man and his dog

A Sad Sandwich

Originally posted by idontfuckwithyouuuuuuuu

Steve Harrington x Reader

Requested from the ‘I want the K’ list:
10. Neck Kiss
21. Then there’s tongue

*This is set in the ‘Not in Front of the Baby’ timeline, but is also a standalone piece.*

AN: …YIKES.


To be honest, Y/N couldn’t even remember what had started the argument. All she knew was that it had spiraled out of control at an alarming speed. She sat on the sofa, sniffling with her head in her hands, feeling lower than low.

Y/N and Steve had arguments, not often, but they did have them. Though, it scared Y/N that this had been their worst yet. Hurtful things were said on both sides, and blinded by anger, she told Steve to get out.

And he did. He left. And he took Scooter with him.

Keep reading

8
  • Happy 34th Birthday Mamoru Miyano~

I  can’t find the right words to express how much I love and adore you. You’ve brought countless characters to life, and have charmed countless others with your brilliance and charisma, and the Mamo flair that ONLY YOU have. 

I hope one day I can tell you in person how special you are to me. Until then, wishing you from the depths of my heart, much happiness, success, and love for all the years of your life. You bring smiles to so many, I only hope and pray that you get the same…and a whole lot more.

           🎉🎈🎊 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAMO-KUN! 🎉🎈🎊

A man who loves Sherlock Holmes novels and puns names his dog Furlock. One day, he takes his dog out to town with him and stops in a little boutique. He brings his dog in with him and tries on a shirt. To his dismay, it isn’t the right size. He looks at his dog and says “No fit, Furlock.“

Who’s Got The Smarts

Viktor Nikiforov has lived his international life getting ferried places by Yakov, exploring with world-savvy Christophe Giacometti, and being led around on the arm of rich sponsors who wanted to take him out for a night.

Yuuri, on the other hand, has spent several years in Detroit– not quite the crime capital of the USA, but close.

This shows when the Katsuki-Nikiforovs start taking more vacations.

In Rio de Janeiro. “Why can’t we just take a shortcut?” Viktor asks, peering down a narrow and dark alley. “We’d make it back to the hotel faster.”

“Vitya, no,” says Yuuri. 

In Chicago. “Yuuri, that was such a nice man, and his dog was the best dog, besides Makkachin.”

“Good dog,” Yuuri says, grabbing Viktor by the lapels to pull him in for a kiss, and to tap his cheek with Viktor’s leather wallet. “Terrible pickpocket. Don’t worry, I got it back for you.”

It even shows when they’re traveling close to home.

“This is my favorite restaurant in Sochi!” Viktor chirps. “Their shades are closed, so paparazzi can’t see in. They’re all fans, and always ask me about skating, but they never bother me for pictures with them! So discreet! It’s like my own little escape, so I wanted to share it with you. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful,” says Yuuri through gritted teeth. He grips Viktor’s hand tightly throughout the entire experience, and every time Viktor pitifully tries to ask, “how is the borchst?” Yuuri just smiles grimly at him and scoots closer.

“Darling,” Viktor pouts once they’re back in their hotel room, “I’ve told you that if you’re anxious we can always leave, but you never gave me the signal we agreed on–”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, and sits him down. “Vitya, that restaurant is very clearly a cover for the Russian mafia.”

“Oh,” says Viktor. “Um.”

“I’ve always thought it was a miracle that you were alive,” Yuuri sighs and snuggles down into his husband’s lap. “Now I’m realizing just how much of a miracle it is.”

In London. They go out for a pub trivia night with Yakov and Yurio. Their team– carried completely by the living legend– destroys the rest, even though Viktor is tipsy and has been chattering with both the French family at the neighboring table and two Germans at the bar in their native tongue. Facts? Viktor knows them all: 18th century literature. Obscure historical references. Chemical compositions. The exact words Beyonce tweeted 3 months ago.

“What the hell,” says Yurio. “This idiot introduced himself to me five times when I first came to the rink. He can’t remember what he ate for lunch. What. The hell.” 

