A good thing about violets: when they grow in big patches, but because they’re so low to the ground and a dark color you don’t notice them right away and suddenly you realize that there’s a bit of deep purple carpet at your feet. Also when the bees go bumbly bumbly on them but they’re too heavy for the stem and they end up almost tipping it over.
Additional good things about violets: edible, can be sugared and used as decorations on cakes, boiled into a sweet syrup. Can be fermented into a light-pink colored wine.
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!
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.
Hi Richtor! Can you please put links to sites or post to gems (quartz,crystals,stones),essential oils, and herbs's meanings? Please i need them but I want trustworthy info!😆 have a good day!
Remember to always fact check your sources - compare them to two or three others, and information that repeats can be assumed to be “correct.” Remember, also, that personal correspondences are very important. Go with what feels right to you.
Let me drown in my Darkiplier hell. My inner fanfiction writer won’t let him go.
And yet the analysis machine rolls on…because I’m clingy and can’t let go.
This time around, I was thinking about what Mark had said about Dark through his charity livestream around the time the date video released (transcript here), and how they were able to translate that into what we have seen in Darkiplier’s entrances. One of them in particular stood out to me the most.
“Darkiplier is an entirely different person from me. But, much like Warfstache, doesn’t obey the laws of physics. He exists in another world entirely and bleeds through into this one.
Honestly, I think a lot of people have already had this as their personal canon for Dark, given that a grand majority of the ones I’ve seen just consider him some kind of demon who took a liking to Mark because come on, he’s famous and has a rather muscular body that’s PERFECT for…demon…plans…or whatever demons plan out.
Actually, what really caught my interest is that Darkiplier doesn’t obey the laws of physics. As a physics major, this makes me wonder what laws he could be following, as I personally believe that any world follows some form of “physical law”. I sat on it for a few days before I figured it out. It’s pretty rational too.
He runs on video editing logic.
He doesn’t walk anywhere, he jump cuts. Notice how he never walks us to a table for dinner, we just…appear there. No problems, after all. He has the power of jump cut. We’ll just be there because we can.
His emotions literally operate how we see him. His anger leaks through in glitches, ruining what is otherwise a “cleanly shaped” image of himself.
Notice how the angrier he gets, the more glitches and zooms occur. On top of that, the one thing I utterly love is how the camera shakes. Dark’s rage is leaking at such a capacity that even the dimension we’re in is shaking. It remains as my favorite effect applied in the entire series, and if Mark ever does bring him back for another round, we get more camera shakes. Shake that camera like you shake that neck, dude.
But compare that to when he’s finalizing how we’re going to be together forever and that we can never leave.
No glitches, no rapid camera shakes, hell, Dark’s not even saturated in color filters like the wine bottle next to him. He’s fully in control of his berserker rage and now the dimension we’re in is fully stabilized. There’s nothing to be angry about; he’s won. It’s the ONLY scene where Dark isn’t surrounded by glitches. So for the first time, he’s not even angry. Holy shit.
But there’s one thing that solidifies my theory on Darkiplier’s physics logic. And it’s this one right here.
Darkiplier somehow has the ability to keep us trapped in a loop in this prison until we take another ending route. We can all assume that perhaps he just uses his otherworld demon powers to keep us here for him to watch us go through our personal hell. But let’s reword this logic.
What if…instead of saying he has the power to trap people in dimension loops…
Will woke to a blur of sun blotting out his vision. Sheer curtain panels fluttered across an open window. There was a strange tightness in his cheek, and an ache that spread from shoulder to chest. When he tried to move, he realized his leg was broken.
“Hello?” he said, absent, looking down at the splint holding his leg in a stiff line. The room was papered in a delicate floral pattern. He had never seen it before.
A man–strangely handsome, sharply dressed, elegant–entered through the open door. “You’re awake,” he said with a half-smile.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
The man cocked his head and frowned. “You don’t remember?”
“Do you at least know who you are?”
“And what is the last thing you remember?”
Will closed his eyes and searched his well of memory. Dogs and wet grass. The sputter of his ancient coffee machine. Wolf Trap in all its quiet, unchanging brilliance.
