#forced writing

[canuckleheadcowgirl]

[kannemeinelauthor]

You can’t force writing…

Either you have the urge to write, the creativity, much less the time … or, you don’t.  I have TRIED for four years now since covid to write as prolifically as I did back in the day, and let me tell you … it doesn’t work that way anymore. I was staying with a friend whose mother felt that if I sat down at a set time, for a set period of time, then I would write my stories.  That didn’t work. …

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[theshortestsniper-blog]

Forced Writing Fail?

(( Boredom overtook me so I tried to force myself to write again. I've only came up with this:

"Blithesome melodies of joy muted to sepulchral wisps in the darkened caverns of my Frankenstein heart." ))

[theshortestsniper-blog]

The File of Simmons

Doctor Theodor Simmons of Germany.

Class: Medic, Builders League United.

Previous location: Teufort.

Current Location: Unknown.

The sun damaged paper crinkled crisply in her hand as she flipped to the next page of the file. E. had taken advantage of her status as a temp. She made a point to reap the rewards of loosely held information, regarding mercenaries both past and present that the administrators gave to her just as freely as their disdain of their employees. Although just a sniper, the ever curious woman craved any information of those around her and those who they were replacing. This file, however, she swiped after hearing a couple rumors slither through various forts. Rumors about a particular medic. A Mister Doctor Simmons.

From some slipped words of a genius and others of a villain. Some murmured of the scintillating silver tongue possessed by one of such faculty. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel disquieted as stories of torture and unholy appetites intertwined with the words of praise. Her lips pressed into a tight line in discontent when confronted with nothing more than an solitary photo of the man. This Doctor Simmons looked to be a man of his fifties or later, but that meant nothing. His neurotic stare... It did nothing to settle her feelings of wariness. For someone who appeared to be a guileless father of medical research, the human flesh hid a predatory demon lurking ravenously behind a sheep’s pelt.

E. quietly closed the barren file and put it aside. Her fingers intertwined amongst themselves to act as a bed for her chin as she rested her elbows upon the table, her eyes locked on the thin file. A taut grimace molded her lips as she made a clear mental note to herself. This was one man she was not going to seek out, and may the good Lord help those who fall prey to his ‘hospitality.’

[theshortestsniper-blog]

BLARGH Garbage Post

Teetering on the back legs of the chair, E. nibbled on another pickled green bean straight from the mason jar. She was happy she decided to bring some with her to sawmill. As time passed by unnoticed while enjoying her midnight snack she got to thinking of some...less than savory characters she had experienced recently.

Amadour, bah! That tentaspy was certainly a curmudgeon if she'd ever met one. Cantankerous, slimy, suit-wearing bastard. Any negotiations of civility failed between her and splice, but she wouldn't give up quite yet. Not before she could chop off one of those tentacles to see what color he bled.

Then there was the medic, Rohheit. Rohheit. Just thinking of his name made her shiver in uneasiness as she bit another crisp pickled bean. She had a soft spot for medics except that one. He was an intimidating individual worth avoiding yet, as much as she abhorred herself for it, he was strangely interesting. . . in a very anomalous, macabre kind of way.

[theshortestsniper-blog]

(( I just forced myself to write garbage. -Shrugs.- ))

She had gotten to rather enjoy the dreary charms of sawmill. The area and climate was reminiscent of her home in the Pacific Northwest, so settling into the new base was easy enough. Tonight however the sniper stood outside in the open wood shack, a thermos of hot peppermint tea cradled in her hands. Tonight the weather was dark and blustery rather then the light dusting of pristine snow or a light rain. Tonight the area to take on a forlorn atmosphere.

The wind’s sepulchral moan was more chilling than its fleeting, sharp touch upon exposed flesh as it haunted through the grounds. A violent shiver ran up through her frame beneath the thick leather trench coat. She turned the stiff collar up of the coat in attempts to keep the wind at bay, although the action was futile. This stench of rotting, old lumber flood her senses causing her to wrinkling her nose disgruntled. Whoever designed the shack her apparently never store wood before in their lives. That was one thing she'd have to fix here while stationed. No one was going to be warm at the base if the wood wasn't properly stored and looked after.