“I think I love him,” Yuuri blurts. They have been married for two years, and his husband is showing the Germans his belly-button. “We have to protect him.” Yakov just smirks.

“He’s all yours, son.”

anonymous asked:

Hey you got any... *looks around* *whispers* mafia au fics

*looks around* Yeah, I got the goods. *whips out a briefcase full of fanfiction*

Seriously, though, I freaking love this AU! Thanks for all these requests!

Originally posted by sairenji


Mafia AU


Masquerade by Ashida, Explicit, 45k (WIP)
Yuuri is part of Japan’s most notorious mafias. Victor is the head of the Russian mafia. After brief meetings throughout the span of five years, they decide to go off together and leave everything behind. I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS FIC!

Confessions Behind these Bruises by Gayson, Mature, 28k (WIP)
the mafia AU nobody asked for about how a cocky self reliant bachelor falls incredibly in love with the adorable sassy dancing protégée of Lilia- Yuuri Katsuki. I haven’t stopped screaming since I read this, it’s so good!

Wine Colored Days Warmed by the Sun by Erushi, Mature, 4k
The Mafia AU in which Victor’s an heir to the Russian mob, Yuuri just so happens to be visiting St. Petersburg, and there’s a hitman loose in the city. Great mafia one shot!

the death of a bachelor by exile_wrath, Teen, 9.1k (WIP)
In which Victor is at the top of the (criminal) world, and ends up falling for the hot bartender that works at a Giacometti speakeasy. 1920s mafia AU! Thumbs up!

Caught by You by Ommmniii, Mature, 24k (WIP)
Viktor Nikiforov is Russia’s number one Mafia boss and he fell hard for a common Japanese boy, Katsuki Yuuri. When their meeting was purely accidental, Viktor decides to make Yuuri a part of his life. Really good mafia AU!

Pet by Maiden_of_the_Moon, Teen, 3.8k
“Of course,” he continues, low and horribly, gut-churningly soft, “our way of life is not conducive to raising fluffy, cuddly, friendly poodles. And so, Sir, when it came time for me to choose a new Viktor, I adopted the strongest, swiftest, and most brutal pet I could find.” Love this one!

Settle Down by artemisgrace, Explicit, 8.1k (WIP)
Viktor Nikiforov was born into this life of violence and crime. He seeks an escape, some semblance of a normal life, and in a café on a Wednesday morning, he finds his shred of normality in the form of Yuuri Katsuki. Definitely recommend!

On Ice by littlemisslawyer, Teen, 9.5k (WIP)
A skating accident leads Viktor Nikiforov, five time world champion and the current pakhan of the Blue Rose Mafia, to the hands of one very adorable doctor. I LIVE FOR THIS FIC!

Bloodied suits look better by emulikule, Mature, 41k (WIP)
A conflict has been going on between the Russian and the Japanese mafia for quite some time now, but a new head of the Russian one decides it’s time to end it as the feud has only brought countless of losses for both sides. Bonus Otayuri!

酸素の海 by Alpacorn, Teen, 4.7k (WIP)
Katsuki Yuuri has yet to land a Quad Axel. He’s been trying to land it for so many years ever since his 12th winter. His husband, his right hand man, his loyal dog, Viktor Nikiforov, is ready to give everything he’s got to make sure the leader of the Russian mafia gets the gold medal. Yuuri is the mafia boss in this and it gives me life

Caught in the Crossfire by cloudybreaths, Mature, 3.1k (WIP)
Yuuri sits back in Victor’s chair, crossing his legs, and rests his cheek in his palm. Yuri stares at him, and there’s a shiver that goes down his spine. Yuuri’s eyes are dark and his face stone, as though he was the true leader of the number one mafia family in Russia. For a moment, Yuri almost believes it. SO GOOD OMG


Note: I do not include fics with graphic depictions of self harm, suicide, abuse, underage, non con, etc. in my fic recs. Please read my FAQ for more information on what I don’t include in my rec lists.

