#also I just love the excerpt that Dark Matter snippet is from and I couldn't wait until after NaNo to use it 😭

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XXVIII

(Includes Mature Content)

tagged by: @space-writes!! my words: streak, pull, drive, breath tagging: @drippingmoon,  @drabbleitout, @oh-no-another-idea, @zmwrites, @druidx, and open tag! your words: foul, rage, spit, upset, sensitive, overwhelmed

streak (Aurora)—

From the mist, the smoke, the fighting shadows—and fight they did, as they couldn't pass through an unseen barrier—strode Thrive, spinning a wheel of fire between his fingers, a streak of sparks spitting at the cursed ground at his feet. He parted the metaphorical seas, pupils filling with blinding orange, his silver form suit reflecting the explosions of Emmuli all around him. He cocked his hands upward, rocks from the dirt within a ten-foot radius rising into the air and zipping into his outstretched grip, glowing red-hot before they even reached him. He brought his hands together, separating them again to reveal two white orbs of pure, raw energy made from the stone that he formed into long blades, cooling them down into an alien metal sharper than razors, turning them in circles in his hands. He stopped in the center of the chaos, the soldiers ahead of him trying not to take too much attention away from the battle in order to stare at him in confusion and awe. Warren felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. His eyes welled. "My god..." He'd no sooner got the hushed whisper out before a solid mass moved in the distance, an undulating silhouette against the horizon behind Thrive. Warren already knew what it was before anything else could be said. Thrive's eyes followed a large cloud forming in front of him, a disembodied face crackling through the molecules in the air. Show me your w̷e̸a̶k̶n̷e̶s̸s̴, the Emmuli hissed. Feed us your p̶i̵e̸c̸e̴s̸. "I have no pieces," Thrive said, and his even, echoing voice rendered chills. His skin began to illuminate, amber rings enveloping his arms, wrapping around him like ivy, embracing him. He smiled, though it split empty across his face. "...I am terribly whole."

pull (Meridian)—

[Warren] closed the door behind him, the stress of the day dropping onto his shoulders, and he approached Thrive, sighing heavily before he reached him. He cracked his knuckles and gestured to the floor. "Your Majesty." Thrive carefully sank to his knees, peering up at Warren. His anticipation darkened his eyes. Warren moved to a drawer in the corner of the room and retrieved a length of velvet rope. "I told Thoeala that we're okay after you almost killed me. That's true, isn't it?" "Yes," Thrive said, and there was a curious strain to his tone. "I like to think so, too. In fact, I think we're closer than we've ever been. Off," he added, waving to the top of Thrive's outfit. "It's amazing that in circumstances where loss can more often break two people apart...we've weathered it like champs." Thrive pulled his top over his head and discarded it as Warren walked to him again, holding the long rope between his hands and yanking it taut, testing its strength. Thrive clasped his hands behind his back and Warren went to work, winding the rope around his wrists, his torso, his throat, rigging the binding expertly to create a beautiful pattern across Thrive's chest and abdomen. That particular rope work made it so that if he tried to move his arms in any way, the rope around his neck would tighten. "Stand up," Warren muttered. Thrive did as he was told, looking down at Warren with hooded eyes and his chest straining against the ropes with every breath he took. "...God, you're beautiful." Warren eyed him for a moment. "I'm a little tired tonight…" "That won't be a problem," Thrive murmured, his voice a low rumble.

drive (Aurora)—

Coming back up for air and to claw the remnants of his form suit away, Thrive waved a hand on the lights to dim them, standing steady as a stone structure when Warren hooked his legs around his waist. It took three hours to get to the point where Warren's head hit the pillow and he reached back to grab at the headboard, stars blinding him with every purposeful drive of Thrive's hips into his, and he stifled his natural sounds, rolling closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck," he gasped, pressing his hand to the side of Thrive's face with a bit more of a slap than he'd intended. He made him look him in the eye. "Don't leave me," he breathed, full of emotion he didn't want to expose earlier. "Don't fucking leave me." Thrive scooped him into his arms and arched his body protectively over him, digging his fingers into the bedspread, a low growl rising from somewhere deep inside. He tugged Warren's head to the side and bit down on the flesh connecting shoulder to neck. Warren cried out, burying his nails into Thrive's back and waist. "Don't leave me," he whispered into Thrive's ear over and over, arms tightening around him. "God, don't leave me, don't fucking leave me, don't leave me…!"

