe...you know that after a serious of little hick ups and An Airport Run for True Love a pop banger playing in the background vibe :D

Hi anon! Oh that’s such an exciting ask, I’ve had lots of fun thinking about this one. I feel like I haven’t read enough romcom, would love to explore this genre further. I hope you enjoy these!

Mad Blood Stirring by provocative_envy (E, 3k) - Hockey AU

It's not like they've been angrily hooking up on the sly since meeting at a Juniors skills camp in fucking Manitoba four years ago, except that's exactly what they've been doing.

Burning Down the House by @peachpety (M, 4k)

Harry is happy as editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. From planning to printing, design to deadlines, he enjoys being in the hot seat. And after vanquishing Voldemort, managing fires is an easy part of the job. Until his scorching crush on his impeccably dressed fashion editor flares out of control, and he's forced to face actual fires.

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping.

Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken (T, 12k)

What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn. This story isn't about Draco throwing food at Harry. What it does have is: Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Crash (Into Me) by @sweet-s0rr0w (T, 14k)

Harry’s done plenty of ridiculous things for charity over the years, but Robards’ latest scheme really takes the biscuit. Or rather, the teacake. Good job Malfoy’s there to suffer alongside him this time, eh?

Yours Truly by @skeptiquewrites (M, 15k)

Every single one of Harry’s exes has gone on to marry the next person they date, and with the upcoming nuptials of numbers six and seven to each other, Harry’s feeling exhausted by it all. It doesn’t really matter if he lets people assume Draco Malfoy is his boyfriend for a moment of peace. In any case, Draco’s been away for five years and there’s no way he would find out, right?

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken (T, 19k)

Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!

Jumeaux by VivacissimoVoce (M, 19k)

Draco and Blaise own and operate a luxury spa resort together, and the Ministry's Auror department has scheduled a full service three-day retreat. Guess who's on the guest list?

Little Red Courgette by @blamebrampton (T, 31k)

When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

The Four Ds of Apparition (or: Destination, Determination, Deliberation, and Dicks) by eidheann, firethesound (E, 36k)

After transferring to the Apparition Department, Harry's life becomes one big dick joke. And all his friends are arseholes. So is Malfoy, but what else is new? AKA Harry Potter and the eighteen twenty dicks.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (E, 75k)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

[canenotabeltofunction]

My Charmed (1998) Hot Takes

*Spoilers* (Even Though It’s Been 25 Years- Just Saying)

1. Prue was overpowered

I know that Prue is the oldest and the oldest sister is supposed to be the most powerful, but the development of their powers was just very all over the place with how fast they learned to use them. Prue seemed to master her powers exponentially faster than the other sisters.

For example in the very first episode Prue moves cream from a cup into her coffee. This is moments after she finds out about her powers- yet it takes Paige an extended amount of time before she is able to orb liquids even though she and Prue have basically the same power (and due to the yelling and orbing aspect of Paige’s power it seems like it should have been easier).

There’s also the episode of ‘Secrets and Guys’ in the FIRST SEASON where we see Prue cleaning with her powers and controlling multiple different tools at one time without difficulty- she is literally talking to Phoebe and Piper and is preoccupied and is still able to do this.

Before we even reach the end of the first season Prue has already discovered her ability to control her powers through her hands as well as her eyes. And by the 9th episode of the second season she discovers she can astral project. Which she is already capable of doing intentionally within a few episodes- even though she can’t do it while awake (until episode 5 of season 3).

While the sisters did all develop their powers well I feel like in terms of weaknesses they did not really give Prue that many. There was the whole thing with her being prideful but as a whole her powers didn’t seem to have any bounds after a certain point.

The only time we really see her powers not working well is when there is something blocking their powers all together. Vs with Piper things don’t stay frozen forever, she can only freeze inside a certain range, her freezes can be fought through, etc.

And obviously Phoebe didn’t have an active power until she developed the ability to levitate.

Idk feel free to disagree but I feel that Prue was a little overpowered

2. Cole Deserved a Redemption Arc

Don’t get me wrong I’m not excusing Cole’s behavior in the later seasons. However I do wish that the Cole storyline had gone slightly different and that Phoebe and Cole ended up together.

