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open post | 5 | general
◉ drop a comment with one or more of your muses.
◉ Give me a prompt
◉ you can specify any of my muses whom you might like to play with, or I can pick.
◉ Everything goes, even the retired ones, but I can't guarantee good tags from them.
◉ profit!
◉ Give me a prompt
◉ you can specify any of my muses whom you might like to play with, or I can pick.
◉ Everything goes, even the retired ones, but I can't guarantee good tags from them.
◉ profit!
you know who i'm here for
Who could it possibly be...
They don't often get aggressive with him anymore, and that's a damn pity but it comes with the territory. It comes with being in a position of power just like he's been aiming. The party tonight though, Ron had given the okay and who was he to say no to a good time for a heavy donation to business? They roughed him up a bit and he laughed around a grabby MP's cock, more teeth than tongue. Gotten knocked right in the face for that one, someone had gotten ballsy in the heat of the evening. Teddy didn't mind, and still didn't now that everyone had gone and his temple was going from red to blue. He didn't even feel it, not when it matches other bruises, nail shaped crescents, old scars that long since healed. Not when he had a cigarette in his mouth, counting cash in his just his pants and undone trousers. Taking a long drag, he taps the ashes out in the tray, calling out to Ron--wherever he'd gone off to. ]
Got a bunch of generous donations here, Ron.
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[Beyond that, Ron'd probably never admit how fucking good it feels to know there's someone by his side, in it for the long haul. Not gonna leave him for someone smarter or better looking or saner. Seen the way he looks at Reg — 'course he does, Reg is the handsome one and Ron looks like scrap off the butcher's block — but Teddy's loyalty is his.]
How much?
[Not that it matters, not really. He can see it's more than enough, and really it's the fact they're donating anything that matters. But more money is always good money. Keeps the machine oiled and running smooth.]
me? late? never.
Coming up on five grand.
[ He grins up at Ron, wide and toothy, his face swollen near his temple. His cigarette hangs from his teeth, burning away the taste of semen and skin. His is a face that begs for appreciation with pride. ]
also have this one too
this is the shittiest tag in the world I apologize
"We'll be seeing you again soon, you keep the place nice and tidy Charlie." Teddy chimed in with far too chipper a tone and a wink to match as he closed the door behind them, leaving the pub staff to clean up the mess. Hurrying to catch up with Ron, he untucks a cigarette from his pocket for a light.
"Shit Ron, that was fucking amazing."
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Kate heads out as soon as he sends her the address. It's probably (almost certainly, definitely) a bad idea to go clubbing with Tommy Shepherd, but it's way better than being in a shitty bar where everyone is halfway to Vomit Town, so she goes. She's not really dressed for clubbing, either, but she slips through the door past the bouncer and weaves her way through the crowd anyway, looking for a flash of white hair. Tommy tends to stand out whether he tries to or not.
It takes a bit of doing to get to him, but when she does, she touches his arm to get his attention, leaning in so that he'll be able to hear her over the music.]
Hey.
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[It wasn't to say that Vladimira - Mira or Vlatka to those from the Old Country - was a particularly rebellious daughter. Even her fondness of not wanting to bite humans could be seen as an endearing quirk. But sometimes, just sometimes, her Father really, really confused her.]
...Dad? What are you doing with that... is that a photograph? I thought you only kept portraits?
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The photograph in his hands is old, but not so old as to be in black and white. A photographic record did little for them, and the few that he kept in his possession were of places he had been. They were pictures of the wide world, never people. This one, foxed at the edges and a grainy shade of brown tinting the color image, is for her. It shows am old castle in the woods, in the dead of winter. ]
My you do have a sharp memory mou apostrofí. Sit, Mira. This is for you.
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[She does sit, still staring]
What is it you say, photographs are fleeting? Or was it something about them not capturing the spirit? Though I hear there's ghosts who have some real problems with cameras, so... there's that.
⭐ Katsuki Yuuri ⭐ come out to play!
Additionally he never witnessed firsthand why skating on frozen ponds is a bad idea when he was still in Russia because he was too busy skating on well-kept, moneyed rinks. Probably because of that, though, he let old movies go to his head and fell in love with the image of gliding across the ice in some moderately secluded forest, a little haven tucked away from the public eye that he might escape to with his main squeeze and have a romantic outing. A soft-filtered afternoon with his honey on nature's rink! What could possibly go wrong?!
Victor doesn't even test the ice before he's gliding out toward the middle with an idle spin, pink tinging his ears and nose already. ]
Ah, what an adorable little pond! Yuuri, Yuuri! Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?
[ Probably because he didn't want his fiancé to die horribly of hypothermia. ]
this isn't playing this is dangerous.
No meant no, and as he grew up he understood why. You just don't skate on natural ice unless you're sure it's solid enough to carry your weight.
Obviously, Victor has never in his life gotten that memo.
When Victor let go of his hand to sneakily slip on his skates and glide onto the ice, Yuuri could swear his heart nearly stopped. This was a terrible idea, an awful idea--and now Yuuri was going to have to put his skates on too wasn't he? Crap. ]
Victor! You can't skate on natural ice, what are you doing?!
otabek;
for playscoach
The panic attack started as they usually do, with something small triggering a day of minor anxieties into full throttle. He woke up unsettled, but no more than usual. Unsettled, but not on edge, only enough to need to curl up against his husband for a few more minutes in the morning. Viktor hadn't let him. Once their alarm went off and Yuuri had rolled over to bury his face into Viktor's shoulder, he hummed into Yuuri's hair that it was time to get up and up he went to face the day. Full of energy like he always was, and that was fine. Yuuri could manage, he was sure of it. He always did.
He remained unsettled but not on edge through their morning jog, through breakfast. Viktor had gotten out of bed too quickly, wasn't being quite as affectionate as usual, but that was normal--it was training time, and this would be Yuuri's last competitive season. Something Viktor felt the need to remind him again, and again, and again, having gone back into full Coaching Mode. He'd reminded him a total of four times by the time he was tying on his skates at Ice Castle. That was when he felt himself slide onto the very edge of something he wasn't too fond of: unnecessary concern. Viktor, he thought, was really fixated on this being his last season, huh?
It stuck with him as he practiced, as they ran through warm ups, as he landed test jumps and failed to stick a triple toe loop they were working on. This was his last season. Three years after he said his last season would be. His last season with Viktor as his coach, and they had talked about this plenty. Yet the thought of it stuck in his throat today, and it didn't do anything but become tighter when the triplets crashed down to the rink to fill the air with commentary. Here we have Katsuki Yuuri practicing for his last grand prix circuit, do you think he's ready? Wave to your fans!! He waved half-heartedly, conditioned by Viktor's insistence that he be the best role model he could be to his fans, but he wanted nothing more than to get back to practice. He wasn't sure he could handle everything that was the triplets right now, with this pressure building. He needed to get done with practice, to breathe, to just rest with his husband and end the day. He needed to land the triple toe loop. When he did, he looked up, and Viktor wasn't paying attention. He was chatting with the girls, watching something on their phone.
It wasn't until he was changing back into his sneakers that his brain put words to his feelings, sneaking along from ear to ear like a snake under leaves, flashing warning signs and disappearing from view. He's probably getting bored of you.
It was stupid. They had been married for three years. They are in love. Stupid, annoying movie love. Love that still makes Yurio gag even though he's happily dating now. But they had gotten more comfortable being apart for more than a day, hadn't they? That was natural with three years under their belts, right? Was it? Of course it was. He breathed in, breathed out, and they left to head back to Yu-Topia.
He was tense and standoffish. He knew he was, but he couldn't help it, like he was watching himself from outside his own body. He needed a moment to breathe, to remind himself that this wasn't true, but all he could see was Viktor wanting to leave in a year or two, because Yuuri had put on weight again and gotten boring. He told Viktor that he would meet him in their usual spring and pulled away as quickly and efficiently as he could. He needed space.
The attack hit when he slid down into the water. His hands were shaking, and the heat emanating from the water was choking him. Breathe Yuuri. He isn't going to leave you, he isn't bored. This is stupid. But is it? He whimpers into his hands, his knees pulling up towards his chest, his feet up onto his perch on instinct. Viktor isn't going to leave him, Viktor's on his way right now. The seconds feel like minutes--what's taking him so long? He's getting bored, Yuuri. Fuck. ]
no subject
He emphasizes the importance of training more than he has in years past, perhaps to the point of overemphasis but there is purpose to it, knowing the limits of an aging body. Viktor Nikiforov is going down into the record books but that didn't stop his comeback season from being his last, so heavy was the physical and mental toll on a twenty-eight year old body, and it could be argued that he needed to back off. He didn't need to coach at the same time. He didn't need to let his eating habits and exercise slip so much in the year previous.
