#l-aryy

[postsofbabel]

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[vodkawrites]

Trick or treat!

"What’s that smell?” Victor asks,crinkling his nose as he walks into their apartment. 

"Oh, I was trying to make macarons but I don’tthink it really worked,” Yuuri confesses as he frowns at the plate.

Unconvinced, Victor takes one of the supposed macaronsand stuffs it into his mouth. Yes, it doesn’t taste anything like the Frenchcookie should - it tastes more like congealed rotten milk - but he isn’t aboutto let Yuuri know that. “It’s delicious,” he lies, as he shoves the rest of itinto his mouth. The sour taste that lingers on his lips is worth the sweetsmile that graces Yuuri’s lips.

[kiaronna]

I wanted to say gush a lot about your characterizations and your style of writing and EVERYTHING but I love all of your fics so much that I'm crying and I can't read anything so have my heart and do with it as you like

*cradles heart* UHHHH

l-aryy, you are so kind to say all these things, and I’m glad my characterizations and style have managed to capture your heart! I put a lot of my heart into the writing, so hearing that it’s reciprocated is ze best. 

COME GUSH WITH ME ABOUT OTHER WRITERS ANYTIME BTW

[omgkatsudonplease]

49 or 1 for prompts!

“i’m too sober for this” / “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it”

@thehobbem is enabling me into writing all the royalty au tropes in the book, so

Yuuri has long suspected that Yurio’s tutor is not who he says he is.

After all, the man dresses extremely nicely for someone on a tutor’s salary. Yuuri had noticed the designer labels on his shoes and coats, the silk and cashmere scarves, the fine leather gloves. They’re all simple but quality, and extremely expensive, so even if being Yurio’s live-in tutor is really Viktor’s only source of income, then he at least had come from money.

This theory is further supported by Viktor’s comportment, by the regal grace in which he seems to command any given room, by his elegant posture and his intimate knowledge of the intricacies of haute cuisine and elaborate Western-style dining. He had impressed Hiroko and Toshiya with his knowledge of French and Japanese cooking, not to mention his ability to determine the proper order of dishes in a kaiseki meal. He’s absolutely rubbish at making things, of course, but he spouts the theory as easily as he can read passages from Tolstoy and Chekhov. 

And while he’s nominally meant to tutor Yurio in ordinary subjects such as reading and writing and maths, Yuuri had caught him once discussing with Yurio something about “proper trade policies between small kingdoms and the European Union”. Yurio had rolled his eyes and responded in his usual abrasive seven-year-old way (”why don’t you just punch the bad guys who don’t wanna trade with you?”) but Viktor had laughed patiently and explained something about hegemonic power structures instead. 

Yuuri doesn’t wish to pry, he really doesn’t. Viktor is very reticent about his past, often clamming up whenever Yuuri asks questions about it, and Yuuri would rather not chase him away if he could. How much that has to do with the way his heart flutters and his cheeks warm whenever he catches Viktor looking at him, Yuuri isn’t sure. 

“Yuuri,” says Viktor one evening, after finishing supervising Yurio’s homework. The seven-year-old has gone to his room to play video games, and Yuuri is helping Mari clear away dishes from the inn’s dining room. Viktor also helps out with this, rolling up the sleeves of his jinbei and pitching in to the best of his ability. He’s gotten better at scrubbing dishes than when he’d first started out, and always beams when Yuuri tells him that. 

“Yeah?” Yuuri asks, as they carry the tubs of dishes into the kitchen, where Toshiya is cleaning up the pots and pans for the evening already. Mari starts to wash the dishes; Yuuri hands them to her and Viktor takes them from her to wipe dry. 

“Thank you,” Viktor says, “for taking me in.” His expression is quiet, pensive – very different from his usual effusiveness. Yuuri’s stomach twists a little at it; perhaps this is the night when Viktor tells him that he’s going to go back to his previous life, or move on to a new one, and leave them all behind. 

“I’m sorry we can’t pay you better,” he jokes instead. Viktor chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I don’t mind, I like it here,” he says, gesturing towards the ryokan. “It’s very open, compared to what I’ve dealt with before.”

“Sounds like you used to be cooped up in cage,” Mari remarks.

Viktor laughs. “It was a very pretty cage,” he says, and then his eyes go downcast. “But it was one, anyway.”

Mari hums, but she doesn’t pry further. Yuuri suspects his sister is just as curious as he is, but neither one of them want to be the first to step over the line.

“Let’s go soak in the onsen when we’re done,” Yuuri suggests instead, and Viktor perks up at that. 

They check on Yurio just before heading to the onsen. The kid has fallen asleep over his video game, head bent over against his pillows with his cat Potya curled up in his lap. She meows at them and leaps off the bed with an irritated shake as they tuck Yurio in, putting his Nintendo DS on the nightstand. Yuuri kisses his forehead, and chuckles when Yurio scowls in his sleep.

“How did a six-time World Champion figure skater like you end up with a kid?” Viktor wonders. Yuuri feels his cheeks flaring; he pushes past Viktor towards the hallway of the ryokan, but the man follows in expectant silence.

Yuuri sighs. “Sochi Olympics,” he says, as if that would explain everything. Viktor arches an eyebrow, and Yuuri sighs again. “I got drunk.”

“But Yurio is seven, not two,” Viktor points out.

“I adopted him when I was drunk and forgot about it the next morning, until the orphanage contacted me later that year reminding me I still had to pick him up. Yurio wouldn’t speak to me for a while when I first got him.” Yuuri laughs sheepishly as they head into the locker rooms to strip for the onsen. “Not exactly the heartwarming found family story you were hoping for?”

Viktor chuckles. “Do you regret it?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “After a while, competitive skating falls into a sort of cycle. Especially if you’re unopposed. And I felt like I couldn’t… couldn’t deal with the added stress of a child on top of my usual… performance issues.”

“Performance issues?” Viktor’s gaze naturally shoots lower, just as Yuuri’s hands are about to roll down his briefs; Yuuri quickly removes his hands, and Viktor chuckles.

“Not that kind.” Yuuri’s certain his face is bright red right now; he tears his gaze from Viktor’s and finishes stripping with the distinct feeling of Viktor’s eyes firmly fixed on his back.

“Good to hear you don’t have that kind of performance issue,” Viktor jokes as they head out to the springs. Yuuri flushes again, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead on the tanuki statue at the end of the pool; he only turns back to Viktor once they are both submerged in the water. Viktor hums contentedly as he tilts his head back, letting his silvery hair float around him. It’s been getting a bit long; Hiroko had offered to trim it back to the length he had when he first arrived, but Viktor had politely declined. 

Yuuri would’ve been content to remain in a companionable silence for the rest of the evening, but Viktor’s expression still seems melancholic, contemplative, so he asks:

“Is something wrong?”

Viktor bites his lip. “So you don’t remember things when you’re drunk?”

Cold fear squeezes at Yuuri’s stomach. “Um,” he says. “Depends.”

“What… what was your first impression of me, then?”

Yuuri gapes at him. “A… handsome stranger? Who happened to be a tutor looking for work, and we needed a tutor for Yurio, so…”

“So you don’t remember anything about our first real meeting,” Viktor states. 

“Where would it have been?” wonder Yuuri, frowning.

“Sochi Olympics,” says Viktor. “I was there, too. I got invited by my country’s athletes to one of the parties, and you were… you were wrapped around a pole.”

Yuuri feels hot embarrassment seep through every cell in his body. “Oh,” he states. “I… I do that sometimes. When I’m drunk.”

“We danced the entire night,” Viktor continues, “and you said you were tired of skating, that you had no inspiration and felt like everyone was going to knock you off the podium the first time they see your weaknesses, and that you wanted to give more to the world than just figure skating records and trophies.”

“And then I adopted Yurio,” Yuuri mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Oh god. I’m too sober for this.”

“That’s not all,” says Viktor, and now he seems determined not to look at Yuuri, fixated instead on the light of the locker rooms and the people flitting around inside. “I felt something for you that night.”

Yuuri blinks. Somehow the onsen has started spinning. Maybe he should get out, this could be bad for his health – 

“Yuuri?” Yuuri blinks again, and Viktor’s concerned expression swims up to him out of the fog that has become his mind. He’s somehow out of the pool now, and hurt is etched in every line of Viktor’s face. 

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say. The fact that a beautiful, refined person like Viktor could fall in love with an upstart skater from the backwaters of Japan is something his brain can’t quite process. He sits down on the edge, feet dangling in the water next to Viktor, his mouth working uselessly. 

“I understand if you don’t actually return the sentiment,” Viktor says, his voice and expression stiff and melancholic. “I’m sorry if I ever seemed like an imposition. I just – I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we weren’t just friends.”

Yuuri’s heart is racing again. Tears are pooling in the corners of Viktor’s eyes; he wants to reach out and wipe them away, but his hands feel heavier than lead. 

“I… I’m sorry?” he manages. “I didn’t know. You never tell me much about your past, so I wouldn’t have known.” Viktor’s expression crumbles further, and Yuuri’s heart lurches into panic mode. “I mean! That’s not to say I don’t want to be more than – I’ve had – I thought you couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like me.”

Viktor blinks at him. “Why would you think that?” he asks.

“You’re… look. You’re just so… you. Perfect. And I’m not.”

“Why do you think you’re not perfect?” Viktor wonders, tilting his head. “I’ve thought you were ever since… well. Ever since I met you.”

“I was a drunken mess.”

“And that drunken mess was the best thing to have ever happened to me.” