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About Literature / Hobbyist Marilyn KeatingeFemale/Greece Group :iconrealm-of-nyx: Realm-of-Nyx
 
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Literature
Four, them letters are-A FrUK ficlet
There’s something very intimate in the way he kisses me, very wet and slippery. Very deliberate. Slow, like melting lava destroying its way down the hill that’s my self-restrain. My palms tingle where they rest on his shoulders and so do my lips, my cheeks, my nose, my neck, everywhere his skin is on mine. I can’t hear anything, anything but the muffled sound of our breaths, mingling. And the blood, I reckon my heartbeat, rushing through my ears, thumping like pain, but faster. So much faster.
He slides his mouth away from mine and along my cheek, warm and wet, like longing. He fits his lips over my jaw and under it, on that white white spot that’s softer than the rest, below my ear. “Arthur” he whispers. I shiver. He says it again and this time I gasp, knotting my fingers in his hair.
His fingers slip away from my neck and waist. And as if they have trailed this path a hundred times-though they haven’t-they come to rest on my chest, buttons sl
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Literature
Dead silent-A FrUK oneshot
You’re being terribly loud today. I inform you of this, my cold hands wrapped around my coffee mug, and you scowl impressively at me, flicking me the middle finger and resume banging about.
I shake my head and shuffle around the appartement in search of a book to read, a film to watch, anything. It’s my day off. You follow me, pestering me and even the whole house, yes, you’re so annoying. I don’t find anything good enough to entertain myself with so I go back to the kitchen and sit on the counter. You settle crosslegged on the table and pick at your worn jeans. I look away.
There’s an abandoned Twinnings box of Lapsang Souchong next to the coffee pot, I blink at it and remember how you used to drink it at five in the evening and say how cliche Earl Grey was. I turn my eyes away from that too. They have nowhere to land now. So I shut them and sip at my bitter coffee.
"Oh, so you’re just going to do nothing at all today. Just sit on your old French ar
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Literature
There's miles of memory between us-A FrUK ficlet
I hate the Channel. It's there, always there, angry and turbulent, dark and unforgiving. And I can't swim. I can't swim across it or away from you and the bloody Channel just haunts me. You're right on the other side, legs crossed, lilies blooming, wine so dark in the glass in your hand and on your lips.
And then the Chunnel came. It's like I touched you for the first time, when the tunnel was dug. I remember wanting to kiss your smiling lips. But I didn't. I didn't wipe the frown off my face until later that night when I went home and I remember grinning into my cup of Earl Grey, my cheek straining, long time unused. I close my eyes and I can't get it out of my head, your smiling face, your blue eyes dark like the sea dividing us, shining like the night, staring down wide at me. I used to think you were a fairy, you know. But then you called me Albion and smiled and I knew fairies were never that beautiful.
And I remember Napoleon and his obsession, I remember you broken and shaking i
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Literature
The green fires of tango-A Spamano short story
~
Antonio hadn't been sure of what to expect of this night.
He was counting on some drinks, stupid goofing around with the rest of the Bad Touch Trio, and maybe he might have gotten some luck at the end of the night.
But he sure as hell hadn't expected El Tango de Roxanne to start playing and the sea of people to part revealing a half-smirking Lovino coming towards him in time with the music, dancing as if he knew how to since the day he was born.
His shoulders and hips rolled in time with the song, and his olive eyes were set on Antonio's face with such a look of utter concentration, lust and outrageous smugness that the Spaniard was struck dumb.
He just stood there as Lovino came up to him, and danced, still rolling his hips and moving his legs as if he was born to do so, with his palm resting in the middle of his chest, and Antonio's skin sizzled and burned where the Italian touched him.
He kept dancing he had his leg wrapped around Antonio's waist, and they were chest to chest. The
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Literature
Nowhere 's beautiful~A FrUK short story
(Part Two of Bus Ride to Nowhere, Final Part)
~
"Hm, mon Dieu, I never would have guessed nowhere was this nice." Arthur bites his lip, closing his eyes. It's too early in the morning to be cranky, but too late not to be. So he just pretends he's asleep as Francis slides his lips over Arthur's bony shoulder. He's embarrassed of how much... gangly he is. All knees and elbows, collar bones and ribs. And while Francis says he's like a fairy, which he finds quite flattering, Arthur finds himself more alike a teacup than an elf or a fairy. But that's okay. Apparently Francis likes teacups.
"You can close your eyes all you want, I know you're awake." Francis' whisper tickles at his ear, it makes shivering trails down his neck.
Arthur can't really help the shudder running ghostly fingers up his spine and Francis laughs throatily.
"Stop laughing, you arse. I have to go." Francis shakes his head against the back of Arthur's neck, twisting am arm around his torso, like caging him in his embrace
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Literature
Bus ride to nowhere~ A FrUK short story
~
The buzz of the engine all around him. Street lights running through the window and over his closed eyelids. Feet propped up on the seat in front of him, tapping on the old plastic soundlessly, along with an imaginary music. The bumps of the road as the bus stumbles and whirs and staggers over them.
Last bus of the night. Arthur's always alone when he gets back home. No one else rides that late. It's not exactly nice, but not what should be considered bad either. He has all the silence in the world to think, the only sounds the clattering of the nearly ancient vehicle making its way across town. But then he realised how lonely he is, all all alone in the cold metal of the bus.