[ecriture-is-the-vie]

I see the day break out from between the sheets as a large drop of amber falls into your atmosphere. The mood is shadowy and sweet; the whispering of the trees trill of your entire being, and I feel you here. Your fingertips draw lines of our future, flighty yet purposeful against the misdrawn sides of my face. Your eyes tell of an ethereal beauty previously unknown but now achingly familiar. Your breath oscillates from short harsh intakes to hushed smiles. I feel you here. There’s a gravity about you that draws me in like a comet in its trajectory. You make me swerve unsteadily along your familiar path, all for the cadence of your eyes, of your laugh, of your walk, of your you. Then day breaks out as you look into my eyes and there’s a feeling of sureness that settles in that clashes with reality. 

[sunbeamfrog]

10 keywords

So. Sammy gave me 10 keywords

1. anal

2. kinky

3. flower crown

4. intestine

5. starbucks

6. one direction

7. knife

8. fluids

9. wreck 

10. bondage

So here you go, a nice fanfic, meant in a funny way, not fixed at all.

---

Dean were giving Cas his life experience: Their first occasion. Dean often teased Cas about it, but eventually, they both knew they wanted it. It was all new to Dean though, he hadn't done the 'anal' as many times, but it was fine. Cas knife was placed under their pillow, but as Cas moved up and down, Dean thrusting into his cakehole, the knife almost fell to the floor. Somehow, Cas had known it would happen, so he grabbed it while moaning in a dark, rusty voice. He wanted to move it to the shelf, but he felt the vibration from Deans cock inside him, too hard to withstand, he was close to coming. Both om them were. Cas forgot all about the knife and tossed his arms around Deans shoulders, hitting his shoulder with the edge of the knife. Dean frowned and kept a scream inside. It felt good. "The knife", he groaned and he stopped thrusting for a moment. "I-" Cas moaned again, higher, more pained. He choked. He felt his intestine knotting and the knife fell out of his hands. He dug his nails in to Dean's shoulder blades. "I-I liked the knife", Dean muttered, tired. The fluids washing through Cas anal were refreshing, they both enjoyed it. Cas pulled Dean down in a fast movement, forcing his tongue into his mouth, ignoring the bondage that kept him down. His legs were trying to break free, as if they had their own free will. Team free will. Half a minute of heated tongue and spit exchanging had passed silently, only muttering and moaning sneaking out of their mouth before they tried to swap places. Forgetting about the bondage, they forced their skin into the ropes and it cut through their flesh like a butterknife through butter. Dean still wasn't done cumming, so he dragged himself out of Cas, and he enveloped his own cock in his hand, rubbing it against Cas'. Cas didn't fully understand how he would come, so he did the same, stretching his hand out, reaching for his temple. Dean felt kinky. The pink underwear he had worn were tossed off the bed, so was Cas' tie, which he had used to cover up his temple. A couple of starbucks were lying on the floor, dripping. They had drunk them to get into the mood, coffee, somehow, made them aroused. Not long after a couple of glances, they began licking each others nipples, toying with their tongues. They had exchanged starbucks while making out aggressively and they were both happy with it. Dean's flower crown were almost falling off as he felt his insides working. His balls were getting goosebumps and he still felt Cas' tongue moving inside his mouth, even though they were both busy moaning. 

This was going one direction, and one direction only: the gay direction.

The morning after, they were both worn out. Dean was a wreck, but as Cas' still not had figured completly how to react, new to being a human, he couldn't sleep. He just felt heavy, and longinly, he looked at Dean's messed up junk. The knife were blood stained, lying on the cold floor in the corner of the room. He couldn't really remember what had happened the night before, but he knew it was good. He felt it on his cock, because slowly, it began to move again. Towards him. (written by screaming-castiel)