очаровательный | ap. @ocharovatelnyy - Tumblr Blog

after some deliberation, i’ve finally decided to move this muse onto my multimuse blog. catch me there! running threads will be kept (and hopefully become more active since i’m generally more active on that blog).

ocharovatelnyy

#ooc #this post will be queued for a week

alorssouris

✗ Bathing, washing, or soaking together quietly after sex.

As much as it wasn’t his parents outdoor bath, he did have to admit that Viktor had a very nice bathtub. It’s just barely big enough for the two of them to fit comfortably, with Viktor’s legs to either side and his back resting against his chest, and just maybe a little bit of water splashes over the side now and then when they shift too much; but right now it’s the most comfortable place in the world and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Granted, if Viktor kept working his fingers through his hair the way he was right now he was about to fall asleep right here in the bath. He was pleasantly exhausted, and warm, and he could occasionally feel the lightest of kisses to his shoulder which was doing absolutely nothing to ease his desire to drift off right at this moment. It was rare for them to have an evening all to themselves, with no practice that night or the next morning they had time to spare for all the little things they wouldn’t normally have a chance to, which had started off as the two of them making dinner, and then a movie which they honestly hadn’t really paid much attention to, and…well, here they were.

“Mm, you have to stop that, ‘m going to fall asleep.” He hums as his eyes fall shut, although of course he doesn’t make any real effort to stop the other’s motions. After all, Viktor is more than capable of carrying him if he had to (he’d proven that in lifting Yuuri into the bathroom just a short while ago), so he’s not too concerned.

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

mara-miranda

victor~

#art

madefate:

He meets the thrill of no resistance with a dizzying swell of relief. – Though, to be fair, his fucking head is probably a little complicit in that. Carefully readjusting his grip on the mug, he viciously quells the urge to put his free hand on the wall and, instead, wraps it around the thick fabric of Viktor’s sweater against the expanse of his stomach. Never again. He’s not going to so much as stumble when he’s back on the ice – and he’s going to ignore the chill of stupid fucking fear that crawls down his spine at the thought of the moment between being upright in the rink and then having nothing underneath you.

( is this what a concussion is ?? having no damn grip on your emotions, having to feel them them pinball around every other second ?? this is as exhausting as the vast night stretching out all around him, fuck. )

It seems like seconds and also hours between settling himself at the low table and the sensation of someone grabbing onto his hand, the little thrill of panic that follows the unexpected touch, the larger thrill of annoyance and defensive anger sparking to life when he realizes that of course it’s Viktor, of course he’s being pushy. Asshole. Too long spent trying to form the words of protest, Yuri is silenced before he can fathom them into working in order – and Jesus, did he have to slip right under his skin with that reassurance ?? Is he a damn mind reader now – is Yuri too obvious ?? That’s something he can rail against – and he’s gathering steam when Viktor’s next words finally land home, finally resonate.

The damn roller coaster plummets again and Yuri feels any fight in him bleed out instantly, replaced by an icy chill that bites differently than the winter air had just an hour earlier, attacking all his bones and joints and empty places with a rusted, aching sort of force. Shit, he’s not – he told Viktor to go. He told him that it was fine. Repeatedly. It was his own choice, wasn’t it ? To stick around, miserable, up all night when he could be skating or drinking or sleeping or making stupid eyes at Katsudon or something ? Yuri told him so – he’s not trying to make this shitty, боже мой.

But the energy to reiterate, again, escapes him. God it’s endless – Yuri is trying, damn it, does that not count ? His throat burns and then burns more at the thought of how cyclical it is, how frustrating that it’s the frustration of his throat burning that makes it ache all the more fiercely. — What choice does he have, really ? If Viktor won’t let him find some corner alone ( alone, alone, he hates, too, how much that thought also sends a thrill of fear down his spine ) to see to himself, then won’t take no for an answer.

He takes both pills at once, breathing out a gentle, quiet sigh when he tastes what they have made. At least that’s fine – a small mercy that he hasn’t forgotten the old recipe.

After a moment of silence, he asks, quiet and small, ❛ How much longer ? ❜

When Yuri’s expression shifts, Viktor realizes he probably said something wrong. However, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot for the life of him figure out what it was. Are his intentions still not plain? Or is it miscommunication, born of the difficulty with which Yuri currently strings his thoughts together? Entirely possible.