I personally never was able to get into the Coop storyline- it felt very unemotional to me. And it may have been because Cole was around much longer.

“But Cole was evil! He never changed!”

I beg to differ, up until around the last season he was on the show almost everything that kept Cole evil was out of his control.

He tried to give up his powers originally but was tricked into killing a witch (or he was possessed, I don’t remember). He never wanted to become the source, he was manipulated by The Seer. And even after the source took over we still see Cole inside fighting to be good like when he saves Paige.

And he even tried AGAIN to give up the powers of The Source but Phoebe was manipulated into stopping him.

He genuinely was trying to be good so often and I feel like a lot of it was just that he was dealt a shitty hand.

I think that up until the point where he clearly stopped caring about Phoebe’s wellbeing (like when he is willing to let Paige die and keep Phoebe mummified) he deserved a redemption arc and I wish he had gotten one,

However I think the storyline was ended due to Julian wanting to leave the show and not because of the writers.

(Also I just loved Cole as a character and I cry every time they vanquish him in the apartment)

3. I Didn’t Like Dan

This one is short and sweet

I didn’t like Dan

He’s not an asshole, He was super good to Piper

I just didn’t like him 🤷🏻‍♀️

4. Leo and Piper Shouldn’t Have Gotten Back Together

This one is going to sound kind of hypocritical after the Cole take but I feel like after Leo left to become an elder he and Piper shouldn’t have gotten back together.

Like you’re telling me after all the shit you two went through to be together you’re going to just fuck off to become an elder????

And this is never fully explained honestly; it’s just that “oh it’s not that simple it’s not my choice.” But they never really explained WHY it just seemed like a stupid excuse.

And honestly after all of that shit I know they wouldn’t have had time to give Piper another love interest (which she deserved) and I loved Chris but idk I feel like Piper and Leo shouldn’t have gotten back together-

They can keep Leo around but I don’t think after all of that shit that they should have ended up together

5. Billie and Christy Should Have Had a Different Ending

This is a one or the other kind of thing.

I think Christy should have gotten a redemption arc OR they should have given Billie a bigger corruption arc and killed them both.

I don’t think the ending was BAD I think it was tragic that Billie lost her sister after trying so hard to find her and finding out that she wasn’t who she used to be which made for a good plot point-

But I feel like if they had had more time and things were written a little differently I would have liked to see Christy eventually get redeemed (I mean the girl was brainwashed by the Triad from the time she was a kid cut her some slack). But I know there wasn’t really enough time for that.

However the other option is I think to stick with the strong sisterly love thing that Billie should have had a bigger corruption arc and went down with her sister- or at the very least accidentally died with her or refused to leave her or something.

I will definitely be posting more Charmed content

[dd122004dd]

Hi could I request jealous Ardeth Bay x fem reader smut?

Yours. Only Yours.

Author's Note: Hello dear reader! Thank you for the request! Unfortunately, I didn't feel like writing smut for this one, so I gave it a bit of a spicy ending. But I might or might not make anther part, just with smut in it. I hope you enjoy this, though!

P.S. Sorry for the delay, was going through some writer's block but now I'm kinda back.

Warnings: None, I don't think.

The scorching sun was setting in the west, birthing vermillion tinged skies as it hid among the sandy dunes in the distance. As Nuit laid a dark cloak over the earth and twinkling stars shone through, making the cool night almost tranquil. Within a camp in the distance hidden among the cooling dunes were people bustling about, preparing for a grand feast. The Medjai were celebrating the vanquishment of their ancient enemy, the one from whom they’d protected humanity for millennia. It had been decided by the chiefs that the five tribes would come together to celebrate their victory against the dark one.

A large bonfire was created in the center of the camping grounds with large pots of food bubbling around in anticipation for the hungry soldiers. The women within the camps wore their finest clothes with various colors and jewels adorning their bodies. Among them was her, Amaira, the one who adored the leader of the Medjai, Ardeth Bay. Her attraction to him was not unfounded. Rising through the ranks quickly, Ardeth had become the youngest leader that the Medjai had seen in decades. Not only was he a capable leader and strategist, he was also an excellent swordsman and gunman. Many women in the camp were attracted to him for his strength and military prowess yet he paid them no heed, choosing to ignore their advances and focusing on his duties.

