May I Have This Dance? (Broh-Bolin x Iroh) by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
May I Have This Dance? (Broh-Bolin x Iroh)
"No, not like that, Bolin," Iroh softly scolded while he helped Bolin steady himself. "You've got to step carefully, gracefullylike this." The air was his imaginary partner as he elegantly glided around the room.
"Yeah... No. Can't do that," Bolin dejectedly said while watching Iroh flit around the room like some sort of fairy tale prince. It wasn't fair. He was pretty and a good waltz dancer.
As if he could read Bolin's mind, Iroh sauntered over and placed a strong, comforting hand on Bolin's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll get it soon. I can only do it because I've had years of practice."
"Oh yeah? With whom?" Bolin impulsively blurted
Broken Illusions: Legend of Korra by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
Broken Illusions: Legend of Korra
Bolin knew that if it had been him in Korra's place, he wouldn't have been able to even laugh hollowly like he was trying to do now. But laughing was how Bolin got along in life. No matter how grim the circumstances, he'd always been able to hide behind a mask of optimism. And circumstances were looking grim, indeed.
He simply could not imagine his life without bending. Even as a young street urchin traipsing after Mako everyday to survive, there had not been a time when he hadn't earth bended, and the thought of living without being able to bend was analogous as to the thought of living limbless. The thought of Korra having to go through th
Of Love and War: PruHun by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
Of Love and War: PruHun
"Well," Elizaveta Héderváry grunts, hauling the last of her belongings onto her packhorse, "I guess this is goodbye, Gil."
Gilbert Beilschmidt shuffles his feet in the dirt beside her, refusing to make eye contact.
"Are you really going to marry that unawesome prick of an Austrian?" he asks.
She sighs. "Yes, Gil. We've gone over this many times. I must." She studies the face of her closest friend. He's still eyeing the floor intently, shoulders drooping, hand in pockets. He mutters something unintelligible.
When he fails to answer her in a coherent way, she hesitantly adds, "It It's not like I want to, or anything."
His s
The Hanging Tree: RusAme Oneshot by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
The Hanging Tree: RusAme Oneshot
Ivan tugged at his scarf, and rubbed his palms together. He blew warm breath into his cupped hands in an attempt to prevent them from turning blue. It was cold, one of the coldest days in the history of Soviet Russia, but he could stand it. He could stand anything for Alfred.
It was almost midnight. The moon shone on the tree under which Ivan was waiting, creating an eerie pattern of shadowed branches, their twigs curled into misshapen claws, on Ivan's face. Where was he? Ivan shoved his hands in his pockets, anxiously waiting.
His fingers brushed against the two coils of coarse rope he had prepared earlier.
The minutes ticked by at an ant
On Rainy Days: USUK/FrUK Oneshot by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
On Rainy Days: USUK/FrUK Oneshot
He should've stopped when he heard himself mutter, "Am I Catholic? Or am I Protestant?"
It was too late now, though. Arthur was so very stupid sometimes, despite his elegant, sophisticated English gentlemanly demeanor. The combination of alcohol and relentless rain, hammering down like bullets, had dragged out all the erased memories. He could see him, beckoning and calling out to him, torturing Arthur.
He didn't remember stepping out, but the next thing he knew, he was standing outside in the bitter cold, looking into the windows of the warm pub, the rain stinging and lashing at his face.
And then he wasn't standing there anymore
I
Hallucinations: USUK Oneshot by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
Hallucinations: USUK Oneshot
Arthur woke up gasping for breath, swimming in his bedsheets and a pool of his own sweat.
It took him a moment to ensure that he wasn't still trapped in his mind.
The hallucinations were always so real. They were vivid and pertained to all of Arthur's five senses. The flames that licked away at the layers of his skin, the sharp fingernails that raked across his body, drawing blood; the white-hot knives sinking their razor-sharp teeth into his arms, intent on lacerating him, and the short stretch of rough rope, handled by unseen hands, pressed against his windpipe, slowly causing him to turn blue with asphyxiation...
Arthur shuddered again,
Isolated: Snapped!Iceland Oneshot by vivtheviolinist, literature
Literature
Isolated: Snapped!Iceland Oneshot
In my house, there is a large, framed picture of the five of us.
Actually, there are many photos of us five. Six, if you want to count that half-sized little twit.
Even in photos, it's noticeable.
Maybe that's what instigated my decision. The pictures. I don't know. To borrow an overused phrase, I don't know anything anymore.
I think it was just too much. This feeling just built up and accumulated over time.
Take, for example, last week.
"Berwald. Tino. Hi," I had greeted, stepping into their house.
"Peter!! Don't- no, STOP!" yelped Tino, rushing past me to tend to his 'son.'
"Busy, huh, Berwald?" I remarked, but that