“I went to sleep in my own bed. I was in Wolf Trap, Virginia.” It occurred to Will just then that he should panic, but his body wouldn’t allow it.
The man sat in an armchair near the window. “I see. And you have no idea who I am.”
“No. The look on your face says that I probably should.”
The man was quiet for some time and then, “You’ve been in an accident,” he said. “We were in an accident together.”
There were deep, angry gashes on the backs of the man’s hands. “What sort of accident?”
“The sort we shouldn’t have survived. You should eat, perhaps it will come back to you.”
Will leaned back against the headboard. He was very tired, though he’d perhaps been sleeping for days. “I don’t know that I’m hungry right now.”
“I’ll fix you something anyway,” the man said, walking toward the door, watching Will carefully from the corner of his eye.
“Wait,” Will said before the man disappeared. “What’s your name?”
“Hannibal,” he said. “Hannibal Lecter.”
The name rang clear and brilliant, though not of recognition. It was something planted deeper, etched in viscera and fettered deep beneath his bones. Will would have googled the name, but there was no technology around, not even a rotary telephone. Wherever they were, it was a place not meant to be found.
Hannibal served him vegetable broth. “If you can keep this down, I’ll make you something better,” he promised, watching Will sip from his trembling spoon.
“It’s good. Thank you.”
“Are we hiding from someone?” Will asked when the broth was almost gone.
“We did something terrible,” Will said, and it was not a question. “Do you want me to know?”
“I’d rather you remember on your own than I tell you.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Memories that are your own are different from the stories you’re told. What happened is too important to be the latter.”
“And what if I never remember?”
Silent, Hannibal turned and gazed out the open window.
“I remember sitting across from you in room with long windows,” Will said when three days had passed. “The curtains were striped red, and we drank wine the same color.”
“My office in Baltimore. We spent many evenings there.”
“I can’t tell if this is a happy memory.” Will searched Hannibal’s face for an answer, grasping at the shine of his eyes. “I think it’s probably more complicated than happy or sad.”
“I was happy,” Hannibal said. “Every moment we were together.”
On the seventh day, Will traced a finger over his abdominal scar and remembered, in fragments and gasps, that fateful night in Hannibal’s kitchen.
“Why did you kill that girl?”
“Her name was Abigail,” Hannibal said while examining Will’s fractured leg.
“She was someone that I loved.”
“Are you someone that I love?”
Hannibal’s fingers stilled against the curve of Will’s calf. “That is my greatest hope.”
Hannibal came back to Will in shards fitted together with gold. Kintsugi of the mind.
“I remember watching you through the glass,” he said when a month had passed. His leg was healing well.
“And do you remember how you felt?”
Beneath Will’s ribs, a dull ache began to bloom. “I wanted to touch you. Crawl in with you.”
“There is no glass between us now.”
Will reached for Hannibal’s hand, and he remembered.
You stared at the T.V.
screen without seeing much of anything. Your brain ran through your fight with
Bucky earlier in the evening, overanalyzing everything you said. Should you
have phrased something differently? You didn’t want him to think you didn’t
care about him.
Calum’s sprawled over the bed, socked feet just hanging over the edge. He’s visible just in the corner of the reflection of the mirror, head turned so his eyes can watch as you blend your foundation into place. There’s a stupid smirk stretched over his lips, one hand tucked beneath his head and the other resting on the bulge his mesh shorts do little to conceal.
Honestly, he should have been up ages ago. But the room is barely bathed in the light that slips through the crack in the curtains and there’s a hazy glow to bathroom lights you’ve yet to replace. Music hums along in the background, your phone still anchored to the wall by it’s charger, unable to get ready without something to bounce around to, but unwilling to let the battery drain before you’ve even stepped outside for the day.
You’re lining the bow of your lips just as you glance up, new tube of lipstick hanging between the grip of your fingers. Your eyes catch his in the reflection of the mirror; you’re standing there, only half of your lips filled in with color and looking kind of ridiculous, but you’re wrinkling your nose and smiling at him anyway. A final, somewhat sarcastic purse of your lips and you blow his reflection a kiss.
He thinks that the stupid jokes and the endless teasing he’ll have to endure when he slips in late to rehearsal is worth it.