#wordsearch tag

[sartorially]

AND THEN FUCK OFF RIGHT BACK HERE.

[hesbianyaoi]

kyouka has a 3DS she uses to play tomodachi life on and she makes everyone at the agency (+ akutagawa and kouyou are there too) to dress up and play with because she would love to have a game. dazai gets the short end of the stick constantly though

playing with her toys

(and thank you for so many reblogs? i'm glad you guys like this! to celebrate we'll be hanging dazai upside down and hitting him like a pinata until something comes out)

misc. doodles that deteriorated in quality to satiate my hunger

[zack-agere]

Wordsearch worksheets!

(all found on google, none made by me)

if you want, tag me if you do these, since I'd love to see them! :)

[landwriter]

WIP Wordsearch Game: Director's Cut Extended Edition

Why not! Courtesy of @softest-punk and @moorishflower - thank you both for tagging me, please enjoy these excessively long excerpts for every word that was a match in the WIPs:

lonely—lighthouses “You’re off your nut. The only thing Keats and I have in common is that we’re broke.”

But later, halfway out the door, leaving for his own lonely apartment, he finds himself asking, “Keats and Shelley were friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” says Dream.

He leaves Dream’s apartment with the words What he has offered me is generous, circling around and around in his head like a dog chasing its tail. I would offer the same, he thinks. I would offer more. Anything. He imagines Dream and his mystery love meeting in the cover of darkness, meeting in cars, in parks, imagines Dream’s lips slick with spit instead of grease, and at the end, each time, the other man, who he pictures as older, chiseled, clean-cut — who must surely have a wife — reminding him he loves another, and Dream nodding, serious, straight-backed as his settee. He wonders if they kiss each other. He hopes they don’t.

small—lighthouses “Trying to kill me,” says Dream, sounding scraped raw.

“Nah,” Hob says, handing the soup back, “I don’t think I could do a good Adonais.” Dream looks at him. “Your throat must feel like shit after that. I’m gonna make you some tea. You got honey?”

Dream nods minutely. He’s wearing an unnervingly soft expression that Hob puts down to him being terrifically, deliriously sick. He puts the back of his hand against Dream’s forehead. “Well,” he says. “No fever, at least.”

“Are you sure?” asks Dream, still staring at him. Hob feels a heat of his own spring to his face. He can’t even kid himself that Dream is just asking. But he’s sure Dream would regret it later, and there’s no way Hob is going to take advantage of him when he’s sick, and he - he tells himself he respects himself too much to be used as a surrogate for Dream’s man, for the one he loves and the one who isn’t here to check if he’s okay, to feed him soup and rub his back and want desperately, desperately, to suck his dick; and it’s not strange to want to do all those things, is it, to want to give him every small pleasure there is of life until he recovers.

He wishes they were both feverish. Wishes he was a slightly worse or significantly better person than this. He drops his hand.

“Yeah,” he says, after a weird, too-long silence. “You’re good. Where’s the honey?”

taste—lighthouses “God,” he says, sounding helplessly reverent. “I’m so fucking crazy for you, man. I’m- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you.”

And Dream smiles, soft, and moves for him, hooking an arm behind Hob’s neck and bringing him close, pressing their bodies together, and Hob feels Dream’s naked chest rising and falling against his own as they kiss, and thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you, and he’s sure Dream can taste it in his mouth.

“I know what I want to do with you,” says Dream.

nose—lighthouses “You,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s stroking, newly spit-slick hand, trying to gentle him, but he won’t be gentled now, not for anything, “Needy for you, for you, nobody else was the same, nobody else was close.”

Dream’s mouth has fallen slack, eyes glazed with lust. He focuses them, barely, on Hob, “For me,” he says.

“For you,” he promises. “Haven’t even made it with anyone else. Wanted you.”

Dream goes still and breathes in sharply through his nose.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to come, Hob.”

right—lighthouses “I’ll wait,” he says, standing so hard on the knife edge of truth and discretion he thinks he won’t be able to walk away from this, or walk ever again after it. “I’ll wait a hundred years for, for him.”

“You’re too loyal, Hob.” Dream looks disappointed with him. He wonders if it’s obvious, how fucked he is right now. He wonders if his want is rolling off of him, like fog, if Dream sees it. Or feels it clinging to his skin, damp. If he’s repulsed. He doesn’t want to be pitied. Not by Dream. Not for this. There’s nothin’ wrong, being loyal. Nothing wrong waiting.

book—shaper of forms He does not so mind the crowds, with Hob by his side. It is less of an awful clamour, without the dull roar of daydreams. But his own thoughts are louder, even with Hob holding his hand.

He looks at a book display and accidentally catches his own gaze instead. His window-self looks at him in scorn. Gaunt, it assesses. Frail. Weak. As they pass the next shopfront, he glances over again. And again, and again.

