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Rating: Explicit Ship: Viktuuri Tags: God of Death, Death God AU, Death AU, Death God Yuuri, Anthro/Lit Student Viktor, Reincarnation, Prose Poem, Poetry,
Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Angst, Humor,
Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Mythology, Folklore, It’s Not Necrophilia If It’s The Soul
“I’m not going to mince words: you need to die, Nikiforov.“ There was always a presence over his shoulder, at the corner of his eye, or during the briefest brush with death.
That day The Plaza Hotel was host to the most fashionable wedding of
the century (as predicted by pretty much everyone). The dress code was
so strict that the security guards had special instructions to escort
anyone who wasn’t dressed well enough out of the building.
What Victor had designed for them was a real work of art.
Photographers – both the ones they’d hired for the wedding as well as
the ones working for the leading fashion magazines – flocked to them to
capture all the details as soon as they stepped out of the limo and
walked the three or four steps to the hotel. Victor had stayed up late
getting all the details right and had even slipped away from work to
supervise the making of the clothes in person. He’d been set on not just
every detail, but even the exact shade of white they were to use.
I think Yuuri could make a really good shots but he’s too shy to post them. And even if he do it, he delete them after few days because he thinks they’re not good enough.
wabi sabi 