#roy g biv tag

[indecentpause]

ROY G BIV

tagged by @willtheweaver to share lines with the colors of the rainbow!

red:

It’s crowded when you get off the bus. Not as bad as weekends. Not as bad as it would be downtown. But people swarm everywhere, crowding the sidewalks, driving like maniacs, running red lights and stop signs and nearly smashing you into the asphalt like a rabbit in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your hands tremble. Your whole body trembles. If you were to try to stand still, the vibrations in your body could probably still keep you moving forward.

orange:

One by one, pieces of clothing come off. Piece by piece you bare your bodies to each other, intimate, vulnerable, safe. You finally get to see the entirety of the tattoo on his hip. It’s monochrome black vines, snaking from his hip down his thigh, with small splashes of watercolor work where each flower there blooms. An orange, cut open and segments bared, sits nestled in the middle.

yellow:

“Meara,” Danny says gently. You look up from your fingers. You’re wearing yellow nail polish today. Chipped as usual. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

green:

Morgan is tall, though not as tall as Josephine or Austin, and he’s thin and waiflike like you are. His hair is the same color and texture, and if he had green eyes and glasses, he could pass for your brother, or even your twin. He grins when he sees you and says brightly, “Hey, look at us! We match!”

blue:

You stand there, dumbstruck, as they start walking in the direction of the blue line. When they reach the corner, Josselin and Frankie turn around and wave, and then they’re gone. For a few long moments, you stare at the empty corner, until Danny gently bumps his shoulder against yours. “You’re gonna e-mail him, right?” he asks.

purple:

“Bad day?” You nod again. Then the only noise is her lunch bag unzipping. Something crinkles. You finally look up when she slides a little purple packet in front of you. “You’re vegan, right?” she says. “I think those are. There’s no gelatin.” You pick up the little bag. It’s gummy bunnies. You sniffle, and your mouth tightens, and you can’t stop the tears once they start falling, because she was thoughtful enough to share something with you when you’re sad, and if you lose this scholarship you might lose this job, and she’s like the big sister you always should have had, and what if you can’t work with her anymore, and and and–

indigo

have a couple extras!

white:

Then he crawls into your lap and your mind goes white and fuzzy. He flings one leg over you, pressing in close. Your hands fall to his hips, which you didn’t notice before, but they’re really, really nice. He sighs into your mouth and goes boneless against you. You wish you could do the same, but even though your brain has turned off, your body is still tense and ready to run.

black and gray:

“Here, you animal,” Danny says, handing you a gray and black checkered handkerchief. “Use this. Uh. Don’t put it in your pocket, though.” “Do you think I’m stupid?” you laugh. “No, I just don’t think you share my kinks,” he grins back, ruffling your hair.

tagging @revenantlore @winterandwords @oh-no-another-idea @athenswrites @magic-is-something-we-create to share lines with the colors of the rainbow too!

#my writing #writeblr #roy g biv tag #writeblr tag games #writers on tumblr #amwriting #meara ryanne #josselin clearwater #danny yazdi #morgan acosta benitez #the black and blues #sheraton academy #sheraton academy au

[oh-no-another-idea]

ROY G BIV tag game

Thank you for the tag @druidx!

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Scarlet:

All around her, the walls closed in, the California Limited no longer a beetle but a long and snaking centipede, shell hulking and clicking where the pieces rubbed occasionally. Through the narrow doorway, the dark gave way to warmth; glossy wood paneling, rows of scarlet upholstery, brass luggage racks, all lit with gas lamps burning merrily on the walls.

Orange:

“Spare me your endless philosophies,” Felicia dismissed. Drawing her gauzy robes tighter around her tall and angular frame, she stood and stared out the window. With her hair hidden beneath a turban of wrapped orange cloth, she brought to mind a haughty long necked bird. She was waiting, Velia knew, so quickly and methodically, she laid out her spoils from the day.

Gold: [first Fynn description!]

The newcomer leaned against the door. Velia stared at him, willing him to move. He was tall and gangly; a well placed kick might do him in. Thin too, from his pale nose to his bony hands. His most redeeming quality was the halo of golden of curls framing his face that Velia was most certainly not jealous of, no siree.

Green:

Velia reached into her pocket and flicked open her mirror compact. Her faded green eyes stared back at her. Freckles, too-small nose, pale brown hair. She was still there. It was hard to doubt you were still there when your body felt unfortunately tethered to the ground like always, but Velia appreciated the reminder from time to time.

Blue:

For a moment, caught up in the freezing metal biting into her hands and concentrating on moving quickly and silently, she didn’t quite realize what she’d done. It wasn’t until her boot landed on the roof of the train that it sank in. The California Limited spread out in front of her, a mass expanse of iron flying through the blue-gray dusk. It looked awfully thin for a beast holding several hundred people and a hundred more tons of goods.

Purple:

There was nothing but deep purple sky behind her. She shifted and the bolt moved with her. She was kneeling on a hatch. She slid the bolt free and wrestled with the door. It wasn’t budging. Struggling, she glanced over her shoulder again. Her pursuer was still nowhere to be seen, and somehow, this was more frightening than his tall silhouette.

Gentle tags for @rkmoon @tabswrites @writingmaidenwarrior @autumnalwalker @fanged-solace @on-noon @thewriteflame and anyone else who'd like to join! <3

#tag games #roy g biv tag #wip: invisible girl

[void-botanist]

ROY G BIV tag

I'm finally getting to this tag from @autumnalwalker about three months later!

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

I'll tag @kk7-rbs, @outpost51, and @sarahlizziewrites, plus anyone who wants to join in!

I found the most colors in Nicea, so:

Red - Isabel

“How did you get here so fast?” she asked in a low voice as she sat down on the closer end of the blanket. He was staying on the inconvenient side of the mountain, significantly further away from the trail than Fay’s house. So he should either be trailing behind her, or she should have seen him on the way up. “I was still at Teagan’s when I messaged you,” he said. “Kara made juice.” “Ah, that explains it.” Well, the juice part explained nothing, but she figured it wasn’t supposed to. She looked out over the fields and pastures dotted with houses below, all glowing a little red in the sunlight.

Orange - Spinder

But the trees half-bent over the road, giving him a chance to high-five a low branch on his way by and send a shower of orange pollen down on his back.

Yellow - Isabel

In the dim kitchen doorway was a distinctly animal shape. It swiveled its head toward her and she froze, remembering that she wasn’t supposed to look directly at it, but knowing from the yellow glow of its reflective eyes that it was already too late for that. It padded toward her with the soft click of canine nails on a hard floor, and as it moved, the corridor lights activated, revealing a full-size gray wolf wagging its tail at her. Her brain refused to give a plausible reason for this until she glimpsed the baby-pink collar around its neck. “Tatya?” she whispered.

Green - Isabel

Fay handed her a wood box that was obviously for wine, given that it had a bunch of wine-related words in the shape of a wine bottle on the front. In fact, it was wide enough for two bottles of wine, which was two more than she wanted to take on this trip. Before she could say anything, Fay said, “It’s not wine, that was just the best box I had. Open it.” She set the box sideways on her lap—it was probably heavy enough to be two bottles of wine—and slid the front cover halfway open. It was almost full to the brim with hard candies, each one wrapped in a different color of plastic, but all of them an amberish green color. “They’re peppermint candies,” Fay said. “You probably won’t need that many for the whole trip, but I thought they would help since you get warpsick.”

Blue - Rodney

The connection cut and he flipped his tablet case closed, setting his coffee in his seatside cupholder before getting up to find Tristan. Walking felt good for three seconds before it just reminded him how tired he was. At the first door to the right of the bridge, he lifted a hand to knock, then noticed the blue page clipped to the door. Couldn’t sleep, took a pill. Fuck.

Indigo

I really don't use indigo as much as I should. Not found.

Violet (Purple) - Tristan

“Well, let me take a look at ground zero,” Ed said. “The rest of y’all can get comfortable in the Svando’s if you want.” When he turned, she saw the overlapping white and purple stars on the back pocket of his sleeveless denim coveralls, and something clicked. “Ed,” she said, falling in step beside him, “you don’t happen to be the same person as Spangle Birrim, do you?” Ed stopped, gave her a good look, then indulged in a full-body chuckle. “You look a little young to know that name.” “Me, maybe, but I’m friends with Von Praegar.” “Von?” A hand fluttered to his breastbone. “That old fucker’s still kicking? Where’s he at now?”

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kk7-rbs @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

#c: Isabel #c: Tatya #c: Spinder #c: Rodney #c: Tristan #c: Fay #wip: nicea #roy g biv tag #tag games #rose writ

[autumnalwalker]

ROY G BIV tag

Thank you for the tag, @druidx. This looks like a fun new one.

Passing the (entirely optional) tag to @rickie-the-storyteller, @on-noon, @yourlocalboredprocastinator, @ghost-town-story. @broodparasitism, @itusebastian, @void-botanist, and an open tag for anyone else.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Red: Empty Names - 14 - Down Low

When Ashan finds her some ten minutes later with a satiated smile on her face and watching the spider pull in their stygian catch from the lake, the cut on Eris’s forehead has already healed.  None of the blood painting her new armor red is hers.

Orange: The Archivist's Journal, Day 78

As long as I’m writing, I suppose I ought to take a moment to describe the landing area.  It was another jutting cliff with an arch on the end, like Siren Overlook and the one we encountered to the west.  Twice could be a coincidence, but three times and I’m convinced the whole formation is artificial, not just the arch, columns, and pool.  It wasn’t nearly so overgrown as the western dock – if anything the columns were in better shape than at Siren Overlook – but whereas Siren Overlook was mostly covered in short grass with the occasional tiny white flower or stubborn shrub this was a veritable field of bright orange flowers broken only by the water lily filled pool running down the center.

Yellow: The Archivist's Journal, Day 60

Doffing my boots and carrying them in one hand, I waded in a short ways as I walked the perimeter of the spring.  It’s curious how unafraid the fish and turtles swimming the shallows were of me.  Most I could practically get within arm’s length before they darted away, and if I stood still for a few minutes, small schools of finger-length yellow fish would congregate in my shadow.

Green: The Archivist's Journal, Day 9

Hurrying to catch up with my young companion I pushed my way through the crooked door only to nearly trip over her.  The morning light had transformed the interior space from a surreal void to an awe-inspiring expanse.  Light filled the central nave.  As green leaf-filtered streams on the high side windows.  As vertical golden rays replacing the prior night’s columns of rain from holes in the roof.  As an iridescent wave coming in from the bare remains of a curved stained glass window backlighting the statue of the Reader.  All this reflected off the broad leaf and moss-filled puddles that stretched across much of the floor, still not evaporated days later.  The side aisles were a tangle of roots from the trees above, quite possibly doing as much to hold the structure up as the pillars separating aisle from nave.

Indigo: Witch's Testament: The Fighter

Weapons are raised and aimed.  The crowd begins to back away.  Someone above cracks a joke about how they should have just skipped to waving guns around if it was going to be this easy to solve the problem.

The crowd only backs off so far though, most that made it through the outer gate are still on the inside of it.  Those still stuck beyond push one another over the wall so some might get a better view.  A lone figure left behind by the receding sea of people remains standing in the middle of the reef of broken and smoking drones, tens of meters from the protesters behind him and the forces before him.  His dark clothes are long and billowing.  His pointed hat is wide brimmed to hide his face.  His serpentine familiar, assembled from scavenged and stolen parts, coils up one arm, over his shoulders, and down the other.

Someone in the line of hired guns makes an incredulous remark under his breath about cosplaying wizards.

The man corrects him to say that he’s a witch and his voice echoes through every loudspeaker, portable device, and auditory implant in the building.

The witch strides forward, his eyes glowing indigo from the shadows beneath his hat and matched by those of his slowly uncoiling familiar.

Someone gives an order to fire and an electrified dart wizzes past the unperturbed witch.  Six more darts miss.  Rubber bullets are loaded and combat implants lock in firing trajectories.

To the eyes of the security personnel, every shot should be a hit but impossibly passes through their target and out the other side.  To the eyes of the protestors the witch is walking through a hail of bullets that are all miraculously going astray.  To the eyes of the witch, every implant-assisted firing solution coming from the soldiers before him is being outlined in indigo and nudged to exactly where he wants it.

The witch has already crossed the security line and is on the steps of the building behind them by the time someone catches on and spins around to aim and fire manually.  His familiar rears up and hisses.  The shot goes wide as the entire security contingent seizes up, spasms, and falls to the ground.

The moment the witch crosses the threshold, every light in the building goes out, every door unlocks save for those to the roof and underground garage, and every camera becomes a witch’s eye.

Violet: A Dream About Purple

We are all too busy watching the game to notice anything wrong until a third team tries to take the field.  Their uniforms are purple and their hair appears to be dyed to match.  All of them wear the same vacant smile that crawled its way out of the uncanny valley and speak with offputting singsong voices. 

It is only then that we all look up and see the storm rolling in, stretching across the horizon with clouds of that same unnaturally vibrant violet.  Eerie music rides the wind ahead of the storm, heralding its imminent arrival. 

#tag game #writeblr #my writing #writers on tumblr #writing tag games #empty names #the archivist's journal #The Witches' Testaments #roy g biv tag #in retrospect this is just #find the word tag #That snippet for Indigo was actually written with this tag game in mind

[grell-writes-stuff]

ROY G BIV Tag

I wasn't tagged, but I saw this and wanted to do it. Share lines with the colours of the rainbow!

red:

We leap apart the second we’re alone like two magnets with the same pole. “Ew,” she grunts. “You reek of sweat and vomit.” “Don’t act like you’ve never freaked out before.” “Not like that.” My eyes roll, but she’s not paying attention to me. She’s holding her phone out in front of her and using the camera to apply another coat of obnoxious red lipstick to her already-obnoxiously-red lips. “Can we just get this over with? I’m meeting this guy in, like, half an hour, so-” “You lined up a date on our fake-breakup night?” She glares at me. “Fine. A hook-up. Whatever."

orange:

Even distracting myself to air-drumming along to Bon Jovi – and ignoring as Travis tries to sing along, sounding like a dying ostrich – I start to get a little fed up with how long this road-trip-apparently is taking. We’re a long way into fucking Orange County when I consider breaking my longstanding rule of not ever calling Selena’s phone number so I can yell at her directly.

yellow:

The relief I feel is microscopic as Bryson herds everyone through the stage door and out to the bar. The contract looms over me like a heavy, yellow fog. Why did I ever think I could do this and challenge the natural order of things, disturb the righteous organization of the universe? A four-minute sacrifice between me and my freedom.

green:

“Aren’t you supposed to pour one out? You know…” “Sure, but I wanted to have some first. I’ll dump the rest for him.” “We’ll be here.” Bryson sighs. Then, “Outside, genius.” “This is closer,” says Cole. Matt and I follow Bryson’s eyes and watch as Cole approaches a plant that looks like a more permanent installation in this room: a leafy green thing confined to a pot of dirt in the corner. “Cole, don’t water the plant with Fireball,” Bryson says as Cole proceeds to water the plant with Fireball.

blue:

I wish he wasn’t able to look at me. His blue eyes are full of water. There’s this terrible way that he can’t stop his lip and hands from trembling. My mom squeezes my hand so fucking tight, but the other is over her face as she breaks. They’re all breaking. They’re broken.

indigo

purple:

I look into my digital reflection displayed on my laptop screen as I wait, and it’s not pretty. The bruising beneath my eye is an ugly dark purple and my cheek looks too flat.

white:

There’s a tattoo on her lower back that I can see from behind my drums. It’s a tramp stamp of a flower – a daisy or something – done without linework. The white ink of the petals against her skin makes it look like weird, round scars.

black:

My cheeks are wet. I half-hiccup, half-gasp for not enough air. I can’t live in this terrible universe the way it is, but I can’t do anything to change the things it has already done to me. I can’t take back what it’s taken from me. I wipe my sleeve against my eyes and the black fabric of this uniform futilely hides the tears.

grey:

He glances off-screen suddenly at a knock that I can hear through the speakers, two thousand miles away. He looks back and his grey eyes rove the bottom of his screen.

brown:

The second the side door shuts behind the Rays, she whirls on me, brown eyes ablaze, and yells, “You motherfucker!” She wastes a good ten minutes screaming at me and only backs off when Bryson’s sister comes out to the garage to tell her to shut the fuck up.

I'm not gonna tag people; this is for whoever else wants to take part :)

#wip: interlude #writing #my writing #writeblr #writing excerpts #roy g biv tag #writers on tumblr

[ettawritesnstudies]

Roy G. Biv Tag

Thanks @aalinaaaaaa! So some context for a lot of these: In Maaren, the Debilan mark major life events with body paint the same way the Atilan might mark them with jewelry. You can glance at someone and tell their familial relationships, career, and notable accomplishments based on the placement, color, and shape of the geometric designs. Facial designs are often used to mark criminals or murderers as dangerous. A lot of these come from those kind of descriptions!

Red

The Anarchist paused over the two bodies lying at his feet; one his mentor, one his enemy, their blood pooling together. Only now did he kneel. He dipped his fingers in the mixing blood, brought his hand to his face and drew on the mask he wore, staining the white mark of a criminal literally blood red. Now he bore the mark of a murderer, and he bore it with pride.

Orange / Yellow

She obligingly took the bundle as their mother helped Enne gather the basket of now-finished cord. Anda dusted off her hands before picking it up and resting it on her hip. Her hands caked with river clay – today was the first day she worked under-the-table for a local potter, gathering the material he needed. They’d found his contact through the network of their religious community, and she gladly offered to help another Artist with a necessary but dirty job. Grace admired her mother for her humility, it took an honorable, or very fun, person to get messy. The red smears looked close enough to paint stains to be almost pretty against the glow of her bronze skin in the setting sun. Grace still had orange and yellow caked to her fingernails from her artistic exploits at Acheran’s two days ago. Now they matched!

Green

Philomena was a sweet young woman, a little older than Enne, tall, pale, and slim, with flaxen hair piled in curls on top of her head and tied back with a kerchief. Her paint showed under the short sleeve of her dress: a green line down her left shoulder with two triangles pointing to the front. A physical mark to honor her two older sisters, who both lived out of town.

Blue / Indigo

Columns held up vaulted rooves and pediments, then other buildings rested on top of their neighbors, all carved from the walls of the canyon itself. Natural strata lines of silt deposits, hardened over time, made up the structure of the city and the colorful bands were reflected in the architecture. Browns and reds, blacks and greys and whites, the sparkle of magic where the residual minerals had been left unmined when the light caught it just right, reflected against the pale blue of the sky and the indigo blue of the river below.

Violet

The light of Illara filtered silver and violet through the Aral rings, illuminating the city with a soft hue. Clear skies let the starlight form spirals as it entered Laoche’s atmosphere, and Acheran spotted the constellation Chorer through the buildings. The “Crown of Heaven” and Chara’s namesake. Acheran made an armoe to it before soaring off. A cool wind carried him around the canyon effortlessly, and soon he reached sight of the Laine’s new home.

this is a very colorful book lol, I tried not to double dip too much!

Tagging @spacetimewraithwrites and @sleepyowlwrites if you want to join in!

#roy g biv tag #storgewip #wip excerpts

[writingfolk]

ROYGIBV Tag

I wasn't tagged in this but @grell-writes-stuff did it and I need to get back into writing so this made me review some pieces and oh boy do I need to edit some [all] of these.

Red

The lake’s shore was equal parts bodies and rocks. Shallow water turning red as blood seeped into its depths. 

Orange

“Of course,” Brandon promised. 

Alex wasn’t sure if Brandon knew what promise he was claiming, if he was too preoccupied watching Alex’s fingers to care about what was being said. His mind was elsewhere, much like his own, fixated on Brandon’s singular earring that had a hard time keeping a consistent colour in the sun. 

. . .

The simple stud first appeared to be blue, but Alex was sure that it had originally been orange that morning. “The same one as usual.” Alex took off his glasses to clean the lenses on his shirt.

Yellow

He didn’t know how he ended up curled in his bed, on top of his duvet, with a soft yellow blanket that he picked up his first year of University, wrapped around his shoulders, nor did he know how long it had been since the phone call with his sister.

Green

Isaac reemerged with a simple silver bracelet with various sizes of green gems engraved in its side.

Blue

“My men are my responsibility. Their lives are mine to share on the battle field.”

The fire between them burned blue.

Indigo

Purple

His jacket was opened, revealing a purple t-shirt underneath that she had gotten him for his birthday two years ago, tucked into the belt of his trousers. The purple colour was fading, it was now a soft lilac that reminded Clara of the garden back home

White

Walking into the apartment, Amelia stood next to a wooden island that was splintering at the legs, and looked around in surprise. The apartment was not at all what she was expecting. It was white. Almost too white for the crumbling building exterior that it resided in.

Black

Wayne’s wooden desk, littered with pencils and books she never saw him read, shone black under the window

Grey

 Long thick strands of grey, greased hair hung limply behind her thighs. The entrails were knotted and oiled, as if she never had enough strength to fully complete her daily grooming. 

Brown

Alex paused. Marc watched a small brown spider climb down from a crack in the wall above Alex’s head.

#writeblr #writing #roy g biv tag #mine #excerpts #all from different pieces because i really don't write with colour apparently #though some are from the same #wip

[romances-not-tragedies]

ROY G BIV tag game

Thank you @thewriteflame for the tag!

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

I will be taking my excerpts from my original fic Renegade Heiresses WIPs.

Red (Prodigal Heiress)

The fairness of her skin in her face, however, was marred by a visible scar on the left cheek and barely visible under face powder. Her lips had been dark red, full and begging for a kiss— Justin shook his head. What was he thinking? Was he contemplating kissing her lips and licking the lipstick off her lips? His mysterious savior? How absurd!

Orange

Yellow Gold (Prodigal Heiress)

Though it had been a week since they first met (or was it?), she remembered the invitation sent to her office above Francisca’s bookshop. It was an ecru card with black and gold gilded frames interlocked at the border, and the letter prints elegant yet powerful.

Green (Prologue)

Once out of sight, she removed her beaded green slippers and walked down the volada where she encountered a woman in a less elegant version of the terno and whose face registered shock at seeing her. It might have been her forest green terno with bronze-hued pañuelo, tapis, and cola or that Francisca stared at her dead in the eye. She might have scared the woman either by her presence or stare, making her back out and disappear into the dark. Strange woman, Francisca thought as she resumed trying to find where the Señorita had run off to.

Blue (Prodigal Heiress)

Then the blue-attired performer—she recognized to be Luisa Confesor—snapped her head up and stepped forward in a dramatic fashion, approaching to the microphone. She commanded the attention of the patrons, though Clarisse could not make much of everyone’s reactions.

Indigo

Violet

Tagging @winterandwords, @avoidingcertaindoom, @laplumedemaureen, but this is also an open tag to those who want to join in the party.

Happy writing!

#writeblr #roy g biv tag game #tag game #writeblr tag game #i got four out of seven #sorry if i miss some of them!

[thewriteflame]

ROY G BIV tag game

Thank you @oh-no-another-idea for the tag! <3

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Soft tagging: @megarywrites @blue-kyber @emelkae @romances-not-tragedies @theprissythumbelina and OPEN TAG should anyone wish to join in ^^

Will be taking them from 3 of my WIPs: Home, And They Were Roommates (ATWR), and The Revenged (TR).

Red (Home)

“Is he going to survive?” She asked again. She stared at him, her large hazel eyes boring hopefully into his. Ka’il wasn’t an expert on humans but he felt she couldn’t have been much older than Miriel. “If he lives through the night and we can keep infection away, probably.” Determination entered her eyes. The same look Miriel got when she wanted to help, wanted to do tell the world she would do what seemed impossible. “Then he will make it through the night.” Ka’il smiled at her. His first smile since before Laitae broke into his world. “Anyone would with you near, little one.” He couldn’t resist ruffling her wild red-blonde hair. She glared at him and smoothed out her hair. “I’m twelve,” She pointed out. “Oh, practically an adult. No wonder you were a good apprentice.” Ka’il said, half-jokingly. The girl beamed at him.

Orange & Yellow (TR)

“My father had her built just last year after our last ship became too damaged to float. The plan is that after this trip is over, she will be mine.” Nahuel looked at the ship with pride. A pride Shuntala felt was deserved as she took in the frigate in front of them. Natural medium wood shone through a thick coating that protected it from the dangers of the sea, a swirling line of orange and pink painted flowers decorated the top of the hull and curled around bright yellow lettering that gleamed on her aft. The Rising Sun’s rays danced and reached for the flowers circling them.

Green Emerald (TR)

She moved her attention from the fingers lightly touching her wrist to his emerald eyes. She relaxed a little. “Now,” he muttered to himself as he pocketed the salve. Shuntala looked back at her arm as he slowly unwrapped it. Stitches lined her cut. An angry redness partly ringed it. She flinched as he gingerly touched it. “Sorry,” He said. “I’ll have to talk Saavin into coming back.” Shuntala looked back at his eyes as he concentrated on re-wrapping her arm then looked to his ears. What she realized should have been elongated was cut off, thick scars marking the end.

Blue (ATWR)

Once again Takashti found himself in the girls’ room. It hadn’t been his prerogative but resisting a fresh changed Jayme— now wearing pastel blue and sequined sandals— was like flying a kite in a hurricane. Not even Nim said anything as she rolled her eyes as he was dragged into their domain. “You’ve been acting strange, Jayme.” Nim suddenly said as they watched Cris yeet some large and rather ugly character off the stage. “Sheik remains undefeated!” Cris cried out as she held her hands up. “Which one of you losers want to try their hand?” “I’m not acting strangely,” Jayme replied. He grinned at Nim. “Jayme is acting like Jayme. It’s Takashti’s turn!”

Indigo Cobalt (TR)

Shuntala sipped on the water and examined the sword. The rich, cobalt blue hilt looked more like it belonged to an aristocrat than a pirate. Then, perhaps, this Wulf had murdered the Lord or Duke who had commissioned it? She sat the half-empty cup down and picked up the sword. She unsheathed it part way and turned it, eyes wide as she watched the blade catch the light. Nahuel had basic sword knowledge, so she hadn’t been taught much but she could tell that it was taken care of. She noticed some letters hidden just below the hilt. She squinted, making them out. HRH AW? She stared at the letters, eyebrows creased. Was that a maker? A title?

Violet (ATWR)

Takashti was nearly ready for sleep by the time Jayme came in and crashed half onto his bed, face buried in his violet comforter. “Rough day?” Takashti asked as he tossed his laundry into the light green basket by the bathroom door. Jayme moaned. “Did you get her highness settled down?” Jayme moaned again. “Did you tell her about your brother?” Jayme turned his head so he could look at Takashti. “It wasn’t the right time.” Takashti rolled his eyes. “If we all waited for the right time to share bad news we’d still be waiting for an official statement on The Titanic.”

#roy g biv tag game #tag games #wip: the revenged #wip: home #wip: atwr #oc: jayme #oc: takashti #oc: shuntala #oc: nim #oc: cris #oc: ka'il #oc: aurea #oc: nahuel #I can always count on atwr giving me a violet #(it's Jayme's favorite color and his favorite flower)

[druidx]

ROY G BIV

Thanks for the tag, @spacetimewraithwrites-archive. Another game I can use as motivation to edit Alexis Dalliance vs the Evil of Titan!

Tagging back: @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @wildswrites @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior @wispstalk @late-to-the-fandom @athenswrites

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Red

As Captain Hengar poured himself a drink, Alexis eyed the others who’d been pull into this… Whatever this was. Lounging against a shelf filled with parchments, ink pots and other errata was a tall, broad human. He wore rough-treated hides, his flame-red hair and beard woven through with beads and bones. A barbarian then.

Orange

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

Yellow

The journey back took many weeks. Slowly the dusty yellow of the Desert of Skulls gave way to the khaki and dun greens of the Flatlands, which melded into the lush waving grasses of the Pagan Plains. The humping grey stone of Toreguard’s walls were a welcome sight as they grew larger on the horizon.

Green

Alexis turned her attention to the blond elf who leant next to the door, his arms crossed. At his hip was a quiver of arrows, his bow propped within easy reach. From the mottled green of his armour he could only be one thing: A forest ranger.

Blue

At the entrance to the great hall their envoy stopped, halted by the castle steward. The Lieutenant rapped out a series of commands. His men scattered in an orderly fashion to disparate points of the room as he and the steward spoke. To keep her heart from racing, Alexis glanced over the room. It was tall and narrow, a long carpet of rich blue and gilt edges forming an aisle over the parquet flooring. High along the walls rose a series of etched windows. One single, giant window of stained glass rose behind the throne on it's little dais, framing the figure who sat there.

Indigo

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

Violet

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

#writing #oc alexis dalliance #artemon hengar #Ithanor Togeral #Nathadrin #roy g biv #tag game #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #wandering words #this has been in my drafts so long #series ADvEoT #wip 'Young Dagger False Dream'

[dyrewrites]

ROY G BIV Tag

@deanwax tagged me for this crazy thing.

Rules: Search your WIP(s) for the colours of the rainbow and post the snippets.

tagging; @rmgrey-author @sparrowcraft (lemme see those colors!)

Weald and Wen is choked with color, and I do try to keep to the simpler words for them, so I fear I may have plenty of options here. >.>

Red

Fresh and dripping, the Ichorbed welcomed Mitra, and the glare of heartlight that chased her, with eager arms. It scattered the burning fuchsia of fading firstlight and amplified it, speckling all beneath in redder pinks. Unlike the cooler dim of the wallowoods before it, the gorebarks of the Ichorbed held no bent canopies or fallen trunks for shelter. Its raging red rivers were as reflective as she and Mitra fought to keep within the slim shadows of the dripping leaves, far from the Heart’s rabid glare.

Orange

The blacks and hazy whites of his woods—pink-tinted by the pulse of firstlight and the red of his own glowing pupils—dropped to grayer shades. Splotches of blurry blues and greens stained his vision then, but a flash of orange was what took him. It sprang from the periphery, far ahead, bright but fading. 

Yellow

Blinking at her shadow, Faerai welcomed it and Ozma rippled and blinked back before it oozed into her. Her yellow pupils dilated with its presence, overtaking the blue of her irises and color bled out of the woods. All but the scattered, myriad flicker of the Lady’s Breath washed out to bitter gray in the shadow-sight.

Green and Blue

Midlight flared and bled its last drop of heat, ushering in the cooler warmth of latelight and more whisps flooded the copse to enjoy its passing–zigging and zagging around the Whispedge. They blinked in pinks, yellows, blues and greens, dancing along the bone white veins of the twisted trees. And the darkening light danced with them, dappling the red trunks and branches in deepening blues and violets. Mitra sought a safer seat in that dance, scooting back on the bough as more whisps flickered in to join, their Myriad colors flashing and twinkling in a dizzying display.

Indigo -- SHOCK, I have no indigo...will have to fix that.

Violet

Ozma remained seated as its charge and the creaking doll searched through bushes, roots and high into the branches. It snuggled into the grass to watch, its many tails stretching to chase Faerai's and ignored its charge's heated eyes when it did not snap to her side. The soft violet of firstlight brightened, warming bark and soil when Faerai finally howled her frustration. Diving from a lofty branch, she thudded to all fours on the ground and stomped, throwing bits of rock in all directions. Mitra zigzagged to avoid any nicks, then flew closer to tug her ears, “Beastie holds where last hold pack?” “When Napyr chase?” Faerai asked back, yanking her ears free and shooing the little light. “Yous peak in shadows,” Mitra said, flitting towards the nearest tree line before she creaked back, “I’s peak in woods!”

#roy g biv #tag game #writeblr #I refer to Faerai's dad's fur as blue-purple so maybe I just change that to the indigo it is and have the whole rainbow in there

[indecentpause]

ROY G BIV Tag

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea in the ROY G BIV tag! I’ve done this one a few times but not for Puzzle I don’t think, so here you go!

red:

You watch [Josselin and the Inspector] as they speak, but your ankle throbs and it makes it difficult to really listen, and you’re starting to feel like you’re more in the way than not. You shift your weight to your good foot and Josselin, who stands with his profile toward you, whirls in your direction and says, “Meara, is your ankle all right?”

You nod and flush bright red in embarrassment. You tell yourself it’s the heat.

“Yeah,” you say, but your voice catches a little. “It just aches.”

“Oh!” Josselin cries. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’ve been standing here all this time with that bad ankle, I got distracted, oh, um, I need to stay with the Inspector but if you need to go home and rest that’s more than okay! He can give me a ride home, or I can catch a Lyft.”

You look over toward the Inspector. His skin is so fair it’s already burning in the August sun. He nods.

“I’ll get him home,” he says.

orange:

[Frankie] throws a white paper bag at Josselin and says, “Your meds. Take them how you’re supposed to.”

“Frankie, I appreciate it, but I don’t need them when I’m on a case, I should save them for when I don’t have something to focus on--”

“No,” Frankie says firmly. “You will take your meds the way your care team told you to.”

Josselin sighs and takes a sip of his coffee and one of the orange pills.

You have a feeling they’ve had this conversation many times before.

yellow:

You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking, tears running down your face with the laughter, until it’s not laughter anymore, and you can’t stop crying.

“Um,” Josselin says. “Uh. I don’t know what to do. Tell me how to help. Do you want a blanket?”

You let out one sharp, heavy sob before you manage to get yourself a little more under control, but you don’t know how he can help. The couch shifts and Josselin’s feet pad heavy on the hardwood floor. He comes back so quietly you nearly jump off the couch.

The room goes soft and dims to a warm yellow.

Josselin’s put a blanket over your head, and he’s sitting down next to you underneath it too, his shoulder almost, but not quite, bumped up against yours.

“Sometimes I just need to be in a blanket,” he offers. “And. And I thought maybe it might help.”

green:

The ride home is too quiet, even with the radio playing. Your head feels like it’s full of honey-soaked cotton and static, thick and sticky, even in the smallest recesses of your brain, sucking out your attention span. Did you take your meds earlier? You did, right? When you get to a red light, you squeeze your eyes closed hard and rub at your forehead, as if that will clear your mind.

Shit. You didn’t take your meds. If you had, you wouldn’t feel like this.

The light turns green and you glance at the clock on the dashboard. Two hours late. You should still be able to take them when you get home.

When you get home. Not when you get back to the motel. It’s a nice, comforting thought to have. You have a home.

A safe one.

It’s not long until you reach the apartment. You park the car and fumble up the stairs, and when you get to the door, you realize--

“He forgot to give me my copy of the key,” you mumble. “Dammit.”

blue:

Everything is dark.

“Josselin?”

Nothing.

“Josselin!”

It takes moments to run the rest of the way to his room. Oh, god, were his windows open? Did he get hit by some debris?

The ‘knock before entering’ rule completely slips your mind. The door is open so you rush inside to see Josselin curled up in a thick blue blanket, sobbing quietly.

“Josselin, hey.” You keep your voice soft and gentle and unnaccusing, because it’s not like it’s his fault this happened. You take a few steps closer and ask, “Can I sit by you on the bed?”

Josselin’s sobs quickly spiral out of control, and soon, he’s so loud people can probably hear him in the street.

“Josselin?” you urge gently. What the hell is happening? “Josselin, are you hurt?”

purple:

When you get to the door, you lean your shoulder against it and rap it with your knuckles. You’re barely able to stand back up by the time Josselin gets to the door.

“Hey!” he says. Today his mask is purple with a ghost Pokemon pattern on it. “The cats are closed in the bathroom so we can leave the door open until you get all your stuff in.” He takes your box without asking and says, “What’s in here?” He pauses, as if realizing that might be invasive, and rephrases, “Where do you want me to put it, I mean?”

“Closet’s fine,” you say. “It’s just clothes.”

leaving this an open tag because I think most people have done this one! but feel free to do it again!

#my writing #writeblr #writeblr games #writeblr tag games #tag game #wip #excerpt #roy g biv tag #josselin clearwater #meara ryanne #inspector montague #donatien montague #frankie moore

[honeyjars-sims]

Roy G. Biv's V2 (Revamp of old lot) Lot Type: Nightclub Lot Size: 40X30 Location: Built on Rippling Flat in Newcrest

Roy G. Biv's is a club for the LGBTQIA+ community. RGB's has something for everyone, whether you want to dance the night away on the dance floor, croon your heart out on the karaoke machine, or simply relax in the hottub. Don't forget to check out live music on our spacious but intimate patio. We also have an expansive VIP area upstairs for up-and-comers.

Screenshots were taken with a lighting mod (sunblind by softerhaze).

Packs used: Get Famous, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, Dine Out, Spa Day, Vintage Glamour, High School Years, Eco Lifestyle

1 or 2 Decorative items from: Island Living, Seasons, My Wedding Stories, Jungle Adventure, Moschino Stuff, Fitness Stuff, Bowling, Backyard, Perfect Patio, Luxury Party, Blooming Rooms, Industrial Loft, Courtyard Oasis, Holiday Celebration, and Desert Luxe

Download: Patreon | SFS

Also available on the gallery: username simstrashkingdom

Enjoy! And please feel free to tag me if you use this lot!

#ts4 #ts4 lot #ts4 nightclub #no cc build #ts4 build #the sims 4 #lgbt sims #lgbtq sims #it's late here but i was in the mood to upload #myCC

[somethingclevermahogony]

ROY G. BIV Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling! These are all coming from books 1 and 2 of my WIP, The Testaments of the Green Sea.

Um I suppose content warning for violence and blood for the first one, if that is something that you are uncomfortable with, skip red and go to orange.

As he bent to continue his impromptu drink, the deck erupted. It was as if the wood itself had chosen to spring at the man, or the sea had punched through the ship's hull. The massive hand closed around the front of his skull, the rough and leathery palm engulfed the entirety of his face and muffled his shrieks.  Blood spattered the deck, mixing with the wine. The crunch and the snap of bone and of wood were nearly indistinguishable. His form was pulled through the jagged hole, ribs and shoulders cracked and folded in on themselves, the sheer force ripped the left arm from the body. A spray of red painted the deck where a moment before he had stood. And then he was gone.

.

Of course, it's been great having more than just me down here. After Zanuk died, I was getting worried that Wadikir was never going to get another slave for the Hall, not that I’m happy that you and Suru are slaves, it's just if you had to be slaves anywhere I’m glad it was here, and -” Now it was Shela’s turn to blush; she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Her last few words had been barely more than a squeak. She quickly pivoted away from Otilia, careful not to send the scrolls rolling across the floor again. She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so embarrassed, but she was. The two walked in silence through the labyrinthian pathways, past the flickering clay lamps that threw their dancing orange light over the ancient walls. Both were deeply mired in their own imaginations. So I was right, Otilia thought, It’s not just me. Otilia couldn’t help but smile.

.