breath (Dark Matter)—

"You know." Scot leaned closer. "...You know their origins, their roots. You know, and you are possibly the only one alive who knows, and you have, metaphorically speaking, a target the size of a small planet on your back, now. You have simultaneously become the most hunted and the most dangerous entity in the known universe." Thrive finally turned to Scot, towering over him, bearing down on him with an intense stare, an intimidating stare that had even the android a bit unnerved. Thrive's fiery emerald eyes met Scot's soft lavender ones, and breathable air seeped out the car at an alarming rate. Scot's facial seams blinked in warning, but he otherwise remained steadfast and cautious. "...Even more dangerous than the Ammathu," Scot finished quietly. "And, perhaps foolishly," Thrive murmured, his own voice a low rumble in the small space of the elevator, "you, who knows the sordid details of my husband's most maddening affair—you, who not only did nothing to stop it, but encouraged it, are trapped in an enclosed space with me." "You're going to terminate me." "I could disintegrate you with a thought," Thrive growled in a whisper. "Perhaps it would be beneficial to remember that you yourself told me I am just as alive as any of you." Thrive paused again. He continued to glower at Scot, his eyes flashing with rage, his breathing short. Scot, on the other hand, kept a steady eye on him, waiting, scanning every change in Thrive's face and body language with his supercomputer mind. He did not like what he saw. "...Do it," Scot muttered. The second the first word left Scot's mouth, Thrive bludgeoned him in the direct center of his forehead with a meteoric fist, knocking him into the wall. Scot crumpled immediately, his facial seams sputtering, a metallic fluid leaking out of the back of his head, a spurt of it splattering against the alloy paneling before it stopped. His irises spun into their exposed copper state, and he went still.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Writing Share Tag!

This is gonna be a long one, but I love this excerpt that I couldn't not share it so here we go! This snippet is from Crash Stardom!

Also: tw. graphic depiction of injury, fantasy whump, infected burns (essentially this scene is the accidental rescue of a vampire who had been forced to wear silver).

Randall's footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as he scanned his surroundings. Blood from the Reapers he'd already slain still coated his boots and fingertips, his rifle slung on his back, daggers in twin sheaths on his belt.

The alarms were blaring at top volume, red lights bathing the facility in an eery glow that spoke of danger. Good, though his eyes, accustomed to the deep, dark depths of the seas, protested the brightness, and he felt the urge to shoot the lights out, but didn't bother wasting the bullets.

The killers outside were accounted for, their bodies littering the patio and roof of the building and decorating the concrete with pools of red that made his heart flutter with a morbid sense of excitement. They had it coming - every last Reaper had. This was just karma, many, many years in the making, another dot on his endless checklist of revenge.

As the hallway slithered to an end, he spotted a few more figures pacing around the corner, their sickly white uniform a telltale sign of their occupation - inner security guards, meant to keep their captives from trying to escape this hell. With a shark's precision, he snatched his daggers and dragged them across the first guard's neck with a loud squelch that felt like music to his ears, warm human blood painting the uniform deep crimson. The other reached for their rifle - and the last thing they saw was embedded deep into their eye socket before being yanked out, brain matter splattering across the floor.

Randall admired his handiwork, his abissal eyes glimmering as his lips curled into a smirk, rows of pointy teeth peeking into view. Then, a sharp pain in the side of his chest, his throat squeezing as if it'd been rubbed by sandpaper. His breathing had a slight rattle to it, and he couldn't help but grimace in frustration as he coughed.

"Oh, fuck this. Damn dry land air," He reached into his pocket, pulling out a water filled tactical breather and strapping it to his face, inhaling in relief as the water from the mask flowed in through his nose and mouth met his lungs, soothing the dryness that had robbed the air from him.

Now he where was he? Randall looked around, wiping his hands on his jet black suit. Ah yes. Conducting a killing spree. How could he forget. Without a single glance, he stepped over the two corpses at his feet, kicking the last one slightly as if prodding it for a reaction. None. He nodde with a hum, and kept walking forward.

This place was supposedly being evacuated. Something, something, these facilities had gotten old, something, something, new sponsors in a different region. That gave him the perfect opportunity - their defenses were lowered, busy with the bureaucracy of moving unnoticed through the underworld, trafficking hundreds of living beings with them.

They'd gotten sloppy.

And that's where he strode in, knife in hand, sniper rifle at the ready. It's how he always did it - Randall waited for the moment to strike, and when he did, his efficiency was brutal as a killer whale stalking a seal. Those guards - or even the, supposedly, highly trained Reapers outside - never knew what hit them. They wouldn't have stood a chance either way,

So far, it seemed his job here was done. Sure, there were a few guards left to gut, so-called researchers to stab, the whole shebang. But at this point - something about it almost felt too easy. Boring.

