#fighting writer's block

[high-pot-in-noose]

On this day, being Thursday the 14th of November 2024 CE, I will be under taking the challenge of 6k words a day until I achieve 250k words with 45 days.

Why 250k? Why 45 days?

Because the browser RPG I've sold me soul to demands it of me to get a cute cosmetic item for my avatar.

[2dayihaveaheadache]

Devine Grapes (autumn's gift the gods have bestowed upon me)

(TW: written full of anger and bitterness, fighting my way through writer's block, trying to capture the shame and doubt.

“Your muse's kiss will fade. Desert you. One day, it will. Just as the sun bleeds over the horizon one more time you’ll awaken to your bed gone cold. A void, a chilly emptiness next to you where the spark, the force driving you used to be – your lover, you may say. The guiding hand, the nourishing warmth, the insatiable craving for another sentence, another page, another thought etched onto paper – all of that will be gone. Left you hanging with no trace and no footprint to follow.".

That's something one of my professors in Creative Writing once told me and at first, you listen to it, sitting down there in the lecture hall and thinking if this will ever happen to you, it'll be in decades, cause there you are, filled to the brim with bright ideas. Then it happens to you, hits you like a whirlwind, and leaves you with nothing but shame. Because as a writer what are you without words? I wasn't prepared for it.)

It's a Monday, just an ordinary Monday in the heart of October when he loses the right to call himself a writer. The morning sun has melted away the snow, leaving only dampness behind that, clings to the leaves scattered on the sidewalk outside his office window. It's a pitiful sight as he gazes down from the second floor, at those lifeless leaves that should have succumbed to death long ago—or better yet, should have remained dead. Only the icy grip of winter had frozen them in time, bestowing upon them a bit more of life, a stupid deception. Now that winter has departed, all that's left is their sorry brown remnants.

But even that is not their end. They are damp, they cling, they attach themselves to the soles of those passing by, carried along for a few more steps, perhaps feeling the sun's warmth or the cool spring breeze one last time. But then, they eventually become nothing, breaking down into individual fragments—cellulose, chlorophyll, and more. Who pauses to observe them when they're reduced to tatters? Who cares about the old leaves that cling to you, brushing them off as bothersome dirt? Which tree mourns their loss?

So, what value do these final hours hold, these last hours of life, when all of it is going to be wasted at the end?

He takes a strong sip from his Chablis, vintage 2013, and murmurs, "Writer," into the empty space before him. His office only answers with silence. The word tastes peculiar on his tongue, sour like fermented milk, and when he swallows, it leaves a bitter aftertaste, erasing the sourness altogether. The vine suddenly tastes horrible. "Writer," he tries again, as if repeating the word would somehow make it better. He stands there, silent in his contemplation, the word "writer" hanging heavy in the air, entangled with the melancholy of the season's change. It's as if the departing winter had taken a piece of him too, leaving behind a barrenness that mirrors the desolation of those lingering leaves.

What are his final hours worth? What is a writer without words? A fish without water. A ship without a sea. A tree without roots or even a man without fingers.

[writers-potion]

Structuring Your Fight Scene

adapted from <Writer's Craft> by Rayne Hall

Suspense

Show your characters gearing up, readying themselves.

The pace is slow, the suspense is high (use suspense techniques)

Provide information about terrain, numbers, equipment, weapons, weather.

May have dialogue as the opponents taunt each other, hurl accusations, or make one final effort to avoid the slaughter.

Don't start too early - we don't need to see the hero getting out of bed, taking a shower and having tea.

2. Start

Fighters get into fight stance: knees slightly bent, one leg forward, abdominal muscles tensing, body turned diagonally, weapons at the ready.

Each side will usually try to be the first to strike, as this will give them advantage.

The movements in this section need to be specific and technically correct.

3. Action

This section may be quick or prolonged. If prolonged, no blow-by-blow descriptions are needed.

Focus on the overall direction of the fight

Make use of the location to make characters jump, leap, duck, hide, fall, etc.

Mention sounds of weapons

4. Surprise

Something unexpected happens: building catches fire, a downpour, relief force arrives, staircase collapses, bullet smashes into the only lightbulb and everything goes dark, hero losses his weapon, etc.