Each reflection is a jolt, a shiver, like a wing’d shadow over water. A fish-fear. Nightmare blotting out the sun. Announcing his new station to the world: you are helpless, you are helpless, you are- Helpless. You are only this. Nothing more.

After, he cannot stop looking, resolved to confront himself until he no longer feels surprise and pain at the sight, but a part of him, too, foolishly hoping to see himself restored in the next window. It is the way humans sometimes unconsciously beckon the same dream of missing something over and over, compulsively looking in the Dreaming for what awaits them in the Waking world: their brake pedal, their destination, their child.

This is not a dream. His loss is his own.

tea—shaper of forms Nightmares, he knows, are important to humanity. He is certain this is what is missing. Fear.

Three nights later — long, he thinks, but perhaps none of the Nightmares he created himself would dare visit their former lord, something he cannot resist finding flattering — he feels an innocuous dream start to turn from under him. He’s in Hob’s kitchen, making tea. His hands tremble and the cup slips and shatters on the floor. He knows he will not catch it in a dream, so he does not try. The puddle of black tea spreads across the floor, suddenly thick and ichorous, and then turns milk-white. At first, he is fascinated.

Then the Nightmare who has been called to his sleeping mind rises out of it with hair and suit the same colour, and teeth for eyes. It is not, he thinks, an especially creative choice. He is certain it is not the Corinthian himself.

Certain, until the Nightmare places a gentle hand on his cheek and says, all friendly impertinence, “Wanna hear a joke? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

[toburnup]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

i was tagged by @stargyles and @stevethehairington

my words from sen are: hold, freckle, moment, echo, soft, look. my words from mack are: care, freckle, expect, long, sweet

& my snippets are ALL from iylo ch 16, as it's the only WIP i can share atm

hold

"You asked me to," Eddie sputters, and reaches like he's going to take it back but it's Steve's turn to hold it out of reach.

moment

"Just one, right?" Steve says softly, and Eddie steps away, coughs when he laughs. The moment settles into something familiar.

soft

Eddie doesn't reply immediately and Steve presses his mouth to the top of his shoulder, his soft shirt.

look

They look at each other and Steve can only just read his expression in the gauzy purple light.

care

He takes extra care in washing his face, the water dripping down off his chin and darkening the font of his shirt.

long

Eddie says nothing for a long moment so Steve finally breaks the silence.

sweet

"Will you take off your shirt?" Eddie asks, bordering on polite. Sweet.

i'm really behind on my tags, so!! no clue who hasn't done it yet. but i'm gonna do some targeted tagging here: @phoeniceae and @theamazingbard lets see it!! and i know people say no pressure tags, but these are HIGH pressure. i insist!! <3

your words: ear, close, hair, lick, touch, hug

[brasideios]

WIP Wordsearch Game

I was tagged by @sleeplessincarcosa, thank you my dear!

My words are: help, eye, sit, hair and touch.

This was pretty fun - like a tour of my own WIPs :)

Help

From A Story Set in Sparta [I really must choose a better title for this project!]

It was dark as Adimantos passed out of the village, having slipped through the sleeping streets, the cold wind of early spring sharp on his skin – but he was used to that, used to ignoring it, bearing it stoically, like everything else. His thin cloak, something between a winter and summer garment not sufficient to either season, did little to help. The mountains, his destination, were at a distance as he slipped over fences and through long, empty avenues of olive trees, passing the small houses on individual lots, the kleroi, where the helots who worked the fields eked out an existence. All was quiet, no lights shone; they knew better than to draw attention at night with the ever-present threat of the krypteia – and with something of a start, it occurred to him once again that that was him right now. They feared his passing; it was his footsteps in the night that made the women hold their children a little closer.

Eye

This snippet is from a kind of breakaway piece of Arity - I have no idea where it fits, if at all, though I suspect it will end on the cutting room floor.

I found myself at five in the morning, or thereabouts, in the back seat of Brett’s four-wheel drive. Naturally, Jake has pushed himself in next to me; another guy Rowan, sits on the other side of him; and Brett and Luke are sitting in the front. They’re talking, at length, about breaks in New South Wales. I’ve tuned out, and am looking out at the ocean as the sky starts to lighten, and the water turns a very dark, rich green. I’m distracted when Jake’s hand slips casually along my calf, as he reaches (allegedly) to pick up his water bottle from by our feet. I look into his eyes, and he grins, a mocking kind of smile that says, you are so mine. I feel a shiver across the nape of my neck – it may well be a draft, it’s very cold again this morning – but I take it as an omen. I move my leg away from his hand, and give him a look that says, No matter how hot you may be, no matter how much you might strut around, there's no way I'm giving in to you. But I let myself smile too, because I don’t mean ever.