Viktor is not as willing to dwell on it as he usually would be. Comfort is paramount, but not his own. So all he does is exhale a small puff of air, watching in silence as Yuri takes the pills. Good. At least, there’s that. Viktor thinks his strictness wouldn’t have worked on a regular day, but he’s grateful it worked now.

He takes a moment to taste the chocolate himself, and it instantly takes him back to the last time Yuri made this. Viktor knows how to focus on the little things when the overall picture looks terrible. A tasty drink, Yuri not having to deal with this on his own – these are the things he hangs onto to pass the time.

Speaking of. Viktor tugs out his phone to look at the clock when Yuri asks, biting on his bottom lip as he frowns. It only now occurs to him that he’s not quite sure if the four hours they were given should be counted from the accident, or the verdict. On the one hand, he wants to give Yuri the relief he needs, but on the other, they should make absolutely sure, right? Better count it from the ER. “About one and a half hours,” he concludes out loud, letting the phone drop onto the table.

The hot chocolate, as fine as it tastes, will not last that long. Viktor casts around for something to do, settling on the remote controller. “Want to watch something?” he suggests. The walls may be of paper in this dacha, but the bedrooms are far enough from the living room that nobody will wake if they keep the volume low.

Again, he thinks back to his own experience, but here he comes up a little short – his twelve hours were throughout the span of a day, so he just kept to Yakov’s heel and did what he usually did anyway, including getting back onto the ice (not that Yakov was particularly cheerful about that, but he didn’t stop Viktor either). Unfortunately, what they usually do during these hours is sleep. So there has to be a substitute.

#madefate #svoevolye #th: freefall

discord drop under the cut!

i’ll try to get things done on here tomorrow in a more general sense -- sorry i’ve been so selective! i haven’t been on top of things mental health wise lately. ;;

#ooc

madefate:

What drags out of his lips is not a complain, but an acerbic snort. He forgets ( usually ? or is it this fucking headache ? ) that Viktor has a shitty sense of humor. It catches him by surprise, slipping through the gap between self awareness and the parts of himself that he still doesn’t know and sparks with his own sense of humor – wicked edged and brash and dripping in sarcasm. Yeah, who’d’ve guessed that almost cracking your skull open in the middle of a damn ice rink would hurt ? Asshole. Yuri likes that about him.

— That thought comes out of nowhere and flits away before he can get a proper hold on it. Remind him not to take a fall like this again. Forgetting what you’re going to say or do halfway in the midst of doing it because you keep getting distracted by the fog and the throbbing your temple sucks. It keeps him from latching onto things he thinks are revelations or, at least, important in some way. And it keeps him just behind the beat instead of ahead of it, blinking at Viktor’s palm before he can fathom the statement into something that makes sense.

❛ Can I – ❜ The question pulls away from his mouth before he can stop it, nerves and determination kicking in only after he starts speaking to silence himself. He knows what he’d been about to say can I take them? is it safe? but he collides face first with the reality of how that would come off – soft and – and open and – there’s a material fear, here. Yuri remembers the last time he’d been given hospital painkillers – eons ago, and hadn’t he promised himself then he’d never take another fall ? Fucking brilliant. They’d knocked him out in a matter of minutes. And that’s not an option.

But he’s almost choking on the idea of letting Viktor know that. And he – he has no idea why save for the one he falls back on, the one that bears grooves the shape of his metaphorical fingers for how often he clings onto it: he can do this on his own.

❛ Hang onto them. In case it gets worse. ❜ Instead of the pills, he wraps both his hands around his mug and keeps his gaze fixed on the middle distance – worries at the tension in his chest that’s – that’s exhausting – that can’t exhaust him because he can’t afford it. ❛ — I’m going into the den. ❜ Was that the word ? He doesn’t know why he has so much trouble remembering the Japanese words on a good day. ❛ I want to sit. ❜

Well, that particular resolution did not last long. Here Viktor was, telling himself to just let Yuri be, let him handle this the way that makes him comfortable – and then it’s all out the window, the moment the blond’s expression shifts. Viktor knows what’s about to come out of his mouth before he even says it – or, well, maybe not exactly what he says, but the intent.

For a moment, Viktor just stares at him, baffled. It’s incredibly difficult to make this decision: stick with what he thinks is right, or go with instinct? Press, or retreat? Viktor doesn’t even really care if Yuri is going to be mad at him, not like he would regularly care; all that really matters is which would be better for the boy.

On the tail end of that line of thought, Viktor throws the pills back into their box, and stuffs it back into his pocket – for the moment. He is not opposed to getting more comfortable first. Perhaps if he caves first, Yuri might be a little more inclined to follow in his footsteps, give ground again. So Viktor picks up his own mug of chocolate, and motions Yuri to go ahead.

Albeit the walk takes less than a minute, the older skater’s line of thought seems to stretch a mile. He recognizes this sentiment – surprisingly more than usual. Perhaps there is something about it being the dead of night, it’s a wholly different mood, full of different sensations. You don’t have to have a concussion to sense it. A small part of him wishes he could go skate it right now. It would be beautiful. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Yuri, just to be on the safe side, and thinks about the fact that he knows, maybe more than Yuri realizes, what it’s like to want to do everything on your own, never relying on anyone who could someday betray you.

Past mistakes aside, Viktor never wants to betray Yuri. (And somewhere, it’s a little bit funny that it had to be an accident like this for Viktor to vow never to disappoint again, if possible – but surely Yuri would not find that humorous, so this too the skater keeps to himself.)

Once they are sitting, Viktor gets out the pillbox again. By now, he has found the answer he needed, and it’s there in the steel of his gaze as he shakes out two of the pills again, and presses them into the blond’s palm. Emotional barriers and personal space are one thing. Viktor is here to help. Letting Yuri suffer more than necessary would be a detriment to said helping. That’s all there is to it.

As hard as his eyes are – at least until the moment Yuri’s fingers are closed around the medicine – his words are gentle. “It won’t make you any sleepier. I asked.” Viktor finds it incredibly ironic (and yet fantastic) that his own past experience with a terrible concussion is coming in so handy now, when it comes to knowing, if not the right thing to do, then the right question to ask.

“Just take them, please. Don’t make this shittier than it has to be by being stubborn.”

#madefate #svoevolye #th: freefall

alorssouris:

The remark was enough to bring just the slightest hint of a smile to Yuuri’s lips, forcing himself not to think of the fact that they might not even get a chance to do something like that, but just think of how nice it would be for his parents to have a dog around the house again. They’d seemed happy to have Makkachin around, insisting it was no trouble to watch him whenever they’d been away for competition…he squeezed Viktor’s hand lightly, only letting go once they’d gotten to the taxi so he could get Makkachin inside, waiting for Viktor to get their luggage in and give the address so they could head out, speaking up again once he’d gotten in as well.

“Maybe not a puppy, I’m not sure her or my dad could handle all that energy.” He murmured quietly, although once again he’s trying very hard to keep his mind away from ‘if’, from the uncertainty of their situation, forcing the thoughts from his mind in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. He reached up to scratch behind Makkachin’s ears absentmindedly, his other hand seeking out Viktor’s once again, gaze turning outside the window as they head towards Yakov’s, keeping stubbornly focused on the subject at hand. “Maybe a dog from a shelter, one that’s a little bit older, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind that.”

“A fantastic idea,” Viktor replied warmly, squeezing Yuuri’s hand in his own as the taxi departed. Makkachin was thankfully used to having to travel all over the place with Viktor, so he simply lay at their feet peacefully. The journey to Yakov’s place wasn’t long, and Viktor took Makkachin inside on his own, spending no more than ten minutes explaining to Yakov what had happened and where he had to go. It spoke volumes of the old man’s true nature that he did not actually object, even though it was very close to the beginning of the season.

(It was quite lucky, in the end, that this didn’t happen somewhere in the middle instead; then they would have had no chance of visiting, unless they wanted to throw the whole season away.)

“To the airport, please,” Viktor told the taxi driver when he was back on the backseat with Yuuri. His hand wrapped around Yuuri’s as if he’d never let go of it for a second. Now that it was just the two of them (and the driver), the silence started to seem even heavier, and Viktor started to search around in his mind for something to say that was not the topic they both dreaded. “Have you ever been up on Mount Fuji?” he asked eventually.