“How long is this tunnel?” Narul groaned. “You’re almost at the end sir, just beyond this bend.” The tunnel abruptly opened into a large octagonal room, its walls carved from yellow stone, punctuated by three doors as well as the tunnel from which Narul had emerged. At its center lay a large round pool, shallow on one side and deeper on the other. Placed around this pool were various benches, cushions, and vases. He looked at the strange clay bottles which hung from the ceiling like exotic fruits and at the bronze tools laid out on a nearby table; pincers, hooks, and ladles among other things. For the slaves of Labisaj, baths had consisted of water pulled from the well poured over the body once or twice with a bucket, just enough to get the majority of the grime off of the skin. He had no idea what he was expected to do here, there was no bucket to be seen. On a whim, he walked towards the water. “Do I just get in?” He turned to the attendants. They looked at him, perplexed. “No sir, it's not heated yet, and you have not been cleaned.” “Cleaned? Isn’t that what the water’s for?” 

.

The production was extravagant, even for Ninma. Dish after dish were presented to the tables. Fish and crusteacans played a central roll; stewed, boiled, baked, fried, even raw. Narul lost count of the varieties. After a short while, each silver tray would be whisked off by the servants to some unknown location, often with the majority of the food still left on them. Along with fish there came slabs of meat; beef and goat, nearly every dish drizzled with sauces of vinegar or mustard or else coated in herbs and oils. Occasionally vegetables; peeled asparagus, cabbage, and other greens would make an appearance and would be almost entirely ignored. Bowls of beer and wine were constantly replenished, with the banqueters drinking from golden ladels dipped directly in the bowls. Fluffy wheat bread too was in constant supply, this was only the second time Narul had tried wheat bread, barley being far more common. Otilia looked up from a dish of tiny octopi swimming in vinegar and sesame oil, to see Shela across the room, a sloshing bowl of beer balanced on her head. She smiled and waved. Shela frowned, eyes darting from side to side and mouthed. “We need to talk….tonight…” Otilia frowned, but nodded. Shela smiled weakly, setting the bowl at one of the tables and returned to the kitchen to receive yet more food for the banquet. The sensation of fullness was not one with which Narul had ever been particularly familiar.  He leaned back with a groan, one hand on his belly, he felt somewhat sick. Ninma looked similarly green-faced.

.

It was dark now. He was alone. Did he dare call out for help? Only the reflection of the moon lit the world around him. There were no birds, no animals, just the soft whistle of the wind. He looked for something to cover himself, to warm his aching body, he found nothing but more snow. He could swear his fingers were turning blue. As he felt his breathing slow and his eyelids grow heavy, he saw two figures coming towards him through the snow, people he thought, what kind, he couldn’t be sure. Were they Apunian’s coming to kill him? It didn’t matter, they were something. " Help me." He pleaded as the figure drew near.

.

“I hope you have saved some wine and women for me!” A voice crowed as the tent flaps were pushed aside. Four men entered, still dressed in their armor, they were all southern nobility from the cities of Kotsa, Felu, and Kitsu. Tizanush, son of Atab the lord of Kotsa, was at their head. He was tall and handsome, with flowing brown hair and broad shoulders. He could have leapt from the mouth of a poet or from the chisel of an artist. He was new to war, having only joined Akard’s cabinet the year before when his father and by extension the city of Kotsa had sworn allegiance to the throne of Labisaj.  The other nobles greeted him cordially, offering him wine and food, one of the prettier girls was even shoved his way. As he stood he began to undress, taking of his armor, and this clothing underneath, leaving his body bare. He grinned and flexed. “A true man doesn’t mind the cold. Even if parts of him might.” The others laughed. Zatar did not. He eyed the brat and his sword, coldly. Tizanush bent to retrieve his silken belt. The lordling inspected the indigo fabric for a moment and then tied it over his naked waist, and hung his sword from it. It was a beautiful blade, mountain bronze perhaps from Bur or Kurk, long and thin like a rapier in the the style of the southerners best-suited for slipping between armor, rather than hacking or slashing.

.

I should head back, I’ll already be later than Suru said I should be. Narul gazed at the shadows stretching away from the descending sun. It was only as he stood that he saw the figure bending to drink at the water’s edge. He had seen wolf pelts in the markets or draped over the shoulders of street performers in costume, but he had never seen a pelt still attached to the creature which had grown it. But even he knew that this beast was nothing like the creatures that had supplied those pelts. It was massive, the size of a horse, each paw as big as a man’s head. Its silvery fur seemed to glimmer a soft blue in the sun’s waning light.   A stone came loose beneath the giant’s foot and clattered loudly against its peers. Narul swore under his breath as the beast straightened, its shaggy head turning owl like to see what had disturbed its drink. Narul felt a pang of fear as he looked into violet eyes, there were no irises nor whites, just dark pools like lost forest springs. It had the face of a human, smooth and hairless, its skin as pale as moonlight, its delicate lips the same golden hue as the sunset.

Tagging @hallowedfury, @treesandwords, and @peresephones

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #fantasy #tag game! #worldbuilding #fantasy writing #testamentsofthegreensea #fantasy world #tag game #cw: gore #queer fantasy #cw blood #world building

[outpost51]

ROY G BIV tag

tagged by @void-botanist over here, ty ilysm bb <3

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

low/no pressure tagging: @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @teamdilf @omniblades-and-stars @lag-train @commander-krios @vacantgodling

shoving the rest below a cut for dash courtesy, also violence

RED

from Stellar Parallax, Chapter 2: Red Fish, Blue Fish

You could die, you fool! “Better dead than whatever the fuck you want me to be,” Jane rasped. It screamed with a thousand voices. Her ears felt wet. Metallic salt seeped into her mouth. She was on the ground. Pieces of the beacon rained down around her. Rain poured into her mouth and nose, washing blood into her sinuses and making her choke until she retched. Faces blurred in and out of view, vaguely familiar ones and one she remembered for sure, stark white against the blood red sky. It looked wrong, though, and it took until ship engines howled overhead and unconsciousness had nearly taken her away to figure out why. Fear didn’t look right on the bogeyman.

ORANGE

from Stellar Parallax, Chapter 9: Unshackled

Jane had been hospitalized for two weeks following the Skyllian Shitshow — less for the gunshot wound and more for ‘being a danger to herself and others’. The food had been unremarkable at best; allegedly, psych ward ate better than regular hospital patients for morale reasons, and all she could think at the time was how much it would suck to be bedridden and eat worse food than the shit they shoved at her through the door hatch. The worst had been tomato bisque, viscous and orange and somehow tasting of nothing but black pepper and whatever pills they’d ground up and mixed in.