Amaira too was one of his admirers yet she did not trip over her words whenever she saw him, rather she had a tongue that could cut through steel, injuring anyone who dared cross her path. She engaged the young Medjai in a battle of wits every time he came across her.

The two had been at each other’s throats since the fateful day they had met each other ten years ago when he was a young trainee and she was learning the art of crafting armor for the Medjai. Her father came from a long line of armorers and they had been making armor for the Medjai for generations. Their secret practice, however had been passed down through the matriarchal line, with the sons becoming warriors for the Medjai and the daughters crafting armor to defend their beloved family. ‘The swordsman attacks and the women defend,’ was their family’s motto.

Within her tent she dressed herself, lathering the perfumed oils reserved for special occasions. Lips colored with red rouge and a slight blush adorning her cheeks, making her look youthful and flushed. She wore beautiful navy robes, embroidered with tiny beads that caught the light, shimmering like stars among the night’s sky.

Ready for the feast she emerged from her tent, looking for her friend, Maria. As she made her way towards the festivities, she finally spotted her friend amongst the crowd. She quickly made her way towards her, almost barreling into the younger woman. The women greeted each other before deciding to mingle.

As her friend and her went around the campfire, meeting new friends and talking about the guests and some of their atrocious attires she suddenly caught sight of him, Adreth Bay. The object of her desires yet the bane of her existence.  Her friend noticed her halt, turning towards the direction the woman was staring at Maria noticed a young woman talking to Ardeth, well, rather she was flirting with him. With a large smile on her face as the man in front of her let out a joyous laugh at something she said. “That’s Zaina, the daughter of Chief Akhned,” Maria said.

“How disgraceful,” Amaira scoffed, “Flirting with a man four years her senior, and in front of everyone, too.”

“Are you angry because she is flirting with a man in public, or is it because you wish you were in her place?” Her friend knowingly asked.

Scoffing at her insinuation she replied, “Never. I’d rather eat a camel’s foot than flirt with that arrogant son of a donkey.”

“You say that yet your glare speaks otherwise, dear friend,” Maria rebutted.

Amaira glared at the cozy couple, noticing them drawing closer to each other as the young woman placed a fair hand on the Medjai’s arm, giggling at something he’d said.

Having enough, Amaira stalked towards the cozy couple with a saccharine smile on her face, “Asalaim walaikum.” She greeted.

“Walaikum Al Salam.” The Chieftain’s daughter replied before Ardeth cut in, “Zaina, this is Amaira, her family makes the armor that all the Medjai wear.”

“Aah, how wonderful! I’ve heard of your family. The women in your family must be incredibly talented to have made such incredible armor,” Zaina complimented.

Pride filled her chest as she replied, “Yes, they are. I heard your father was looking for you, you might want to hurry along and see what he wants, afterall, no one should keep the chief waiting.”

Zaina looked at Ardeth, reluctant to leave, yet after a few moments she moved away from the man, bidding him farewell she went to look for her father.

Turning towards the Medjai before her Amaira glared.

“What was that for? I was talking to her.”

“Please, a blind goat could see you flirting from on top of the pyramids.”

“My, my. Jealous, are we?”

“Pssh. Jealous? Over you? I’d die before I admit that.”

“It doesn’t make it untrue, Amaira.”

“You have no proof of anything.”

“Really? I don’t have proof?”

“Really.”

“Then I suppose you glaring daggers into my back wasn’t enough proof? Or perhaps you looking at the poor girl like you wanted her head? Or perhaps the sweet smile you plastered on your face as you swayed your way over here? Or maybe, when you told her, her father was looking for her when you know very well that the chief hasn’t arrived to the feast yet. So tell me, little snake, what proof could you possibly desire? Or perhaps it’s not proof you desire, but me.” Ardeth breathed close to her ear, whispering the last words as he stalked forward with each word till, she was cornered against one of the tents.

“You’re delusional. I could never desire you!” Amaira stated determinedly, unable to breathe from the proximity of the warrior.

