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vinular · 2 months

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𝑨 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 (𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 2)

Genre: Period Drama (Boy love - 1920s)

Trigger warnings for this chapter: None.

Synopsis: The Painter leaves and goes home to an anxious fiancé.

The sunlight shone through the windows of a beautiful grand bedroom, lighting up the serene face of a young, blonde haired man. Squinting through the light, he stifled a yawn, stretching his muscular arms and grabbing onto the headboard behind him.

Wrapping himself in a gown, the man ruffled his hair. He placed two feet on the carpeted floor and trundled over to another bedroom door just across the hall. He knocked on the wooden door hesitantly, awaiting a reply. When he received none, he opened the door slightly to peek into the room.

The bed was empty, and a letter lay neatly on the pillow.

The man frowned in disappointment, but stepped into the room to retrieve the piece of paper anyway. He read it, a trace of frustration running through him.

Sir Prince,

I must thank you for your accommodation last night. I could not have asked for more of a caring and generous action after my clumsy trip, which left me almost bedridden. Thanks to your attentive care, this morning I have felt well enough to start off back home. Luckily I know this street well, as you live not too far from me.

I am so very sorry that I could not repay your kindness; it is no excuse, but I do have family waiting for me at home, of who would have been worried sick If I did not return. I do hope you understand. Maybe one day we shall meet again,

But until then, for now, I say goodbye. And I wish you all my luck, and give you my utmost gratitude. Merci beaucoup, monsieur.

M. Claude Rousseau.

Prince sighed and folded the letter neatly into his pocket. He scratched his head, unsure of what to do. Last night, he had let his servant know that breakfast would be for a guest; she and others had gone through the trouble of making a very grand meal.

"Claude," he tutted. "I didn't think you'd leave so soon."

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When the front door closed shut, a cry sounded from the living room.

Claude had expected the next footsteps, which were now rushing toward him in anxiety. A petite girl, of an age of about seventeen, locked arms around him, her hands threatening to never let go.

The poor girl was clearly relieved, with tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Claude nestled into her golden curls and sighed.

Over her exaggerated blubbering, the man cooed at her softly, much like he would a child.

"Shhh, my dear. It's ok. I'm here now; whilst I was out I had a nasty fall last night. But a very kind gentleman took care to me. I'm back now, Adeline."

The girl stepped back and wiped her eyes carefully with a white handkerchief. Her bottom lip slowly receded from a pout, and she looked at her fiancé with watery blue eyes. A broken voice parted from her lips as she began to ramble in French.

"Oh, mon Dieu, Claude! Why, I was worried sick about you! I haven't slept a wink, I was up all night. I had to console myself from nine at noon until early this morning. I wondered if you'd gone and left me, or if someone had hurt you!"

Claude slipped off his shoes and allowed himself to enter further into his home. He took the hand of his woman and kissed it slowly, allowing the warmth of his kiss to calm her down. Despite her panic, Adeline couldn't hide the embarrassment that swept across her face. Claude looked at her, his heart fluttering at the sight of her. Guilt started to bubble up inside him at the thought of this girl alone and afraid all night.

Adeline looked at her fiancé with puffy, tired eyes. The man sighed and lead her to the sofa.

"Don't worry about anything now. You must rest. I shall bring you some tea if you get up to bed."

Landing a kiss on her forehead, Claude stood up and made his way to the bedroom to change.

Once entering the bedroom and putting down his satchel, Claude unbuttoned his shirt and stood in front of the looking glass. He met eyes with the bandage on his forehead, and gingerly touched it with two fingers. He decided he'd leave it on for now, in order for his wound to heal properly.

The reflection of a letter on the bedside table flashed at Claude, and he spun around inquisitively. He opened the drawer underneath and grasped at a paper knife, then swiped it across the top of the envelope. He pulled out the letter, which was written in familiar handwriting.

Claude knew it was from his Uncle Jean, just from the handwriting alone. His Uncle had a strange way of writing - he never used capital letters, but instead replaced them with bigger lowercase letters. It used to annoy Claude, but he soon stopped bothering and got used to it.

After finding out it was the same as any monthly letter, which included a fat wad of bank notes, Claude slipped it back into the drawer and locked it, using a key which he hid in a pot under the bed. The man finished dressing and went back to the living room.

Adeline had not moved from the sofa, and she was still sniffling.

A bit stuck on how to help the girl further, Claude changed the subject and mentioned the letter.

"I see Jean has sent us money once more. What would we do without him?"

Claude sat down and allowed Adeline's head to fall onto his shoulder. He placed a gentle hand on her knee, but the girl's face turned hot and she sat back up again. She ignored the touch of her fiancé.

"Oh yes, dear. Your Uncle Jean is too kind. Look at where we are now! Isn't this cosy house just wonderful!" Her eyes gleamed, the tears not entirely gone as her eyes flitted around the small house that had been sustained for them. She was clearly trying to distract herself. Claude smiled.