YELLOW

from Stellar Parallax, Chapter 7: H(a)unt

Nihlus stepped between Jane and the stairs, but before she could chew him out for blocking her shot, his body rippled, organic flesh burning to ash and floating away. The thing that looked back at her had too many eyes and too-sharp teeth and the tree beneath the endless glass ocean shattered the surface with spires. The spires stretched up, up, up to the ceiling, like children begging for a parent’s love. But the great black ships were just things made of metal and wires and hate. They weren’t capable of love. Some monstrous creature painted up with white and blue kissed her brow with the muzzle of a Vindicator. Its fingers looked like the spires still growing towards the stars, and its mouth was peeled back in a permanent grin. Jane’s lip curled up to match. She would show these things she had teeth, too. That hers weren’t an empty threat. That she had used them before and would use them again. Behind the shadowy figures presiding over her trial for crimes against the Old Machines, a yellow-striped geth uncloaked. Its big yellow eye stayed trained on her Firestorm like it was the biggest threat in the room. She’d just killed a man with a plastic fork. She didn’t need a gun to be dangerous.

GREEN

from Stellar Parallax, Chapter 4: Unfortunate Things

Jane didn’t have clothes of her own since they had to evacuate so quickly, so he’d gladly given up one of his PT shirts and a pair of sleep shorts once Williams and Dr. Chakwas got her cracked out of her armor. She practically drowned in them, but they did the job, even if they made her look so incredibly small. She’d always been on the shorter end, and all the muscle she put on over the years still didn’t bulk out her scrawny frame much more, but she was so… larger than life, it was easy to forget how physically unimposing she looked out of armor and not armed to the teeth. And with teeth, too. Unfortunate things happen in battle, John. Ruthless. That’s what they’d called her after Torfan. If he believed nothing else, he knew that descriptor was true, especially after their final test in N-school. Especially after she’d gunned down a retreating man. Her eyes had looked so hollow afterwards; he’d expected anger, something hot and hissing, coiled up like a viper ready to strike, but there was no life in that deep green lake. That looked personal, Commander. It was. He couldn’t reconcile that person with the small, fragile thing lying so concerningly still under so many blankets – they’d had a hard time getting her body temperature stable, Dr. Chakwas said. They had to sedate her, too, and it had taken Nihlus to restrain her long enough to get the IV catheter in. What had that thing done to her?

BLUE

from Stellar Parallax, Chapter 12: Dig (unpublished)

The seagrass had been lost to the river for a long time, but the river couldn’t take that memory from her, of a scrawny boy with minnow-grey plates and eyes like tidepools. “Really?” Garrus drawled. “I give you the last of my lunch, and this is the thanks I— ack!” Jane shook the tingle from her knuckles and pushed off his keel, then offered him the same hand. “Stabbed a salarian with your fork, too,” she snorted. “So that’s two I owe you. You look good.” Her mouth curled up. “Even without the tinfoil hat.” Garrus rubbed the sore spot from his throat as he stood. “Think I liked you in the hospital gown better,” he groused. A blue flush had already darkened his throat. “You’re still a bad liar, Garrus Vakarian.” Jane socked his bicep and turned back to their shore party.

INDIGO

from Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey, Chapter 1: Hello World

It’s dark when she enters, save for a floor lamp in the corner. One of the show droids, the rabbit, lurks beside the chair that’s turned away from her, a hulking indigo mass that looks far fucking bigger than it does on stage. Someone has traded its stage look for a far more muted suit, finely tailored pinstripes emphasizing every inhuman bend and curve and making it appear taller, endless, looming.

VIOLET

i know i used pink shhhshhh from The Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself, Chapter 6: Playing With Fire

Taking another breath, Dillon pushed all thoughts of Zadimus being an asshole out of her mind. He was right, not that she’d admit it out loud. The line of energy glowed a dull violet as it stretched on and on, deep underground, as far as she could sense. She flexed her fingers towards her feet, then closed them, trying to feel the hum solidifying in her hands as she guided it upward. The less she strained, the easier it got to pull, and the higher it rose, the stronger the buzz became until finally she felt it right beneath her feet, tingling her arches where she balanced on it like a tightrope.

#sneeps.txt #stellar parallax #blinding neon #unlikely adventures

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @dyrewrites, this is a new one for me!

ROY G. BIV Color Tag

(Excerpts taken from Mortal God)

I'll tag @somethingclevermahogony @kosmic-kore @melodicwriter and @amandacanwrite!

.

"Can--- Can--- Can you fix--- fix my eyes yet?"

Astra frowned sympathetically at the robot's plea, but shook her head no. It took her a second to remember that, oh right, it couldn't see.

"I gotta get your heart pump all fixed up first," she explained, gesticulating wildly with the red-hot tip of her rune-carved wand. "The line to your eyes ain't in runnin' order, so the runes up there can't be activated, as I figure the presence of your hydraulic fluid doubles as an activation condition for all your bodily runes. Pretty standard trick. Keeps 'em from constantly drawin' on the Veil, which'd be about as much good as a person with all they're muscles constantly contracted. Ya catch all that?"

The robot was silent for a while, leaving only the faint sound of whirring gears and Astra's summoned jazz suite to fill the wagon.

Then, it coughed out, "C-can't say--- say I did."

.

An explosion of incendiary orange burst from the woman’s midsection as Ivander wasted no time in taking advantage of his now-open target. Astra palmed another black ribbon. Those shadows probably had a few seconds at most. She had to be prepared once they started to fade.

Screaming like a princess in a bad stage play, Vermir looked up towards Astra with a trembling lower lip. She seemed about to burst into tears before her scream faded and a low giggle burbled up to take its place.

.

The conner shook his head distastefully, then gestured to a fatigued figure that could've only been an intern to run and grab the records, which she did as a sukly pace. Soon, Ivander was brought back into an enclosed room, decorated with the promised table and chairs, though much to his disappointment, they were the hard wooden kind. Muttonchops went around the room and lit several gas lamps, which cast the sterile space in a steady yellow glow.

"How quaint," Ivander murmured. He hadn't seen a gas lamp in years.

.

But Mashal was right, she did feel beat to shit. And no one had ever bought her flowers before. The witch deemed it a suitable replacement.

"Astra," Mashal called nervously, "what's your favorite color?"

"You ain't gonna like it if I say green, are ya?"

"Try again."

"Purple then."

.

"And how can you tell what I'm thinking?" Ivander challenged dubiously.

"Your face goes all blue. It's easy to tell when a pale bastard like you blushes." Ceyrel tapped the side of her crimson-skinned cheek. "Especially when you have literal blue blood."

.

Ivander looked up at him with those too-blue eyes and the man was surprised to see tears glimmering at the edges. Where before his skin had been pale, his face was now flushed a dark indigo where it wasn't covered by streaks of teal foam. The detective was ashamed, Mashal realized. Ashamed that he couldn't let go, ashamed of what would happen if he did.

.

Mashal looked and could see that the runes on the floor were alight with writhing energy, painting the warehouse in a baleful violet. Like fire, he thought. It was as if the place were burning with purple fire.

#very fitting that two of these (and it easily couldve been more) are just about Ivander's weird blood #writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs