Three Word Game

Started by lucretia, September 11, 2011, 03:34:50 AM

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blackcatotaku

The plant was isolated alone in the room it was a bare and cold room. The only refuge it could find is in the metal framed window where light poured in through the glass especially during the early morning sun rise the light glimmering gold, amber and a rouge red. The scene would have made a great picture for any photographers collection.

Cthulu, roses, disco

Caremejo

 Anne never understood John’s fascination with the Cthulu mythos. Frankly even if he were right, she thought conscious ignorance a far better path than any futile attempt at enlightenment, no matter how noble truth and the search for knowledge might seem in the abstract. So when she was in the kitchen finding a vase for the roses John had given her for her birthday, right after he had dropped her off from spending an evening at a neo-European disco that had opened in the Armenian district last October, Anne ignored the heavy pounding on her front door and the screams from John that followed on the off-chance that Cthulu was sucking John’s brains out with an elongated tentacle. Instead, she went up stairs, turned up the television and covered her head with a pillow. Ironically, it turned out John was actually just being mugged and wanted her to call the police. He of course understood that if it had been Cthulu, opening the door or calling the police would probably have been a mistake. Luckily, he recovered fully except for an odd twitch in his left eye and a tendency to utter cryptic phrases about he who sleeps whenever the moon was full. 

calligraphy, kittens, didactic

Mordred

#427
When a shadowed being approaches one who sleeps, it is sometimes with the intention of tracing subliminal thoughts though the skin of the slumbering one through the long-lost art of Caressing Calligraphy. Yes, to some this may sound like the tattered threads of a far-fetched myth.. making even the nearby kittens raise their suspicious gaze and shake their adorable little heads in disbelief. But in all honestly, these words are simply said as a way of penetrating the mind in a didactic manner, for any new form of knowledge is a nudge toward the positive end of the spectrum.. yes?

Noodle, Doodle, Poodle
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

The very idea of shadows tracing calligraphic caresses of text across the skin is enough to make this ink-girl's noodle tingle and blood simmer in anticipation, for it is precisely this of which her dreams are crafted.  The very thought of a dark one with a soft growl lingering in his throat, having crept closer and closer in the night, simply to doodle on her ivory flesh causes shivers of delicious sensation to creep through her soul.  If -- by happy chance -- the shadowed one also possesses the type of fang not found in the jaws of a common poodle, said slumbering fantasies may escalate to waking pleasures beyond imagination.

cages, pages, rages
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

Feeling the cages rattling around every craving cell as within the depths of her soul there was that sweet rippling of pleasure, his eyes sprang open and a deep sigh of hunger escaped into the dark. In ways not even the most ancient words written on crumbling pages could describe, this creature burst free of the marble walls of his box to find and slip through the cracks of shadow he manipulated so skillfully.. until he stood gazing down upon the slumbering bundle of warmth. With each rise and fall of her filling breath, the greedy fangs soared into mad rages urging the dead fiend into descending and feasting upon the intoxicating nectar within her veins.. yet he knew the only way to proceed was with her hands holding his drinking lips close.

Scandal, Vandal, Sandal
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

 She woke the next morning, to the sound of reporters rapping at the door, and ringing her phone off the hook in their pursuit of scandal . She'd hope the nightmare of the night before had been nothing more than a dream, and that her beloved library of priceless collectible books had not been obliterated by the dark eyed, blue-skinned vandal .  Sadly, the stark light of day proved her hopes in vain, and she sank to the foot of the stairs in the doorway, gazing upon the page littered floor as forlorn as an abandoned Cinderella holding a single glass sandal.

burlesque, statuesque, grotesque
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

Thinking back towards that one moment where one drop of ink-filled perfection happened to caress within those softly squeezing walls of the vein in such a way it would have been as a burlesque farce of the most hysterical extremes if he had even attempted to embrace even the lightest strand of control, the blue-stained vandal had not one shred of regret over what took place. She had, after all, filled his dreams with that mesmerizing scent of sweet dark red blood blended with ink so utterly dark, the wild network of hidden avenues he imagined within such a statuesque enchantress boggled even his ancient understanding of what was euphoric succulence. "Tasty morsel", he whispered close to her sleeping lips mere moments before wreaking havoc upon the nearby labyrinth of books, "to not slide these fangs deep inside your deliciousness.. would be to my soul a grotesque betrayal of the thirst that keeps me rising each and every night."