Sit

From the last scene that I added to Arity before I fell in a hole with it:

The coffee shop he chose was on the foreshore of Langarrin, the bottom floor of a high rise with woven cane chairs and dark wood everywhere. Elaborate ceiling fans whirred slowly, doing less than one would wish to cool the room. We sat in a booth on one side beneath one of them, for all the good it did us. It was busy that morning, with many people coming and going. Jimmy would nod or raise a hand now and then, but no one interrupted us. He ate like he hadn’t seen a meal in three days, and was finished long before I’d picked my way through the pancakes I’d ordered. He took the opportunity, sitting back with his cup of coffee in his hand, to say, ‘You wanted to know about my family.’ I nodded. ‘Only if you’re comfortable talking about it, though.’ He waved that off. ‘I told you my parents were older?’ ‘You did; and that you never knew your grandparents.’ He nodded, looking into his cup. After a long moment, he said quietly, ‘It’s hard to know where to start, actually.’ ‘Wherever feels right,’ I said encouragingly. ‘I’m listening.’

Hair

Another from A Story Set in Sparta:

The grasses shivered as the wind passed through them, the mountain above glimmering in the heat, the horses cropping the grass and flicking at insects with their tails and an occasional shake of the head.  He ran a hand along the flank of the bay colt, still young, still clumsy and all legs, who flinched at his touch but watched him boldly, with one eye.  He closed his own eyes, feeling the breeze blow his long hair away from his face, and stirring his beard.  The colt suddenly nickered and dashed away across the field, and Brasidas opened his eyes in time to see the colt reach his mother, calmly grazing at the crest of the hill.

Touch

From Newcastle 1929:

Fred went out to open up. There was always a bit of a rush from the regulars, the women whose homes lined the streets around them – small workers cottages, from the end of the last century; but that morning, a man came into the store in this first rush of women. They looked up at him sideways – he was head taller than any of them, and had wild blonde hair touched with red. He was obviously down at heel. Fred felt his heart sink even before he spoke. He saw him visibly square his shoulders and swallow his pride, before asking in a broad Scots accent, ‘Can y’ spare my family anything, lad? We’ve gone two days with nought to eat.’ He gestured at the doorway, in which two small girls stood, their eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry,’ Fred said, sighing deeply, and meaning it. ‘We may have something at the end of the day. Come back then.’ The man studied his face a moment, then nodded once. ‘Thank y’. I will.’ When he’d gone back outside, John stuck his head in from the kitchen. ‘You shouldn’t encourage them. You know there won’t be enough for even half who come.’ Fred only shrugged at his father, unrepentant.

~~~

Tagging (and apologies if you've already been tagged!) @ainulindaelynn @aeide @findusinaweek @myriath @woodsman2b @erzsebetrosztoczy @theinkandthesea @merelyafigment

Your words if you choose to accept them (lol) are: Spare, situation, certain, real and question.

[delta-piscium]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

thaaank you @sidekick-hero for the tag <3 <3

my words: fine, bed, slow, blink, nose

Fine:

“In my defense, you have very nice hands,” Steve tells him shrugging. 

Eddie whips around turning his full attention on Steve, eyes gleaming. “And what exactly about my hands do you find so nice?”

And like always, Steve gets pulled right in. “They’re pretty, makes me wonder what they’d look like-”

Robin very loudly clears her throat interrupting him. And okay, fine, Steve can’t really blame her. 

Bed:

And it’s such a mistake, Eddie thinks as Steve pushes him down onto the bed and intertwines their hands. Fucks into him slowly and deeply. Makes Eddie see stars and gasp for air. Makes him desperately dig his nails in and hold on tighter.

It’s such a mistake because Steve Harrington doesn’t make it quick and dirty. He doesn’t push Eddie’s face away and into the pillows to chase his own pleasure. 

No, Steve makes love and Eddie can’t. 

Slow:

“I’m still mad,” Eddie says against Steve’s lips as he backs him up against a wall.

“I know,” Steve breathes out.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” he speaks against his jaw, in between slow kisses and sharp bites.

“Yet,” Steve can’t stop himself from adding.

Blink:

Steve smiles, doesn’t take the bait, “wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart.”

There’s a flash of shock on Eddie’s face, his eyes widening and lips parting. Steve hasn’t used pet names for him before. He blinks twice before seeming to collect himself and smirking at Steve.

“Careful princess, talk like that and I’m gonna make some assumptions.” 

Nose:

He falls backward, sliding down some of the hill. He closes his eyes and brings his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He takes two deep breaths before opening his eyes again and when he does he’s looking up at someone. They’re bent over him with a bright grin on their face.

“Careful there, it’s slippery,” Eddie Munson says. 

Eddie Munson, who Steve hasn’t seen in over four years. 

some of these I had completely forgotten about so this was great for reminding me that I actually have stuff written and not just ideas floating around. No pressure at all but tagging @outpastthebrakers @scarcrossdlvrs @ghost--enthusiast @corrodedbisexual @scoops-stevie @wynnyfryd

your words: laugh, wear, sleep, look, thigh

(why was coming up with words the hardest part of this)

[sidekick-hero]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

Thank you sooooo much @phoeniceae for tagging me 💜😘

my words: break, palm, once, knee, damn (good ones!)

break

They make their way to the linen closet in silence, and the anxiety in Eddie's chest grows. He starts gnawing on his hangnails, a habit he can't break no matter how hard he tries. When they reach the small room where the Harringtons keep their frankly disturbing amount of bedding and towels and shit, Steve lets Eddie in first. Before Eddie can even realize what’s happening, Steve has joined him and closed the door, effectively locking them in a dark closet together.

palm

He finds his target, Carver, hiding in a closet and smirks to himself as he brings out an odd-looking dice with more sides than usual. There’s a 20 on it, visible as the dice rests on the man’s palm. It’s his trademark. They don’t call him the DM for nothing.

once

Eddie is glad that they can still do this, that their brains are still strangely attuned to each other, that one look is enough to know what the other is thinking. This moment, more than any other, makes Eddie believe that things are really okay between them. Or will be once his trigger-happy heart gets the message.

knee

Back in Steve's room, the next challenge awaits Eddie: sharing Steve's double without touching. Because, yes, nothing has changed except that it has. Before, Eddie never had to think about not touching Steve. Their bodies collided without thought, always in each other's space. Shoulder bumps, thighs and knees pressed together as they sat next to each other, a hand on a shoulder or back, a teasing flick of an ear or forehead. Now there is this new awareness.

damn

Eddie lays back with a smug smile to himself, satisfied that he’s probably cracked the case.

“And why would he leave you alive then?” Chrissy asks. Damn, that’s a good point.

"Well, how am I supposed to know what's going on in those bloodsuckers' heads, huh? Maybe he thinks I'll show him mercy next time we meet, that he's protected now."

Chrissy gives him a look that is two-third pity and one-third teasing. "He called you rookie for a reason, Eddie. Doesn't seem much impressed or threatened by you to me."

