#find the word

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the Word tag

Thanks @jezifster for the tag! These are piling up I'm going through them!

My words: chill, lift, wreck, final

Your words: disappoint, raise, bland, flexible

Tagging @theeccentricraven @thepeculiarbird @awritingcaitlin @sleepywriter00 @mikathewriter @little-peril-stories @space-writes @unrepentantcheeseaddict @ohnomybreadsticks @blind-the-winds @andyswritings or anyone else who'd like to play!

Keep reading for:

Training session with dragon

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped....

Don't let this guy fool you he's an asshole

Robbie's infamous fight with Jason

Chill - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

Custos roared and his fire broke through the pitch darkness, illuminating Tyler. He pitched the light toward Custos as Kelsey slammed into him. Tyler stumbled but held his stance, pushing against Kelsey as he tried to keep Custos in the light. “Medina! Go!” I could scarcely make out Noelle’s outline in the dim light, but the chill I felt down my spine as her silhouette moved was strong. I heard a surprised shout. “Gills! What happened?” “My rock stopped! I slipped off the ledge, but I’m okay.” My grip on the stick tightened. Tyler struggled to keep Kelsey from knocking him over. I looked at Custos. Gills told me I was defense. He’d understand. The real problem was Noelle. She grabbed Gills’ rock in pitch darkness. She could get me. I pulled harder on the stick. Noelle’s pull tightened, too. Smirking to myself, I let the stick go and flew upward—cutting through the air. Noelle grunted as the stick hit her with her own force. Once high enough, I shot toward the dragon, hoping to keep the momentum to pass through the dampening field and get the sphere. I knew it as soon as I passed. I lost my grip on the air and began to fall, but I latched onto the collar before doing so. Custos didn’t like that and tried to paw me off, but I managed to unclasp the sphere. “Haha!—oomph!” I celebrated until Custos did knock me off.

Lift - from School of the Legends Year One

Jill seemed mildly confused, but she shrugged, and the three of them began to sneak back to the edge of the mantle. Jack fell a bit behind, struggling to carry the harp. The logical side of him told him to just leave the harp, but his gut told him otherwise. He couldn’t explain it, but he needed to take this harp. Ahead, Jill and Beau had already reached the end of the mantle. Jack gestured for them to go on, but too late he realized that was a mistake, as the harp began to slip from his fingers. He moved quickly, gaining a firm grip on the harp before it hit the mantle, but as he did so, one of his fingers brushed against the harp’s strings. Jack froze as both giants turned toward the sound. Instantly, the male was up and crossing the room. Jack bolted toward the end of the mantle, suddenly finding an adrenaline-fueled strength to lift the harp. “Go!” he shouted at Jill and Beau. “I’ll catch up!” They both hesitated, but they soon disappeared from Jack’s view. Jack continued to run, but was soon stopped by the crashing of a gigantic fist crashing onto the mantle in front of him, the force of which sent Jack off his feet, and crashing on his back. The giant loomed over Jack, eyes that were larger than Jack blazing in fury. “Who do you think you are?” he asked in a mountain-shattering voice--in English, Jack was barely able to process. “Breaking into my home and stealing my things?” “It’s not like you’re gonna do anything with them!” Jack shouted--though his voice came out a lot weaker than he expected. “I’m keeping them safe until they are needed!” The giant raised his fist--probably planning to smash Jack--but Jack took the opportunity to bolt toward the end of the mantle. The giant’s size was now a hindrance--too slow, and his fist crashed into the mantle, cracking it, just next to where Jack was. But the crack bent the mantle, and Jack now found himself on a sloped surface--slight enough to where he could still run, but steep enough for him to lose balance and almost fall to his feet. He peered over the side. Jill and Beau were now on the ground, pressed against the wall. They’d left the plants for Jack, though with the force of the crack, the stalk connecting the mantle with the side table had snapped. Jack was now at the edge of the mantle, looking down at the long fall to the table. He whipped his head back to the giant, who was now recoiling from breaking his mantle. He looked back at his options. He could stay here and get crushed, or he could jump. Then his eyes drifted past the table and to the recliner--the back of it. It was a soft surface. It wasn't too much farther. Though directly in the path of the jump he would have to make was the candlestick, the flame on the wick now threateningly large and sparking. A quick glance back was enough to tell Jack that he had no option. As soon as the giant slammed his hand down beside Jack, he jumped, hoping the force from the giant’s slam was enough to propel him over the candlestick.

Wreck - from The Secret Portal Part Three (OLD DRAFT because this word doesn't appear in any current drafts....this was back when telepathy and empathy were separate oh my God whyyyyyyy)

Doctor David Pinchên took a seat on his sofa, reclining into its soft cushions, his coffee warming his hands. Just three days ago, he had published his textbook on Telepathic Theory. It had taken him years of research, but finally, his work was complete. He hoped that the school curriculum would soon offer Telepathic Theory as a course. It was fascinating to think about, and he himself hoped that one day more and more of the youth would be as swept away as he was. He, of course, was not a telepath. He was, however, a Level-1 empath. The two were often confused, and he took umbrage at the ignorance of others when he had spent nearly the entirety of his life being asked, “What am I thinking?!” Though, being an empath, he did understand that not everyone was familiar with the Levels and Classes and abilities of their race. The database was long and complicated, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the one who put it together a millenia ago didn’t have it memorized by the time he or she died, even though when the database was first published, most of the subpowers, and even full umbrella powers, didn’t even exist yet. In fact, it hadn’t been too terribly long since a fourth Class of powers had been discovered, with the arrival of chronokinesis, energy conversion, and dimensiokinesis. With empaths being closely related to telepaths, David found himself sympathizing rather seamlessly with the psychics. Even as a Level-1, he still experienced the common headaches and emotional breakdowns that had formed into a sad-but-true stereotype for empaths to be unstable. He had been what some would call “a wreck” as a boy, and it didn’t help that he skipped two grades of elementary school, so being a physically smaller emotional mess did nothing to stop nasty kids taking advantage of him once his powers kicked in. Though he usually used his abilities to discover if anything else was bothering the bullies, which there usually was, and reported his findings to the school’s counselor, also an empath, all of which were, and usually that kid’s issue was resolved, which led to that kid being nice to him in gratitude. David didn’t want to brag about this accomplishment. He was just using his powers for a good reason. Because of these actions, he’d had mixed reception from adults. Some wished him to continue to use his powers and become a counselor or therapist, while others pushed him to appeal to his science side. He had no interest in therapy, as he had been simply stating his findings to someone much more qualified. So he did go toward the direction of a more theoretical science, which those adults that pushed him to pursue a more scientific path were convinced was “a waste of a great mind.” Oh, how he hoped he could see them once Telepathic Theory became a college major.

Final - from The Secret Portal Part One (Robbie POV)

I stopped in my tracks and turned to my right. Jason Sturges stood down the hall, clicking his stupid sticks against the lockers. A rush of fury overtook me as I remembered this morning. I didn’t know what I was doing until I was right beside Jason, punching him in the face. Jason stood up straighter, rubbing his jaw, his steely blue eyes locked on me with a look that could kill. Still, I didn’t regret the action. Yeah, I shouldn’t have done it, but who gave a shit? I may not have been a hero, but justice was justice. “Alright, heartthrob.” Jason tucked his drumsticks into the back pocket of his jeans. “This is how you want to play?” My right hand was on fire from the punch. Jason cracked his knuckles. I wanted to run, catch up with Akash, but I stood my ground. Jason took a swing at me; I threw up my hands to block my face—actually, my glasses—and Jason’s fist collided with my arm with enough force to cause me to stagger backward. Before I could regain my balance, Jason charged at me, and with full force, slammed me against the nearest locker. The impact caused my entire nervous system to light up, and though it hurt, I felt powerful. The force filled me with new-found energy. The lights flickered, warmth flooded through my body. Jason stepped back, though kept me in place. A scarlet light began to glow from somewhere. Jason looked at the light, then the ceiling. Then me. “What the….” I gave Jason a final push to get off of me, but what I meant to be a good shove sent Jason through the air and crashing into the lockers on the other side of the hall, then falling to the ground. The scarlet light dimmed until it disappeared. The lights stopped flickering. “Stay away from him,” I growled.

[ladytauria]

find the word game

tagged by @kieran-granola! thank you <333

i found all but one of these in 'the sweetness of honey' draft but i decided to check other wips too dfghk

cat (JayTim)

from an alternate draft of 'another night'

Jason enters the Nest looking like something the cat dragged in. He’s dripping wet, hair plastered to his head. A bruise blooms high on his cheek, a fresh cut mars the corner of his mouth. He’s limping slightly and his boots squelch with every step. He looks exhausted. Tim’s heart pangs in sympathy. “Rough night?” he asks, closing his tabs. His report will keep. Jason snorts. “You can say that again.” He drops his helmet on his workstation far rougher than normal before peeling off his gloves and tossing them down too. He kneels. His fingers shake as he undoes the laces of his boots, and he curses under his breath. Tim approaches. “Let me help,” he offers.

sleep (JayTim)

from the sequel to 'empty promises'

Then Jason swallows, and says, “You—uh. You asked about the job?” He almost takes it back—asks Jason how he’s been sleeping, instead; if he reaches for Tim in his sleep the same way Tim has been reaching for Jason. He almost tells him to forget the job, forget the argument. Just come home. Almost.

wet (JayTim)

from chapter 6 of 'the sweetness of honey'

Jason smooths the glob of cream over his skin. Tim shivers; his skin pebbling. Jason watches his nipples pucker, harden, wetting his lips before glancing at Tim’s face again, where Tim watches him through half-lidded eyes. Jason’s flush spreads. Down his neck, over his collarbones. His pussy throbs in time with his pulse—it’s tempting, so tempting, to grind down on Tim’s bulge. He doesn’t. Jason’s arousal isn’t important. What’s important is taking care of Tim, of caring for him even as half as well as he’s cared for Jason.

magic (JayTim)

from 'teenage fantasies side a' in which tim talks jason through one of the fantasies he had about robin ;) it's finished, but i'm waiting to post until i have side b, one of jason's teen fantasies, finished~

Jason can picture it. Being fifteen again, when Robin was losing its magic. When he looked around Gotham, seeing not the people they’d saved—but the one’s they hadn’t. The ones they failed. He’s fighting with Bruce more and more, questioning everything. Even school doesn’t offer an escape. And Dick—well. Dick is great, but busy. Distant. And always fighting with Bruce. He’s lonely. He doesn’t think he’d realized how much, then. And then— There’s Tim, looking at him with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, faintly awestruck and painfully earnest. In Jason’s mind, he’s not 12, 13 as he would have been, but 14. 15, even. Younger than him, but not young.

no-pressure tagging -> @thesandsofelsweyr ; @n1ightw1ng ; @deepwithintheabyss ; & @zeroducks-2

your words are -> glow, dusk, purple, and bright

[ahordeofwasps]

Find the Word Tag

I've been tagged by the terrific @autumnalwalker! Thanks for the tag! My words are even, perhaps, body, & shatter. I'll be sharing excerpts from Crying Wolf.

But first, the no pressure tags! I'll be tagging @cat-esper, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @sarandipitywrites, @notwritinganyflufftoday, and open tag! Your words are cold, bold, fold, and mold!

Now, onto Crying Wolf!

Even

So, Justine kept protecting the bad man, feeling like a toy soldier marching into oblivion. She told herself that unlike the Capital, blood wasn’t being shed. But that was a lie. Even though it was not being shed in back-alley knife fights, it was shed by empty stomachs and overworked bodies, on deathbeds occupied by the too-young.

Perhaps

Ogwut knelt down beside the one-eyed man, wondering once more if he was dying. “What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching towards the one-eyed man’s arm. Perhaps it had something to do with the missing eye? He gently grabbed his wrist, intending to pull it back so he could assess the damage. The one-eyed man stiffened and stopped convulsing as soon as Ogwut gripped his wrist. He scrambled to his feet, trying to yank himself away. “DON’T KILL ME!” he screamed. He was no longer making the strangled choking noises. In the torchlight, Ogwut could see that his face glistened with both tears and blood. His eyes widened as he realized the one-eyed man wasn’t dying at all: he was crying. He let go of his wrist. The one-eyed man fell to the ground and scrambled backwards.

Body

Standing in the doorway was not a Thing. It was a boy. He was not a normal boy. He had skin like most adolescents, but it looked like it belong to a corpse and didn’t cover his entire body, leaving his left arm and left half of his torso bare to the elements. What was bare had the familiar gleam of metal. The boy’s eyes were much like Ogwut’s: cold and glassy. From a circular wound in his right arm, strange molasses-like blood oozed.

Shatter

Jack marched into the room. The governor wrenched the drawer open, shoving his hand inside. “WHERE IS SHE?” he roared. The windows in the room shattered.

[mjjune]

Find The Word Game

thanks so much to @space-writes for tagging me in my fav game

my words: fate, breathe, alive and leave

tagging (no pressure): @isabellebissonrouthier @sarandipitywrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @winterandwords

your words: destiny, dead, dry, door, dang

fate

“You know it’s true,” she said. “Either you would have to become a shaman here, or you would have to leave Mutani to escape that fate.”

breathe

A few kids in the crowd beside me breathed oohs and ahhs as she greeted the locals and walked to the market square’s podium. She only had one visible earned mark, triangular and pointing down from her lips to her chin. I remembered being like the kids beside me, in awe of visitors from the capital. Now, though, it just made me wary.

alive

I rotated so my face went under the surface, opening my eyes to see through the crystal clear water. Beneath the dirt floor, I could see glimpses of red, heat rising. The heat here, the last of the extinct volcano, was as ancient as this temple. The shamans and monks used their connection to water to keep it alive, to keep it warm and clean and clear.

leave

When she spoke again, her breath hitched in her throat so it came out as only a whisper. “You’re really going to leave me, aren’t you?” I reached out and took her hand against the table, shaking my head. “Never.”

DS TAGLIST: (message or comment below to be +/-) @artbyeloquent @bebewrites @careful-fear @cherrybombfangirlwrites @cljordan-imperium @cocomerocollection @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue @faithfire-writes @flowerprose @garthcelyn @hope-hopefully-writes @isabellebissonrouthier @jamieanovels @kingkendrick7 @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @marrowwife @mr-writes @saintedseraph @saphoblin @thyroidhormones @treesandwords @wildswrites

[space-writes]

find the word

tagged by @bardic-tales, thank you! (im gonna do this on my writing blog, thespacelizard is my main) my words are sorrow, light, fear. Since one of the words is sorrow, i simply have to go back into Renegade Prince for this.

no-pressure tagging @talesfromaurea @kaylinalexanderbooks @sam-glade and @jmhwritesstuff with the words return, allow, flee and away

sorrow

(it’s a character name, so that’s what this is, which kinda feels like cheating, but also i do love him very much so…)

Arcanist Rivaanlehnim was, therefore, thoroughly awake when Sorrow and his trio of Vetusak K'zinla climbed in through the window of his fourth-floor study in the middle of the night. He did not look up from the crystals spread out on his desk at their arrival. “Someone should teach you how doors work, Prince Sorrow,” he said, flipping a stronger magnifying lens down over one eye. “I had very little desire to be transformed into a toad this evening,” Sorrow said. At his left shoulder, Excellence was scanning the room, taking note of the additions Rivaanlehnim had made to his protections since last they’d visited. “Skellin, actually,” the arcanist said. “Much like the one your lieutenant has for some reason tucked into her shirt. Are you aware they’re venomous?”

light

Her feet were light again on the stairs as she hurried back down. She needn’t have worried – there was so much noise from back room and taproom alike that no-one would have heard her if she’d danced a jig down the banister and sounded a fanfare to finish.

fear

(three guesses who’s saying this line)

“You need not fear. Our little ghost is the most mercenary man I have ever met – so long as his purse is full of my coin, his murderous intent will be turned elsewhere than you.”

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist @at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph @sam-glade (ask to be +/-)

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: Find the Word (Round 2!)

I've been tagged by @faytelumos (thanks!) so here's more snippets of my various WIPS.

My words are: hungry, messy, laugh, stomp, and blue.

Hungry - Trials of the Six, Scene 41

“Those questions are also on my mind, yes. But I haven’t met very many Ilunians, and it surprised me how similar you look to a friend of mine.” His captor regarded him with an expression on the verge of amusement. “Huh. Might hail from the same fleet. Hungry?”

Messy - An Immortal Thief

‘Blessed’ by the goddess, just like I was, those knives have the ability to inflict wounds that resist the average methods of healing, and they can incapacitate a guard with only a slice to the shoulder rather than the throat. They make stealth missions a lot easier and less messy. If I lose them, the goddess wouldn’t be too pleased with me.

Laugh - Trials of the Six, Scene 7

“What are you two even talking about?” Korfel demanded from near the sail, clearly exasperated.  Jarsali stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just bitter. Laugh once in a while.” “I laugh!” “Not when I’m around you don’t!”

Stomp - The Legend of Orian Goldeneye

Jas laughed and stomped on the smooth, glass-like rock. Killian expected it to crack like ice, but it held firm. “Come on,” she said, “let’s look inside.”

Blue - The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure, Chapter 19

“This place is a curse,” he hissed, a small plume of blue flame escaping his lips, “you wouldn’t believe the amount of souls roaming unclaimed upon these grounds. Don’t let me add yours to the number.” “Are you done?” The one on the left, an elf, asked impatiently. “Because you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Gently tagging @gamerkats @chronicallydragons @smudgedredink @themswritinwords @late-to-the-fandom (also open as usual)

Your words are: side, scatter, listen and study.

Happy searching!

[tabswrites]

Find the Word

Tagged by @ahordeofwasps here and @mister-writes here!

Tagging: @dyrewrites @little-peril-stories @sparrow-orion-writes @mysticstarlightduck @bee-barnes-author @ahungeringknife

Your words will be: one, hand, fire and bruise

Blood

A spray of blood shot from his mouth as his head snapped to the side. Hettie, fretfully hovering out of harm’s way, screamed–and still, Mara could not speak.

Flood

Her arms were around him in an instant and as she exhaled, she finally let forth the flood that she had been threatening to burst. She felt his shoulders shake and realized he must have done the same.

Mud

Dud

Alone

The arch loomed in front of her, beaming with a pale white light that washed the color out of the tall grass that surrounded it. Her own unsteady breathing was the only sound in the clearing. She was alone. She had never been alone before.

Surprise

Hettie pushed the bag away. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I provide food and clothes, I can’t be part of…whatever it is you’re up to.”

The exile seemed unsurprised by her reaction. “I did not mean to bring you any trouble. I plan to turn myself in as soon as the delivery has been arranged.” Aside from a troublesome glint in her eyes, she appeared relatively harmless.