Add excitement, raise the stakes.

5. Climax

Both sides are tired and wounded

The hero is close to giving up, but is revived with passion

Move to the terrain's most dangerous spot: narrow swining rope-bridge, a roof-edge, sinking ship, etc.

Don't rush the climax! Hold the tension

6. Aftermath

The fight is over: bes buddies lying dead, bandaging, reverberating pain, etc.

Use sense of sight and smell

The hero may experience nausea, shaking, tearfulness or get sexually horny

Fight scene length

Historical/adventure/fantasy: 700-1000w

Romance: 400-700w

[kenobers]

nsfw alphabet | Jason Todd

what the title says ! tw; explicit sexual content, gn!reader a/n; like always, these are just my thoughts and headcanons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jason's gonna make sure you're comfortable afterwards. He'll wipe you down, check that he didn't go too far. If you leave afterwards, he'll make sure you get home safe. If you stay, he'll offer you a t-shirt to sleep in. For a while, he wasn't big on the physical aspect of aftercare, but eventually pulling you to his chest becomes second nature. It's like your head fits just right in the crook of his shoulder. Hey, maybe the body heat will keep with the inevitable soreness you'll feel tomorrow. He's big on eating after sex. If you have enough energy, he'll order some Chinese or throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Sometimes it's kind of astonishing how the man will fuck you until you're more than a ragdoll, then immediately demolish like three Big Macs.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves hands. He loves his hands. They're big and strong, they can protect you, please you, provide for you. He adores the way you feel under them, soft and clean. He loves to feel you press against his palm while his fingers disappear inside of you. He loves your hands, the way they feel on his skin. No matter their size, they always look so small wrapped around his cock. He cherishes every mark your fingernails leave along his back, every sting they leave on his scalp when they twist his hair. He loves that your hands can go from caressing his scars to replacing them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jason loves the sight of you, sweaty and panting, with your stomach and thighs decorated in white. He's a little more possessive than he likes to admit, and he secretly feels like he's marking you as his whenever he finishes all over your skin.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves having high sex. When the weed hits just right, so the world reduces to nothing but you...that's that good shit right there. He gets so locked in that there isn't a single thought that could pull him away. He's numb in every place that isn't touching you. It adds a certain level of passion, of desperation, for each of you because your senses are so heightened to each other. However, it isn't very often that he feels both of you are to the same level of inebriated for it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn't as sexually charged as you would think and he typically waits to get to know a person before having sex with them (with a few exceptions, like for a certain crime lord's daughter). So in that regard, one of his body counts is significantly higher than the other, but he's had enough experience to know what he's doing. He knows what he likes and he knows how to figure out what you like.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So long as your legs are hooked over his hips, he's happy. Jason particularly loves it when he's on his knees while you're on your back with your hips angled over his thick thighs. It lets him get deep inside of you while still being able to look at your pretty face. Not to mention, he loves grasping your hips, spreading your legs wide. (According to trusted resource, SexPositions.Club, this is position 5. Aquarius) He also loves having you up against things. Against a wall, on the kitchen table, the handle bars of his motorcycle. The way you hold onto him in more ways than one really adds something to the moment. And yeah, maybe it allows him to show off his strength to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's tone depends on the time and place. For the most part, he's serious. He teases you, lets out a low chuckle when he gets a sought after reaction from you, but it isn't humorous. But sometimes...sex is just incredibly unserious. Like lazy morning sex, when neither of you can be bothered to do much more than roll on top of one another. Like you're horny, but Jason looks so goofy with his hair sticking up and you're a real beauty queen with your crusty eyes. Or the aforementioned high sex, when both of you are so lost in your pleasure and giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His autopsy scar stops where his happy trail begins. Before you were a regular in his bed, he didn't really think to groom himself much. But he figured he should show you some decorum, so he keeps the dark patch of hair reigned in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jason doesn't take sex lightly. It's either a tool or a declaration of love (no matter how lazy). If he's using sex as a tool, he isn't going to be very intimate. He'll praise you, sing songs about your body, but it isn't going to be very personal. However, when you're in an established relationship, he's very intimate. There's much more kissing and eye contact, lots more "that's my baby" instead of "that's it, baby".