“You could never desire me? Or you could never allow yourself to desire me?” He questioned, with a grin on his face, finally glad to hold something over the fiery woman’s head, yet his happiness was short lived as he found himself being pushed to the ground. Before he had a moment to react, a weight deposited herself on his thighs, preventing him from getting up.

“Amaira! What are you doing?!” He asked, frantically.

Smirking down at the man, she replied, “You were right, Ardeth. I do desire you. I have from the moment we met. And your little display with Zamiya really pushed me over the line. What did you think would happen, hmm? That I’d cower and bow before admitting my feelings? If you really thought that, you know me far less than I thought.”

“What’re you trying to do?” He asked as she leaned closer to him, caging his body under her own.

“Showing you, how much you belong to me.” Saying this, she captured the Medjai’s lips with her own. He was stunned at first before melting into the fiery woman, surging upward as he claimed her lips. Yet she didn’t allow him to dominate the kiss, pulling him closer as their mouths clashed together. A battle as old as time among the dunes of the desert. A depiction of their relationship with each other soft at certain moments yet harsh at others.

The couple eventually separated, resting their foreheads against each other’s, slowly panting.

“‘Only I am allowed to touch you this way, to claim you for myself. You belong to me.” She stated.

“Yours. Only yours.” He vowed.

[pentuppen]

"In a thousand years, when I've all but forgotten how to love yet again, you'll flit back into my heart, and I'll weep wondering what happened to my mad love."

So I had a brain worm, and writers block so i fixed the one, and hope like hell that fixes the other.

This line from Astarion broke me, and while I never went through with a full evil Durge run, I did catch the end scene of the prologue. This particular scene had been rolling around in my head for months but i never wanted to do a full Durge fic.

Anyway today I thought fuck it and this miserable bit of angst finally got written up so now it can bugger off!

Was I ever here?

You have been walking for days, feet bared and blistered, your limbs shuddering and cracking with each corpse-like step you take. Every move is an agony you embrace, while your blood pounds like a sickened war drum in your ears, red churning with black, pulsing with violence behind eyes of rolling madness. You are no longer you, the dark whispers wear you like a ragged cloak now, his voice, ceaseless, commanding…hungry, they dig their gnawing teeth into the blighted meat of your brain, seductive and burning with bloody lust.

You are starved, desperate to satiate the squirming vile need that tightens your loins and churns bile in your throat as you look out at the feast before you. Unseen but seeing everything. You were not invited, already forgotten and left to crawl away into the depths of their memory like a bad dog. So many precious lives, cracked and riddled with the filth of uncertainty in the beginning, now they gleam like so many jewels scattered across the clearing that was your first temporary home.

You watch them live. Smiling, laughing, drinking and existing. Teeth softly clamp down on the ends of your fingers, trapping a whimpering whine that evolves into a low growl. Were you ever real? Or did you find a dream buried deep in the rot of your soul, a dream in which you were a person, and not a weapon?

You see him finally, that creature of pale, timeless beauty and sweet, murderous eyes. You watch him throw his head back and laugh, teeth bearing down on your own fingers until the flesh parts and you taste your own bitter copper. He promised he would weep, and yet he laughs, still beautiful, and happy. Not fair, not right. He has forgotten enough to laugh, and the sound rakes canyons in the scant, flickering light of your soul.

Your pain does not sate you, instead it hollows you all the more, until you are retching with the hunger to fill it, to pack the weight of their suffering against this new wound like a poultice. But you wait, their joy filling you like sour poison, hate pulsing and growing in you like a malevolent child as they continue their forgetting, drowning it wine and good tidings. 

You watch him most of all, and it’s like holding your hand in the middle of a campfire, every second an agony. Why him, why not you? Why not both? He slayed his monsters, both inside and out, and they remembered him, yet you do not hear your name on their lips or in their hearts. Again you ask yourself. Were you ever here?

They eventually  rest in easy stupor, even him. Does he dream of you? Or were the memories of you discarded with the other nightmares that chased him for so long? Did he vanquish you as he vanquished his Master? You could make him remember. You could paint your desire in shades of drying red. Your blade, his heart, they were made for each other. Just as you should have been.