Ah, but he wanted to at the time. His comeback year ended up being a goodbye to the things he couldn't sustain anymore, Yuuri becoming his last tangible link to the sport he loved. And now... now he couldn't say that he wasn't getting some anxiety about that coming to a close soon too. It came out in fits and starts before, but now that training is on it makes the dilemma real. Couldn't he convince Yuuri to do one more..?
Yuuri is feeling the pressure early. Three years of being married to him has improved Viktor's sensitivity to when it starts, when he feels a unyielding thread wound into the fabric of his personality. His skin is soft but underneath is a stiffness that is difficult to head off until it's already happening - and it is happening, seen in the triple toe that he's landed thousands of times before but suddenly finds difficult. ]
Maybe it's the approach that's giving you trouble. [ Viktor offers, and adjusts the choreography for the next pass. He doesn't see the first attempt after - the triplets have a highlight reel of Yuuri's career they've been prepping and want Viktor's input on before the final cut. He doesn't understand the hooded look in Yuuri's eyes after except in the ways he does and has failed to cut off at the heel.
Viktor tries to make it up later, walking closer to him on the way back home, entangling their fingers together even through the numb reciprocation. He backs off of the training talk, he tries dangling something with a little more taste
and caloriesfor dinner, met with a tepid reminder that training meant leaving that stuff by the wayside courtesy of Viktor's own rule. Which he can't argue with without weakening his arguments to that effect later but...Nothing to do but concede the point, maybe the mood too. Yuuri leaves for their usual spring, a pit beginning to form in the bottom of Viktor's stomach like feeling the weather in his bones. It's going to be a stormy night, and Mari offers him a pro bono shot of hot sake for fortification and drag the rest along to the spring. After a bit.
The thing is over the years he still doesn't know when to give Yuuri his space and when he's better served having Viktor right there with him. Sometimes one is a prelude to the other, allowign Yuuri the privacy to acknowledge what is bothering him, what script his brain has taken to repeating and spiraling down into a pit riding on it. Then Viktor picks up the pieces, patches him back together wishing that there was an easier way to achieve catharsis sheerly on the merit of their years together - that there was a milestone that they could pass that automatically meant they would be immune from the unnecessarily painful parts.
Viktor washes up, perfunctory, and carries the platter laden with sake and some substantial enough finger food toward where Yuuri doesn't so much wait for him as wait out the attack that's already begun, Viktor's heart constricting at such an old, but unrelentingly deep hurt seeing it. ]
Yuuri. [ His voice is gentle, as it always is at the outset of these things. The platter is set within reach of them, Viktor's towel thrown on a nearby rock as he steps in with little to no regard for his own comfort. He sits on the perch alongside his husband, his ring slippery but he's unwilling to remove it almost at all as he carefully sets that hand on Yuuri's shoulder. Slow and steady. Keep it slow. ] Can I hug you?
no subject
He'd gotten lost in his own head, in the tremor of his hands that is much louder a tremor in his head than in reality. He's terribly still outside of his own head, hunched and tense, his hands squeezed between his knees to keep them from being aimless and lost. The feeling of Viktor's hand on his shoulder makes his muscles jump. Viktor's presence grounds him, but it's not enough. He can't look at him, just at the ripples in the water below his knees. He can't look up at confirm what he already knows: that Viktor is getting bored. That Viktor is only there, asking to hug him, giving him more than he can give and less than Yuuri needs because he's obligated by their wedding rings.
Obligated. That's what it is.
Can I hug you? Yuuri isn't sure. His first thought is Yes, please, hug me and never let go, but his whole body tenses at the thought of being touched. If Viktor hugs him he would feel just how much Yuuri is shaking. He doesn't want that, doesn't want to keep being a burden in Viktor's life.
Therein lies the rub, doesn't it? The fact that at times like these the thing Yuuri wants the most is the exact thing he needs the least: space.
Instead of saying yes like he wants he just shakes his head. No, please don't. Please don't feed the inevitable distance. ]
I--
[ He stops. If he talks, he might cry. He can feel it pricking the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head again, closing his eyes and trying to will himself to breathe. ]
For Yuuri~ (in our trashy stripper au)
He’s been this way since Yuuri’s arrival. Viktor was getting ready the day of his audition and came out from the dressing room just as Yuuri began. That was it. The grace of his movements, the raw eroticism of it… Of course one expects that in their line of work, but when Yuuri strutted about the stage and spun around that pole, there was nothing contrived about it. He wasn’t putting on a show of seduction, he was actually seducing. Viktor was transfixed.
