creationinwords

creationinwords @ 2009-09-10T20:17:00

2009-09-11T03:20:04Z

Title: Telling Them Apart: Differences
Rating: T...slight R
Pairings: Fred/Hermione/George
Fandom: Harry Potter
Summery: That's where the public differences ended and the more personal -the more intimate ones- began. She knew something that other people would never know about them.
a/n: This didn't turn out the way I wanted it too, but too me, it's still pretty damn good. I'm making a series soon....like...right now soon. It's Fred/Hr. It's about Fred' body parts. lol

Telling Them Apart: Differences

There were few people who were able to tell the Weasley Twins apart. But even the few who were able to made mistakes from time to time, even their mother.

Except Hermione Granger. No matter what Fred and George did, she could always tell them apart, even if they covered her eyes. Despite being “identical to the last freckle”, which they were, it was the little things that sold them out.

She’d learned that Fred was the one who stirred the cauldron more often when they were making things so his hands were just a bit rougher than George’s. She’d learned over the years at the Burrow that Fred was the one who would rush into things, dragging George along with him; like playing Quidditch shirtless in their backyard.

Whereas George was partial to the outdoors, Fred loved them, which caused his skin tone to be a little darker, and his freckles were quickly becoming more of a light brown then a deep red.

She’d also learned that because of repeated sunburn, Fred’s lips were a deeper red than Georges, who refused to stay out so long in the sun.

But that’s where the public differences ended and the more personal -the more intimate ones- began.

Behind closed doors, Hermione knew the Weasley Twins better than anybody could ever dream about. She knew all their little quirks. She knew that George was only slightly ticklish behind his left kneecap but was completely spazzy right underneath his right armpit.

Where George was ticklish, Fred was not. She’d found, one late night, that if you touched him just right on the left side of his hip, Fred would burst into a fit of giggle’s. Hermione found it to be really effective when she used her nails.

She knew that one of George’s favorite things in the world was to have her nails rake down his back in the final throes. Fred loved to have her nails on both his back and his stomach, preferably his stomach.

She knew that blowing cold air on either of their necks turned them on in a heartbeat. She knew that neither of them didn’t mind not getting to her first, because the other one got to watch.

She’d figured out that the shop they owned took more of a toll on them then they let on. She knew that Fred loved a good back rub, complete with message oils of their own, after work. She knew that George’s kind of relaxing also included backrub but also a nice relaxing bath with her. With scented candles. She knew they couldn’t wait to come home to her.

But she also knew something that other people would never know about them.

She knew they loved her to no end.

creationinwords @ 2009-09-10T10:41:00

2009-09-10T17:44:47Z

Title: Worry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character's: Fred
Pairings: Hermione/Fred
Summery: He was worried. Very worried. He wasn't there to protect her.
Author's Note: This is what I get for writing with NO inspiration.

He was worried. Very worried. So worried, in fact, that Fred Weasley was writing a note to identical twin explaining that he couldn’t take not knowing how she was doing. Of course, she was accompanied by The Boy Wonder and his youngest brother, but he still worried.

He wasn’t there to protect her.

He knew different spells. He knew better spells. His love for Hermione Granger knew no limits.

He packed furiously, doing it the muggle way, hoping that it would help cool off some of his anxiousness. But it only added. He needed to know that she was ok.

Grabbing the rucksack, he left the note on the kitchen table, glanced around at the flat that he hoped to return to soon, and apperated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

My Absence

2009-09-10T15:42:50Z

So I'm back now. Yay. Forgot all about my LJ. haha. So I just read all the Harry Potter novels and now I want to write a story. =]
BUt all you'll find for now is Twilight ones. That's gunna change soon. Yay! The one story I plan on writing is about Gred and Forge but it ain't Twincest....yet, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ...-cough-....anyways...laters.

