shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowsong26) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-10-21 10:23 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2013-10-21 10:23 pm
Dirt Brown #4, Spilt Ink #23, Transparent #11
Name: shadowsong26
Story: A Guy in a Bar
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Dirt Brown #4. Cave, Spilt Ink #23. No one knows where the words come from and if someone tells you that they do, they're lying., Transparent #11. Sword
Supplies and Materials: bichromatic, photography, eraser (Urban Fantasy AU), watercolors, oils, fabric, pastels (my current gen + romance card O5 "being wrong"), seed beads, glitter
Word Count: 367
Rating: R
Characters: The Murderer
Warnings: One-night stand involving copious amounts of liquor, implied drugging, The Murderer
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
I met a guy in a bar.
Which is something I’ve done before. I do it a lot, actually—one night stands are easier, for werewolves, than full-on relationships. My caretaker thinks I’m an idiot, but hey, I’m single, adult, not breaking any laws or anything.
Plus, this guy was hot. I mean, really hot. And I don’t usually like guys that…beefy, for lack of a better word.
He was drinking tequila, I was drinking vodka, and shots and chatter devolved into pretty heavy necking before too long. As they tend to do.
Then I suggested we get a hotel room, and he said sure, and we went, and the sex was—well, disappointing. Bit of a selfish lover, he was. Still, it wasn’t awful sex, and he’d been buying most of my drinks, so the evening wasn’t a total waste.
He offered to give me a ride home, which I accepted, ‘cause I didn’t have any cash and was way too drunk to get home on my own. In hindsight, I probably should’ve told him I’d just stay in the hotel room.
Because that’s how I ended up here.
He didn’t take me home.
I don’t know exactly where we are, or how he managed to knock me out—if he’d put something in my drink, I would’ve felt it before, yeah? But I sort of faded, then I unfaded, and I was down here, tied up, and my back was on fire where he’d cut it.
He’s a lot less hot, you know, holding a knife. Especially when it’s cutting into me.
He took my cell—not that I could use it, with my hands tied and everything. I don’t even know when they’ll find me, if they’ll—no, they’ll find me, they have to find me, my caretaker actually does care about me, and if they don’t find me, then—wait. Waitwaitwait.
…holy shit, I fucked the Huntsman.
…at least I know I’ll be found.
God, I hope he finishes soon. I can’t—I don’t know how much more of this I can—oh, God it hurts.
I met a guy in a bar, and now I’m babbling while he cuts me to ribbons.
Story: A Guy in a Bar
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Dirt Brown #4. Cave, Spilt Ink #23. No one knows where the words come from and if someone tells you that they do, they're lying., Transparent #11. Sword
Supplies and Materials: bichromatic, photography, eraser (Urban Fantasy AU), watercolors, oils, fabric, pastels (my current gen + romance card O5 "being wrong"), seed beads, glitter
Word Count: 367
Rating: R
Characters: The Murderer
Warnings: One-night stand involving copious amounts of liquor, implied drugging, The Murderer
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
I met a guy in a bar.
Which is something I’ve done before. I do it a lot, actually—one night stands are easier, for werewolves, than full-on relationships. My caretaker thinks I’m an idiot, but hey, I’m single, adult, not breaking any laws or anything.
Plus, this guy was hot. I mean, really hot. And I don’t usually like guys that…beefy, for lack of a better word.
He was drinking tequila, I was drinking vodka, and shots and chatter devolved into pretty heavy necking before too long. As they tend to do.
Then I suggested we get a hotel room, and he said sure, and we went, and the sex was—well, disappointing. Bit of a selfish lover, he was. Still, it wasn’t awful sex, and he’d been buying most of my drinks, so the evening wasn’t a total waste.
He offered to give me a ride home, which I accepted, ‘cause I didn’t have any cash and was way too drunk to get home on my own. In hindsight, I probably should’ve told him I’d just stay in the hotel room.
Because that’s how I ended up here.
He didn’t take me home.
I don’t know exactly where we are, or how he managed to knock me out—if he’d put something in my drink, I would’ve felt it before, yeah? But I sort of faded, then I unfaded, and I was down here, tied up, and my back was on fire where he’d cut it.
He’s a lot less hot, you know, holding a knife. Especially when it’s cutting into me.
He took my cell—not that I could use it, with my hands tied and everything. I don’t even know when they’ll find me, if they’ll—no, they’ll find me, they have to find me, my caretaker actually does care about me, and if they don’t find me, then—wait. Waitwaitwait.
…holy shit, I fucked the Huntsman.
…at least I know I’ll be found.
God, I hope he finishes soon. I can’t—I don’t know how much more of this I can—oh, God it hurts.
I met a guy in a bar, and now I’m babbling while he cuts me to ribbons.
no subject
no subject
Kit is all about his own pleasure when it comes to sex. His partners are only there to further it. So, yeah. Bad sex. And then death. Kit is a really bad date.