"Indeed. If only it were a bit bigger, and not so close to our neighbours... sharing walls is difficult when their children can be so loud at times. But this suits us just nicely."

Claude allowed his soft hand to cradle the feminine face next to him. He lifted up Adeline's chin, and looked at her habitually-bitten, soft lips.

He leaned forward slowly, preparing himself for contact. But the head in his hand turned away, and the girl squirmed in embarrassment. She stood up, slightly shaken and unruffled her dress. Claude leant back and felt a pang of disappointment.

"I promise you, my love," He continued, and he started toward the kitchen, looking to fulfil his promise of making his fiancée tea, "one day I'll earn enough money and we can get a grand house together. Our parents won't bother Jean anymore, and we'll even get a spare room for him. We will have children of our own, and maybe a puppy too. Then, we can truly live with no worries, and money will be no obstacle."

The kettle started it's whistle, and Adeline hurried upstairs to the dainty bedroom they both shared. Claude ghosted a finger over his lips, imagining for a split second what'd it'd be like, if the girl of his dreams would for once abandon her composure, and lean in with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey all! So, what do you guys think of the most recent chapters? Let me know in the comments!

#bl #yaoi #BL #lgbtq #Bxb #OGstory #Anime #Wattpad #Neobook #Inkitt

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vinular · 3 months

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Prince's Painter (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/361208097-prince%27s-painter?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=SatansKandyPop

Hey there! This is just a link to my newest story on Wattpad. Please, if you like BL/BXB and period dramas I beg you to try it out! It’s my best written book yet :) Thank you! ><><>

"ɪ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ... ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ? " - Claude Rousseau, an aspiring young poet and painter in 1920s London, meets an aristocrat named Prince. Claude, who's emotions run rampant, finds himself obsessed with this strikingly beautiful man - but, through these rose tinted glasses, can he see Prince's red flags that hang so boldly above him? Is Prince really the man that Claude wants to throw his life away for? UPDATES EVERY WEEKEND I DO NOT CLAIM CREDIT FOR THE ARTWORKS ON THE FRONT COVER

#bl #boylove #bxb #cliche #enemiestolovers #ff #gay #greatgatsby #lgbtq #loverstoenemies #ogcharacters #ogwork #perioddrama #prince #yaoi #books #wattpad #amwriting

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vinular · 4 months

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𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰' 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯

Here you'll find all the chapters for my story, "Princes' Painter"!

ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤:

Warning: Eventual smut, Angst, and mentions of R(Word)

Please be aware of these warnings!

"ᴇxᴄᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ᴍʏ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ɪ'ᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅ… ɪ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ… ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ?"

Claude didn't allow himself any time to think of the answer. He picked up the shoe he had thrown earlier and went to put it on when a hand grabbed his wrist. The boy didn't flinch. He looked up into big, blue, watery eyes that held such desperation and sadness that it was difficult to look at. He'd been like that once; and look at where that got him. "

Claude Rousseau, an aspiring young poet and painter in 1920s London, meets an aristocrat named Prince. Claude, who's emotions run rampant, finds himself obsessed with this strikingly beautiful man - but, through these rose tinted glasses, can he see Prince's red flags that hang so boldly above him? Is Prince really the man that Claude wants to throw his life away for?

UPDATES EVERY WEDNESDAY

ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤:

The Prince and the Painter (Chapter 1)

A Distant Dream (Chapter 2)

#ff #fanficion #original story #wattpad #wattpadnovel #yaoi #gay #angst #periodnovel #1920s #thegreatgatsby #literature #creativewriting #AO3 #bl #boylove #drama

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vinular · 4 months

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𝓛𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓞𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 (𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓹𝓪𝓭)

Hey there, and welcome to a list of the stories I'm also publishing on wattpad. I'll post chapters both here and on my wattpad account (@sarammin and @satanskandypop) so I hope you enjoy!

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰' 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯

#masterlist #wattpad #stories #creativewriting #LGBTQ #yaoi #anime #fanfiction

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vinular · 4 months

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Princes' Painter - The Prince and the Painter (Chapter 1)

Genre: Period Drama (Boy love - 1920s) Trigger warnings for this chapter: None. Synopsis: A painter falls in the rain and is helped by an aristocrat stranger who brings him to his place for rest.

The black cobblestones were slick with mud and rain, the sound of hurried clogs making a dim alongside the whirring wind. The streets were almost pitch black, mist surrounding the weak light of the lampposts and casting darkness in their place. Outside swung, with ferocity, the sign of the local public house, The Casket Inn, the skull painted on the wood slowly rotting away in a grotesque fashion.

Inside this public house, sat a boy, not yet a fully grown man at nineteen years old. The boy sat at the bar, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled ink into his diary. He ignored the roars of laughter from the men surrounding him. It was a Saturday night, and men were gulping down beer at ridiculous speeds.