God, I love these. I hope you do, too, cause I'm tagging: @legitcookie, @thefreakandthehair, @stevethehairington, @steveshairychest, @stevesbipanic, @henderdads, @pizzaqueen, @delta-piscium, @starryeyedjanai, @harmonictechnicality

your words are: fine, bed, slow, blink, nose

[krankittoeleven]

WIP Wordsearch Game

I was tagged by @softest-punk, thank you very much for the tag!

my words from SP are: taste, nose, right, book, and tea

"Taste" - from the Eivor/Ubba/Vili fic that I will finish eventually XD (Untitled) blood warning for this one

"Vili, we must continue with our plan," Eivor gently places his hand against Vili's chest, his armor still wet and sticky and warm with blood. The smell is still so strong he can almost taste it in his mouth. It is only a small consolation that none of the blood is Vili's, "or all of this will be in vain."

Vili takes a step back, but the blood remains on Eivor's hand all the same. He had thought that because it was the truth it was the right thing to say, but maybe he had been wrong. Maybe not all truths were worth saying.

"Don't wield my friend against me like a weapon, Eivor."

Vili sounds hurt more than he sounds angry, a sharp reminder of the years they had spent apart and the gaps that still needed filling.

"Nose" - Vili/Ubba (Water of Life)

“Bjorn used to call me runt,” Ubba says as their horses move unhurried along the road back to Hemthorpe. There is a very obvious mix of emotions in Ubba’s voice, his tone affectionate, but also irritated.

“Gods, how big was he to call you that?” Vili asks.

He’d never met Bjorn and the fates had seen to it that he never would. According to Ubba he’d died not long after they had arrived in England, but he is picturing a giant now, who else would call Ubba a runt?

“He was about your father’s size,” Ubba replies, still staring at the road ahead of them, but Vili can see the smirk creeping up on his face and crinkling his nose.

“Oh,” Vili says and then he is overtaken with laughter.

"Right" - Eivor/Vili Cowboy AU (The Ballad of Lonesome Gods)

"Is everyone alright?" Soma asks.

"Yeah," Eivor replies.

"Yes," says Randvi.

"Yup," Ivarr cackles.

"NO!" Vili shouts from the ground, the chains of his shackles clanking as he moves.

"Wait, who is that?" Soma asks as she moves to help Randvi tie up the Sheriff.

"Don't worry about him right n—"

"Hey, come on Eiv-—"

"Vili, just shut up for a minute, please."

Vili huffs but remains silent.

"Book" - from my Lovecraftian existential horror AU (Between the Real and the Unknown)

I dream of little books, their pages ripped from their bindings and scattered on the floor.  I dream of a key so tiny it gets lost in the palm of my hand.  I dream of gathering up the pages, crumbling them in my clenched fists, afraid I will lose the most important page of them all.  And I cry; because I should know what all of it means, but I cannot remember.

"Tea" - Alas, I am but a filthy American and I threw all of my tea into the Harbor. J/K I like tea but it is nowhere to be found in my WIPS at the moment.

I will tag @castielsangel-x, @akashadarkblade, @ainulindaelynn, @brasideios (if you want to when you are feeling better) @myriath, @vault-heck, @theinkandthesea , @erzsebetrosztoczy, @troublemakingrebel and anyone else that wants to!

Your words to find are: help, eye, sit, hair and touch.

[hxneyfarm]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

tagged by the lovely and wonderful @delta-piscium

my words: laugh, wear, sleep, look, thigh

(all snippets are from greatest hits and subject to change at a moment's notice because we are in editing mode on this bad boy <3)

laugh:

“And I apologized. Y’know, the comment about old habits, Harrington… that was kind of out of line.”

“Yeah? Well, I meant it. You were running away.”

“And you weren’t?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs and drags his hand through his hair. He leans with his hip up against the counter and crosses his arms again. “Can we not do this again today?”

Eddie scoffs a laugh and shakes his head, moving to the fridge to get them each a beer. “Civil for the kids, right?” “No, Eddie, not just for the kids. You piss me off like no one I’ve ever met but goddamn. I want you here, okay? Who else is gonna gang up on Mike Wheeler with me?”

wear:

“You’re so hot. So fucking hot. You’ve got this fuckin’ mouth, Stevie. Looks like you wear that fruity lip gloss sometimes, makes me wanna taste ‘em. Sometimes,” Eddie hesitates, unsure if he should say it. “Sometimes I wonder what you’d look like suckin’ me off.” 

He watches Steve take that bottom lip in between his teeth, his hips and thighs twitching a little. Like he’s enjoying hearing Eddie talk about him like this.

sleep:

It lingers between them, taking up space. Eddie waits. Eddie'll wait forever, if that’s what it takes. He looks away from Steve. “I won’t,” he says. “Not till you ask.”

“Thanks.” Steve clears his throat and slaps the tops of his thighs as he goes to stand, effectively resetting the anxious silence between them. “Tired?”

Not in the slightest, Eddie wants to say, but he stands as well. “Yeah. Let’s get some sleep. It’s late. Should I, uh…?” he gestures to the couch, still a little unsure of where they are after the fight.

Steve’s expression is unreadable. “If you want.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then come to bed.”

look:

Maybe if Steve doesn’t feel like the pressure is on him to initiate their fooling around, Eddie will be able to have a little more of him, a little more frequently, and they can take their time a little quicker.

Steve touches him then, as he and Eddie stand there in the kitchen. He draws the tip of his finger up the back of Eddie’s bare arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, before encircling his wrist in a loose grip. “Your arms look good in that shirt,” Steve murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s as if he’s afraid any more volume would shatter the moment.

“Yeah? Tell me more about how good I look.”

Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs, and he reaches up to tug at Eddie’s ponytail. “In your dreams, Munson.”

thigh:

“Is this okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of Steve’s ear.