#cadeinama #alorssouris #th: you better run

madefate:

He’s starting to get why Viktor might have skipped over the yelling at him part – this almost feels like punishment enough. Emotions are fickle, stubborn, irrepressible things at the best of times and even on a good day, there are plenty of moments when he’d just like to be rid of them altogether. But now – god, he really didn’t just how bad it could be. It’s like everything is right at the surface, like he keeps whiplashing between completely zoning out and hyperfocusing by hairpin turns.

— In one of those swings, he can feel something warm burn in his chest that he doesn’t realize would terrify him on a regular day. There’s a swell of gratitude that balloons almost instantly as Viktor navigates around him, accidentally bumping in his shoulder. Yuri’s eyelids drop a little at the contact, and without realizing it – even surprised by the touch – he leans into it. It’s almost as if something stuffed deep down within wherever he keeps the things he represses has been shaken awake by his head smacking onto solid ice. And for a second, Yuri forgets to hate it.

At the sound of Viktor’s voice, Yuri glances up – also forgetting his usual mask of displeasure. – Not just. He doesn’t actually school his expression into anything at all, and instead of falling back on the safety of shutting the sincerity down ( Viktor’s, his own ) he finds himself nodding in acknowledgement and reciprocity. Then promptly slamming one eye shut as the motion rouses a chorus of displeasure from his throbbing skull and aching neck.

The pain is a good reminder. It grounds him, snaps him out of that languid headspace and back into reality. Fantastic. One more worry to add to the teetering pile of things he has to remember. Things he has to be. He can’t forget that he’s gotten himself into this mess, that it’s some godforsakenly late hour and Viktor is still sacrificing his time to be here with him instead of sleeping or drinking his way to dawn or whatever it is he likes to do more. He can’t forget that the other shoe always drops.

Except. A little voice of reason, grown stronger over the past few months, steps in to remind him that Viktor’s – kind of like this, isn’t he? When he’s not in coaching mode, he’s kind of – soft’s not the right word. Nice is closer. Touchy feely also isn’t great but it’s the best Yuri has through the headache and creeping tiredness ( no way, that is one thing he’s going to stubbornly ignore, thanks ) so he rolls with it. And it’s not the same sort of weird affectionate crap that he pulls with Katsudon or his family ( and thank god for that ) but it’s – it’s almost like there’s a part of Yuri that doesn’t expect Viktor to be mad at him.

So caught up in the wandering, tangling lines of logic, Yuri’s a few beats late to both hear and answer Viktor’s question. And when he does, he does it without thinking, the words already at his lips, ❛ It fuckin’ hurts. ❜ — Crap. Then he’s backtracking, verbally and physically moving away. ❛ But it’s fine. That’s basically done. I’ll get mugs. ❜

It’s kind of awful, but – a small part of Viktor is almost glad for this shitfest. Perhaps – the chance is small, knowing the pain he must be in right now – perhaps he’ll remember more of this in a few days than just the hurt and the humiliation. If they’re lucky, he will remember how Viktor reacted, and how he, Yuri felt about that. It’s obvious, not just from tonight, that Yuri cannot draw a clear line between his expectations of himself and other people’s expectations of him.

Well, he has time, though. However much Viktor wants to help him, sometimes he has to stop himself and pause to think about the fact that Yuri is fifteen, and even if Viktor was not at all like this when he was the same age, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the way Yuri is. Viktor has clear enough moments (not always, not by a long shot, but more and more often as he too grows older and perhaps wiser) to realize that he doesn’t know very many ways to be happy, and what works for him might not work for others. Coaching, too, is about realizing your mentee’s own potential, not making him copy you. Even if you happen to be five times consecutive world champion Viktor Nikiforov.

This line of thought is what makes him let Yuri pull away without a shift in his facial expression. Another time, on a happy and healthy day, he might have pouted, at least in secret, to himself, about Yuri drawing his barriers right back up, after they worked them down somewhat so painstakingly. Tonight, this is fine, though. After all, as he’s been trying nonverbally to let Yuri know, this is not punishment. It’s an unfortunate side effect of Yuri’s injury that he has to put up with not being allowed to sleep, but that alone is far too much discomfort to add to it with anything. Whatever makes him comfortable, Viktor will just roll with it – he did when it seemed the blond wanted his physical closeness, and now he adjusts again.

