Four, them letters are-A FrUK ficlet by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 tha
Dead silent-A FrUK oneshot by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 o
There's miles of memory between us-A FrUK ficlet by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 c
The green fires of tango-A Spamano short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 str
Nowhere 's beautiful~A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 aw
Bus ride to nowhere~ A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 a
The Heart Thief-A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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
Afterglow-A FrUK short(very short) story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 blowi
Je ne parle pas de Francais-part2-FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 himsel
The green fires of tango-A Spamano short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 str
Nowhere 's beautiful~A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 aw
Bus ride to nowhere~ A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 a
The Heart Thief-A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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
Afterglow-A FrUK short(very short) story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 blowi
Je ne parle pas de Francais-part2-FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 himsel
Bloody Hearts and Bathtubs-A FrUK short story by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 sha
Of blood, knives and apples by The-Greek-Celt, literature
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 h
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.
Favourite Visual Artist
Van Gogh
Favourite Movies
Lord of the Rings, Hellboy
Favourite TV Shows
(De nada, my friends. I have enough dead braincells already)
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Florence and the Machine, Shinedown, MCR, Within Temptation, The Cure
Favourite Books
Scorpio Races, Inheritance
Favourite Writers
Tolkien, Stiefvater
Favourite Games
(I'm not exactly the games kind of person...)
Other Interests
Annoying my sister. Sharing all the historical facts I know about something with my friends (it pisses them off sooo badly)
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.