Close

Oliver lay beside her, just to the right, close enough that she could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. His wavy black hair covered half of his face, dirt smeared across the other. It was a state of dishevelment she had never seen him in outside of a bedroom.

[amaiguri]

Find the Word... Also pretty late..

@maskedemerald, you tagged me FOREVER ago to celebrate your. And now, I shall deliver :D

My words are: ring, whine, struck

Ring

When Eris first presented her ring finger to Kalliopeia, — the green Ysse crystal that could very well end the world — Kalliopeia made me promise to stop her if she ever lost her mind and sought to concentrate her own people into an infinitesimally dense point — as she had with Togen Oyer. -- Diacaius, "The Heart"

Whine

For a moment, it wobbled. Whined. Smoking. But it regrouped even faster than before — new hands clawing from the charred remains. Bigger ones. Clawed ones. -- Arlasaire, "Lightless"

Struck

Her body went limp beneath me. I struck her again for good measure. And again. She didn’t move. -- Arlasaire, "The Raid"

And now... we must pass on new words to our dear friends @maiemorrae, @winterandwords, @reaperofcrows, @zebee-nyx, @cee-grice, @moonfeatherblue and (since it's been months) BACK to @maskedemerald ;)

YOUR WORDS ARE: Ghost, Lantern, Echo, Blade, Shadow AND I have a bonus request: Please display your FAVORITE unusual word that you have in your wip :D

[awritingcaitlin]

🧪Find the Word🧪

@theprissythumbelina tagged me not too long ago for the words: Jinx, Call, Inch, and Flex

I'll tag: @oh-no-another-idea, @baroquesse, @tananaphone, @saphoblin, and @sentfromwolves for the words: quiet, bring, short, button, safe

Snippets from CTQ under the cut!

👀JINX

“This leg of the trip certainly seems quieter,” Lubbock mused.

“I’m going to pretend this is about us no longer traveling with Ashora and not you almost jinxing the rest of our trip,” Killian said.

Lubbock flushed. “Sure, Sir.”

.

🔵CALL

“Bring it in here,” Kaniel ordered. “I’ll take the call myself.”

A brief look of surprise crossed Schwab’s face before he nodded and went back out to grab the stone.

If Kaniel was going to be dealing with an assassin, even by proxy, it was best he do it himself for the initial set up. Then he could send someone else to do further contact if necessary.

.

2️⃣INCH

“Hello little brother,” Ciara said, smiling.

“It doesn’t make me any shorter,” Alistair said.

He was a whole two inches taller than Ciara. But she was two years older than him, which she felt counted for more.

.

💥FLEX

Mica grinned and clicked a button.

Taryn reflexively covered her ears anyway, though the spell the mage had put around the blast area did its job. With only a muffled wumph, the door blasted almost in on itself before collapsing off to one side.

The shield Fiddler had put up did not block out the sound of the alarms however. Taryn saw Killian mouth the word “Move!” Perhaps he said it and she just couldn’t hear. She clicked the safety off on her gun.

[gracehosborn]

Find The Word Tag

Thank you to @athenswrites for the tag! Even if its a month or so late!

Rules: find excerpts from your work(s)-in-progress with the given words, then tag some friends to play along.

My words: Seed, Glass, Contain(er), and Hands. Your words: Run(ing), blood, clear, and realization.

Softly tagging, with no pressure: @kaylinalexanderbooks @meerawrites @queerfox-tales @thestarsfightagainstusmyfriend @sunset-a-story

Excerpts are under the cut! They feature:

Hamilton being angsty over some seeds in TAI.

Two excerpts from IOD! Alex gets her hair cut with a sword, and punches a guy in the nose.

From TAI, Hamilton receiving some exciting news during a morning drill with his militia.

Seed

From The American Icarus: Volume I:

I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders, “Uncle, I am no gardener.” “A little dirt will not hurt you.” Taking hold of my hand, my uncle pulled me to sit next to him, pressing with his other hand a single seed into my free one. For being a merchant, he does know how to garden well. Looking down at the lone seed then in my hand, I noted its small size; how it was destined to by those most logical rules of nature grow into a large, towering, and beautiful tree. Yet if only planted into the dirt before me, upon that island. There would be nowhere else for the little seed to grow and find its place—that island was its place, and that such fact would be known in my implanting it into the dirt just below it. You are only confused because you have more than one path unlike this seed. Why are you analogizing a seed? Just… figure something out—but what? Why? What purpose would my choices have? Legacy, what does that really matter? Mama is… dead… nothing is to change that—but trying would at least—ugh! I let the seed fall at a speed possibly too fast into the dirt as a murmur escaped me, “I hate being indecisive.” Not hearing my murmur, but seeing my treatment of his seed, my uncle turned towards me, attending me with a expression of surprise. “What did the poor seedling do to you, dear child?” Reopen doors which I have not an idea of what to do with and of which cause me great confusion simply due to my being in a position which gives little opportunity to walk through them. “Nothing… sorry.” “’Tis alright, she’s just a seed—a beautiful tree will come no matter how hard you threw it into its dirt.” “Indeed, but it had to be this dirt?” Without much thought, I gestured towards the said dirt with the hand which had released the seed; it then unseen underneath the brown specks. Uncle James’ blue eyes shewed much confusion, “What is the matter with the dirt? You just said to me you’re no gardener, yet why is it you’re complaining about dirt? You get your hands dirty working for Mr. Cruger, do you not?” Glancing away from my uncle, I sighed, the entertainment of those most interesting of passerby not as such in that moment. I was grateful for my job, and the life thereat I had lived, but particulars of the whole left me in a state of boundless confusion. My mother had only come to that island on account of my father’s business then as a sailor whom had in reasons I alongside many are still left to speculate, this having left my mother to raise her two children alone with aid of her family at which point she had died, leaving those said children otherwise orphaned and a family history tainted in scandal, fear and cover from the law, and known to all—even those whose knowledge of it was a national curse. All these particulars considered on the whole left me to question my very reasonings to having thought of them. I was at a fork in the road—continue to trek onward and stay where I was in security albeit really very little, or be one Orpheus and turn; changing everything with a most simple action in theory.