The boy wasn't much of a drinker; he only went to the pub to write. But it was getting late, so he threw the diary and pen into his satchel and lowered himself off the barstool.

He looked outside the pitch black window and sighed as he watched splatters of hail hit the pub window forcefully.

He had forgotten to bring an umbrella.

"Merde." He swore, and braced himself for the hammering skies above.

Holding his satchel under his coat, he stepped out onto the pavement and started to march toward the direction of his house. The rain fell heavily onto his dark brown hair and he flinched as the cold wet drops started to run down his back.

His footsteps got faster, and in his desire to return home quicker, the boy caught his ankle in the crack of the cobblestones.

He crumpled to the ground, his satchel flying.

His head smacked the ground and he saw black fuzzy dots dance in his eyes. Swearing, he got up to his knees and held his head in his hands, which rested on the concrete. He couldn't lift it up very well and the pain started to swell as the rest of his body went numb. He wished for the world to stop swaying.

After a few moments, a gentle weight appeared on his shoulder, and the rain stopped pelting down on him.

A muffled voice asked nonsensical questions into his ears which were ringing from the shock of the impact. The boy held a weak finger up to silence the voice, and slowly the ringing stopped. His head was pounding, and the light from the lampposts were still boring down on him. The voice's mumblings soon formed into words.

"Are you alright? Here, have my umbrella. You must be careful in weather like this, it can be dangerous."

If the voice didn't belong to another male, the boy would've thought that a mother of children had happened to stumble upon him in worry. The voice that trickled through his ears was full of genuine anxiety as though it wouldn't know what to do if the young man had hurt himself.

The boy looked up, squinting, and realised that the man had been bending over him, holding an umbrella over his head. The stranger took out a hand, and the teenager reluctantly took it. He stood up and wobbled. A strong arm caught him. "Just look at you." The man tutted, and he looked at his hand. His eyes widened.

"You're bleeding. Is it your head? We must sort it."

Still in a daze, the younger boy didn't realise he was being led away from the street. He followed the stranger blindly, the pain in his head too distracting for him to think of anything else.

His memories were fuzzy, choppy, disordered...

And then the world went black.

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Claude found himself regaining consciousness, sleepily blinking the sleep from his eyes. His head was not as painful as before, but a dull ache had proceeded to swarm his skull. He touched his head and felt the familiar feeling of a bandage. It was dark, save a small lantern next to his bed, which protruded quite a bit more light than normal. The boy turned to face the ceiling and was met with a hanging chandelier above him, glinting in the candlelight.

Wait. I don't own a chandelier.

The boy shot up, but his head screamed in pain. He groaned, and looked around the room slowly. His eyes tried adjusting to the dim room.

The bed he was in wasn't his bed - it was a bed fit for a king, beautiful curtains hanging from the bed pillars and three pillows propped one atop another. The covers were a light baby blue, and the soft moonlight filtered in through multiple French windows. The chandelier clinked above him as a soft wind flowed through the room. He looked at the bedside table, and was startled to see that the lantern had turned into a bedside lamp.

Claude's heart rate began to rise, with no memories of a few hours before.

Before he could speak, a voice appeared.

"Oh! He's awake!"

Claude nearly jumped out of his skin, as he'd only just noticed he wasn't the only one in the room. A man, seemingly a bit older than him, with golden wavy hair and sea-blue eyes glanced at him from across the floor. He clasped the book in his hands shut, and stood up from the wooden armchair in the corner of the room.

"How's your head feeling?"

There was that honey-sweet voice. Claude started to remember now. This was the man's house; he must've passed out and been brought here. This realisation didn't help his anxiety.

"W-Who are you?" He asked, his brown eyes landing on the stranger.

The stranger raised his eyebrows. He avoided the question momentarily.

"Is that a bit of a French accent I hear? Mon Dieu!" The man chuckled. He sat down on the bed gingerly, allowing enough space between him and his guest. Proud, the man continued his conversation in almost fluent French, the hint of a British accent sounding bizarre to Claude's ears.

"Ah, it's been quite a while since I spoke French to someone, I must say. I'm afraid my accent might sound quite strange now."

Claude found himself getting more fearful the longer this man didn't tell him his name. He was alone, and unarmed in a random man's house. He couldn't escape if anything happened. Switching back to English, the stranger cleared his throat, holding out his hand.

"I'm Prince, it's a pleasure to meet you."

In his fear, Claude didn't hear correctly. His eyes widened.

"You're a prince!?" He asked incredulously. Given the look of this bedroom, he wouldn't be surprised if this was the house of the Royal Family. In his surprise, Claude went to jump out of bed and bow toward his superior.

"No!" The man flailed, trying to keep his guest in bed. "Prince is my name! A bit presumptuous I know..."

Claude stopped himself and looked at the man, who was smiling, flustered. He scratched his head and patted the bed.