Catatonic State

2008-10-21T23:22:30Z

Some more poetry. It's supposed to be like the way it's written. Comments anyone?

catatonic state

-

so i hope that everything is okay because you know
how much i care for you
and you know that i'd die
without you here because
you're all i need and all i'll
ever want in life. to be without you
would surely be a life worth not living
so when you come home from the doctors
ome straight to bed and tell
me that your deadline got pushed
back a couple of years and i'll spend the
rest of the evening
showing you just why i can't seem to get you out
of my thoughts or my life. so walk through
the front door and lets break out
the cheap wine and delicacies and toast to the
days we now have. and if you should
have a fallout sweetheart you know i'll be
right by your side and i'll never leave because
you know i couldn't bear to leave you alone
in your time of most important need. sweetheart you
know that i don't care if people see these tears
that i cry because every drop tells just how much
i love you and they're not stopping anytime soon
because you know that i don't like to see you
like this. sweetheart your so brave and strong to be acting
like this will all be over soon but there's something
that the doctors have told me that will break your heart
and crumble your strength and shatter your will
but i thought it would be best for me to explain that
everything is a fail and amiss and you won't
be able to hold out for long. i'm so sorry dear. now that
your hand has gone limp and your eyes have turned grey,
i know you can't hear me anymore but i have to say that i'm so
sorry my sweet and that i'll miss you terribly darling
and i'll never forget you or love another because
no one could ever take your place
in my life. i love you so love, please don't ever forget me.

-

this really hasn't gone through an editing process considering that i JUST wrote it, so if you leave some negative comments, if any, you can kiss my ass.

Listening to- Slipknot: Vermillion, Pt2.

-Jennifer

Highlights of Your Life

2008-10-21T23:07:19Z

Some more of my poetry. Means a lot.

Highlights
By: Jennifer Elizabeth

Green highlights for the envy
you feel when he grabs her hand.
Pink highlights for the crush
that developed in a blossoming romance.
Blue highlights for the sympathy that no one
gives you as you stand in the street as it rains, alone.
Orange Highlights for the new say that you
found an escape for the pain.
And Red highlights to match the beautiful
red lines across your arms.

-looks really messed up-

The Gallows

2008-07-26T01:34:46Z

The Gallows
Arthour: Me
Rating: Uhh...T? Rated for death?
Summery: These are the gallows and I am no actor. Very short.

We're on a stage - us five innocent people. There are two men on each side of the stage. One man stands alone, with a black wool sack on his head - two eye holes cut out. He's wearing no shirt and black pants. Hundreds of innocents, sinners, and fakers growl, shout, scream, and swear at out feet. They stare at us innocents, with unblinking eyes filled with a sense of justice for us five, for a crime we have not committed.

We five have all, at times, let our eyes stay towards the sky, taking in the bright yellow of the sun and mesmerizing the unclouded blue of the July sky. We long to wipe the sweat that tickles our brows and drips into our eyes, but our hands are tied by a thick rope behind our back, reminding me very much of the people in our village. I can only be glad that they've not spared us mercy and have removed our tangles of locks. I can feel my skin blister.

I turn my eyes to the left and meet the terrified eyes of a mother; a daughter, a friend, a baker ...an innocent. Her cheeks are stained with salty liquid - tears - and her lips vibrate to an unanswered prayer. Her eyes widened, frozen in their movement, as the executioner grasped the levy in a tight grasp, his muscles bulging, gazed momentarily at the sun beginning to set in the west, and jerked the levy to his left – she did not scream. The crowd roars in satisfaction as the bakers body dangled from the thick rope tied around her skinny neck.

It’s a roar that will haunt. It’s a roar that made us want to clench our ears with our hands. It’s a type of satisfaction that you only come by once in your life - a moment of true happiness.

The executioner looks my way. His eyes are filled with an unadulterated hate. They blaze with a fire I have never known. They, the eyes, promise me nothing - nothing but agony, a suffering beyond means, and an unrelenting death. I looked away.

My eyes are not wavering; they are not spilling tears, as they watch her defenseless body twitch and stain the rope a deep scarlet. I stare, not moving, not trembling, not afraid.

These are the gallows and I am no actor.