The idea catches you like a fever as you worm your way through the grass, belly slick with dew as you crawl like a broken snake through the grass, silent and seething with purpose. You would make him remember, crawling to the mouth of his tent, your blade poised high. He promised he would weep, but his beautiful face is at peace, and now it was time to cut

. Your blade is quick, parting and peeling flesh, your hands gloved red, reaching and grasping into the gore filled cavity. He doesn’t even move as your fingers squirm through wet flesh, finding that frantic creature beating creature, palming it, squeezing it. Those black voices scream in delirious ecstacy, for what could sate that hunger better than the sensation of a fragile heart in murderous hands? 

You’re lips open in a silent snarl as you grasp that heaving, pulsing betrayer, he would remember now….

He wakes to a nightmare. It kneels before his tent with its head bowed, a gruesome sentry that has him sitting up quickly. The blood is everywhere, seeping into the ground, the walls of his tent and the blankets beneath him. He knows that gore streaked shape, even as his mind tries to rebel, logic scruffs its neck and makes him see.

She kneels like some gruesome idol, her hands cupped in her lap, her chest a mass of blood and exposed, cracked bone. He captures the ugly sound of grief and disgust behind a pale hand, eyes fixed to the lump of meat held in stilled hands. She had once told him that her heart was his, but in the end he couldn’t bear to take it. Not with what she had become.

She’d never stood a chance, her fate paved even before the very idea of her was conceived. He’d tangled her in all those pretty strings of deceit, and she had still loved him in her own bloody way. But he hadn’t been able to do the same, hadn’t been able to follow where her path took her.

Hadn’t been able to save her.

Even now his eyes remain dry as he moves hair clumped with thickening blood from a face that was finally at peace. He feels the burn, the urge, and the lump even forms in the back of his throat.

But no tears fell. In the last six months, he had wept in both agony and anger, creating floods with longing and grief, drowning himself in the regret of the decision while living in the agony of knowing it was the right one.

There were no more tears left to give for his mad love.

[girl4music]

You know… it really shows you how twisted Wynonna’s sense of morality and justice is when you realize her classic catchphrase “make your peace” before she shoots Peacemaker came from a situation where she had to kill somebody that she really didn’t want to kill. 2 people. 2 people in love at that. When she asks Fish whether he had made his peace with the way it had to go down: the Earp Heir sending them back to Hell, it was a very upsetting moment. And instead of using that traumatic situation and experience to learn something about what all the killing is doing to her, what she does is she blocks out that upsetting moment that she never wanted to experience and twists it into a vanquishing victory moment instead and that’s why her classic catchphrase when wielding Peacemaker; “make your peace” is so hypocritical and psychologically warped. There’s nothing peaceful in it when she says it. It’s violent and it’s cruel and it’s Wynonna deflecting from her pain over and over again each time she has to kill. Each time she means to kill.

It’s not until the 4th season do the writers unpack this about the way Wynonna behaves with Peacemaker. That she just stuffs it all down - the human emotion: the pain, the regret, the sadness, the guilt - and says that it’s what she has to do because she’s a hero. And she keeps telling herself this over and over again because she doesn’t want to face the fact that she’s just as dead inside as she makes her victims. And when she uses her classic catchphrase, it’s really an indicator of how much she’s not at peace in herself.

You always see a painful twinge in her eyes every time she says “make your peace” along with a forced smile because she’s trying to tell and convince herself that it doesn’t hurt her to keep snuffing out lives like it’s nothing because it’s her job - be it demon lives or not. It’s her job. It can’t hurt her. It mustn’t hurt her. At some point - something had to give way naturally because she just wouldn’t let herself break. It’s a brilliant written narrative for illustrating all the power you can have in wielding a gun is just performative. There’s no real power in it when it’s suffocating you. And that perhaps the reason you need the weapon is to mask the weakness and emptiness that is within because that being exposed even for a second is not good for you and your family you’re trying to protect.