“Yeah.” 

“What happened to not jumping back in, dick first?”

“Will you shut up already and just -” Steve presses back against him again, and Eddie can feel where the seam of his ass is against his cock. 

He’s sure Steve can feel it too, the implication of what they’re doing. They are both right at the edge of that line, the very first and most important boundary. Eddie can’t penetrate him like this, of course, with two layers of cotton between their bodies, but it’s a direct simulation of what could be. It’s a technicality at best. Eddie thrusts again, gasping at the catch and drag of the head of his cock against - what? Steve’s thigh? His crack? His hole? At this angle, Eddie can’t tell.

“Turn over,” Eddie whispers, and Steve does. Eddie takes a moment to position them the way he wants, with one of his thighs between Steve’s legs and one of Steve’s thighs between his. He goes to put a hand on Steve’s hip but stops himself, moves his hand up to his waist instead. He guides Steve to thrust against his thigh.

wait this was so fun, i forgot some of these bits existed, but i'm feeling super motivated now to spend the rest of the night writing!

no pressure tags: @barbariansteves , @corrodedbisexual, @matchingbatbites, @anzelsilver

your words: first, blank, under, lips, deep

(you're right del coming up with words was hard)

[tracle0]

Wordsearch

Hello hello! Tagged by the radical @albatris thank you thank you tidings of blood and fangs upon ye

Finding: Storm, bite, bring and settle and I am going to do it from The Crows Death woag

Storm

“Sorted now.” Sam scowled at the bushes she had originally approached, then gestured him over. “Dolly just needed some help.” “I did not!” She stormed into view, their imposter trailing behind her, her face like thunder. Atlas watched with amusement as she approached, stuck a finger out, and then snarled, “And you!” Andy paused his progress of picking his way out of the bush. “Me?” “You!” She marched forward, and he shrank back, and they tried not to smile too wide. “You are making my job here as hard as possible! You need to stop running off without me all the bloody time!” “I didn’t, I just-“ “You’re going to get yourself killed! Do you understand that? Does that make sense to you?” “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m not-“ “Or do you want to die? Is that it? You’re so eager to kick the bucket already? It’s like you’re not even trying to stay alive!” 

Bite

“Shut him up,” Max instructed sourly. “I don’t want to listen to him talk.” “What, you don’t like his cute little accent?” The man advanced on where Andy had fallen, and he shrank back. Please, please, please. No, no, no.  “Cute,” she echoed.  “Sure, it’s adorable.” He crouched down beside Andy, the cloth in hand, and when Andy clenched his jaw, wondering if he should bite again, he tutted, put on a terrible impression of his Glalis accent. “Now, now, li’le Crow. Dhon’ be irriday’ing me. Maxie here’ll s’ring you uhp if you ghive her a ‘hance.” “Don’t call me that,” Max said. Her smile had vanished. “And hurry up. Stop playing with him.” “I’m not playing. I only play with people I like. Unlike-“ “Titch,” she said, a low, cold note of warning in her voice.  The man - Titch - sighed dramatically, the cloth stretched between his hands. His nails were a void-like black rather than the pale pink they should have been. An actual servant to the Fox. Exactly what he wanted. “You used to be fun,” he grumbled, then looked down at Andy. “Are you going to bite me?”  “Yes,” he said. “Don’t touch me.”

Bring

“It’s - one of the people I went with, a… my friend, he…” they huffed. “He got… kidnapped just before we got back. I want to…” “Track him?” There was an emphasis on his words, an unspoken offer. Atlas realised what he was implying at the exact same time as their imposter, and where horror drew across their face, a flicker of hope danced across their imposters. “Wait,” Atlas blurted, lurching forward. The floorboards didn’t even groan under their feet, their own home falling for their imposter's trick. “Wait, no. No, you - he can’t come. He can’t come as well, he’ll - he’ll die. You’ll kill him. You’re going to kill him.” Every word was fully ignored. Their imposter pulled away from Olly’s shoulder to study him, the start of a smile edging across their expression. “Yeah,” they said quietly. “Track him. Bring him back.” A primal scream started to rise in their throat, desperation and premature grief loud and clawing. “Don’t,” they begged. “Hey. Hey, seriously, please, don’t. You’ll kill him, I can’t - I can’t live without him. Do anything else. Please. Please. Listen to me, don’t - please.”

Settle

When he twisted his head around, he found its source; a decayed rodent laying an arm’s length away from him, flesh grey, bones jutting through the rotten meat. A maggot squirmed in the tiny carcass. His gorge rose, and the smell of death swept over him, encased him, claimed him. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.  He had just about settled his nerves and calmed his racing pulse when the long-dead, barely held-together skeleton moved. One of its remaining paws twitched, spasmed, and dug into the ground, dragging the festering body closer.  It moved again.  And again. 

Tagging uhhh @loopyhoopywrites nd @ace-malarky nd @polyaubergine to find uh break, mold, ring and grin

[cheerscoops]

Literally a million years ago @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction tagged me for this WIP wordsearch game, and then I promptly forgot to do it. Thanks for that tag, love. <3 I'm just awful at remembering to do things lol

The words I was given were trust, happy, dark, and teeth

trust - from Even If It's Just Pretend (fake dating edancy)

"Jeff, Gareth, and Greg are some of my best friends, and I'd trust them with my life, but those three are terrible liars and can't keep a secret for more than five minutes."

happy - from Wherever You Point To I'll Find Chapter 5 (road trip cheerescoops

He was just happy that she was willing to open up to him about whatever was bothering her even if he had to wait to hear her explanation.

dark - from Cupid's Trap (enemies to lovers hellcheer)