“Who would have thought,” he comments mildly. There is just a tinge of humour in his voice, and when Yuri looks at him again, it’s plain he didn’t mean anything mean. If anything, part of him hasn’t completely given up hope that Yuri himself might be able to eventually see a little of the bitter humour of the situation. If there is something Viktor and Yuri are alike in, it’s that neither of them likes or ever wants to cry in the company of others – and then, isn’t it better to laugh?

Viktor takes the mugs when Yuri brings them and fills them almost to the brim with the steaming chocolate. The smell alone makes him relax a little, some rigidity he wasn’t even aware of melting out of his shoulders. He digs into one of his pockets, and gets out a small plastic container, and he glances at Yuri while he unscrews the top and shakes two pills into his palm. “I got these from the ER nurse for you. Should reduce the headache.”

#madefate #th: freefall #svoevolye #eventually i will retag you #probably...

nezumi-vc-103221:

It’s so very easy to laugh with Viktor as they walk side by side and the wish that they could sometimes do this hand in hand invades Nezumi’s mind like a treacherous snake. He shakes it off and smiles. Viktor has such a low regard of his own cooking skills it’s a little funny. Nezumi doesn’t consider himself a particularly great cook, his only advantage is sensitive and delicate palate—in other words, he’s picky and he wouldn’t eat just any junk that someone slapped on his plate.

( Unless that someone is Viktor and his culinary experiments. ) Nezumi feels goosebumps cover his hands only thinking about that and for a while is happy that they will be ordering. He could mention that they’re most likely order burgers or fries rather than something cooked, but then remembers how Viktor’s fridge must look like this time of the month and he’s once again glad that they will be having a take out.

Before Nezumi knows it, they arrive at Viktor’s doorstep and are greeted by a joyful dog with the soul of a puppy. Nezumi’s heart palpitates when Viktor stumbles backwards and his eyes go a little wide, but lucky for him, Viktor doesn’t seem to notice as he’s too busy greeting his beloved puppy.

Nezumi gives Makkachin a smile, it’s a different smile than he’s ever given to Viktor or anyone else. It’s a genuinely excited smile that people only have when looking at the animals they love. And Nezumi does adore the pup, knowing ow much he means to Viktor and how much he’s helped him when Nezumi couldn’t be there to hold his best friend. Makkachin has a special place in Nezumi’s heart—a place of gratitude.

“I’ll leave you two,” Nezumi whispers with a hint of a smile in his voice and kicking off his shoes, he walks forward. The somewhat unkempt living room doesn’t bother him in the slightest. His own flat doesn’t look any better only in addition to all the clothes, there’s parts of his costumes that he brought home with him, either for memorial or fixing, books and sheets of papers with texts and notes. Nezumi is way messier than Viktor, maybe that’s one of many reasons they’re such great friends; neither of them is shamed for a little mess in their home.

“I haven’t had good sushi in a while,” Nezumi mentions as he looks at all the colourful menus on Viktor’s fridge. He’s talking to himself for the time being and waits for Viktor to come. “—how about sushi?!” he yells after a moment, still staring at the fridge and rubbing his chin, offhandedly thinking if he should get the alcohol as well or wait for Viktor to do that.

Eventually, Makkachin gives Viktor enough breathing space for him to stand up and get out of his jacket. His fingers are numb from the cold, and he rubs them together a few times before stepping into the living room, his dog still at his heels. Viktor has been travelling a lot lately, as he usually does in the middle of the figure skating season, so it’s no wonder Makkachin missed him. Whenever he can, Viktor takes his dog with him, but even then, he trains a lot, while other people look after the poodle. On the rare occasion that he is home without much to do, they go on long walks, and there are extra treats.

When Nezumi calls out for him, Viktor is in the process of gathering the loose clothing from around the living room. It’s odd – it never bothered him before, and he sure doesn’t bother cleaning up when Yakov or Georgi come over. (Maybe a little bit when Yuri does, but that’s because Yuri loves all opportunities to sharpen his tongue on Viktor.) “Sushi is fine,” he calls back, heading to the bedroom and dumping the pile at the foot of his bed. He doesn’t expect any of his guests to actually come in here, so this room is much untidier than the living room. In this regard, Nezumi is no different.