Wynonna always had a tumultuous and destructive relationship with Peacemaker since she shot her dad. So if she really had to continue doing this,… being the Heir, being a hero, being a protector, then she either needed to break or get a break so she’d have enough strength to carry on as she was running on fumes as it was trying to pretend as if the killing didn’t affect her. And I really wish this is what they had done with Buffy because Buffy had an even worse case of hero mania where yeah, she’d question whether it made her a killer every now and again to slay vampires and vanquish demons, but the writers wouldn’t explore it beyond a conversation or intervention with her team. There was never really a moment of revelation that maybe it’s something that’s taking over her and making her lose her humanity because it was framed as “the right thing” or “the good thing” to do every time she did it. I just feel like they really missed the mark with Buffy, whereas with Wynonna it was always the point that being a hero is a responsibility that shapes you as a person because it does mean that you have to kill and that you can’t be absolved from the consequences of killing just because you’re chosen to be the hero because if you don’t get locked up for it, you’ll eventually just lock yourself up to substitute for it. So you can’t prevent from happening nor escape from the consequences of killing no matter whether you’re a hero or a villain - the consequences will follow and your humanity will pay the price for your actions.

Wynonna Earp shows from the moment she picks up Peacemaker as a 12 year old child that she’s not going to be let off with the consequences of being a killer. It will hound her all the way through her life that she is and she can’t simply wave it away with “I’m a hero” no matter how hard she tries and how much she may want to. She wields both power and responsibility in being the mistress of a gun that really just runs and rules and ruins her as it did from the day she picked it up and unknowingly made herself the next Earp Heir. Peacemaker knew Wynonna wasn’t the rightful Earp Heir even then but settled with Wynonna as its mistress because its true mistress at the time she was missing never possessed the dedication and conviction of a true and real hero. Willa’s morality wavered too much for Peacemaker to allow itself to be wielded by her. It knew she’d let the power she possessed in wielding it go to her head. Likewise, it knew Wynonna was the right person to wield it because Wynonna was all too aware of her power in wielding it and she was scared of it. It knew it needed somebody that knew and understood the seriousness and severity of the responsibility of saving lives but also taking lives away. That was scared of wielding it and didn’t treat using it like a trip to the fun fair. And it does it again for Waverly - only the once - but still. It seems to allow itself to be wielded by whoever deserves to wield it in the same way that the Philosopher’s Stone in Harry Potter couldn’t be found or used by someone not pure of heart. If the person’s intention was to do evil or just selfish things, then it wouldn’t show itself to that person. It would only show itself to the one who needed it to for the right reasons.

Wynonna was The Chosen One instead of Willa to Peacemaker because Wynonna felt deeply in herself that the responsibility of being a hero that wields a deadly killing weapon is a curse and not a gift. It’s not something that she should want to be or do. It’s not her birthright or her destiny. It is just something that she had to be and do to be a defender and protector of those that could not be able to defend and protect themselves. And she takes that to extremes even she believes is too far in Season 4 but Peacemaker just lets her because she does believe that way even if she can’t stop herself from being that way at the time. It’s patient and it’s considerate of her then-mental state. And it challenges her but it doesn’t throw her out. It doesn’t reject her. It just simply waits for her efforts to seek it out and give it another try and keep trying until she finally gets it right again and gets her head right because at that point, it knows her and it trusts her.

In the end what it comes down to - the meaning of being a hero - is the knowing and understanding that you’re not God nor God’s given champion. You’re just a girl with supernatural powers that has to use them to save the world from the supernatural nasties. But you always have in the back of your mind that just because you have to do that doesn’t mean you should do that. And you can be in denial and tell yourself over and over again that you’re justified or absolved in killing because you’re a hero. But the thing is that you wouldn’t have to constantly do that if you truly believed it yourself. If you were a Willa or a Ward or a Wyatt, you wouldn’t have to constantly question as to whether you’re a killer or not if you truly believed in your misguided excuse of “It’s okay for me because I’m the hero”. You’d shoot and no pain would be in your eyes. No painful twinge could be felt and no smile would have to be forced. Why ever should there be any of this performative behaviour? You’re a hero, aren’t you? So you’re justified. You’re absolved. You’re the law of the supernatural and your job is to put down the danger by any means necessary. Even if it’s by killing.