"Please, make yourself at home. You must rest after that nasty fall... carrying you back here was no small task, now!"

The memories were still coming back, but Claude had not wondered how he got here. Now he realised Prince must've dragged him here after he blacked out from a concussion. Heat flushed through his cheeks.

"Thank you," he muttered. "You did not have to do such a thing. I am tremendously grateful."

Hiding his surprise at the French boys advanced English, Prince waved his hand in the air in dismissal.

"No, no. It was the least I could do. Now, would you like some water?"

Regardless of the answer, the man stood up and strode toward a jug of water, decorated with ice and lemon. Claude thought to himself, I must write this in my diary. What a peculiar situation. Then, he realised, he'd never picked up his satchel.

Fear gripped his heart. His hands started to rummage frantically around the bed, looking under the pillows and the covers near him. His hands glided smoothly around the bed as the diary was nowhere to be found.

Prince saw the boys' anxiety as he poured water into the glass on the bedside table.

"Oh, yes. Excuse me, I picked up this."

Prince ducked under the bed, putting the book down, and his long slender fingers wrapped around a familiar satchel strap. He dangled it almost teasingly in front of Claude. The boy gasped in relief.

"I do hope it is yours?" Prince asked, almost taunting him. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that Claude couldn't quite make out.

"Y-yes... Please, hand it to me."

Claude held out a shaking hand and the satchel was passed to him without hesitation. The boy clutched it close to him, feeling the outline of his diary which was still hidden in there.

If anyone read that... he'd be better off dead. Prince began to walk away.

"You must sleep, now. I shall see you in the morning. Sweet dreams et repose-toi bien, Claude."

The door clicked shut behind Prince and the boy was left with his precious diary grasped closely to his heart.

#ff #Wattpad #Wattpadaccount #fanfiction #OGstory #gay #bl #boylove #drama #perioddrama #1920s era #thegreatgatsby #yaoi #LGBTQ #Angst #Newbook #wattpadnovel

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vinular · 9 months

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𝕵𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖐𝖆 (ジルカ）

ʙᴀɴᴅ ɴᴀᴍᴇ: Jiluka （ジルか） ʙᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ: Sena (Guitarist), Riko (Vocalist), Boogie (Bassist), Zyean (Drummer). ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Visual Kei / Japanese Metal.

𝙹𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚊, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟹, 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙹𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝟺 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟹, 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌. 𝙸𝚗 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸, 𝙹𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙱𝙻𝚅𝙲𝙺, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑, 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎, 𝚑𝚎𝚕�� 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝟺𝟶𝟶𝙺 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚎.

𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙹𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔, 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚊, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕-𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎. 𝙼𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝟽𝟶𝙺 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 - 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙰𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝙹𝙸𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙰'𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝙺𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙺'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹.

JILUKA - OVERKILL (Official Music Video).

#vkei #visualkei #visual kei #Jpop #Jrock #Japanese Metal #Japanese Rock #JILUKA #Adrogynous #Fanbase #Band #Rock Band #Wiki #Celebrity Wiki

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vinular · 9 months

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𝑪𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒔:

Here you'll find short bios / wikis on celebrities or fictional characters that interest me. Most of these will be, what I think, are underrated people that deserve more attention. Hopefully you'll find something new!

DPR IAN

JILUKA (ジルか）

#fanfiction #story #celebrities #celebs #masterlist #kpop #jpop #visualkei #artists

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vinular · 1 year

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ℙ𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕟

𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 (𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒘 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚)

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝑺𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝑨𝑼

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆’𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕.

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: 𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒉.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤! : 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕄𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕊𝕦𝟙𝕔𝟙𝕕𝕖.

“How are the potatoes looking?” I say, as I put down my work bag and slide a hand around my husbands waist from behind, his fingers skilfully allowing the knife to slice through the potatoes before plopping them into boiling water on the stove. I clasp my fingers together, and he takes a deep breath in. He laughs, tapping my knuckles with the blade of the knife. I let go, inhaling the smell of the red wine he had just poured for me. I picked up the glass and smiled.

“Hey love. How was work?”

I groan and roll my eyes. “I tell you what, it’s particularly exhausting at the minute. They’re making so many redundancies in the company, it’s making me a feel a bit frightened. The company needs to be making more money than it currently is, so they’re trying to lay people off but.. well, you know. I just think it’s a matter of time before they come to me one day and that’s it.”

Sam sighs and puts the lid on the pan before walking over and putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He strokes my face slowly and looks at me. “Even if they do lose you, you’ll be able to find somewhere better in no time. You’re awesome.” My heart swelled and the only response I could generate was a soft smile. Sam turned his attention back to the food.

I exhale the stress of work out of my body and into the air. I look around the kitchen, suddenly proud of everything I’ve achieved; the house, the job... and the family.

“This is the life. Having a Husband to cook for me... pour me wine... one would think I did something to deserve this!” I joke, but Sam looks at me, his eyes sparkling.

