oh hello f-list, newbies and old faithfuls, one and all
So I am stealing this from my darling featherfish because it is a very, very rad idea and also some of you are shy and I wish you wouldn't be because I really don't bite unless you're into that.
So without further ado, I give you:
In past Christmases, I have left an open invitation to write little fanfic drabbles for LJ holiday presents. I'd like to do that ( Read more... )
So without further ado, I give you:
In past Christmases, I have left an open invitation to write little fanfic drabbles for LJ holiday presents. I'd like to do that ( Read more... )
Comments 35
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I SEE IT POSTCORD, I SEE IT.
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Higgs Particle is optional. I threw it in there to make things exciting.
Porn porn porn.
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"Clinerei was."
Is Clinerei a name? I DON'T KNOW. You shall find out.
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It would seem from the way he called out, sauntering over with a gold-corded red domino mask pushed back on top of his head that he didn’t believe in subtlety or proper introductions,. Which suited me just fine, because neither did I. I felt a grin spreading across my face, hot and slow and delicious while I looked over the rim of my champagne flute and waited for him to be close enough that I wouldn’t have to yell over the music.
“You know this is a masquerade ball, right?” I shot back, taking the bait just like I always do, saying yes I want to play, I want to play and this is my favourite game, so why don’t we get started?, “You’re supposed to come in costume ( ... )
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OCD, Patrick Bateman level of attention to detail (minus the murdering, if you prefer)
AND THIS STUFF
And pretty much This Entire Post.
Lana: You want to see crazy?!
Archer: No! I've seen that movie and, spoiler alert, it ends with a closet full of my suits on fire!
Lana: I wish you'd been wearing one!
Archer: Who would want to wear an on-fire suit?!
Lana: Cosplay enthusiasts!
Silk Dupioni.
Also cashmere:
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I almost didn’t recognize him, standing in the doorway of my office like he had every right to be there.
Not with his hair slicked back. Not with those horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, or the deerskin briefcase tucked under his arm or the bundle of papers hugged tight to his chest.
He was everything tailored and precise and sharp as a knife, but somehow unassuming. Professional. Detached. Two-button super-fine Marino wool suit jacket with suede elbow patches over a light heather grey cashmere sweater, matching oxford, royal blue microprint silk tie, just slightly askew. Just enough to be endearing rather than sloppy. Utterly human, in a way that only I could know was rehearsed. Perfectly pressed corduroy pants and black leather Italian loafers with little tassels that shuddered as he tapped and tapped his toe.
You almost couldn’t tell he was a monster under all those flawless seams.
(so, naturally, I wanted to rip them apart, undo every stitch)
In the end it was that shit-eating grin that gave him away. That ( ... )
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He kissed me and I shattered like plate glass.
I shattered and shattered into stars and dust with the door to my office wide open. Anyone at all could see. Anyone. My boss. He grabbed a handful of my hair and I stopped thinking. No, no. That was a lie, I stopped thinking when he walked in. He has that effect on me, you know, it’s probably his eyes.
There’s something there behind them that I could never quite sort out. It scares me, it’s too hot and too bright, but at the same time I’m drawn to it. I was fascinated by the person that I thought he was, but I’m even more fascinated by the person that I am finding out he is. A spider unfolding his legs, delicate but hypodermic-sharp, showing fangs and glittering eyes.
Is it worth it? Of course it is.
(that wasn’t even a question, if I’m being honest)
He tangled me tighter in his hands and I’m ( ... )
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Empty champagne flutes on the floor. A couple are broken. The glass shards shine like diamonds in the morning half-light. They’re all ground into the carpet and I can only think that it’ll be hell to clean them up. Most beautiful things are like that, really. Just awful when you start to consider the practicalities.
Perhaps I think too much.
This isn’t another hotel room. This isn’t my house and I’m pretty sure it isn’t his.
(It’s never his.)
It’s another place we don’t belong. We don’t belong anywhere at all, we’ve given up on belonging, shut the door behind us and kept on walking into the cold where we put our hands in each other’s pockets to keep warm. Or something like that. Voluntary refugees, the two of us. He likes to cut and I like to run ( ... )
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I didn’t bother to ask why just is this really for me because I knew that I’d done more than enough to deserve it, even if I never got caught fucking him in the break room. I was late for meetings, I was late for work, I didn’t show up. All of it was his fault. No. It was my fault for wanting him more than I wanted a quiet boy who stumbled over his words and would hold my hand and walk me through the park. It was my fault and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wanted to own this, because I didn’t own anything else. I wanted it, I wanted to feel this ( ... )
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