Étienne-Jules Marey, Chronophotograph of a man and his dog, 1896

Chronophotography is basically the ancester of the gif. It’s a photographic technique from the Victorian era (beginning about 1867–68), which captures movement in several frames of print. It is the predecessor to cinematography and moving film.

5

Okay but THIS is the kind of Quality™ Content that I’m looking for.

Just a man and his dog, having fun in a ball pit.

I’m glad @markiplier knows how much we love his dog (although no one loves Chica more than Mark, let’s be real guys.)

(Also, if y’all didn’t know, go on Facebook and follow Chica’s World. It’s a page Mark made just for Chica and you should go see it.)

4

I’m very convinced that my apartment complex is a liminal space or some sort of place you’d hear about in welcome to nightvale

I’ve lived here twice now, the first time I couldn’t wait to get out, but the longer I was away the more I missed it, now here I am and I can’t imagine that anywhere else outside of this place exists or why I would ever want to leave

when I walk at night, sometimes to pick up the mail, it’s completely silent except for the pool filter running that I can somehow hear no matter how far I am away from it

the coke machine by the pool always says it’s out of stock but if you feed it coins, not what’s stickered on the options, just feed it coins until it’s satisfied you’ll get a NuGrape and never any other flavor of soda even though NuGrape isn’t a flavor option

the snack machine is always empty and there’s a colony of moths that live in it

at night there’s always a lit cigarette in the ash tray on one of the patio tables by the pool, the pool is still and the surface of the water is like glass and even though it’s clean and perfect you can’t see the bottom 

the dog park is sort of there, on a good day you’re welcome, on other days you can sort of see it out of the corner of your eye but when you look straight at it, it’s not there. when you look away you see the shine of a chain link fence and a small white dog with his owner, but only for a brief moment

staying in the dog park for an extended period of time, if you manage to get into it, makes you feel sort of like you took a lot of xanax, suddenly everything is warm and fuzzy and you’re so calm and oh wow the wooden bench feels so good and comfortable and the sun is pleasant on your skin even in the 96 degree Mississippi summer, then you wake up and it’s almost dark and your skin is buzzing and you’ve slept through the day so you go back inside and drink a cold glass of sweet tea and try not to think about it

the mailboxes are in front of the main office, the little rectangular area is covered in faded astro turf and reaching into your tiny mailbox feels sort of like reaching into a void, you’re never really sure what you’re going to pull out but there’s a trash can especially for junk mail next to it that’s always full and sometimes you can get coupons out of it but they’re always just a day away from expiring

the apartment next to my first is never inhabited longer than the minimum 6 month lease, I called the police on the old man there because one day I didn’t hear his TV and his little dog never stopped barking and there was this smell seeping through our walls and he had passed away in his recliner but no one can stand to live there and the apartment is always being moved in and out of

the baseball field across the road, just in front of my balcony, sometimes around midnight when I’m sitting outside restless drinking a sweet wine and pruning my pepper plants, the field lights kick on and they’re brighter than the sun and they startle me but there’s no one on the field, it’s a school night, nobody could possibly be at the school and after only a few minutes they cut off and the world is much darker and I have to go inside because I can’t see without the porch light on

there was a murder just a couple weeks ago, near the front of the complexes but somehow no one heard the shotgun go off and the police never explained the situation, the apartment was almost immediately back up for rent and no one but the old lady in the townhouse behind my apartment ever spoke about it

the old lady who knew about the murder is my friend, sometimes we sit outside and talk and listen to the cicadas while she smokes and walks her dogs, all her dogs are blind and old but somehow they know me and even from my balcony they smell me and bark until I come down to pet them, why she’s out at 1am I’m not sure but I only ever see her raking up pine straw and walking her dogs and she’s always making sure I’m safe in storms, I don’t even know her name