Glass

From Ink of Destruction:

Then my composure shattered like falling glass. My bones flared with anger as my eyes grew dark, becoming ablaze with wrath that seemed to burst out like a clown jumping out of a sewer. I could feel my feet guiding my body forward and my arm moving back as though it were a slingshot. Without a word, I punched Aiden Edwards square in the nose. Hearing a loud crack as I pulled away, I couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of pride in my anger. Backing away with a cry of agony, Aiden reached for his nose, clutching his face in his hands as he felt for the blood that was now trickling down his cheeks. “What the hell was that for? You fucking broke my nose!?” he cried as he attempted to tend to the injury. "Oh, you should know what it was for, Aiden,” I said, feeling the sternness in my voice return. Before he could respond, I turned towards Jess, who immediately took a step back, feeling the full force of the wrath in my gaze. A part of my mind felt as though the action were justified, for Jess had betrayed me, or rather, she had been against me this whole time. A spy.

Contain

From The American Icarus: Volume I:

“You may all be relieved of your duties for today,” began he. “Good work today—thank you for not causing a racket. Pick up your target boards—bring them to Lieutenant Jay here.” As many a “Yes, sir!” filled the air, I returned to my right, walking towards the wooden board I had been left to use moments before. At last closing the distance of some yards, my hand wrapped around the top of the thick oak, it pressing firmly against my skin. Able to clearly see the damage done upon it by me, I noted the large clean-cut gashes, placed fairly close together, the three each having carved a hole. Upon the grass behind, in shadow of the secondary wooden piece propping the main board up, wood shavings covered the space; the balls of lead somewhere in the grass far beyond. Keeping the board steady within my grasp, as to not harm myself by way of the loose pieces, I turned in the direction of the chapel. A soreness began to rise upon my upper back as the board and my musket knocked on occasion my sides in my hurried walking, pushing me to grunt in frustration. If not for the barrel of the musket still hot and in need of cleaning, I would have slung her upon my back in quickening my pace. The wood of her barrel grazed my shoulder with the brush of a close fire, intense such that as I at last met Lieutenant Jay’s gaze I flinched. “Careful—here, I’ll take it.” Before I could register the action, Fredrick took hold of my board, pulling it out of my grasp. With a clatter, he dropped it into the growing pile just to his left near the chapel wall before turning back towards me. “Thank you—“ “Impressive work there, with that demonstration. Sorry they needed it, but you have proven yourself very equipped. That reminds me….” Turning his attention to the pocket of his coat, Fredrick retrieved with a swift movement the envelope I had seen in his care some time prior. “This arrived by Colonel McDougall from my brother whilst you were with your group. I know not what the pages inside contain.” He replied to my—well of course he would have considering that is what I wanted to make him do. I actually managed to get an intended reply…. Taking the envelope outstretched towards me, my fingers gripped the folded parchment with firmness, driven not to tear the wax seal only by the publicity of the circumstances surrounding me. My chest rose with a slowness as in gathering myself I took a long breath. Carefully, I slipped the envelope into the left pocket of my coat, glancing up at my superior officer once more at the quiet thud of the parchment against the wool fabric. “Thank you, sir.” Giving a smile polite, I began to take my leave, but not before Fredrick attempted to grab my shoulder. A short gasp escaping me, I turned my head so as to face him once more. “Sir?” “You did not hear this from me,” he began, his voice lowering close to a whisper, “but I did hear that McDougall and Jay have been talking of you—there has been rumor spreading that the Provincial Congress might raise a new company to be led by an appointment.” Shock gripped to my expression and countenance, pushing my eyes to widen and mouth to open slightly. “Are you suggesting—“ “Yes.” “What?” In keeping pace with Fredrick’s quiet, my voice was pushed out forcibly, unable to be withheld by the shock consuming me. A smirk took up my friend’s expression as he lifted a finger to his lips in silent request. Releasing his hand from my shoulder, he gave a quick nod before turning towards the man newly arrived with another of the wooden boards used during the drill. Sensing another man suddenly behind myself, I stepped to my far left and away from Lieutenant Jay in an attempt to be out of the way as my heart began to race.

Hands

From Ink of Destruction:

“Now that the rope is cut, you should be able to get your hands out quite easily. But yes, I will make that attempt.” At his words, the loosened pressure around my wrists became more noticable. Lifting my fingers inward, I managed to find a hole in the center of the knot. Inhaling, I pulled my right hand away and up, carefully squeezing my fingers between the ropes and the cement pole. A sigh of relief escaped me as my free hand tugged at the rope, and the sound of the knot meeting the wooden floor filled my ears. Lowering my hands to my sides, I gently rubbed my wrists against the inner lining of my jacket’s sleeves, feelling a soreness race down my arms. Blinking, I stared towards Mr. Waiter, feeling words come out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Are you certain that you haven’t done any formal historical research? Or did you lie to me? It’s clear you are not an amateur with that sword.” My voice held an even tone, for I was more curious than angry. A look of realization filled Mr. Waiter’s face, and I could see sprinkles of what appeared to be mischeif in his eyes. “You would know if I were lying to you. I am notoriously a bad lair. And if I were to mess with you, that would be even more obvious. As historians, or those who claim themselves historians, could tell you. I am not a historian myself. Rather, a subject of interest for many in the profession.” Shock and disbelief filled my veins as I took in his words. If historians had written about him, then surely I should have recognized him. His omission of what had caused him to drop out of college must have been something that would have drawn too much attention to him for him to have wanted to mention it inside the resturant. Further, the fact that he had not said his name indicated to me that I may not believe him. As I opened my mouth, the man rose his hand up to stop me. “Turn around so that I might try to fix your hair. Then you can continue.” Nodding, I turned to face the white pole as questions swirled with a fury in my mind. Coming to stand behind me, Mr Waiter gently grabbed towards the center of my hair, slowly lifting the now-uneven strands above my head. Gravity forced the last few inches of the longer portions to fall in front of my eyes, and I was certain against Mr. Waiter’s fist. Hearing the clang of the sword against the wood, I took a deep breath, steadying my posture. “This may be shorter than you wish,” Mr. Waiter said, “but if I held it otherwise, there would be a greater risk of ripping your roots out. And I am sure you don’t want to wear a wig.” Without another word, the man raised his hand, and the sharp swoosh of his blade filled the room. Clumps of hair flew to the floor with soft taps as the metal was struck for a second, and third time. The sounds brought me back to my freshman world history class, where we had watched a number of films exploring different cultures. As a treat towards the end of the unit, Disney’s Mulan had been shown. It was clear to me now how the strengths of animation had made the character’s famed haircut with her own sword seem so easy. Lenna would have surely reasoned that Mulan simply had thin hair, with the benefit of straight strands. At the thought, worry caught in my throat at how much time had passed. She had most likely gotten a cab, I told myself, but knowing Lenna, she would not have strayed far. “There.” With a sigh of relief, Mr. Waiter at last lowered the centuries’ old weapon after a final swing, stepping back towards his former post. As my hair fell back down, I could hear him mutter under his breath: “I never imagined I would use my training in such a manner.”

