#mmm kinda

[dustedbooksandreadingnooks]

Another art....... thats craaaazy This time its Tuesday (@candycryptids) from one of our aus :> He's a demon maid that I based off of loporrits/the jerboa! Very cutes and very small. I just want to get in the habit of posting my art here as well as my gposes even if I don't have much to say about it besides hehe i drew a silly little guy i like

[tellthatbrokebitch]

it’s wip wednesday somewhere. probably

from my s5 zombie apocalypse au where will gets separated on a patrol and chased so he jumps into the quarry

[rinnysega]

Out of Context Precipice WIP

“So, you believe in miracles now?”

“I always have.” 

[Name redacted] looked over at her and smiled - their hands lightly touching at the fingertips as he leaned in and whispered to her, “And I still do.” 

[jennystahl]

season 2 coming fall 2020! — template creds @ radwrites

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

A lot of y’all have spoken to me about leaving Lydia at home and that’s valid but consider!

Dragonborn: You have to stay here-

Lydia: No

Dragonborn: I need you to stay safe

Lydia: No

Dragonborn: Please?

Lydia: No. Let’s go.

[youremarvelous]

Its not really a ~prompt~ but i Love when you write victor or yuuri calling each other "honey" idk why but that gets me in my feelings

here’s a little thing for you, sweet anon <3

Yuuri doesn’t realize it at first, but not because it isn’t obvious. Abandoning a successful career to travel some four thousand miles at a drunken request and loosely interpreted declaration of love in the form of what amounts to an ice skating cover aren’t the actions of a man who has fallen lightly, but tell that to the pervasive voice in Yuuri’s head particularly adept at picking apart his inherent worthlessness, his crushing mediocrity, his everything with practiced regularity.

The truth sinks in slowly, day by careful day, pebbles of clarity plunking through Yuuri’s perception of himself and Viktor and their relationship, washed on the shore of consciousness.

Viktor is more than wrapped around Yuuri’s little finger. He’s completely and utterly ensnared.

The first time Yuuri really allows himself to notice it coincides with their first night together in St. Petersburg. Yuuri is a puddle in the sheets, thoroughly unraveled by Viktor’s hands, his teeth, his tongue, taking him apart over the course of the last few hours with loving dedication. It’s strange because Yuuri isn’t worth Viktor’s little gasps of pleasure, the reverent gazes, but then the fine lines of his body are melted into Yuuri’s and none of that matters, anyway.

Yuuri’s stomach growls while Viktor is cleaning them. Viktor laughs—the sound of it pitched an octave lower than normal, graveled down by hours spent groaning into Yuuri’s shoulder, suffusing his skin with sweetness. He kisses Yuuri’s stomach, right under his navel. “What can I get you, my love?”

Yuuri isn’t sure if Viktor’s speaking to him or his stomach, so he answers for them both. “I wish we had ice cream.”

He’s expecting Viktor to comment about his diet, maybe wistfully agree if the post-sex afterglow has burned out all sense of reason like it has for Yuuri. Instead, he pets Yuuri’s hair out of his face, leaves to rummage in his dresser for a pair of joggers and a fresh t-shirt.

“I’ll be right back.” Viktor starts to leave, then turns back, kisses Yuuri’s forehead as an afterthought.

Yuuri could stop him. Furthermore, he should.

He doesn’t, because the concept of Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive GPF gold medalist, half-skipping out of the apartment at 3 am to fetch him post-coitus snacks is a jarring pile-up of concepts that he can’t quite parse with reality.  

“Something sweet for my sweet,” Viktor says when he returns. He holds a spoonful of cookie dough dynamo Haagen Dazs to Yuuri’s lips. His favorite, though he’s not sure how Viktor knows that.

Yuuri manages to convince himself it was a fluke later that week when the gauzy light and easy heat of their bedroom (and bathroom and kitchen and front entryway) is stripped away, replaced by language barriers, fluorescents, and falls out of triple axels.

Viktor takes his job as a coach seriously. He doesn’t pull his punches when it comes to criticism. It’s one of the main reasons their work relationship functions as well as it does. Still, it’s jarring to go from the Viktor at the rink, demanding one more run through before lunch, “arms up, wrists loose, tighten your core on the jump,” to the one at home, running Yuuri’s towel through the dryer before he gets out of the shower because he can’t get used to Russian winters.

It’s a power Yuuri isn’t comfortable wielding, one he doesn’t even realize he’s invoking half the time until he makes an offhand comment about something like waking up with a stiff neck over breakfast and finds his pillow replaced by an expensive memory foam version the next night.  

“When I said I missed Kaasan’s katsudon I didn’t mean for him to book us a trip to Japan,” Yuuri stresses to Phichit over Facetime, head bowed in his hand. “How am I supposed to keep up with that?”

Phichit squints. “Are you bragging?”

“No, I’m—”

“No one likes a braggart, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gets it after a few years of marriage, of scraping Viktor’s windshield before work, letting Viktor pick the music in the car even though he could recite Britney Spears’ entire oeuvre from front to back at this point, calling him the occasional pet name despite how awkward it still feels on his tongue.

It’s not about possession and it’s not about control. It’s caring for someone so completely that their needs become your own, loving them so deeply that their happiness is yours.

Yuuri comes home from an early morning trip to the new bakery down the street. He hates being awake before 7 am, he hates that it’s only October and already so cold, and he hates the way the words roll clumsily from his lips when he sits on the edge of the bed and wakes Viktor with a hand in his hair and a, “good morning, honey. I got us breakfast.”

He hates it, but Viktor’s bleary-eyed smile is worth it. Yuuri’s not wrapped around his little finger, but he is tied to his heart—a gold banded reminder when Viktor raises his hand, strokes Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb.

“Again,” Viktor says, sitting up on his elbows. “I was half-asleep the first time.”

“Hurry up, honey,” Yuuri repeats. He wants to be petulant about it, but Viktor is so openly enraptured—slack-mouthed and wide-eyed—that he can’t help but smile. “Breakfast’ll get cold.”

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and drags him back down to the bed, pressing wet kisses into his neck. “Let it.”  

                                        my yoi drabbles  |  kofi ♡

[sevencoloredstar]

🎹 November 🎹

keeping the monthly tradition 🌻 Tagged by Apryl 🩷 @aprylynn