the soft sea-green colored laundromat has no clocks and only one barred window, the magazines are years old and there’s a copy of a book about WWII that seems to have appeared out of nowhere over the past couple of weeks. there’s no concept of time, the color of the walls reminds you of the beach and it feels like 1992 and even though there’s nobody ever in the laundromat there’s always wet clothes in the washers and only 2 open on the far side near a broken water cooler and a ponytail palm tree that hasn’t moved or been watered in years, the only dryer that really dries your clothes is old and marked 1984 and smells like propane. if you encounter anyone in the laundromat you may pass completely through them; they can’t see you, you try to greet them but when you expect to bump into them in the close quarters you feel as if you’ve passed through a wall of static and your body buzzes and they go about their business as if they’re alone as well

the maintenance man is ancient an has a tiny dog named Trixie and his name is Ham, he wanders around aimlessly and supposedly goes around and changes the air conditioner filters and smoke alarm batteries but I’ve lived here a total of three years and haven’t had a job so I’m here 24/7 and I’ve never had him ring my doorbell a single time. the filters are always clean though, and the smoke alarm light is blinking green again instead of red, I only ever see him on the patio of the office, looking out over the pool and sipping a NuGrape and feeding his tiny dog pieces of bologna

there’s a man who wanders the grounds at night with a hand-crank radio but there’s nothing on the radio but static and sometimes someone repeating numbers with a strange accent that you can’t make out

stairwells always feel like you’re walking through another dimension and at night it seems like they’re endless, it feels like you’re walking and walking and walking even though I’ve counted and there’s 14 steps it feels like you’re walking up 1000 steps and when you get to the top and look down it feels like you’re on the top floor of a high rise even though there’s no building here with more than two floors

the pine trees creak and groan at night trying to speak to you as you walk by but you can never make it out, I make a note of listening to them but sometimes I feel like it’s something important that I’m missing so I go inside and sip a Riesling until I forget about it

What if:

A werewolf AU only it’s not a werewolf AU.

Yuuri Katsuki is a mysterious man who likes his meat rare and talks to dogs like he can understand what they’re saying. He says he has a dark past and doesn’t like to talk about himself too much. Viktor asks him what he does for a living, and Yuuri hems and haws for a moment before explaining that he monitors the tides. More than once, Yuuri crawls into Viktor’s bed smelling like wet dog. Viktor has never seen Yuuri on a full moon. Yuuri has scars on his belly that he refuses to talk about. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says one morning over coffee, upon putting all of this together. “Yuuri, are you a werewolf?”

Yuuri sets his mug down, hard, and levels Viktor with the most astounded look Viktor has ever seen on another person’s face. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” Viktor asks, leaning far over the table. “You can tell me, it’s okay. I’ll love you either way.”

“Viktor, oh my God.” Yuuri sniffs Viktor’s coffee to make sure it’s not spiked. “Viktor, why would you think that? Werewolves aren’t real, Viktor, they don’t exist.”

“But you like your meat rare.”

“Where I come from, everyone likes their meat rare.”

“Yuuri–Yuuri, you talk to dogs! You keep telling me that you have a dark past and you won’t tell me about it! You monitor tides for a living? What does that even mean, Yuuri? I thought it was a euphemism for–”

“Viktor, I literally work at a tide monitoring station. You’ve been to the station, you’ve met my coworkers.” Yuuri drops his head onto the table and buries his hands in his hair. “The–the dark past is–Viktor, it was a joke. I thought I told you. I was talking about my–my failed figure skating career. It was–how the hell did you get werewolf from all of that? There are so many more logical explanations–”

“The scars!” Viktor blurts, even though he’ll realize shortly that it was terribly insensitive of him. “Where did you get–”

“My failed figure skating career!” Yuuri groans. “Another skater and I–we crashed into each other, his skates tore up my stomach and I almost poked both his eyes out! That’s why I don’t skate anymore!”

“Then,” Viktor announces, throwing out his trump card, “Why do I never see you on the full moon?”

“Because I work at a tide-monitoring station, Viktor! Why, why did none of this occur to you?!”

“Oh,” Viktor says softly, clearing his throat. “I see.”

Yuuri Katsuki, who is not a werewolf but merely a failed figure skater who works at a tide monitoring station and owns a dog, bangs his head repeatedly on the table.