And he’s tried to talk to the other man ever since, to no avail. Keeping to himself only makes Viktor more curious to unravel the mystery of this seemingly shy force of nature. Whether it’s by design or happy coincidence, the ritual after-work drink crowd filtered out leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone – finally! Now there’s absolutely no excuse not to chat, unless Yuuri literally runs away. Viktor would be lying if he said he isn’t giddy. He really hasn’t been this interested in someone in… a long time (sorry JJ). He felt like a teenage having a first crush, his palms sweating against his glass and his heart thudding.
Finally he throws back the last of his drink, savouring the astringent burn as it goes down and he turns to face Yuuri with a friendly smile. “Yuuri, right? I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Viktor.”
no subject
That was what Yuuri told himself when he auditioned for the first strip club. It was a small place, but the bouncers were good and the clients kept their hands to themselves. It was a way to make good money doing something he loved doing--and, more importantly if he was honest, something that made him feel worthwhile. Dancing felt good, but dancing with every single eye on him, thirsty for more? That made him feel great. It filled him up until he washed off the makeup, picked up his tips and zipped his coat up to head back home as the sun began to rise. It was only in the weak beginnings of the light of day that he remembered exactly what he was doing, and that he should feel bad about enjoy it so much.
It was only temporary after all.
If anyone asked him why he switched clubs, Yuuri would have said there was no really exciting reason. It was financial, it was the neighborhood, it was the clients, it was the distance from home, it was the fact that his best friend and roommate tended bar there twice a week. None of that was, strictly speaking, true. The reason, if he was being completely honest with himself, was the man he had been avoiding for the better part of three weeks.
It started a couple of months before the opening for another dancer became available. He'd come by on one of his nights off to bring Phichit his phone charger. He was unremarkable, unimpressive in a baggy hoodie and jeans, but there was Viktor only a few yards away on the main podium. Yuuri couldn't tear his eyes away. He sat huddled at the bar ignoring Phichit entirely, barely breathing into his palms, as a barely dressed angel hugged a pole to Purple Rain. He had been in absolute, total awe at the way he moved, slow and sensual with elegance, poise and power.
Yuuri was never going to forget that. Two months later when the opportunity arose, he switched clubs. He regretted it the moment he saw Viktor again; this was all supposed to be temporary.
And so, Yuuri began to avoid Viktor at all costs. He would hurry to change, hurry to leave, keep to himself and hope, pray that Viktor didn't try to talk to him. What would he even say? What could he even say? He would just excuse himself, and regret everything afterwards. This was safer, playing shy when he was really terrified. He had done something so tremendously stupid in changing jobs just to be closer to someone else, someone he didn't even know, someone so full of talent, in a field he had no intention of staying in. This was all a huge mistake.
Another huge mistake? Being friends with Phichit. He was supposed to be gone already, but instead Phichit insisted on pouring him a drink and leaving him sitting at the bar while he did whatever it was he was doing in the back room. Left him at the bar in the giant hoodie his mom sent him all the way from home, the baby blue one with Doraemon on it, with his hair a mess, with the remains of his makeup having left him with a fingerprint on his glasses. Left him with Viktor.
Yuuri smiles awkwardly at Viktor, opting to finish his drink in order give himself mere seconds more time to think of what to do. There was only one thing to do, really, and that was respond. Shit.
"I can't exactly introduce myself if you already know my name."
Shit. What the hell was that?? Smile, just smile, what's wrong with you Yuuri?
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He smiles in turn, head canted and eyes closed as he holds out a hand. Viktor’s determined to take every advantage of this situation. It might be the only chance he gets, so he can’t be put off by the other’s nerves.
“Sure you can,” he chirps. “I’m sure you’ve heard mine before.” Viktor doesn’t use a stage name, why bother? It isn’t like he has much of a social life outside of the club. On his days off, he’s doing yoga or ballet, or just spending time with Makkachin. He’s not all that worried about running into a customer at the grocery store. Most of them wouldn’t recognize him in the cold light of the freezer section anyway.
“How long have you been dancing? Have you known Phichit for long?” Viktor’s careful to phrase them so a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is impossible. “You’re very popular already,” he all but gushes. Yuri is popular, so are Chris and JJ… and himself. But there are dozens who work there. Only a few of them stand out.
“Some of my regulars likes you a lot. I could introduce you if you’d like.”