“Of course you deserve it love. You do a lot for our little family. Just think about how hard you work for us - this is the least I can do as a Househusband.”

I laugh and take a sip of the wine, tilting my head back in delight. I look around the kitchen and squint my eyes in suspicion.

“Talking about Lil’ man... where is he? I haven’t heard him utter a word.” Sam shrugged his shoulders and turned the heat up higher on the stove.

“Last time I saw him he was waddling upstairs to find a toy of some sort. It’s kept him quiet so I’m not complaining!” I furrow my eyebrows. What toy? All of his toys were downstairs.

I placed my glass on the counter and picked up my bag. “I’ll be back just a sec, I’m going to get changed.” I kissed Sam on the cheek and made my way upstairs.

The silence of my own child was alarming me. Not that I was an anxious parent, but I had gotten used to the shouting and screeching of playing with toy figures, footsteps racing around the house and shouts of delight when I came home from a long day at work. Now my son was quiet and I wasn’t used it.

“Love? Are you ok? You haven’t said hello yet!” I peeked my head round the doorframe to his room, expecting to see his rosy cheeks stare back at me. Empty.

I frowned. Where is he?

I slowly make my way toward me and Sam’s room. I open the door, crossing my fingers in the hope to find Bash in there, despite it being very rare to have him in our room unless we were there. “Love-”

A bang, and a quick scuffle in an attempt to hide something, but I’d already opened the door. Bash had something behind his back, his blonde hair styled in a very bizarre manner. “Hey bud! What you got there?” I ask. I don’t allow my anxiety to show in my voice as it was clear he was under the bed and found something worth concealing. Many possibilities flashed through my mind and I shivered.

“N-nothing. I missed you!” I was quickly bombarded by the biggest hug a little boy could give. As soon as his arms wrapped around me, my anxieties almost faded completely. I allowed myself to rest my head on his, and his grip tightened around me. “I missed you more!” I mumble.

I peeked under the bed whilst I was entrapped in my boys arms, and saw the indistinguishable shape of a large photobook. Confused, I slowly pulled away and looked down at him.

“Dear, were you looking through my school photos?” Bash looked at me with the guiltiest face I’d ever seen him make. He looked as though he was going to cry.

“I-I’m sorry! I was curious I didn’t know-”

I placed a hand on his scruffy hair and I smiled. “Hey lil man it’s alright! I’d just like you to ask next time ok?”

Bash nodded his head and I walked gingerly over to the book. “I’d forgotten I even had this...”

I picked up the book, sitting on the bed, and allowed Bash to sit in my lap as I blew the mounds of dust off the books surface.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the long supressed memories of my teenage years.

Being at Stardrop High School was either a hit or miss. You were either popular, like Shane or Abigail, or you were the nerds such as Emily and Maru. A lot of the popular kids were dickheads, but god damn were they beautiful. I spent most of my teenage years envying the likes of Abigail, with her purple hair below her shoulders, her sparkling blue eyes... either I wanted to be her or I was in love with her. I still didn’t know to this day, even whilst looking at her face in the yearbook. Shane was not much different either; he constantly was swarmed by girls everywhere he went. Such a shame he was a Class A Manipulator. I remember the day I saw he had been arrested on the news for horrific crimes involving younger women. That was enough to make me block out the remainder of my memories from them days.

As I flick through the book of echoes, one by one I am telling my son everything I can remember about the students. Of course, I did not know everyone in the school - hell, I barely could even remember those in my class.

My throat seized as my eyes landed onto a particular young, handsome face. Bash felt my movement beneath him as my limbs froze, hand shaking as I rest a finger upon the lip of a boy that I thought I could never forget.

Chocolate brown eyes, magpie blue hair that covered one side of his face. Freckles like constellations decorating his pale white skin. He wasn’t smiling - he rarely, if ever, did. I wish I’d realised at the time how troubled that young boy was. I was too mesmerized by his silent beauty, his solitude that for some reason drew me even closer to him.

As memories flooded to me, both wonderful but painstaking, I found my mind wandering. What if... I’d have gathered the courage to talk to him? What if he had not been alone in every class?

Although the school was almost segregated into beauty and intelligence, at that age I believed Sebastian had it all. A boy who sat in such silence must’ve had something to say, but something that would’ve been misunderstood. A boy so quiet, but when he looked at you with such kind, understanding eyes his presence was as loud as a firework exploding into your chest.

What if I’d asked him when we were alone, the answer to a problem I was struggling with in Maths? What if I’d asked him how to convey the emotion of infatuation to help with an English essay that I'd never actually been given to do?

I wondered what his answer would be to love. To the universe. Would he have broken his lonely character and told me something profound? Or would he have kept that cold gaze, a gaze that only I could see through?

They took Sebastian’s grace and delicacy and ruined him. A teardrop fell onto a frozen, plastic face as a flash of the boy’s beaten and bruised face entered my mind.