[buffythevampirelover]

Find The Word (tag game)

Thanks for the tag @kaylinalexanderbooks ! Her post is here :) My words: new, clean, decide, system

Your words: small, name, definitely, fine Tagging: @sleepyrxsetea @blind-the-winds @illarian-rambling @badluck990 + open tag! @ me if you take the open tag ;)

INT. CAR (MOVING) - AFTERNOON Mary-Ella and Cal are driving west on a highway. Cal sits in the passenger seat with a sketchbook and pencil in her hands. There is a new bag of groceries by her feet and two cups of iced coffee in the cup holders between them. - CAL: Yup. And also the suspicious vehicles that she said came into the campground. Clean, no plates. Morning of. - CAL: [..] with that in mind she decided journalism was the only “real” job she would like, though she wished she didn’t have to work at all. - WINNIE: I'll be there in a minute, just logging this into the system and printing out a copy.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks to @writingsfromspace for the tag!

My words: find, water, star, fly

Your words: ground, copy, thought, bottom

Tagging @awritingcaitlin @writernopal @winterandwords @sarandipitywrites @mjjune @dyrewrites @sarahlizziewrites @i-can-even-burn-salad @sleepywriter00 @sunset-a-story @stesierra @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @finickyfelix

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Keep reading for:

Ash nearly faints

Take a shot of water every time I say water in this excerpt

Argument between Rose and Maddie

Gwen meets Akash

Find - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

I felt like collapsing in a cluster of red ferns by the time I reached the trees. Soon, I was using the trunks to hold myself up. A sudden ringing in my ears made my head feel like it split open. I let out a cry as I pressed my fingers to my forehead. I heard a little girl screaming. I tried to find the origin of the sound, but I found no one. The screaming didn’t stop. I kept going forward, covering my ears, trying to make it go away. I collapsed on the ground in a patch of violet-colored flowers, curling into a ball. My head spun as I stared at the petals. They weren’t like any other flower I’d seen. Their purple color was so vibrant, I debated its existence. There were three layers of tear-shaped petals swirling around the center, creating a dizzying spiral. I closed my eyes; the petals were making me sicker. Slowly, the screaming stopped. My vision cleared. I shook my head and pulled myself up and rested my body on the nearest tree trunk. I closed and opened my eyes slowly as the world slowly came back into focus. What just happened? Who was that?

Water - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

I entered the kitchen, pushing off the wall so I could rummage through the cabinet. I pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. I guzzled the water but almost spit it out. As soon as the water graced my lips, a sudden blue light flashed in front of me. Shaking it off as an effect of the devices, I refilled the glass to the brim. The blue lights happened again. During the third refill, my eyes rested on the time, a small light on the fridge. It was six am. There was no way I used the devices before even two. And there was no way that vision took more than five minutes. “Shit!” I hissed as my shock caused the water to spill over the glass. I guzzled the water again before grabbing a towel to clean up my mess. Once I did, I stood back up, tossed the towel on the counter, and looked at the clock again. I sighed. I wasn't sure what I was going to do in the remaining time that I had before everyone else awoke.

Did you take the shots of water? Do you have to pee yet?

Star - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

“What’s happening?” Rose murmured. “You lead us through a death portal,” I muttered, joking slightly. Rose swiveled her head toward me. “Excuse me? You were the one who had a mental breakdown when Lexi didn’t answer her damn phone!” “Well, Lexi and Ash ended up here, so I had the right idea,” I said, not sure why she was mad. “Fine. You were right. Gold star.” Rose glared down at me. “And don’t blame me for what happened to Noelle.” “It’s partially my fault,” I said, lightly pushing her away from my face. “I suggested Lexi's disappearance, but you led us here, so a bit of yours, too.” Rose stepped toward me again. “This. Is not. My fault.” “I said it’s partially my fault,” I insisted, pushing her away again. She pushed me back this time, which irritated me. I only pushed her because she was in my face. “Why don’t you admit you’re partially responsible for Noelle’s injury?” I pushed in retaliation this time. “We’re gonna get her to a hospital, and then we’re gonna look for my sister, who you seem to have forgotten about because you’re too wrapped in yourself to care if Lexi’s okay.” I bit my tongue. That wasn't a good thing to say. I wasn't sure where it came from. Rose’s jaw clenched. She lifted her fist—I thought she would push me again, but she just jabbed me with her finger on every word— “Don’t. Ever. Say. I don’t care about Lexi. She means more to me than you could imagine.” “I’m her sister,” I pointed out. “How could you—” I poked her back— “imagine how much she means to me?” Rose took a step back. She looked down at her feet for a second. I did the same. Gwen pointed out I was arguing earlier when I didn’t mean to, which sometimes happened to me. Arguing wasn’t gonna get Lexi—or Ash—back, and it wasn't gonna get Noelle to a hospital either. I wondered if Rose would hate me forever after this.

Fly - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)

My left foot slammed into a vent cover, knocking me off balance and causing my butt to slam against the cover, knocking it off. I fell through the hole and somehow managed to grab the edges of the vent. I heard the cover crash onto the floor below me as I dangled from the ceiling. “Hey, who’re you?” a voice said. I looked around, trying to find the owner of the voice when my eyes finally rested on a boy. He was probably a year or so older than me with dark brown skin. He had short and spiky hair and his ears stuck out a little. He wore a yellow polo t-shit over a long-sleeved white shirt and dark-blue jeans. It took a moment to realize the boy was at eye level while I hung from the ceiling. I looked down and saw the boy’s feet were a good ten feet from the ground. He was floating. “Who are you?” the boy repeated. I looked back up. I realized he was kinda cute. Even with the messy bedhead. “Um, Gwen.” “Akash,” he said. Actually, especially with the messy bedhead. I realized I was staring when Akash smiled. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “You want me to help you down?” I nodded, and Akash wrapped his arm around me. I flinched slightly—a cute boy was touching me!—but allowed him to do so. I let go of the vent and let him fly me to the floor. I suddenly realized I had wrapped my arms around him. I quickly pushed away from him. “Thanks,” I muttered. I glanced off to the side and panic ran through me when I noticed a bed. I could feel my cheeks turning red. I just fell into a cute boy’s room! As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough.