Finally, hands free, he goes to join the other in the kitchen, grabbing a pair of glasses from one of the cupboard, and then plopping down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ve got a few cold beers, if you want any of those,” he suggests, motioning towards the fridge. He knows it’s likely they will drink a little more heavily than just beer as the evening progresses, but he’d rather eat first, or risk being too hungover tomorrow to be of any use at practice, and Viktor takes himself and his career far more seriously than to do that.

#nezumi vc 103221

nezumi-vc-103221:

Nezumi knows better than anyone what a witty fox Viktor is and he’s in no way certain that he’s managed to convince him that there is nothing serious going on with him. He knows that Viktor knows——only Viktor doesn’t know what exactly he should know and Nezumi knows that he cannot tell him without the risk of compromising their friendship. It’s quite a dramatic and complicated story, much like one of Nezumi’s plays.

Looking at Viktor’s profile, Nezumi’s breath catches in his throat and he finds himself with a light smile easing his lips. How come he’s never noticed how beautiful Viktor is? He’s known him for years, he’s seen him during his best and worst ( or so he thinks ), but he’s never truly seen him.

Why now of all times? Has he always loved him? It’s such a surreal concept for Nezumi to think about. Viktor has been his friend since he can remember, he’s been his only friend and since Viktor, Nezumi has never let anyone close. Nobody seemed worth it, why would they since he’s already had the most amazing man of all Russia so close to his heart.

“—I’m not hungry, yet,” Nezumi shakes his head, knowing that as soon as he has a few shots, he’ll start having all sorts of cravings, “But we better order something now because I’m not arguing with the delivery boy ever again,” he laughs at the memory and looks at the passing clouds for a moment. It’s good that Viktor’s place isn’t far because they wouldn’t be able to take a taxi—well, Nezumi wouldn’t, Viktor can, but Nezumi knows that he won’t. A walk on such a lovely day isn’t half bad.

“Ideas? I might be in the mood for something sweet, actually,” Nezumi mentions, “That hasn’t happened for a while—and something greasy. What would Yakov say if he knew you’re indulging in junk food, anyway?” he throws Viktor a cheeky smirk, smoothly going back to his teasing demeanour that Viktor is used to.

“Well, I am,” Viktor shoots back, grinning. His place is not too far away, and he’s always ready for a walk. Courtesy of being an athlete and a dog owner to boot. Well, and having a best friend who is distinctly not fond of cars, but Viktor would never bring that up. “And just because I order it instead of cooking, it doesn’t mean the food’s unhealthy!” he adds in protest, huffing a laugh. “Knowing my cooking skills in general, it might just be the other way around.”

This starts him off on a tangential line of thought as they walk, about how much better Nezumi’s cooking is, and how fond Viktor is of it. Come to think of it, Nezumi has a lot of qualities Viktor is fond of, even if there are also some that regularly infuriate him. But isn’t that what every friendship is like? Nezumi has a difficult personality, but so does Viktor, and they’ve always been exceptions to each other when it came to treatment.

The walk home is short, spent in companionable silence. Up the stairs and through the door, the pair of them are greeted by an enthusiastic poodle who jumps up on Viktor’s thighs with such force that he stumbles, and with a yelp, falls against Nezumi with his back. “Oof! Sorry! Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” This of course is said to Makkachin, Viktor’s tone semi-exasperated and wholly fond. He kicks off his shoes, and then he’s squatting and petting his dog before even taking his coat off. Nezumi may be his best friend, but so is Makkachin, in a completely different and irreplaceable way.

The living room is a bit of a mess, but better than it sometimes is, so Viktor is not as ashamed of himself as he perhaps should be. A few clothes are left here and there, but no dirty laundry, just sweaters and a pair of sweatpants that he changed out of when he left earlier in the morning. The kitchen is a little worse for wear – another good reason to not even attempt cooking.

“The menus are stuck to the fridge door,” Viktor calls to Nezumi, still on his knees in the entrance. “Pick whatever you like!”

#nezumi vc 103221

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