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh yeah. Usually only if you're gone though. He'd rather have the real deal. But sometimes...if he thinks about you for a little too long...well, it's hard to hide all that when you're his size...it's just polite for everyone else if he just deals with it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jason's kinks are sort of a revolving door. He likes to go rougher and he likes to be in charge typically, but everything else is dependent on your moods. One day he'll blindfold you, the next you'll tie his hands together while he gives you orders you have to follow on your own. He'll be daddy once, then sir the next, but his favorite thing to here is Jason. He also gets a thrill out of doing it with the Red Hood mask on. He's also got a praise kink. There's nothing that gets him going more than hearing you babble about how good he's making you feel, about how much you love him. It goes the other way as well. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how well you're taking him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Where ever the mood strikes. Generally speaking, his apartment is his favorite place. There isn't a particular room, he just likes the knowledge that this is your space to do as you please. But he does get a little thrill whenever you manage to do it somewhere risky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's cliche as hell, but the sight of you in red really does work wonders for him. If he can see your nipples through your shirt, it's over. Watching you doing or say something intelligent is a huge turn on. He likes to watch you work for it. The way you oh-so-conspicuously bend over to pick something up or shiver so your chest sticks out. Make a suggestive face as you drop an innuendo only he understands and he'll see to it that your efforts don't go unrewarded.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not a voyeur. If he's gonna do it in a public setting, it's gonna be in a closet or a bathroom stall; somewhere that still shields your bodies from prying eyes. That's just for the two of you. Now, of course there's exceptions - like if you're trying to piss off your mobster father by fucking on his property, then he'll get a little cheeky for the security cameras.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jason is nothing, if not a giver. Just lay back and let him take care of it, baby. This is something he can spend hours doing. His tongue knows just where to work you, he knows just how much teeth you like, where the biting boarders on pain. And if his fingers aren't right next to his mouth, they're kneading your skin, raking his nails across your stomach with a featherlight touch, massaging the kinks in your thighs so you can open them a little more. If nothing else, his mouth and hands can cover a lot of ground.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jason likes it fast and rough. He'll drag out foreplay to his heart's content, but once you're good and ready, he's fucking you like his life depends on it. Then he's flipping you over and doing it again. That said, he has his slow and sensual moments. After a rough night when he's feeling particularly sentimental and grateful for you, he'll take all the time in the world just to watch you underneath him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pro quickie, but usually if it's an appetizer for what comes later on. It's hard to take a dick that big and casually go on about your day. So, most of the time quickies look like his fingers sneaking down your pants during your lunch break, his head between your thighs in the bathroom at a charity event, or you on your knee taking care of him before patrol.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As mentioned earlier, his kinks are a revolving door, so he would be down to experiment. He's pretty good about saying no when he needs to, and if he trusts that you can do the same, then he's open to trying new risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No one recovers like this man. He can go for as many rounds as your heart desires. Unless he's already been yearning the whole damn day, Jason can last until the cows come home.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any toys for himself and doesn't really like to use them on his own body. However, he likes to use the vibrator on you, especially during foreplay. He likes to watch as you curl into him and shake with pleasure while he drives the toy between your legs - especially knowing that it won't be enough to satisfy you for long.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease up to a certain point. If you're out doing something, he'll keep sliding his hand higher and higher up your thigh, then pull away completely, or lean down to say something to you so that his breath hits your neck in that one sensitive spot... But once your clothes are off, he can only restrain himself for so long.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Low groans and swears. His mouth as a mind of its own when he really gets going as he praises you, teases, calls out to you. You're his Baby, his Pretty Thing/Girl/Boy, so so good for him, taking it all like this. Oooh. Look. At. You. You can always tell when he's close because his panting turns to grunts, his sweet nothings become more intense as they strain between his teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's secretly a little self conscious about his body, particularly about his scars. Like, yeah, he's big and muscly and people always say they dig scars, but...some of his are, like, real nasty. Not to mention, that some of them have triggering memories attached to them. He finds his autopsy scar to be especially gross. It takes up so much of his chest and it doesn't seem to want to fade like the rest of his marks tend to do. So for a while when you first started having sex, he found ways around taking his shirt off. And if it did come off, it was in the dark. Once he works up the courage to finally show you all of him in proper light, he's surprised when you're more fascinated with it than anything. He can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you press your lips to the crux of that T-shaped stamp. He probably won't ever love his scars, but he'll always adore the way you treat them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a big guy and is very proportional. He's a solid 8 inches standing tall and girthy. He's a lot to take in, which is why he's very adamant about getting an orgasm out of you before penetration.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His libido is strong for you. As previously stated, he's not as sex charged as you would think, but he does have a strong desire for you. He initiates sex fairly regularly, but he doesn't feel the need to paw at your clothes 24/7.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He almost always waits until you fall asleep. If you manage to fall asleep quickly, then he'll follow suit typically.