He curls up in his seat, twisting his bony shaking fingers in the fabric of his oversize knit jumper, shivering slightly. He glances at his watch, then outside, and his house is still a ten minute ride away. But then, surprisingly, the bus halts. A passenger comes in. Arthur doesn't look at him, averting his ga
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Literature
The Heart Thief-A FrUK short story
~ My keys are gone. Again. I have been losing them for a week. They disappear from my pocket for two or three days only to reappear as if by magic on my welcome mat. It's almost surreal. Gilbert says some psychotic killer is obsessing over me and steals my keys just to bait me. Antonio says I'm just not paying attention and I keep losing them all by myself and someone who has noticed they're my keys keeps returning them. Well. Both of them are wrong. I think. I hope. Because, no, Gilbert's theory is as bad as it sounds.
It started a month ago. I'm trying to think of something that might have happened a month ago that's unusual. I can't think of anything, except for the college boy moving in next door, but that's quite irrelevant.
I was sure I'd never find the thief. I was sure I'd have to break in my house every time I wanted to go in. I tried spare keys too, but they had disappeared and never came back again. It was starting to annoy me, too. But then, in the middle of the night, when
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Mature content
Fill my Emtiness-A Spamano Short Story :iconthe-greek-celt:The-Greek-Celt 17 7
Literature
Afterglow-A FrUK short(very short) story
Arthur's hands were ice-cold as he held them out, holding the book in front of his face, eyes passing over the well-worn pages and the well-known letters and words and sentences. He was sprawled across the bed, sheets rumbled all around him, his fingers splayed over the page, keeping the book open, as smoke glided all over the room, curled around the corners of the ceiling, the windowsills, his ankles, his elbows, over the yellow pages of his used copy of As You Like It.
He turned page, and the small crumbling of paper echoed in the silent room comfortably, easily, like the waves on the sand. More smoke, more pages, his own warm breath blowing on his frozen fingers, internally cursing the weather, more smoke, page, page, smoke. And then the bed dipped, warm fingers splaying over his shoulder. "What are you reading?"
The words were muffled, the mouth that said them pressed against his jugular. Arthur bit his lip so as not to smile and quoted "...They have their exits and their entrances
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Literature
Je ne parle pas de Francais-part2-FrUK short story
A/N: Don't you worry, there's a link for part 1 in the description, people. So read it before reading this.
Morning After
Arthur woke up as rays of the sun hit his face. He didn't open his eyes though, frowning. He felt... warmer. Such warmth he hadn't felt he had been really, really young, his loneliness always leaving his heart cold. But now, now he was practically scorching.
He hid the side of his face to the pillow, turning it from the window. And then with the slight movement, a body moved against his own, lips pressing to the skin of his shoulder, light breath tickling his flesh. He froze. Then he remembered. Then he smiled to himself. But then, he remembered again.
So, his eyes flew open, and with a gasp he pulled himself away from Francis so abruptly he nearly fell to the floor, sheets all tangled around him. The other man was still sleeping on the bed, his blond hair splayed over the pillow, the sun playing with the soft colours of it, and passing through his too long eyelashe
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Mature content
Je ne parle pas de Francais-A FrUK short story :iconthe-greek-celt:The-Greek-Celt 27 17
Literature
Bloody Hearts and Bathtubs-A FrUK short story
Arthur was running low on scotch again. He had already gone out once when the second bottle had emptied. Now he had drained all the rest of them. Had they been five? Or maybe six, he didn't remember. But this time he didn't want to move a muscle. He was in his bathtub, the lukewarm water sloshing in and around his ears, as he barely kept his head over the surface. He felt tired, as if weights were tied to every last one of his body parts, and they kept pulling him down, down, so deep, as if he was drowning in dark blue, sparkling blue, depths.
Arthur let the empty now, bottle of whiskey that dangled off his fingers, fall to the floor and shatter. The sound was all too familiar. Breaking. And broken glass always left pieces. Pieces that could slit the skin, mar the flesh, and leave scar. So many scars. Scars that time couldn't heal.
Arthur knew that outside it must have been raining. He was sure, because he was crying, silently, tears unfurling down his damp face, and then becoming one
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Literature
Of blood, knives and apples
A Zelda x Theron fanfiction.
THERON CLIMBED the hillside until he found her. She, of course, had gotten up to the tallest hill, inspecting the whole to-be battlefield. Her eyes didn't turn to meet his, but he knew she was aware of his presence. Her golden sharp gaze stayed locked on the ground below, and he just bet she was calculating strategic moves and how she could kill him tomorrow.
He smirked at the thought. That was going to be fun. Theron strode up to Zelda and sat down next to her. She had one knee propped up and her hand resting on it, and the other one beneath it, her body forming a half lotus position. She still didn't look at him though, but trained her eyes to her half-eaten red apple, and took a slice out of it with her dagger.
Then she looked at him, her eyes trailing over him while she munched thoughtfully on her piece of fruit. When she was done she threw a smirk at him.
"You know, you should sit in sunsets more. You look great. Like you're lying in a pool of your own
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Mature content
Mi dispiace-A Spamano Oneshot :iconthe-greek-celt:The-Greek-Celt 10 9
Death by The-Greek-Celt Death :iconthe-greek-celt:The-Greek-Celt 1 0 The Lunatic by The-Greek-Celt The Lunatic :iconthe-greek-celt:The-Greek-Celt 0 0

