The scent of fire in the air.
The scent of fire in the air.
Oh God! I just stumbled upon this as I am cleaning up my hard drive.
I wrote it for a friend AGESSS ago and had totally forgotten all about it. It’s cringe-worthy, but find myself laughing at some of it. * FACE PALM*
As they enter the room Sonia plants herself down on the bed with a sigh. Her friend continues to walk towards the dressing table and glances in the mirror “what’s up with you? Aren’t you glad to be home?”
Second of the two…
I do intend to make a proper post later this evening. I’m just off out to the cinema and have stuff to do before I go.
Until then you’ll have to make do with two of the Twilight fanfictions I mentioned in a previous post. Namely the two Caius ones.
Be warned: adult themes, bad grammar and confusion with past and present tense. (I always to that, d’oh!)
Cat and Mouse
I don’t write fanfiction often. In fact I’ve only published two stories prior to this weekend. One is still ongoing, and I’m a disaster at updating. The other was just a one shot.
A one shot I wrote another one shot to follow it up. Honestly, what a silly thing to do. Even sillier though is the fact that all three are Twilight related. Or more importantly Volturi related. Oh how I do love vampires to be vampires. And as one reviewer mentioned, that’s the great thing about Caius. He is a vampire and makes no excuses for it.
Now none of this is what I generally regard as ‘wordpress worthy’. And not that it’s so great and would ruin the high class, sophisticated works I post on here, I just don’t want to bring attention to the fact that I write Twilight fanfiction *shudder* I’ve a reputation to maintain, for goodness sake!
Why I do bring it up is the fact that I put a warning on this latest one, just in case, you know. “Warning: contains callous talk of rape” I’ve had over 100 hits. It’s not even up twenty four hours.
WTF? That’s more than the other two have ever gotten. I find that completely mental.
“So…” he says in mild bored tone. Sighing, he sits upon the kitchen table.
“So…” is the mimicked reply she gives.
He casts aside the evening’s newspaper that he held in his hand.
“You don’t even read the news, what’s with the paper?”
“No shit, really?” She makes her away across the room and postions herself beside him on the table.
He nudges her in the side, “Tell me a story”
“What?! No, i can’t”
“Of course you can, you tell Steph stories all the time, right off the top of your head”
“Well, they’re shit for starters”
He leans in and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Tell me.” It’s only above a whisper but it managed to send a slight shiver down her spine.
“OK, fine, but if its shit don’t blame me”
A woman, right, she’s standing under a canopy of a shop watching the rain pouring down, washing away the dirt that litters the street where she stands.
“You know those nights where the wetness of the rain meets the hotness of the concrete and a mist rises from the ground? Well its one of those nights!”
Moments later, through the mist, she notices the stranger from the corner of her eye. He is standing at the other end of the canopy escaping the rain just as she is.
She sits up from the table and moves around it, all the while keeping her arm out stretched with her palm flat down on his back. She sits to the side of him and moves closer, he can feel her breath on his cheek as she continues with the story.
His gaze never leaves hers, not once does it faulter. As he comes closer she know’s she should feel afaird, she’s had these obsessive ones come up to her before, yet she doesnt. She doesnt move, she doesnt do anything but meet his gaze.
Raising his hand, like this…She manovers herself on the table and raises her hand and places it around his head to gently meet his face. Her breath seems closer now and he becomes aware of the growing tightness he is feeling….he meets her face. She can smell the linseed from his hands and can’t help but think how soft his hands are for an artist. “Do i know you?” she finally speaks, not fully knowing where she got the courage from. “No, but i know you” comes the reply.
Running his fingers over her lips just like this “I’ve painted these lips so many times, I’ve painted this face so many times…” He moves his smooth hands up her face… like so…”this eyebrow, this is where I start. Then this eye” She is transfixed, as he moves his hands across her face describing the technique he uses to sculpt her features. He runs his fingers over her lips ever so slightly, the whimper she exhales is almost inaudible but he feels it linger on his fingers. She leans in closer, her chest is resting on his back and he tries hard not to turn into her to meet her lips, surely they are as desperate for his as he is for hers? He didn’t think she could get closer but somehow she does without pushing him foward, his hand moves by reflex over so slightly towards his crotch, a move that doesnt go unnoticed by her. Loving the impact her words have on him, or perhaps its more the acting out the motions of the story that is really what is effecting him, she continues her story.
He traces her chin line up until he comes in contact with her long blonde hair
“Dark, I want her to have dark hair”
“Dark hair it is so”.
He traces her chin line up until he comes in contact with her long dark hair. Running through the silky locks, which she was most famous for, he leans in for what they both are longing for. They’re drawn back to reality with the sound of a car pulling up beside them. The mist that surrounded them seems to lift and with it so does the fogginess of her mind. Remembering where she was and who she was she walks to the car, taking a seat in the back she looks towards her artist. He still stands there, gaze still fixed. A gaze that never faulters, not even when all he can see is the red tail light in the distance until it finally disappears into the warm misty night.
Burying her head in his hair “So, how did you like your story?”
Yay! From when I am actually creative 🙂
WOW! It’s been a while since I updated here.
I don’t even have an excuse why not. How unlike me?!
Truth be told I’m getting lacks in most everything. Lazy lazy cow! I think I updated my LiveJournal once since the beginning of this month, a post I didn’t post here. And my leather journal hasn’t been updating either.
I think I’ve mentioned before how I love journals and have a large pile of them on my bookcase, next to a wide selection of pens, but many of them are unused. I quite frankly don’t have that many thoughts or ideas. I’m a bit of a silly mare, to be honest, because I also hate using them. I always feel I’ve ruined them by writing in them.
My latest one though is different. It’s my absolute fave and I really REALLY wanted to use it for something useful.
First I thought an story idea journal. Then I realised I never keep to one of them. My stories are generally all on scraps of loose pages and then stuffed into different books I own.
I finally settled on a dream diary (a fact my nephew found hilarious and deemed me a ‘fooking sap!’) as I was dreaming almost every night. And not just little dreams you couldn’t really remember by mornings light, but mad, crazy shit that were like mini-films.
I thought it a good idea to write them down (For future references by my shrinks to see how my crazy stemmed back a long time) but once again – I got behind on it.