The boy’s, Shane and Alex, never should’ve done that to him. It wasn’t Sebastian’s fault. No one should be jumped or beaten for living their own life. But people who thrived off popularity would never understand people’s gratitude toward themselves. I remembered that one day when he broke his silence whilst I sat next to him, dabbing a wet cloth onto his wounds.

He didn’t flinch, not the entire time. He only said one thing. “Why are you helping me?”

And I never responded.

Maybe because in the end, I didn’t help him. I never forgotten the scar on my heart, a result of the muscle tearing into two when I walked into class and my eyes travelled to his seat. Except there was something else there, something that wasn’t my Sebastian.

A potted poppy plant took the empty chair and claimed it as its own. It stared at me in the face, mocking me, its seeds threatening to shoot bullets through my chest.

Sebastian had had a voice; but that voice had become the loudest in the class when he could no longer use it. From that day on, I had frequent night terrors. Although I hadn’t been close to his family, rumours spread quick. The rumours spiralled, engulfing me to the point of suffocation, each story stabbing daggers into my body as I helplessly wailed in my own head.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after the incident that the school told us. And when they did, the memories of Stardrop School flew away on broken wings.

That day, Sebastian had gone home, playing with his siblings. He had cuddled with his smaller brother and played Barbies with his sister. After making food for his family, he kissed his mother goodnight, snuck out the house and walked his last walk to Stardew Bridge.

Somebody had heard the screams of mental anguish as it ripped through their ears. A boys’ vocal chords were straining, his lungs bursting for air. He screamed, and he screamed, and he wailed into the night. The boys’ foot stepped out into the black void, and a passer-by would claim that he had seen a true fallen angel. An angel never to resurface from the gates of a self-induced Hell.

The feeling of small arms around my neck snapped me back into reality. I looked down at the book to find it had been tainted with tears, and my son was holding me in a hug around the neck. I looked down and I gasped. The reason his hair was so messy was because he was trying to style it much like Sebastian had.

“I only wanted to look like him...” He mumbled, and he hugged me tighter. “I’m sorry. I thought because he had my name...”

I shook my head and looked down at my angel. “It’s alright Sebastian. Come here and I can help you.”

#stardew valley #stardew #sebastian #fanfiction #angst #story #game #fanart #sad #trigger

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vinular · 1 year

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Artist: DPR IAN Birth Name: Christian Yu Age: 32

𝓑𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓠𝓾𝓸𝓽𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮: 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝔁𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 .

𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘠𝘶 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘈𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯-𝘒𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘗𝘙 (𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘮𝘦) 𝘓𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭. 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 2020, “𝘚𝘰 𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭”, 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 14𝘔 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 “𝘗𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘵 𝘉𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴”, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 2 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 3𝘔 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘴. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯!

DPR IAN - So Beautiful (Official M/V)

DPR IAN - Peanut Butter & Tears (Official Music Video)

#dpr #dpr ian #korean #korean artist #korean music #album #dark #edgy #ff #fanfic

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vinular · 1 year

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𝓥𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻'𝓼 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼

Here you’ll find my own short stories with original stories and characters

- 𝕴𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖘

#short stories #stories #OST #anime #fanfiction #Y/N #bxb #wlw #gay #lesbian #lgbt #horror #thriller #scary stories #Masterlist #tumblr

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vinular · 1 year

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𝕴𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖘

Summary: A naïve protagonist knowingly falls in love with the serial killer he is trying to track down as a detective. After being captured by him, he begins to regret many of his life decisions. This is story that follows their purely toxic yet sensual relationship as the killer toys with its prey...

Trigger warnings: ⚠️

Gore

Acts of violence

Mentions of sexual activity.

I felt like Icarus himself; I had flown too close to the thing that was surely killing me, and yet I did not stop. I had carried on flying with my damaged and broken wings, their feathers beginning to droop and my body beginning to fall. For whatever reason I flew toward my blazing end, that reason having escaped me now, it could not have been so wished for or important enough to have led me to this dark and dismal ending. This is not how I imagined things would go.

And now thanks to my ignorance and my simple-mindedness, I found myself in this situation, waiting for the sun to be my light instead of what was once my burning hope. My limbs struggled to free me, and the dark red paint from my lips gave my pale skin colour as it dripped down and smothered the floor beneath me.

Although, now that I think about it… Icarus probably didn’t experience this much fear, for his death was luckily too quick and unexpected.

Another clash of rounded wood and bone swept me to the floor and I choked, my teeth gritted to stop me from crying out in pain. My what was once white hair, now turning to brown with dirt, covered my tearful eyes as I looked down. I heard the chuckle beginning to rise in his throat, but after knowing him for all these months, I knew now that he wouldn’t dare let anyone know that he was having this much fun.