That's when something caught his attention, just a glimpse at the corner of his eyes that could've easily gone unnoticed with a misplaced blink. But Randall noticed it. And he whirled around, turning on his blood-slicked heels, an action that generated a slight screeching noise against the tiles that made his nose crinkle and a few bubbles fill his mask. He tapped the side of it, popping the air out.

One of the cells was still locked. That was weird. All of the others were wide open, either filled with the corpses of whomever the Secret Society had deemed a burden to relocate or simply completely empty. But this one seemed untouched. It hadn't occured to him the Secret Society would slip and leave any living assets behind, no matter the chaos. Randall's eyes narrowed.

It didn't take long for him to close the distance, soles clacking as he marched up to the door. He studied it for a moment - there was a lock mechanism beside it, emanating a pulsating glow from its touchscreen interface, as if waiting for the right keycard. With a weary sigh, Randall turned around to look at the carnage behind him - at least one of those bodies had to hold that key. They couldn't be that useless, right?

He swiftly began his incredibly boring task, shuffling through the bodies, removing contents from pockets and handbags, most of which were essentially junk to him. After a while of trial and error, pointlessly looting the bodies, his fingers grazed the edge of something cold, something thin. It was a small sheet of plastic and metal, emitting a similar glimmer to that of the lock mechanism.

The keycard.

With that in hand, Randall rushed back to the door - silently hoping this was the right one, because if not he was a hairpin's lenght away from just ditching his curiosity and leaving this place. He swiped the card over the interface. An error beep - too fast. He rolled his eyes, groaned and swiped again. Another beep - too slow.

Fingers gripping the thin keycard so tightly it was almost about to bend, he grit his teeth and focused, and after way more failed attempts than he would've liked, the keycard finally slid across the screen at the precise speed it needed to. The latches on the door disappeared into the wall, finally unlocking it. Randall took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if that could ward of the frustration that had built up, and then pushed the door open.

He didn't even have time to blink.

As soon as Randall took his first step into the room, which smelled faintly of burnt flesh, silver and mold, something connected with his necks, something that felt like two, clawed hands, and he was shoved down to the floor. The fall knocked the air out of his lungs, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. A shrill, almost ghastly shriek poured from the creature above him, filling the air around them, bouncing off the dull grey walls and making his ears hurt.

Streams of extremely long, blood red hair seeped framed his assailant's paper white skin, keeping their face almost out of view as they thrashed above him. Randall tried to push back at the grip, and managed to knock one of the hands from his neck, allowing himself a gulp of air, breath bubbling oxygen in his mask as it burst out from his lungs, no longer impeded. But the relief was short lived.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the vampire lifting their free hand, before bringing it down as a fist, almost like a sledgehammer. Randall rolled to the side just in time, still coughing into his breather. The punch fell on the concrete with a raw thud, leaving cracks on the stone. He didn't want to think what it would have done to his face. There was blood seeping from the vampire's hand now too.

But they didn't seem to care.

Still wheezing, Randall scrambled to try and lift himself from the floor. He saw the vampire's claws dig into the concrete in frustration as Randall managed to slip from their grasp, both of them breathing heavily. What took the Randall aback the most was the strange, almost desperate sound tearing from the Aimari's lips, which almost sounded like a broken sob.

It was soon smothered behind feral rage, the vampire's eyes lighting up the room in a deep red glow as their muscles stiffened, bones almost creaking under the strain of their superb strenght. Randall was almost steady on his feet once more when he saw the other was readying themself for another attack, tilting their head with the slow, predadory precision of a hunter, but with the undeniable touch of panic behind their every move.

It came too soon.

Flashes of blood red and pale white were all Randall saw coming as the Aimari lunged, that same, blood curdling scream blaring at him like a siren, only louder this time. His opponent's hands were outstretched, claws out, and their mouth was open - adorned with four, wickedly sharp canines that promised to tear into him at first contact.

Randall gasped he tried to sidestep the attack, only for the vampire to be faster, hands catching onto Randall's arm and grappling him into an unrelenting grip once more. They struggled to the floor, bound in a writhing mass of rage, and Randall found himself pinned, the Aimari's claws digging into his skin like scalpels. He reached up, pushing at the other's chest with blows of his own, keeping the vampire's maw from tearing into him, for now.

And then he made a decision. He knew he shouldn't do it. Out of the water, it would hurt. He could be unable to transform back into this form, or he could suffocate without water to fill his lungs. But he also didn't want to become this Aimari's midnight snack, so he didn't exactly have any options.

Still holding the vampire far from his neck with one of his arms, straining against the other's strenght, burning with struggle, Randall ripped his own breather away from his face, knowing his transformation would only damage it. And then, he moved.

Randall's body began to convulse as his magic took hold, bones stretching, chest heaving. His human disguise gave way to his true form, pale skin turning cyan blue, scales appearing along his arms and face, hands becoming webbed and clawed. He blinked, and there was no white in his eyes when he opened them - just a deep, shark-eye black. His ears turned into fish fin-like structures.

And then the worst part. The part he'd been dreading.

His body grew in size, legs replaced by a long, smooth tail, deep indigo blue with scattered stains of a light, almost white-ish hue of the same color. It almost looked like a killer whale's tail fin. If it wasn't attached to a humanoid. The Aimari watched with wide, terrified eyes, frozen in place but his grip on Randall's arms still unyielding.

Taking advantage of that surprise, Randall used his newly grown tail as a whip to slam the vampire off of him, sending them careening to the other side of the room with the force. "I." Randall began, chest clenching as his seaborn lungs started to reject the dry air around him. His voice was much deeper, as if coming from the abyss of the ocean's trenches, if strained, "Am. Not. A. Human!"

He yelled with a growl, almost hitting his head on the low ceiling with his new height, before propelling his slithering body forward, with some considerable difficulty. The vampire scrambled back, a keening noise escaping them as they pushed back against the corner of the wall.

Now, their eyes were wide, their body shaking. The feral edge that had driven them during their brutal attack had given way to only terror and…regret. Randall's now pitch black eyes narrowed, and even from up above, he could see the slight tremor to his former-assailants body. And it didn't look like just fear. It was exhaustion. Overexertion. Their attack had clearly taken more of a toll on them than it had on Randall at all.

The Abissian stopped his approach a few feet away from him, blinking.

He was about to say something else - to ask this guy about why the fuck he tried to maul him, or better yet what was even going on - but he didn't have to. A small, sniffling sound from across the room answered any questions he still had. He didn't miss how the vampire's wide, terrified eyes looked past him for a fraction of a second, shaking their head slightly before looking back at Randall.

Randall turned his head, and in the other corner of the room, was a teenage girl.

Her hair was wild and curly, fluffy locks of brown that framed her tan skin, but her eyes, now filled with tears, were the same as the Aimari's, the same blood red that seemed to glow like the sun. Randall understood imediatelly.

"…I am so sorry," A voice, a young male voice, cut through the silence, thick with tears and breathless with a clear struggle to speak, shaky. Randall blinked and turned his head back around to the front. The vampire was the one speaking, "I-I…I didn't mean to. I didn't know…I… He trailed off, breath catching, as his words turned into a small, resolute whisper, eyes distant, "Just don't kill her. Let my sister go. You c-can…you can kill me if you want. I don't mind. Just please."

Randall's own breath hitched painfully - usually he would've chalked it up to land air burning through his Abissian insides, but now, what hurt the most was the Aimari's words. He hadn't been expecting something like this. He blinked again, as if trying to soothe the dryness in his eyes, the lack of seawater, as he finally spoke, voice flat but earnest, "I am not going to kill either of you anyways."

The red-haired vampire blinked, confusion etched onto his face, as his eyes narrowed in disbelief, voice trembling, "…What?"

"I said I'm not going to hurt you. Or her." Randall sighed, a rumbling sound in his true form, his tone clipped as he blinked again, the dry air making his sclera itch and his lungs burn.

"And why is that?" The Aimari asked. He sounded like he almost didn't dare believe this - like whatever this was, it would be a trap or some kind of game. He didn't move away from the wall he was now pressed to.

Randall moved a webbed hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Because why would I even hurt you? It would be pointless. I'm not with the Secret Society." He spat out the name as it it were dirt on his tongue, which it might as well be, "I kill them. The Reapers, I mean. That's what I do, that's why I am here. I don't hurt their victims."

The vampire's shoulders sagged with a shaky breath that felt like a whirlwind of relief and confusion, as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to think, a tentative hope in his tone, "That means… Wait. Those guys outside. You…?"

Randall nodded as the young man trailed off, "Yeah. They're pools of guts and viscera on the floor just a few hallways down. They're all dead."

"They're all dead…?" The Aimari murmured, almost to himself, disbelief coating his words but slowly being replaced by something else as he studied Randall's face for any sign of deception. When he found none, when Randall's face remained the same as before, he crumpled to the ground, crying tears of pure, unbridled relief. "They're dead...Yes. Fuck. They're finally dead!"