Wynonna’s a crazy chick with a gun, yes. But she’s only so crazy because she’s the only one that truly knows and understands what she’s doing with it. If she didn’t know and understand it, she’d still be a crazy chick, but there’d be no reference to what makes her so crazy ‘cause what makes her so crazy is also what makes her so human. It’s what gives her the merit of being a hero. That she can feel so crazy from it having to be a hero. So Peacemaker stays beside Wynonna through it all because it knows she is the only Earp worth wielding it and it knew it from the moment she chose to pick it up and wield it when she was only a child. Through all the mistakes, flaws, vulnerabilities, weaknesses, questionable choices and absolute madness - it stays with Wynonna because she knows and understands what it truly means to be a hero - all the positives and the negatives - and as a conscious weapon - it learns to respect and love her as its mistress because only she could truly handle it’s heavy weight. That heavy weight of being The Chosen One because being The Chosen One isn’t a fun job and it shouldn’t be treated or talked about like one. You’re there to do what no one else has the power, courage or physical capability and capacity to do. That is all.

The more and more of a mad woman Wynonna Earp becomes from doing it, the more and more she shows Peacemaker that she’s the only one that should do it, and therefore the more and more loyal Peacemaker is because Peacemaker may be an inanimate object but it possesses a conscious state of knowing its wielder. The Guardian of Eden gives it that quality because without it, it would only end up causing destruction. It’s a smart gun but it’s only as smart as its mistress.

“If losing her is the price for saving us all, I’ll pay it. It’s just a part of me I didn’t think I’d need anymore.”

“What’s become of her? It’s just not-- it’s not human. It’s-- that’s the price, isn’t it? Losing your humanity.”

WYNONNA: “I don’t ever half ass it. I ass and a half it.”

[paranormaltheatrekid]

i hope you are always able to vanquish writer's block <3 with a sword if necessary <3

a sword is always necessary 🗡️ <3

[kovacs-on-ice]

god as my witness i will vanquish this long term writers block

[diamondsandtoads]

Project Update

Fellas!!! I finally started writing!!! LET THIS WRITER'S BLOCK AND IMPOSTER SYNDROME BE VANQUISHED!!!!!

[silawastaken]

Youve seemed pretty enthusiastic of the Swan lake fic when ive talked about it so i wanted to tell you that my writers block has been vanquished and it is….. BACK ON!!!!!!! AFTER MONTHS OF NOT WORKING ON ANY WRITING AT ALL ITS BACK IN PROGRESS!!!!!! IM GONNA TRY TO FINISH CHP 1 LATER TODAY!!!!!!

OOOOO YEAH I'M SO EXCITED‼️‼️‼️ YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY LET ME KNOW WHEN IT'S POSTED, I CAN'T WAIT TO BE ABLE TO READ IT 🫶

[emanation-aura]

ask game!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

This is a response to this post about questions for writers!

7. deepest joy about writing?

Definitely the feeling. The emotion and being cathartic. Writing has been and probably will always be an outlet for me; I love pouring emotion onto the page and receiving comments from people who say same, yes, I felt the same way. Not as eloquently as that, usually, but I take great pride in making my work feel alive, and having others feel something from my work— it makes me even more honoured/excited when what a reader takes from the fic is different to what I wrote into it.

10. has a piece of writing "haunted" me, my own or otherwise? what does that mean?

I talked about it in another answer to this ask game, but these two fics [Only Human, Attack on Titan (tw graphic self-harm) and The Shape of Grief, Maze Runner (tw grief, suicide, psychological torture)] were absolutely fundamental to me. They haunted, and continue to haunt me to this day. I can't place exactly why, although I imagine the heavy themes have something to do with it, but. The slow, agonising prose of The Shape of Grief inspired how I write about emotion today. Only Human told me something about tenderness and care that I keep expressing in my works.

I guess they not so much haunt as keep me company. I don't consciously think about them all the time, but they left something indelible in me that will never go away; and in turn, I let pieces of them "haunt" my own writing, too.

18. Choose a passage from my work, and explain it— backstory, details, how it was written start to finish.

(Genshin Impact fic below! If you're not into Genshin this may not make much sense.)

A flash of lightning from the corresponding i, splitting apart the twisting lines that make up the letter s, a green serpent that writhes in uncomfortably lifelike agony. Swiftly transforming the a into a large valley, the n from nisut crash-lands from the sky, bending and twisting until it is a ruler rising from his throne, sands pouring from his hand. With one swipe of the simplistic brown line, the u rises up as a grand palace door in front, and behind it rises a seemingly endless series of pillars— the slideshow pauses, then, and the letter-characters recombine to brand this grand structure Khaj-Nisut.