“I tried to warn you,” he sung, his gaze flitting toward me as I groan in both agony and irritation, hearing the now bloody baseball bat being thumped against his open palm. I knew he wanted me to look up at him; he wanted to stare right into my pained eyes and feel relief through experiencing my suffering.

The truth is: he did try to warn me. Many times. In fact, I was cautioned before even taking the job that was offered to me. I should have listened to the media, should have listened to the victims of this monster’s torture. But of course, my naïve mind chose to ignore anything but my “instinct”. And therefore I let the dragon lure me into its’ den, its fiery yet ice-cold breath only letting out smoke until the time was right to scar me with its glacial flames.

And now I was paying the price for it.

“Everyone tried to tell you: and now look what’s happened!”

My hair got pulled with such a vigorous force, that blood flooded my airways and made me gag. Letting the devil escape his red lips through a low, evil snigger, my perpetrator was clearly satisfied with his work of art. It took all of the strength left in me to look into his deep black eyes as a smirk climbed onto his face and his teeth glinted in the dim light. His clothed knees scraped the concrete floor as he knelt in front of me.

“You even had the audacity,” he mumbled, and I thought I saw a flash of what looked like an ounce of regret pass through his gaze as he continued to examine my bloodied face, “to fall in love with me.”

I thought the pain from being beaten was enough. But nothing was as terrorizing as the sharp stabs of pain I felt through my already broken heart when he said that sentence.

It was true; I fell in love with the criminal that I was meant to put behind bars. But none of it was voluntary. The complexity of the human mind and its emotions can control a person to the point of self-destruction and a lifetime of guilt and grief and unfortunately, it chose me as its victim in making sure I was aware of that fact.

I couldn’t stop myself. He had a charm to him. His beauty made everyone forget what dirty deeds he had accomplished, and what murderous thoughts rotted his brain from inside out. His soft and gentle hands compensated for the gnashing fangs in his blackening heart. My desperation allowed me to get sucked into the vicious whirlpool that forever raged on in his gleaming dark globes.

“H-how would you know?!” I spat, my throat hoarse and my eyes not daring to leave his. Anger started to bubble in my stomach as the truth spilled from my stained mouth. “You wouldn’t know love if it stabbed you through the heart.”

There was that deep chuckle that I was waiting for. His long black hair swished in front of his beautiful, tanned face, and his teeth clung onto his bottom lip as he thought of a response. He combed his locks back with his bruised hand and sighed, letting my head go and allowing me to breathe once more.

He stood up and brushed his knees off.

“Is that right?”

The man grabbed a knife from the metal table to the side of the room and slowly ran a finger down the blade. He looked at me, pointing the tinted knife toward me as he spoke.

“And you wouldn’t know danger even if you were shoving your tongue down its throat.”

My face heated up with embarrassment at memories that would have forever been etched into my mind. I felt the chains that were clasped around my purple wrists clang together as sorrow seeped into my body and my limbs went limp. I wanted to get away from this dark lair – the dragon was playing with its food, and I didn’t like it one bit.

He began to get on all fours, and he was crawling closer to me every second. My breath hitched in my throat as the steel metal blade ran slowly from my collarbone up to my chin. My body was shaking so hard that the knife accidentally pricked my skin, allowing blood to trickle down once more. He watched the substance with such concentration, he looked as if he was seeing it for the first time and curious as to what it could have possibly been.

There was a knock on the door. His head shot up. The knife clanged to the floor and he stood up abruptly.

“Better g-go get that, Az,” I ordered slyly, not being able to hold back a smile. He hissed at me to be quiet, making me laugh quietly. “today must not be your day.”

Silence cascaded the dark room, and a growl erupted from his scarred throat as he panicked, his hands being thrown about himself and his feet pacing wildly for a few moments.

“Stay here,” He said to me as if I was able to untangle myself and walk out like nothing happened. He trotted up the stairs, ruffling his hair and soon locking me by myself in the dim room. Soon I heard voices, muffled behind blood-stained walls.

“Yes… I thought you could do with some dinner…” An old lady's voice was enough hope to make me start rattling my chains loudly.

“Oh, dearie…” Azazal’s voice responded, joyful and appreciative as ever, “…no need… I have food…”

“Help!” I screamed, my chains bouncing off echoey walls. Tears started streaming down my face now, adrenaline filling up my chest as it got tighter and tighter. “Help, please!”

The voices didn’t stop.

“…my daughter thought of you… likes you a lot…” The old lady rambled, and I heard a guttural laugh in reply.

“Hello?” my throat hurt even more now, each word being like knives in my flesh. For many moments more I screamed and cried, my ears ringing now from the constant clashing of metal.

The door clicked shut from upstairs.

It was futile.

Az appeared once again in the doorway of the cellar, holding a warm casserole in an oven dish.

“No use. The old hag’s as deaf as a bat.” He giggled and proceeded to almost skip down the concrete steps, floral oven gloves covering his hands. “She said I could have the gloves too. They suit me, don’t you think?”