"They are all too used to the smell that their dark magic produces.”

teeth - doesn't appear in any of my WIPs

no pressure tags: @sherifftillman @miwtual @vinmauro @justhere4thevibez @lokinightfury and anyone else who wants to do this can say that I tagged you!

You words are warm, calm, cry, choice, and skip

[jonathanbiers]

wip wordsearch game!

tagged by @sharpbutsoft - thank you!! this one was fun <3

my words are after, somewhere, right, longer and hope

some snippets below! (the last 2 are nsfw, just like. a warning lmfao)

from scoop there it is

The walk from the counter to the table the rest are occupying is short, but Argyle’s thoughts still race right past him in a hazy stream of he’s just being nice, he’s definitely not flirting, he’s friends with your friend and he’s just being nice and he might not even like guys like that. It must show on his face, too, because Jonathan’s brows furrow slightly as he slides into the booth next to him—no, it’s not a regular booth, it’s modeled after the bow of a ship and that’s fucking awesome.

from what if argyle was transfem

“Hey,” Steve says, voice impossibly softer than it had been before. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. If you don’t want to, or you just don’t wanna think about it. I’m still right here for you, whatever it is.” 

🌶️ from beggin for a peggin

Nancy shifts forward from where she’s been sitting back on her knees, supporting her weight with her elbows. The movement of her hips shifts as well—slower, deeper, a steady grind accompanied by gentle kisses pressed to his throat. "You’re being so good for me, Eddie," she murmurs against his skin, stopping to suck a bruise just above one of his collarbones. He feels teeth graze over his skin soon after, sending shivers through his spine. "Think you can be good just a bit longer?" 

🌶️ from stargyle spring prompt

Argyle leans his head back as Steve flicks his tongue over his tip, his grip still loose when his hand slides back down. It’s wishful thinking and he knows it, but he hopes Steve isn’t set on drawing it out as much as he normally likes to, riling him up with the lightest of touches until he’s aching for it. He doesn’t think he’s high enough to handle the teasing, or the way Steve looks up at him through his lashes like tormenting Argyle is his favorite fucking thing.

tagging @bayouteche, @thefreakandthehair, @emryses, @quinnkeerys, @toburnup, @gorgeousgreymatter-x

your words are: hold, freckle, moment, echo, soft, look

[keyrousse]

WIP Wordsearch Game

I was tagged by @softest-punk, thank you :). Technically I have three WIPs, two of which are on my conscience (the third was mostly posted and I haven't added much to it since), so here we go with "A private job" (Craig's Bond + my Mary Sue OC having 'fun' in Greece) and the still-untitled Olgierd von Everec-focused fic.

taste:

They slowly ride down the hill, onto the road. Niklas rides behind Olgierd, slightly to the side, keeping an eye on their surroundings and the road ahead as Olgierd starts to get lost in his thoughts. At one point, Olgierd takes the bottle of wine he shared with Geralt and drinks it, sip by sip. There isn’t much left — Geralt took solid gulps and Olgierd couldn’t blame him — so he doesn’t even get the buzz, but the bitter taste keeps him grounded in reality, so he doesn’t ride over the people who head in the same direction.

nose:

“Greta von Lieven, nice to meet you,” she says.

“Ah, the lady of the house. Olgierd von Everec, delighted to make your acquaintance,” he says, bows courtly and hands her the bouquet when he straightens up.

The woman blushes, buries her nose in the flowers and Olgierd smiles widely.

“Come on in,” she says, her voice muffled by the flowers.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been invited anywhere,” Olgierd says, still smiling and looking around the flat. “Usually I just invited myself in, along with my company.”

right:

“Also, you love a challenge, and a woman who doesn’t drown into your oh-so-blue eyes and fall into your muscular arms right after meeting you immediately becomes one, makes you want to work her out. That’s why you followed me last night. Now you want to see whether you can melt my seemingly cold-towards-men heart.”

He regrets that he can't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, because all he gets is her smirk, the voice dripping with irony, and her pose in the chair, leaning back with legs crossed, her elbows sticking to the sides over the armrests and the hands lying loose on her thighs.

book:

The clerk is by his desk in the corner of the room, looking through some book he has in his hands. He looks up when the bell above the door rings.

“Welcome, sir,” he says. “Marcus Hodgson, at your service.”

“Good day. May I look around?” Olgierd asks politely.

“Of course, sir, take as much time as you need,” the clerk replies, although his voice starts to tremble a little and he looks at the door, scratching his face.

He’s nervous.

tea:

no tea in both of them! A lot of steals and insteads though ;)

Thank you for the tag :)

[afewproblems]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

tagged by @barbariansteves

Thank you very much for the tag!! All snippets (and I really tried to only include small parts to hopefully avoid spoilers) are from my Mean!Eddie, Misunderstandings AU!

Wish:

Steve laughs as Robin leans out of her seat to give him a quick but firm hug before she opens the door and steps outside. As soon as she’s out of the car, Steve wishes he had asked her to stay, to come with him and hold his hand through the unknown. The bereft, hollow feeling from before returns in full force as she walks up to her front door. 

Teeth:

“You can just come over you know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to and that includes letting people force you to--” Robin snaps her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. 

She shakes her head and takes her hand back, “sorry, I promised not to say anything”.

Little:

She tips the small watch she’s wearing up to her face, her eyes flit back and forth between Steve and the watch as she chews on her bottom lip, which is more than a little odd.