A Means of Escape

2008-07-21T11:12:22Z

Title: A Means of Escape.
By: Me.
Rating: PG, but a bit of sensuality in the third paragraph. Not much though. Hardly any at all
Summery: : into fields with sunflowers and sunshine and little flower girls sitting on a red and white plaid picnic table cloth biting a red delicious apply, soaking up the UV rays. Just a mindless drabble about why people read. Better than it sounds.
Note: Don't you just LOVE my icon? I doooo. -cooes-

Quote: "Ooops." - Edward.

Why do people read? Really! Why do people – men and women and child alike – read fictitious novels and stories that retell real-life tales? Why do we print words that paint pictures in our minds of melancholy mansions (1) or bursting-at-the-seams-with-happiness fields; filled with sunflowers and sunshine and little flower girls sitting on a red and white plaid picnic table cloth, biting into a red delicious apple and soaking up the UV rays of the sun?

Why do we write books about harsh lives about men and women finding love and being happy at the end or books about scaling the cliffs of rigorous mountains, trying to find a nice warm cave where you can keep warm and ponder where your climbing buddy went and just where that small pool of blood, that stood out so harshly against the blinding white snow, came from?

Why do we really sit down with jazz music on soft and the lights dimmed, dressed in our finest silk robes, and dolled up as if we were going to a extravagant ball, with chocolate candy and red wine at our hands, ready to be devoured and gulped, and crack open a novel about a woman who finds a means of escape from her harsh marriage in her paintings of a man whose eyes always smolder her knees into liquid that only appears in her dreams, who happens to turn up at her front door, claiming he lost his kitten?

Is it because of the thrill we get as we read in-between the beginning and the end? The thrill of knowing something that the other characters don’t? Could it be that we like to read the hot and steamy scenes that make our bones melt or is it because of the suspense that fosters in our hearts until we finally jump up and down, screaming a loud ‘yes!’ because they finally had that barrier-melting first or third kiss or they proclaimed their undying love to each other?

No.

Or when the knight in shinning armor finally escapes with his fair-haired princess from the evil and corrupted witch?

Yes.

Because that’s just exactly what they are – a means of escape. Books are ideas printed on slips of tress that grab our attention with a charismatic summery; ideas that allow us to forget our own problems, our own slip-ups, our own jobs, our own lives - if only for a little while.

They let us forget about our world and its scores of slip-ups and inhabitants by letting us plunge into a world filled with ugly Aliens, magic trees that sprout money like the 1945 to 1964 Baby Boom, magic and any other thing our wild imaginations can fabricate.

Books allow us to deep dive head first into a fantasy or test the waters with a quivering toe if we’re not a hundred percent sure just yet or if we’re to scared that we’ll get hooked and won’t want to ever leave and they let us set our own pace. We can chose when the mans gets shot in the chest or the woman finally makes the decision to buy those perfect pair of red high heels to go with the dress she just bought that’s only going to get wore once.

We can escape into a reality not of our own and pretend to be the secret Hero of the Night that everybody praises or we could delve into the mind of a criminal before he sits in his last chair. We can pretend it’s our own person who’s getting married. We can pretend that everything is all right when in truth, it is not.

We can escape ourselves.

(1) – Referance to The Fall of the House of Usher, By Edgar Allen Poe.

Obscurity

2008-07-15T23:33:25Z

Obscurity - Everybody has nightmares.

The midnight hue of something

That reeked of a darkened desire

Crept slowly through the tinted windows

Of a solemn home.

A ballet to a hearty turn with the wind,

Roughened branches of the tree -

Ignorant and callous

Of the happenings inside the house -

The tree stood,

A steel guardian to protect.

With every breath there was a creaking;

An eerie wind whooshing in through the cracks

Vibrating off the wooden and derelict floors.

A blackened figure, tensing alone,

Waiting for a bedtime monster to leap

Out of the shadows

To shred him with its barbed claws.

But there were no tear-gripping monsters

Coming out for a kill, to hone

Their teeth on his aged bones

The figure,

A solitary man, for a moment relaxed,

With eyes still tightly shut.