This is part of Cyno/Staff of Scarlet Sands section for A Blade Against the World, a work of mine exploring the thematic elements of characters and their "signature" weapons. (I'll very behind because Tighnari/Hunter's Path threw me into writer's block. I've started on Tighnari & Cyno, and have vague plans for Alhaitham, Wanderer, and Dehya.)

Anyway, this passage makes reference to the Deshret script seen all across the desert. Like Egyptian hieroglyphics, they're pictographic—each letter represents a concept. Cyno is currently in King Deshret's Mausoleum trying to decide beween the Key of Khaj-Nisut and Staff of Scarlet Sands, and this pictographic display is done by the characters that compose Khaj-Nisut.

The slideshow represents the history of the Great Red Sand: the lightning splitting apart the serpent is The Usurper/Primordial One vanquishing the seven Dragon Sovereigns, specifically Apep. The n crashlanding into a valley and rising to become a ruler with sand pouring from his hand references Deshret's descension: he was once a "son of the sky" (according to the chinese version of The Lay of Al-Ahmar) who was exiled to Teyvat and became a God-King. The n from the Deshret Script is fitting here because it is Sacred Seal: Right to Rule, a "spitting image of a ruler seated upon a throne". Finally, the u (Sacred Seal: Grand Door: "silhouetted shape of a stone door from an ancient palace") represents the rise of Khaj-Nisut as a city-state.

25. Weird, hyper-specific yet irrelevant detail you know about one of your characters?

Hmm... let me give an answer for both the fandoms I actively write for now.

Genshin: In Structural Isomerism, where mad scientist Sucrose accidentally reverse-engineers the element of Time via Anemo, I imagine that Lisa (who doesn't even appear in the fic!) ends up actually going into retirement, even quitting as a librarian, because of the stress that the aftermath of this incident causes (she probably has to clean up and figure out who the hell showed up and turned Albedo back into chalk).

Persona 5: Whenever I write, I keep in mind that Akechi actually is slightly envious of Sumire's gymnastic ability, even though he's disgusted by the way she was brainwashed by Maruki and so weak-willed. He justifies it as he wants flexibility and skill for Metaverse killing, but actually it makes something deep inside hurt to see someone wholeheartedly devoted to a single, transcendental dream against all odds. This has never come up in any fic I write, though, and the sole thing this idea does it affect how I characterise Goro talking with Sumire.

28. Most delightful character you’ve ever written and why?

(Persona 5)

Goro Akechi, without a single doubt. My Joker Palace fic(s) are set from his perspective most of the time (because Akira is indisposed by the cognitive hell of hating himself so much that he has a Palace :P), and he is truly delightful to explore.

Goro is violent and standoffish and cold, but he also cares (for Akira) in ways that make little sense to even himself. He is a living contradiction, acting and justifying his own actions in a way that suggests neither outright guilt/remorse nor total callous disregard. He isn't exactly at peace with his spotty past with serial killing and working for Shido, but he's also accepted every aspect of himself and won't hide behind another Detective Prince mask again out of a desire to be liked or respected. He will forge ahead in the world on his own terms, knowing that his past may permanently stain him but at least it is part of the true him, no matter what (especially poignant with Maruki arc). I've had so much fun with the violent swear-y inner monologue, balanced with moments of painful self-reflection about the nature of his and Akira's relationship. He is simultaneously very self-aware and also very oblivious about aspects of himself and others, and I think that it's a challenging but fun balancing act.

Example of a moment I enjoyed writing very much:

“Are you going to fight me?” Goro asks impatiently, done with this farce of Akira, the impostor wearing his face in a heart of distorted lies. “Or are you going to disarm me again and again, ever since you let me in here?” Because Akira— Cognitive Akira— has done nothing but surrender his heart to Goro over and over again. It’s just a tad insulting when Goro is his former assassin and serial killer, being allowed to walk all over his heart’s defenses without even a will of rebellion to keep him out. (Where is Akira’s Persona, anyway?)