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Literature
Drunk!France X Sober!England
“England, dude, please just come get him! No one else will!” America asked into his phone, while watching France closely, trying to make sure he didn’t do something to get himself killed while he was drunk, “I have to go, and I can’t watch him all night!” America and France were at a bar together, and while America decided to stay sober for work, France went all out, buying all the fancy wine he could remember the name of.
“You know I hate that bloody wanker!” England said back, and America was running out of options.
“He’s drunk as hell, it’s not like he’d actually insult you that badly. Come on, please?”
“You owe me. Big time.” England grumbled into the phone, after half an hour of America begging him to take France.
“Thanks! Don’t know what I’d do without you, dude!” America said, telling Britain directions to the bar they were at, where France was now “flirting” with a blonde gi
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:iconsomerandomhetaliafan:SomerandomHetaliafan 11 10
The Ghost King. by viria13 The Ghost King. :iconviria13:viria13 12,291 548 Blues by moni158 Blues :iconmoni158:moni158 4,512 93 Farouche by JenniferHealy Farouche :iconjenniferhealy:JenniferHealy 5,226 136 Genderbend Snily by viria13 Genderbend Snily :iconviria13:viria13 9,220 553

Activity


  • Listening to: indie and post punk
  • Reading: e/R fanfic
  • Watching: bad 80's movies
Guess what, I decided I'm going to make a psychiatrist out of myself and mathematics and physics and chemistry are taking over my entire life. That is all.

deviantID

The-Greek-Celt
Marilyn Keatinge
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Greece
Well, let me see... sketching in class when I was bored, drawing my sister as a demon just to piss her off, doodling crap while on the phone and drawing when I was uncharacteristically emotional. And that's my SO rich artist biography. But, hey, I write too. Not always successfully, not always logically. But I DO write.
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:iconsomerandomhetaliafan:
SomerandomHetaliafan Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2012  Student Artist
THANKS FOR THE WATCH~!!!!! :glomp: :tighthug:
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:iconthe-greek-celt:
The-Greek-Celt Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
No problem, dear. And thank you too!
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:iconsomerandomhetaliafan:
SomerandomHetaliafan Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2012  Student Artist
:w00t!:
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:iconsomerandomhetaliafan:
SomerandomHetaliafan Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2012  Student Artist
Thanks for the :+fav: :D :squee:
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:iconthe-greek-celt:
The-Greek-Celt Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
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:iconkurohimex105:
Kurohimex105 Featured By Owner Oct 13, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks for the faves
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:iconthe-greek-celt:
The-Greek-Celt Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome
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:iconkurohimex105:
Kurohimex105 Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
(\(\
(^.^)
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:iconstormmidnight:
StormMidnight Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2012
Thanks for the story fave, I really appreciate it!

:dummy::iconthanksplz:
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:iconthe-greek-celt:
The-Greek-Celt Featured By Owner Sep 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Υou're welcome, dearie!
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