it looks dumb here

  • Victor: happy birthday, lyubov moya!
  • Yuuri: oh, you found out?
  • Victor: Phichit texted me last night because he had the feeling you'd conveniently forget to mention it...
  • Yuuri: I didn't want you to think you had to do anything special, you already do so much for me...
  • Victor: well, since I didn't have time to go shopping, I made you a present instead.
  • Yuuri: ... what are these?
  • Victor: favors! Whenever you want me to kiss you or something, you just give me the slip that says-
  • Yuuri: *grabs Victor by the collar* you think I need an "I owe you"? If I want a kiss, I'll take it.
  • Victor: ... please do.

rory & jess | higher


TFW you marry a huge dork

I’m sorry I love puns

happy valentines day

drew jesskas last year so i thought why not this year too :^)


Did my makeup yesterday and i was hella hot.
I did a winter inspired eye look with frosty white, silver, and blue. I did a valentines day sweetheart lip (thanks to my natural cupids bow and some slight accentuating). And I did dark silver brows and light silver highlights 😊

I have been feeling p feminine lately which is nice cause i was p masc for a while

If you wanna know what i used feel free to ask👌🏼


Don’t you ever think about how your pseudo-boyfriend’s insides look like??

enjoy some though fluff from weird potentially pagan forrest monsters!!


Originally posted by hexlibrisofficial

The song of rolling breezes trails ghosts through the house in the ever-heard, not-always-seen form of silken flowing whites that barely leave trace of footstep.  They open windows where the outdoors would meet the in, they tend the plants who need for conversation and company, they find a place never really noticed and hang bells and bells and bells on spider-silken draped threads as though in offering.  So too hang branches about the walls, so too might one turn down a corridor and find a strangely floating, shifting hall of leaves that seem to whisper to those who walk through them.

Yorumei haunts his home far more than prior, in on and off fits of notice.  Like the breeze itself, the hauntings come and go in breaths and sighs. At times he stills, seems ‘normal’ as he ever has, which… isn’t to say very.  He still plays stirring harp songs for those who wander the lower floors.  He still pipes up and sings to any remote tune he catches throughout the home.  He still tends to those who need it.  But other times, he walks as though in a dream, in a vision of something that has already been, and must be done over and over and on.

Sometimes he can be seen going into The Locked Rooms, The Old Rooms, the rooms none but he are permitted to enter.  He always comes out looking more elsewhere than here.

Sometimes he will see someone, and ask if they’ve written their mother; a mother he never knew of, never knew was written to, before citing a letter that had been received and lost years back.  Or mention a name of one never known, not yet met, curious if the night with them had been well.  At looks of confusion, uncertainty, the signs he is ever used to of no understanding, he blinks.  A moment back to himself, and the ghost becomes more a man with his apologies of “… Pardon.  The Sea is deep; What Has Been, Is, Will Be get lost in the stars’ songs, in the Long Walk’s call.  Mind me not, you have no omens.”  And, without further word beyond those of parting, he sweeps away, leaving little room to question ‘less stopped, and who would stop him?

The ghost of what was once Trinkets and Tonics has ever been more haunting lately.

And even when there is an escape to the Woods, some songs still linger.