[dyrewrites]

Find the word tag

Okay, so three of you tagged me...and I am doing them all at once.

@snapdragons-sunshine is here @tabswrites is here and @kaylinalexanderbooks is here -- go check out their answers.

I am tagging @abalonetea and @rmgrey-author (I will make you write, sisser, just watch me) and YOU

Your words are: coffee, clouds, sate and fall

--

My words are: strange, red, fish, flower, one, hand, fire, bruise, ground, copy, thought and bottom

->under the cut, because come on that's a lot<-

strange

“Yours, am I?” The kiss also surprised, widening those silvery eyes before he sunk into it with me, and any worries I held for those unusual teeth melted in the strange, cool warmth of his tongue.

red

Too quick he was beside me, ignoring my question and testing the waistcoat’s color against my hair, my skin, my eyes, “Mm, whoever purchased these knew you well, this red matches your eyes beautifully...especially with this gold in the border.” “I did, and my eyes are not red,” I tried for a kiss, to distract, to slap those suffocating things out of his arms. All it earned me was a wider smile, “No, they are a delicious shade of brown, but the red enhances them, and the gold matches those lovely little flecks dancing about their edges,” I did get a kiss then, on my cheek as he shoved the clothes at me, “Now put these on, I put your garters on the desk, I need to find the brush...”

fish

I laughed, though the look on his face told me I shouldn’t have, “Amore mio, this is not calm. This is broken. You are speaking to a broken man,” he tried to kiss me, slipping in his hold before kicking and scrabbling at my shoulders to remain afloat, but I couldn’t find the smile that ought to have garnered. Something kept tickling my bare feet, with peculiar skin that felt too much like rock to be a fish and I had no desire to find out what it was, “a broken man who’d like to flee from whatever is under us.”

flower

That was where I lay when I heard the scream, shorter and higher pitched than any sound I’d heard from Lucient before. He stood at the base of the hidden stairway not a second after, eyes wide, tracing the path of flowers. But he said nothing, only staring, even as his eyes landed on me. Removing the rose, I asked his stunned silence, “Is this not what you asked for, my love?” The sound he made was more a squeak than an answer—though he did manage a bit of a glare—so I tried a different approach, “how about you take all of those stuffy layers off and join me in this bed.”

one

“Well, no more of that,” he announced, grabbing my beard—ruining the uniform shape he’d brushed it into—and shook my chin, “We must pretend to be shipmates.” “Shipmates regularly grab each other’s faces?” I teased, swallowing the loving epithet on my tongue. “You tell me,” He snipped and when halfway out of the cabin, he laughed and called back, “You’re the one who has all that experience with sailors.” Laughing with him, though hollow and short, I took care to grab the parasol he’d forgotten and caught up in time to save him from more than a bit of smoking skin.

hand

Falling to his cool lips, I tried to remember what started the argument, “So you’re not...upset about letting the crew watch the ship?” “They did so already, didn’t they?” shoving me firm against the mast, he set his parasol to rest on his shoulder and began unbuttoning my waistcoat, smiling with my hand caressing his cheek. When enough were loose, he slid his fingers under my shirt. Gasping, together, with the touch—even through gloves his cool was too sweet—he waited till our eyes met before saying more, “And, just as you are mine, so is the Lune Royale. It cannot set sail without me on board.”

fire

His eyes jittered, widened and he jumped on me, smearing more of what drenched me with all his eager kisses, “My brilliant treasure. Sigils, on the stones in the kitchen. It's ever-burning fire if you say it right.” “I'll fetch, you stay,” looking at the broken mess of bone and meat—poking from the cage I’d stuffed them so tight, yet still they giggled—I added, “right here.” He nodded as he slid away and I rushed to find the stones.

bruise

“Good,” he said, kissing me too quickly before sighing and looking up at the bruise of sky above the dropped sails. With his head held so high, it was too tempting not to kiss the neck he exposed. And he swooned at my touch, giggling with my playful rub of beard on his skin. “You certainly aren’t behaving like a terrified man,” he told the smile I couldn’t wipe away. “Oh, but I am,” I told him—truthful it was, if muddied by his closeness—and lifting him to rest on my hips, savoring that sweet yelp, I added, “I am in absolute awe of you, mon amour.”

ground

With brush in hand, he tended to my hair, “You are faster than you know, but you hardly use it, are you afraid to do things quickly?” Chuckling, I tried to fuss with my beard—difficult with mirrors that refuse to show your face—and managed to steal a kiss as he stepped back to check his work. “Afraid of falling into things, or breaking things,” I admitted, “but at present it is more the hunger that slows me, my love.” “Well, there’s always Sebastian,” his emphasis ground with a deeper, whining tone, and as I laughed he set the brush down and draped his arms over my shoulders, sighing, “But as he has proven useful, we should find someone else.”

thought

If you, dear reader, are confused by the thought of games or rules, or anything Lucient may or may not have been obeying...you are not alone. He never shared anything of them prior to that trip, never even explained which he’d broken that attracted the ire of the Council. Or, and this is paramount for the remainder of our tale, who the Council was—is, rather, they are still about in one form or another. And, in the interest of sharing my utter confusion and slow realizations with you, I’ll be keeping those secrets until such time as I asked of them. Which was not then.

bottom

Laughter, deep and stuttered answered first, “Yes, Captain, our ever-eager crewman has graduated from providing lavish accommodations to gifts of custom clothing,” all mirth died with what followed, though his teeth gleamed in his grin, “Aren’t you delighted?” “No,” I clipped, “and I’m concerned as to why you are.” Fully clothed, the ice of him yet cooled as he draped his arms over me, kissing my neck and cheeks before speaking to my smile, “They’re lovely outfits, treasure, matched so beautifully,” teasing my bottom lip with those sharp teeth of his, he ruffled my hair and added, “and one never turns down free.” “Oh, but my love,” I caught him as he turned, spinning him back around to return the kisses, “gifts as grand as these are never free.”

[ahordeofwasps]

Find the Word Tag

I've been tagged by the spectacular @sarandipitywrites! Thanks for the tag! My words are consume, cliff, cry, and consider. I'll be sharing excerpts from Crying Wolf.

But first, the no pressure tags! I'll be tagging @chauceryfairytales, @the-down-upside-finch, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @tabswrites, and open tag! Your words are blood, mud, flood, and dud!

Now, onto Crying Wolf!

Consume

Lady Boots liked to style her hair in an intricate manner as a testament to her wealth and power. That night, her hair had been styled to look like an exotic fish. But to Lux, her hair looked like a bird. After having consumed countless pints of cream ale, he voiced that thought. Loudly. To mistake the creature Lady Boots had styled hair to look like was insulting enough. To accuse her of styling her hair to look like a bird, a creature which everyone considered sinful, was unforgivable. Faster than you can say “blasphemy,” she had her entourage pin Lux to the bar so she could unleash her fury upon him.

Cliff

Not found! I'll share a fun fact instead! The Order of Grav believe that the dead live in the sky, with good souls living on the Moon and bad souls burning on Sun.

Cry

“I need to punish them!” was the boy’s muffled cry. Ogwut felt a pang in his heart. The boy’s urges were wrong, but he knew where they came from. He had felt them once, when all he knew was barren desert and angry cries. He found them more trouble than they were worth. Why bother to hurt others when he couldn’t be hurt in turn? He was lucky to have never acted upon them. He was lucky he was able to see the world beyond the angry cries

Consider

Jack considered doing what the mercenaries commanded. It was only a brief moment of consideration however and he decided to completely ignore them. The worst they could do was kill him and he had already died before.

[revenantlore]

Find the Word tag

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea to find the words sight, sweet, tickets, and tape

sight — from neon bloodlust

Streaks of neon drip down the graffiti-coated alley wall, the four lifeless bodies propped against it like mannequins. Same as the previous … however many kills it’s been now; Vex has lost count, if he was even keeping track to begin with.

The victims’ eyes are wide open but sightless, their irises aglow in unsettling shades of green, orange, and yellow. Unnatural, but everything about this case is.

sweet — from neon bloodlust

Vex does nothing to fight it. Winds his arms up and around Grim to reel him in closer, gasps at the sudden release of Grim’s mouth, at the warm swell of blood on his neck.

Dark and dripping from Grim’s painted lips.

He lifts an arm up to curve around the back of Grim’s neck and smiles into the way Grim melts into his kiss. He tastes like blood tinged with something sweet.

tickets — from lost cause

Sirens blare in the distance as Nirvana and Oliver hurry across the parking lot, rain plummeting over them in thick, cold drops. Oliver’s been silent since leaving the apartment, fidgeting in the passenger seat while Nirvana sped them over. Speeding tickets be damned.

Rem’s motel door is unlocked, doorknob slippery in the rain as Oliver tries and tries to twist it open just to fail each time. He curses, loud and frustrated, until Nirvana nudges him out of the way, as calm and gentle as he can be, and jerks the door open.

tape — from neon bloodlust

Frowning, he turns to face her. Spritely, with a shock of bubblegum pink hair falling in messy chunks over her forehead, interwoven with shades of cotton candy blue. A row of short silver barbs pierce through the bridge of her nose, a rough brown jacket slung over sharp shoulders.

But it’s the whirling cassette tape spinning soundlessly where it’s embedded in her chest cavity that has his attention.

“There’s a cassette player in your chest,” he sputters.

“Oh. I get that a lot, yeah, it’s my favorite add-on.” Her teeth are a little crooked, a little large for her mouth, when she grins. “It’s a little unreliable sometimes, but,” she gives it a soft whack and music funnels out of … somewhere, “there we go.”

tagging @winterandwords , @andyswritings , @indecentpause , and @avrablake to find the words tilt, open, squint, and drain

[space-writes]

find the word

tagged by @memento-morri-writes, thank you! my words are bold, bright, beautiful, and blaze!

i’m going into my claws draft for this because it might be marinating but it is still rotting my entire brain. partially under a cut for nsfw elements (implied body-cavity fisting and non-explicit masturbation.)

no-pressure tagging @ceph-the-ghost-writer @artdecosupernova-writing @halfbit and @jmhwritesstuff with the words faint, expanse, beyond, and black.

bold

The meeting drones on for the better part of the next hour, with bold, lovely Imogen McIntyre promising to fight violations of student privacy with every breath in her body. Rainier catches her afterwards; she flushes at his hand on her arm, and he remembers why he picked her for the position. Good for Riess’ progressive reputation, and exceptionally good for his eyes.

bright

Oh, it’s like the sun’s returned to the sky. That voice rolling over him, a waterfall of familiar warmth. Spring reflects in Rainier’s wardrobe—shirtsleeves rolled up, bright glittering rings on six of eight fingers plus a thumb ring that looks like it might be clawed. Vivien crooks a nail under his chin. It’d feel good there, that hook of metal.

beautiful

It sounds better than sex. Feels better than sex. Vivien tugs at his skin, wanting to pull it back more, spill himself into the bed, into Rainier, let loose all that which squirms inside him. These walls he can make thin, these walls he can tear down. This is everything he’s ever wanted, Rainier inside him, really inside him, knowing him, taking him, seeing him for all he is and not just staying but pressing deeper. It’s incredible. It’s beautiful. It’s divine.

And then it starts to hurt.

blaze burn

He sets the mug down. His lips burn. Trying to remember how to breathe, he slowly lowers himself into Rainier’s chair—a real chair, leather, not some unbalanced thing on wheels to hold an office bitch. Vivien sinks into it and leans his head back against the place where Rainier’s head has rested. He grips the arms where Rainier’s hands have sat.

“Can I?” he asks the silence. The silence doesn’t say no.

There’s a weight between his legs, heavy and damp. It’s all the wrong shape, so he closes his eyes and follows desire to a place where it’s right. To a place where Rainier unfastens his belt, unbuttons his jeans, slides a hand into his boxers and feels how devoted he is.

The air tightens around him. He’s inhaling Rainier’s exhales from the day, surrounded by them, drowning in them. Vivien widens his legs, working his fingers deeper. Rainier’s fingers are thicker, longer, prettier—how deep could they get? Deep enough to change him, find some place inside that’s really him, not this wretched shell?

“Having fun?”

claws taglist: @belovedviolence @foxboyclit @coven-archives @mjjune @revenantlore @sarandipitywrites @noblebs @k--havok @asterhaze @verba-writing (ask to be +/-)