His words were a mess of desperate whispers, clearly most to himself, barely intelligible through the mix of hysteric chuckles and a barrage of sobbing that followed. Curled up into a ball on the floor, the vampire's clawed hands tangled into his long blood red hair, almost as if he was seeking something to ground him on reality.

Through tears, he peeked up at Randall, "I…" His words faltered, eyes frantic, "Thank you, just… thank you."

The last sentence came out a desperate breath, almost drowned out by the vampire's incontrolable laugh-sobbing. Randall searched his own mind for a way to answer that - the alarms were still blaring outside, and while the building was empty, there was no guarantee reinforcements wouldn't be en route.

He should leave. The door was open, this guy is an Aimari. And the 'welcome' Randall received mere moments prior told him that the other could more than fend for himself and his sister. But something else felt…off.

That smell of burning flesh he'd felt earlier. It wasn't a faint whiff, a remnant of past torture or something of the sort. It was strong, really, really strong. And in his giant merfolk form, his senses heightened, the scent was almost suffocating, like putrid smoke clawing its way through his gills and nostrils.

And then he saw it.

A flicker of something caught the faint light in the room, almost unnoticeable in the vampire's hunched form, hidden by his long hair. Something wrapped around the Aimari's neck. Randall narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was, but from his current height, seeing that level of detail outside of the water was nigh impossible.

So he asked, "What's that on your neck?"

At first, there was no response. Just the same desperate sounds of wailing mixed with laughter and breathlessness, the Aimari still curled up on the floor. But then, the young man looked up, and his eyes seemed to walk the line between utterly manic or painfully distant, his mouth a thin line, "It's… nothing. Don't ask."

"It is not nothing," Randall snapped back, "Don't lie to me. I can smell what its doing to you. And its foul. So I'll ask again, what's that on your neck?"

The Aimari didn't look up at him as the word escaped his lips, bitter, "A collar," He answered, voice trembling as his tears continued to stream down his face, "A silver collar."

Randall watched as the vampire tilted his head to the side, collecting his hair in one hand almost like a makeshift ponytail, exposing the raw, blistering skin of his neck. And in that exact second, the merman almost wished he hadn't asked.

He really did.

It was a sight that made bile crawl into his throat, so much that he could taste it as he swallowed it back. The vampire's neck was a mess of charred skin and bubbling, infected blisters gathered around the edge of the polished silver that dug into the young man's pale skin. Blood dripped from the wounds it formed, caking around his neck and collarbones in thick lines, staining his tattered shirt in streams anew as the movement jostled some of the scabs, the torn skin pulsing slightly under it. All of that, and the Aimari didn't even wince.

He'd always known the Secret Society was vile. Monstrously cruel. It wasn't news to him, or surprising. He'd experienced firsthand the effects of their brutality, it had made him into what he was. It was, is, the reason he kills. But the sight of those fresh burns, healing and charring at the same time, stuck in an endless cycle of mending and pain, made his stomach churn.

Randall opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. He had to try a few times before he found the words, "Let me remove it then. Consider it my retribution for you not killing me, and all that."

The Aimari blinked, uncertain. He let go of his hair, stared at the floor, then up at Randall. After a moment more of silence, as if he'd been gauging what options he had and which one would hurt the least, he moved his head quickly - something that could barely be considered a nod.

The merman sighed, sliding his body the rest of the way forward. His orca tail, though it saved him from getting maimed into a pile of bloody goo, was now more than an inconvenience, slowing down his movement and weighing him down in the lack of water. Randall had to crouch his upper half awkwardly, nearly folding himself in two to reach the vampire.

The red-haired young man kept his breathing steady, though his eyes were wary. Randall noticed him shooting one more glance past him to the girl in the other sound of the room, he heard some slight shuffling, but then the Aimari broke the silence, eyes never leaving the girl, "Aspen, stay where you are." His voice was louder, firm, brooking no argument, as he finally looked back up at Randall.

Randall studied the collar for a moment more, trying not to dwell too long on the blood dripping, gory mess that were the burns surrounding the silver, but that was a near impossible task. His hands, larger due to his transformation, hovered in the air, unsure of where he could even touch to remove this. It took him quite a long while to find the small lock mechanism in the back, even longer to figure out how to maneuver his True Form hands precisely enough to remove it.

He was about to reach to remove it in one go, like ripping out a bandaid, but as he moved closer, his worst suspicions were confirmed. The skin of this vampire's neck has melted into the collar, practically welding itself into one bloody mess of torn skin, sinew and metal.

The Aimari must've noticed his hesitation, because mere seconds after he paused - unsure of where to even begin - his voice rang out again, "Just get it over it, will you? It's going to hurt either way."

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