I sobbed, my heart pounding, and so filled with despair that I didn’t even bother to correct him on his lack of knowledge in wildlife.

“Here, have some casserole.” It was that honey-sweet voice of his that always used to bring me peace and calm; even now my heart had begun to slow down, and my panic subsided for a split second. He sounded like a father speaking to a child, and it was aspects like that of him that brought me even further into being his next victim.

“I-I really thought you loved me.” I suddenly whispered, my heart splitting into yet another piece as he placed the oven dish in front of me. There was absolute silence for a good few minutes, neither of us saying a word. The casserole steamed in front of me, and even though I hadn’t eaten in so long, I wasn’t hungry. In fact, I hated the sight of that contaminated food. Contaminated by his touch – I didn’t even want to look at it. After what felt like hours with both of us looking around awkwardly, Az cleared his throat and picked up the knife that he had dropped beforehand. He was recognizably lost in thought, for he put it back down again as if finding no purpose for it and sighed. Then, he looked at my hands, purple and blue with both bruises and the cold, and moved the dish closer toward me.

“Your hands must be cold.”

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vinular · 2 years

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Ⓜⓐⓢⓣⓔⓡⓛⓘⓢⓣ

Welcome to my list of Fanfiction. I hope you find something here to enjoy.

Requests are open!

Attacked By An Aggressive Dog Named Levi (Mentions of NSFW, Ereri)

Petals of the Sun (Stardew Valley - Y/N x Sebastian. Angst, mention of Suicide.)

#fanfiction #masterlist #ereri #aot #chainsawman #heaven official's blessing #hualian #yuri on ice

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vinular · 2 years

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Attacked By An Aggressive Dog Named Levi - Ereri

Ship: Eren x Levi (Attack On Titan)

Genre: University AU / Mentions of NSFW

Summary: Eren wakes up from what he thought was a drunk dream to find that it was actually a reality.

Authors Notes: Welcome to my first proper Fanfiction short story. Enjoy!

"Well, fuck."

Eren looked in the mirror and ran his hands around his neck. His eyes widened and he felt his hands begin to tremble as memories of the night before flooded back to him.

It wasn't meant to happen; that was for sure. He was expecting to have gone to bed after a game of spin the bottle ended up with him smashing the bottle on the floor and cutting his hand.

That was clearly not what had happened as he started at the pink and purple bruises that decorated him.

"Well... This isn't good." He muttered. He looked around the room, the sunlight from open curtains blinding him and making his head pulse.

And his first ever hangover. Great.

After standing for a few moments and trying to convince himself he was hallucinating, the boy staggered out of his room toward the living room.

He gasped and hid behind the door.

Levi was on the sofa.

Shit. He had stayed round last night too.

Eren took a deep breath and opened the door slowly , too desperate for a drink to wait until Levi had disappeared.

The male’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the door opening and faced Eren to stare straight into his eyes.

"Good morning." he announced.

Eren faltered and cleared his throat.

"G-Good morning Heichou."

Levi's sleepy eyes flickered to Erens red and purple neck, and he began to laugh.

"You wanted, so I gave."

Eren felt his face heat up and he shook his head.

"I thought it was a dream.”

“Definitely not.”

Eren ran a hand around his neck once more and flinched physically as his fingers brushed past a signifcant bruise on the right side of his neck.

“The fuck is this?!” He exclaimed, running over to Levi.

Levi sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Yeah, that’s not... what I was supposed to do.”

Eren’s heart began beating frantically as anxiety swelled up in him.

Levi looked at him and grinned.

“May have bit you too hard.”

“Good morning!” A voice rang out through the kitchen. Startled, Eren jumped up and ran to the other side of the room, grabbing a hoodie and throwing it on. He made sure that the hood was up and his neck was concealed.

“Good morning... Armin.”

Levi sniggered in his chair and waved to the flatmate that had just entered the room.

Armin cocked his head in confusion.

“Are you ok?” He asked. Eren nodded his head, flinching at the bruise.

“All good. Just tired.”

“Me too. Last night was fun, eh?”

Eren smacked his hand over his mouth and another memory resurfaced.

“I kissed Mikasa during spin the bottle.”

Silence.

“Shit. I’m also seeing Dad tomorrow... how am I going to hide this?!”

Levi chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

Eren shook his head and fought the urge to panic.

“Wait, hide what?”

Eren choked on air as he looked Armin in the eyes. The boy’s blue eyes stared into his and Eren couldn’t find the words to tell him what happened. He looked toward Levi, but the man did nothing else. He was busy on tiktok.

“Uh...”

“Wait, what’s that on your neck?!”

“I got attacked by an aggressive dog, ok?!”

#aot #ereri #fanfic #fanfiction #attackontitan #erenjaeger #eren #levi ackermann #lev #eren x levi #spin the bottle #drunk #hangover #nightmare

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