Whirl, Pearl, Squirrel
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

The very ink-blood which he seemed so desperately to crave never failed to whirl in her veins each time she sensed his propinquity, a state she could best intuit in the darkest hours after midnight. The memory of their first touch, their first dance lay hidden deep within her slumbering  psyche, like a pearl lost at the bottom of the ocean. Only this nearness could wake her senses and tempt her to surrender to the longing for the dark things she would squirrel away by the light of day.

first, thirst, burst
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

Can I whisper into your thoughts something wild and what may at first seem slightly exaggerated but is, I assure down to my darkest depths, is absolute fact? It is simply that when the moment arrives that the call of the thirst is close to being answered, there is a very faint yet wildly powerful ripple in the air near both the hunter and the prey. Yes, it makes me sigh with fondness for whatever fabric or web or whatever the hell it is that connects all things.. even dead things.. so that when my fangs close in upon that burst of luscious dark warmth, I strive with all that I am for my living source to also soar with the wildest pleasure.

Bauble, Bubble, Babble
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

I confess that my weakness -- if you don't count words, and rhyme, and the whole of language used with finesse -- is the bauble, the trinket that gleams, that shines prettily or speaks of some whimsical memory of days gone by.  I love to let my fingers linger on these mementos, tracing their curves, twirling them lightly, slipping them into a pocket where their weight will serve as a reminder, and happiness at the thought of them will bubble over into the mundane parts of my day.  If you happen to be present at my discovery of such a treasure as one of these, you'll likely overhear, as I babble endlessly with often incoherent joy at my fortune.

craven, raven, shaven
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

Occasionally I enjoy sliding my hands between the lines to find what craven thoughts lurk in those dark forgotten about crevices where even long wriggling fingers find it difficult to fully reach. Once, I swore my thumb was nipped hard by a vicious raven that was waiting for such an opportunity. Yeah.. I suppose that silly little bird didn't appreciate seeing the shaven thing with the beady eyes that stared back from it's reflection after a crazy night of partying with a crazy-humored vampire.

Brink, Wink, Shrink
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

#436
Something there is that does so love a dizzying-forever-dance on the brink of the abyss, breathlessly twirling, feinting and swaying, ever mindful of the pending chance to fall or fly.  Whatever that chasm holds, the very moon and stars seem to wink from just above the horizon, beckoning, "Come a little closer, don't you want to feel the wind in your hair and the rush of adrenaline at stepping, or stumbling just beyond the edge?"  It is difficult to resist, for those of us who are loathe to shrink from the challenge, and the never fading question, "What if, what if, I might really find my wings this time, and soar?"


nightly, naughty, nightie
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

Parallel to custom thought, there are those that tell of a different creature that makes one nightly visit in the depths of the holiday season. This one travels through his dark sleigh of shadow to visit only those of exceptionally naughty ways. An even lesser known fact is that this slightly darker version of the jolly elf has a weakness for succulent morsels wearing upon their lovely soft skin the skimpiest of nightie, for it is also told that he has an addiction to making those luscious bottoms that are just barely covered, quite red and warm from his spanking palm.

Treasure, Measure, Leisure
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

Is it any wonder that when this raven-haired girl imagines the sort of elf who would redden her pale, full backside on a cold  winter night, the very thought is more delightful than the grandest treasure imaginable? In matter of fact, the idea of such has caused a bit of consternation as she set about to measure whether she would be deemed naughty enough for such a visit.  Her thoughts have tumbled about so wildly that not a moment's leisure has she been able to claim, lying awake as fantasies fill her head.

hickory, trickery, quicker
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Mordred

As the dark thing from the depths of the woods crept towards the overwhelming scent of hickory that bubbled from the black pool, he licked his lips in sadistic anticipation. "What trickery now, ohhhhh creature of light, whilst thou hatch to thwart my latest scheme, I wonder", he whispered, nodding slowly. And then, with a move quicker than any but the silent forces could decipher, the dark thing dived into the pool, leaving not even the faintest ripple signalling his prior presence.

Motion, Notion, Potion
*See Pillory*

Ephemera

The fair skinned young woman slipped so silently through the trees, creeping toward the clearing where the inky pool bubbled, that no creature of the day or night might detect her forward motion.  Her cape of stark black feather-down shadowed her face from the light of the moon, and as she arrived in the circle of saplings a wave of relief coursed through her limbs dispelling any notion that such a dark creature might have trespassed this way only moments before.  She murmured the incantation in a whisper, like the night wind rustling autumn leaves, and dipped the potion vial into the rippling pool.

earthy, worthy, birth
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

blackcatotaku

Raising the now filled vile the fair skin woman took a whiff of the mixture. Finding it had overtones of earthy scents bombarding her senses. The cooling liquid now in its glass container started to change color rapidly. The deep dark viscous liquid also thinned giving it the appearance of clear water that could have been given birth from any burbling stream. Softly murmuring to herself as she inspected the liquid in the illumination of the moonlight her red lips giving a smirk of satisfaction, "Yes this is a mixture worthy of my plans..." she tucked the vile carefully back under her robe into a side pocket sewn into the feather cloak.

Temptation, ignite, inception

WildCat

Reality’s flames begin to ignite,
That was the plan from the world’s inception.
And as we all descend in the firelight
So we all descend into darkest temptation.

Ambidexterity, erroneous, frog
ONS and OFFS: Make Wildcat purr
Absence: Where's the cheshire Cat?

Don't want to lose track of crossrealms and my room

Mordred

Having ambidexterity is a useful thing,
Even for one who uses the fang.
For whether I come from the left or the right,
It's an erroneous thought that the aim of my bite,
Could possibly ever be less than trusting.
Just don't toss me frog.. I find them disgusting.

Planet, Plasma, Plankton
*See Pillory*

LilyRoseBlack23

The planets have all aligned, for this moment we share. The sky is as clear, as the plasma in your blood. Your eyes are as green, as the plankton in the sea.

LilyRoseBlack23

Quote from: LilyRoseBlack23 on January 29, 2013, 03:41:28 PM
The planets have all aligned, for this moment we share. The sky is as clear, as the plasma in your blood. Your eyes are as green, as the plankton in the sea.

Sorry I hit post too fast, and forgot the words, but can't edit the post...

Allegory, Biscuits, Doth

Ephemera

#446
Click for Three Word Game Rules
The rules are as follows:

The first person chooses three words, any three words they would like. The person who plays after creates a three sentence or three line poem/prose/whatever using the three words in any order they would like. The words must not change tense, so if the word "attics" is in the three words, you are not allowed to substitute "attic" for it instead. Three sentences/lines only, no more, no less. One word per sentence/line.

Afterward, the second person chooses three words for the next person to create from.

It is a fun, interesting little game to see what someone else comes up with from random thoughts. As an example, I will choose the first three words, write my own passage to it, and choose three words for the next person.

There's obviously no right or wrong, and I love seeing what people come up with since the words I choose often create a picture for me as well. Though this game is wonderful fun when touched with a bit of sexy fun, with it being public, the answers should remain PG-13. I hope you enjoy playing as much as I do!

How doth the shining caterpillar best serve this author's tale? The hare and mouse are dancing round the biscuits, and their symbolism is unclear.  I wonder now, after hours of typing in darkness, whether allegory is the best creative form for defeating insomnia.

signature, rollicking, sleep
“I bleed myself to be your drink:  Is not the blood of poets—ink?”   ―William Soutar
My Ink Blood Spilled | Who I Am | Where I Am (A/A) | Intro | Avi Source
My Poly/Kink/Random Blogs | My Drawer | My Concupiscence (O/O)
I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” ~Nin  Working on: Ink Blood Spilled

Daoine Sidhe

A small green hill, a mushroom ring, the signature of the fae.
Across the fields, throughout the woods, contented with rollicking play.
At break of day, when sun alights, off they scurry to sleep away.

New words: engaging, dancer, toxic.
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[td]
Entice Me (O/O) | Engage Me (RPs) | Find Me (A/A) | Play with Me (Ideas)
Actively seeking good RP partners.

I honor the Oath.
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