[luna-azzurra]

Tips for Fight scenes #2

When characters are in a fight, their adrenaline levels skyrocket, which can affect their perception of pain and time.

If a character gets punched in the stomach, they might momentarily lose their breath, making it difficult for them to retaliate immediately.

Sweaty palms can make it harder to maintain a grip on weapons or objects during a fight, adding an element of unpredictability.

Injuries such as cuts or bruises can throb with pain long after the initial impact, distracting characters and potentially affecting their performance in the fight.

Characters might experience tunnel vision during intense combat, focusing solely on their immediate surroundings and losing awareness of peripheral threats.

Loud noises, such as gunshots or explosions, can temporarily deafen characters or leave their ears ringing, impairing their ability to communicate or hear approaching danger.

Characters might experience a surge of aggression or fear-induced paralysis when faced with a life-threatening situation, impacting their decision-making and fighting effectiveness.

Painful injuries can trigger involuntary reactions, such as flinching or crying out, which can inadvertently give away a character's position or intentions to their opponent.

Adrenaline-fueled fights can leave characters feeling exhausted and shaky afterward, making it difficult for them to think clearly or coordinate their movements.

In the heat of battle, characters might not notice injuries or pain until after the fight is over, when the adrenaline wears off and their body's natural defenses kick in.

[feelingthedisaster]

i think that as fandom, we should have more fics with this tag (x)

[usermischief]

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale ♚ Tags: canon divergence, getting together ♚ Words: 2883

ao3

---

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

---

Click.

Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. “Fucking hell.” Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else – even exorcising this damned place – worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around – and found out – with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.

Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.

A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy he’s found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood – aptly named Bobak, Bo for short – and who has refused to leave Stiles’ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely won’t be happy about his lifestyle – flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around – Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stiles’ life less, much less, lonely.

Bo barks again.

Stiles quirks a brow. “What? It’s not dinner time yet.”

Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stiles’ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. He’s going to miss Bo’s floppy ears once he’s grown into them.

Before Stiles can follow him, there’s a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence – maybe he should just get an electrician this once – and turns to the front door. It’s not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isn’t usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else – not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldn’t finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.

He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him – aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.

Derek’s never been lurking around here, though.

Well, not until today, that is.

And Stiles’ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derek’s supernatural hearing and all.

Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. “Hey.” He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. “Can I- do you-” Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. “You wanna come in?”

“I bought dinner,” Derek says at the same time.

They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stiles’ neck grow uncomfortably warm.

Luckily, Derek cuts it short. “I’d love to.”

Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was – when? Stiles doesn’t really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, he’s been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad it’s really gotten in the past four years.

“Looks good,” Derek remarks, almost curious in the way he’s taking everything in. “You did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. “Teenagers and haunted houses.”

“Werewolves too?”

If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesn’t show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. “Werewolves especially.”

Stiles snorts and crosses the room. “I expected you to be smarter.” He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, he’s got to figure out the new logistics.

“How’d you do it?” Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.

Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesn’t know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.

Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as he’s greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. “Very carefully,” he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. “And lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isn’t that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think he’s suicidal or are very happy to help.

Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “The demon or the house flipping?”

“Ah.” Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. “That’s why you’re here.”

Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. He’s probably used to people jumping at his command.

It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“I just did.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, “I meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever you’re around me.” He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, “unless, of course, there are other reasons for that.” He’s got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, there’s no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case he’s rejected. Two months tops, and he’s out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.

Derek’s lips twitch.

Good. So, Stiles didn’t exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, it’s impossible to hide anyway.

“Tingling?” Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.

Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek’s gaze drops to his neck then back up again. “You’re a poor conversationalist.”

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. “Geez, D, you can’t just ask people why they’re making you feel weird.”

A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. “I can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.”

Fair point.

However, “I literally exorcised this fucking demon.” Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.

Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didn’t outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how he’d prefer this evening to go. He sighs. “I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.” Stiles doesn't miss as Derek’s expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-” he waves his hand around. “Thought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?” It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.

But that’s something nobody else needs to know about.

Derek straightens.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. They’re very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time – time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their target’s defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if he’s learned anything from his own possession, it’s how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.

Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. “Of course, I could.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. It’s one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.

Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derek’s hand, locking eyes with him again. “Awfully confident there, buddy.”

His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.

Focus.

“You don’t scare me.”

Derek stops directly in front of him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isn’t necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him – as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.

Fucking werewolves, seriously.

“Cute,” Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. “Still not scared, though.” They’re probably both aware that’s not entirely true, but he’s never been someone to back down from a challenge. “You gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.” Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, big guy.”

Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so – and Stiles can’t help but watch his mouth move. It’s fascinating. Every time he’s seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didn’t think he could chuckle, much less laugh.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Beautiful even.

His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. “You’re not very attentive.”

“Oh, really?” Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. “How do you think I’m finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. I’m actually the most at-”

Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stiles’ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derek’s hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.

Stiles’ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesn’t quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.

Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.  

The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. It’s probably best to be upfront.

Once more, he clears his throat. “I’m not staying.” He crouches down and can’t help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. “At least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next… target, I guess.” He runs his fingers through Bo’s soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.

For the first time in years.

Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that he’s a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesn’t need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because he’s loaded. So, he’s either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town… or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles won’t lie — he’s not only a handful, he’s also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. They’re not entirely wrong.

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that he’s not planning on leaving soon. “But maybe I can convince you to come back.” 

Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.

This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. “So, you stalked me because you like me.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. “I never stalked you.”

Bo barks.

“He says you’re a liar.” Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. “I think you followed me around, but didn’t know how to approach me.” Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.

Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sally’s diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.

Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.

[ariadne-mouse]

Let's play a scary game >:)

Now you might think, "this poll can't hurt me, I won't vote!" but remember, the options will still become visible when the poll is concluded, so it behooves you to vote and influence your inevitable doom. Non-writers encouraged to vote/reblog as well to inflict Consequences on your author friends :)

Oh, and if multiple options are tied for first, they stack.

[polar-equinoxx]

The Locker Scene™️

[thatuselesshuman]

For motivation's sake...

Imma do one of those posts like "for every # of notes I'll do ____" but for writing

10 notes — 100 words in my WIP

25 notes — a new chapter posted in Bloody Hands Are Kind

50 notes — 2000 words in a work of my choosing

100 notes — 4000 words in a work of my choosing

150 notes — 2 back to back chapters of Bloody Hands are Kind (back to back: 2 chapters in 2 days)

200 notes — finish first chapter of my WIP

If this gets anymore notes (it probably won't) I'll reblog with higher "rewards"

Spam allowed if you have the time, comments reblogs and likes all count

All "reward" things will be posted under the tag "writer note challenge" for proof

[xxcallmemaryxx]

IV who develops a burning hatred towards turtle necks when you start wearing one.

You bought yourself one, the weather is getting cooler as the days go on so it seemed like a good idea at the time. You had it washed and ready to wear the next day, slipping it on and starting your morning as you always do. Feeling nice in your new top.

Except the trouble started when IV realised he no longer had access to your neck. Your neck that he loves to bury himself in. That he loves to kiss. That he loves to make a right mess of every chance he gets. You watch as he approaches you, a look you can’t quite place settles on his face. He hooks his finger into the top of the neckline and pulls it down slightly. There’s not much give, it sits really snug to your skin, which honestly wasn’t intentional… you swear.

You catch the furrow of his brows when you laugh a little at the fact that your neck is off limits to him when you wear this top. You think it’s quite funny to poke some fun at him for it, you say something about how maybe this’ll teach him some self control from now on when it comes to you.

IV doesn’t find it funny at all.

IV hasn’t had an ounce of self control when it comes to you since the day he met you.

One shirt isn’t going to make him have any now.

The shirt goes missing the moment you take it off. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where it might’ve ended up, yet IV swears he hasn’t seen it.

Which… is partly true. He hasn’t seen it since he threw it out. But he won’t tell you that part, and you don’t even have a chance to question him further before his face is pressed into your now very exposed neck.

He likes this much better.

No more turtle necks for you.

[moodstabilizr]

will never understand why some of u bully people off this app for consuming or creating something you are personally not into.

like would u go to barnes and noble and complain bc they have books there that you dont like? no bc you would look fuckin stupid.

you are on the same lame ass loser shit as everyone else on this app or ao3 or whatever you choose to look at . ur not superior to anyone if anything ur worse! u are being mean to random ppl on the internet on a anonymous account.. which is 1.pussy as fuck 2. giving ask.fm

and at the end of the day it’s ✨fictional✨ its not real! its not that serious!

if they are not harming anyone and are tagging their work properly who cares! because harassing or doxing people over fucking fanfiction…… f a n f i c t i o n is actually insane and a little sad ngl

[writers-potion]

Writing Male Fighters

Body Language

Before they start fighting, they will communicate a lot through body language, either conscious or subconscious.

Standing with legs apart, elbows out to the side, shoulders aquared, chin thrust forward and up, hcest inflated and turned full front to his opponent, piercing stare. These cures are intended to make him bigger.

He may hook his hands into his belt, framing his genitals.

Subtly stretching his neck or spine.

Stepping close up to the other, invading the other person's personal space. The one who steps back will "lose" - when this happens, we know that fists will be flying soon.

Skills

When writing a scene from a male point of view, don't make the mistake of writing a detail about basic fighting skills (like landing a fist in the opponent's jaw). For a man (on average) who probably learnt to box in his playground days - it would be better to let the moves come naturally.

For fancier skills (like weapons handling or martial arts), you may explain in fuller detail so that your readers can follow what's happening.

Weapons

Men often have a special relationship with their weapon: very personal, almost intimate. The weapon may serve as a symbol of his power, masculinity and reflect his self-image, even.

The hero may be seen cleaning, repairing, oiling his weapon, bragging about it or comparing it with others'.

Men Against Women

Most men are reluctant to hurt a woman. This instinct is often hard-wired into them, even in martial arts school that pride themselves on gender equality.

While there is no biological reason for sparing a a female fighter - only the sense of good old chivalry - you can show your villain hesitate for a second or hit less hard when a see a woman coming for him.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[sifloop]

Chapter 17 is finally finished!

[applepie-enthusiast]

oh, to be giyuu, who doesn't like it when someone is too physically close, as seen with his initial reaction to tanjirou sitting too close across him, but planning to keep an ohagi hidden by his sleeve in hopes to give it to his crush while totally hoping their hands won't brush in homosexual when he passes the said treat to the said crush

[princessdarth-vader]

i can't stop thinkng about kristen this episode. her kindness. her honesty. she sees a grieving man; a man she hates, a man who has wronged her and hurt her, a man who she would be well within her right to vow to destroy, to laugh at his pain. and she says "it's too sad not to tell him". she tells him the truth about what she knows. a hard truth, but a necessary truth. he doesn't believe her, but she tells him anyway, because she cares. because this is a world barely a step from hers.

she talks to her brother, and she doesn't try to make a grand gesture. she doesn't try to heroically convince him to turn away. she empathises, she's been there. she tells him she understands. and she meets his doubt with courage, with a hand to hold, with a lantern to light up the overwhelming darkness. she offers him the hand he needs when he's too afraid to ask for it.

she talk to jawbone. she sees how hard a time he's having, and she reaches out. she helps, and she tells him that her plan was to take advantage of him, but she couldn't go through with it. she's honest and kind and giving at every fucking turn, and she tries again and again and again.

it's in the way she would still reach out and try to reconnect with her parents, who let her down and betrayed her trust and innocence. The way she insisted that buddy be revived, and was hopeless when she could do nothing to help. for all her chaos and bits, kristen is one of the most heartfelt and genuine characters in dimension 20 and i fully fully believe that.