His mind ran amok

As if being lost

In an intricate and demoralizing maze

Full of fabled creatures of the dark

Full of fabricated dreams of the light.

He gripped his aged and multicolored eiderdown

-With edges worn and torn-

And tugged it up to his rounded chin,

The end of the throw down barely

Shielding his toes.

His eyes were shut firmly;

His hands corkscrewed into fist;

His toes curled inward;

His body torn between taut and unperturbed

His mouth set into an incessant murmur-

"They're not real;

They're not real;

They're not real;"

He opened his eyes-

Faded, gray, muted eyes-

And was met with darkness...

And more monsters.

---

Everybody has nightmares, even old men.

A Missummer Night

2008-07-15T10:46:07Z

A Midsummer Night
Pairing: Emmett/Bella. Bella/Edward.
Rating: R- NC-17
Summery: Emmett helps Bella when she needs Edward the most.
Writer: Jennifer. (Jennipher on fanfiction.net)

---
“Edward.”

His name slips past my lips in a desperate plea; a plea for him to touch my body with his cold hands to help subdue the raging fire in my body. It’s a fire that is white hot at my core. I reach out with my hands, to grab him – to pull him to me. His neck, his hair, his face, his arms, his clothes, anything!

But I only grasp air.

I whimper. There’s a cold wind in the room as his lips press gently against my cheek and opens the window, slipping out noiselessly.

A gust of hot air blows across my near naked body and I shudder and clench my whole body, trying to ignore the fire that spreads toward my chest. I try again to ignore it, but it only burns more.

I let out something between a whimper and a moan as the midsummer heat helps my hormones scorch my body. A tear slips from my eye, and I can finally take no more.

I quickly rid myself of my white wife-beater and boxer shorts. This did nothing to help ease the burn. I place two fingers from my left hand in my mouth and slowly trail them to my neck. I clench my neck with both my hands, giving a gentle squeeze, before letting my right hand slowly down, stopping to cup a breast.

My back arches high off the bed, my toes curl, and I moan. It was like my hand was the fire, heating up my breast and everywhere else it went. Liking the sensation, I cupped my other breast with my other hand and hissed at the heat. I squirm when I roll my nipples between my thumb and forefingers. My body twists to the right and then to the left as I pinch the tiny nubs.

I clenched my eyes shut and moan as the fire increases to the point of pain. I sucked in a much needed breath when my right hand trails to my stomach, indolently tracing unknown patterns around my navel. I whimper again as more hot air blows against my core. The added heat was making me impatient.

So I loudly cried out as my fingers came in contact with my aching core. I bent my legs at the knee and spread them. This time, cold air meets my heated flesh, but it does nothing to sooth me. So I rub my forefinger against my nub and slip my middle finger to my folds. They were wet with my need to be satisfied and the liquid was warm. My toes curl, my back arches, and I cry out once more. I lick my lips in anticipation.

I slip my middle finger into my heat and I arched my back totally off the bed, almost screaming, pinching my forgotten nipple with my left hand. My right leg twitches as I slowly pull my finger out and back in. It felt so good. My shoulders cave and I throw my head back against the pillow, moaning crazily.

But then there’s another cold blast hitting my skin, a cold air that was too cold for this particular hot night. So I open my eyes.

And nearly scream. If it wasn’t for the familiar face, I would have screamed my lungs off.

“Emmett?” I was too hot and too needful to be embarrassed, so I didn’t bother covering my naked body. I shut my eyes, but opened them again as he grabbed my hand from my core, bringing it to his mouth. My finger barely touched his lips when his tongue slithers out and licks it. The movement was erotic enough that once again, I hissed. Then I moaned out loud as he took that finger in his mouth.

My finger was enveloped with a coldness that had me shivering. I saw his cheeks hollow slightly as he suckled at my finger. He slowly pulls away and gives the finger a final lick.

“You taste good.” I shiver at his voice and close my eyes as he placed my hand on my free breast and covering both my hands with his. His cold touch against my hot skin was slightly surprising and it eased only some of the heat in my body.