The kids are already at the house and Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang won’t be arriving for at least another hour, they have plenty of time?

Breath:

Eddie curses under his breath, his expression nervous, and moves his legs off of Steve and the chair before holding a hand out to help Steve to his feet.

Steve rubs his back as he leads the pair back inside through the sliding glass door, not daring to turn around and face Eddie. 

He feels his own mortified flush spread across his chest and neck and winces; this is probably the most he’s blushed in years all in the span of a single afternoon.

Falter:

Eddie's smile falters slightly, but Steve is determined to end this conversation, go upstairs and crawl into bed for a millennia,

"I'll put in a good word with Mrs. Henderson," Steve continues, gesturing towards the abandoned tupperware on the counter, "I think she'd listen if I told her you guys needed a place for Dusty-Bun's club".

This was such a cool Tag Game! Thank you again @barbariansteves

I'd love to tag: @flowercrowngods @henderdads @strangersteddierthings @steddierthings (no pressure at all!)

And whoever else would like to join in on this!

The words are: Concentrate, Loose, Fire, Bubble, Giddy

[tj-dragonblade]

WIP Word Search Game

Ooh, a newer iteration of WIP wordsearch! Tagged by: @wordsinhaled with breath, rest, head, once, far, only (and hello) @landwriter with pale, hope, lips, ache, laugh, morning Thank you both!

Knocking this out in one post, hang on you your hats. Cut for length and because some of them are spicy.

breath From the academic conference AU:

Dream's breath is warm at the base of his neck. "I am. Consumed, with the need to learn your body, as I have been learning the rest of you." His hand moves lightly on Hob's back, skates down and around his ribs, lower.

rest From the pwp where Dream is Very In To all of Hob's wonderfully human scents and textures:

Dream leans up, mouth open, tongue out, inviting; Hob lays just his tip against Dream's tongue while Dream holds his eyes, unblinking. His hands come to rest on Hob's thighs; he smooths them gently through the thick hair, scratches softly and Hob whimpers, slaps his dick very lightly against Dream's tongue, whimpers again at the eager sound that Dream makes.

head From the academic conference AU:

"Perfect. Well?" Hob turns to Dr. Murphy. "Better than trying to find a room elsewhere? I'll even take the rollaway; you can have the room bed."

Dr. Murphy inclines his head like some kind of old-school royalty. "Very well."

once From the academic conference AU:

Day two is almost enough to make Hob reconsider his 'wait and see' approach. Dream gets him talking over breakfast, elaborating on the paper he's been writing on Marlowe; he is passionate about this project, animated as he carries on about it, and more than once he glances back to Dream only to find his colleague-turned-friend watching him intently over the rim of his coffee with an expression best described as hungry. Like he'd devour Hob in all the best ways if given the chance, and Hob is thrilled, smiles brightly and maybe flirts just a little in return.

far From the Victorian AU:

'Fond' was perhaps not strong enough a word, to encompass his regard for Morpheus, but it was a far sight safer than the words he would wish to use instead.

only From the pwp where Dream is Very In To all of Hob's wonderfully human scents and textures:

Hob whimpers, arousal kindling in his gut, but his dick only manages an interested twitch. "The spirit is willing, love, but the flesh is of the waking world and needs just a little more time?"

hello I have in fact used a 'Hello, Hob' in fic but it's one that already got posted.

pale From the Victorian AU:

His captain made a soft, languid sound at the change and shifted, slim legs hitching higher around Hob's hips one after the other, interlocking behind him, one pale heel pressing firmly into his buttocks.

hope From the academic conference AU:

But now, thanks to a fortuitous glitch in the hotel's booking process, Hob has Dream rooming with him for the week; this has serendipitously led to them sharing breakfast, attending panels together, conversation over lunch, meeting up again for dinner—in short, they've spent more time together on day one than he could have dared to hope for and he's on cloud nine.

lips From the PWP centered on panties and piercings and makeup and jewelry:

"Oh?" Hob murmurs, absolutely delighted, and tongues the piercing again, pushing it gently back and forth beneath the fabric; Dream's cock twitches against the lace and he makes that sound again, hand still tight in Hob's hair. "Good?" Hob asks, kissing over the tip as he looks up, and Dream is staring down at him, sable lips parted in surprise, smoke-shadowed eyes wide.

ache From the Victorian AU:

Morpheus had gone still, caught fast in the gentle curve of Hob's palm; a tear overflowed at last, tracing a silvery path down his cheek, and Hob ached to wipe it away.

laugh From the academic conference AU:

It's more of the same all day, sitting close together in panels and quietly murmuring commentary to one another, Dream's acerbic sense of humor having Hob struggling not to laugh aloud more than once; arms brushing comfortably in close proximity, the occasional bump of one leg against the other, low-voiced words spoken close to each other's ears beneath the drone of the presenter in the front of the room.

morning From the academic conference AU:

"Shall we turn in?" Dream says, eventually. "My presentation is first thing in the morning, and you promised to be in attendance." His tone is just barely over the line into flirtatious and he's casting a glance up through his eyelashes, the corners of his mouth tucked into a barely-there smile that would be smug if it curled up any further.

It looks like the rules are tag six people and give them six words to search for, so! Tagging, no obligation but I'd love a peek at what you're working on: @staroftheendless, @seiya-starsniper, @galacticstingray, @chaosheadspace, @quillingwords, @lenreli

Your words are: soft, brush, burn, smile, red, warm