“Open your eyes.”

His voice was deep, and it sent shivers down my body, and into my core. I moaned and opened my eyes. I gazed at the ceiling.

“Look at me.”

I do. He’s kneeling between my legs, on his knees, and looking at me. I stare into his eyes. I could feel, rather than see, warmth in his scotch colored eyes. It’s a kind of warmth that immediately makes its way to my throbbing core. I let out a low hiss, and I barely notice that he has no clothes on his body either.

His hands travel from the on top of my hands, which were still covering my breast, to my hips, pressing down gently. I try to speak, but it only comes out in broken words.

“Emmett…what –” He cuts me off by placing a finger against my lips. I followed his earlier actions and slipped that finger in my mouth. His lips pull back a little at the corners, showing a little bit of teeth. He tasted sweet. He grinned, and lowered his head.

I pulled away from his finger, placing it below my neck, arched my back for the umpteenth time, and gasped my moan.

“Oh!”

I was panting at this point and I wrapped my thighs around his neck, pulling him closer, locking him in. The fire did not go away, like I thought it wood. Instead, it intensified.

He licked me long and slow, tonguing my clit back and forth. I let go of his hand and placed both my hands in my hair, clenching.

“Yes!”

“Open your eyes, Bella.” I complied with his request, not realizing that I had closed them.

“Look at me.” I did as he asked again and bit my lip.

I watched as slipped his hands around to my ass, cupping it and lifting it to his mouth. I watched as he bit my nub and soothed it with his lips and then his tongue. When I encountered another knot in my hair, I gave up and weaved my hands into Emmett’s hair instead, pulling his head back a little, by his hair – which he hissed at – and thrust my pelvis against his tongue that he slid out. He gave a gentle squeeze to my ass.

He tongued my opening.

I felt all the heat in my body congregate at my throbbing pussy. It burned so white hot, it had me whimpering and crying and begging at Emmett.

“Emmett, please!” I brought his face closer to my hot core, trying to have him get the picture. I was so close I could scream. I needed that release more than I wanted to be one of their kind.

“Please what?” His gruff voice against my aching dripping pussy sent more shivers down my spine and that much closer to my much needed orgasm.

“Lick me! Taste me! Anything! I’m so close!”

He grinned - and slipped his tongue in my hot hole.

“Yes.” It came out as a hiss. “That’s it. Don’t stop. I’m almost there!” I started rambling off words and sentences as his tongue thrust in and out. One of his hands found their way from my ass to my clit, rubbing against it in a sort-of-fast pace. It sent me screaming over the edge.

“Emmett! Oh yes! Yes! Yes!”

The feel of my orgasm pushing and shoving and pulsing its way out of me was enough to expand that orgasm itself. However, I did not feel Emmett pull away from me. Instead, he was eagerly drinking in my come in a way that sent me plunging over the edge again. I squeezed my fingers in his hair.

After swallowing my last bit of my pleasure, he pulled back and sat on his knees. He had some of my come at the corner of his mouth. I grinned.

I leaned forward, crawling in his lap – feeling his raging erection against my still aching core – placed my hands in his hair once more, tilted my head, and brought his mouth against mine.

We both groaned. His hands grabbed my ass again and clenched my cheeks. I wrapped my legs around his middle. I licked his lips and he opened his mouth. We shared an open mouth kiss -tongue and all – that was sinfully erotic. I regretfully pulled back. But I stayed close to his lips, mine brushing against his as I spoke.

“Thank you.”

He smiled - then grinned. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was low. Very low. The whole atmosphere was enough to light my body back on fire. I smiled.

“When did you get here?” I rocked my hips against his erection, drawing a hiss from his lips.

“When you spread your legs.” I blushed.

“But…why?”

“Because I know what you’re goin’ through.” His country accent had me throbbing for more.

“Well, thank you.” He grinned and gave my ass a playful spank that had me moaning.

I bent my head down towards him, meeting together for another erotic open mouthed kiss.

----

Sequel coming soon. Full blown Lemon.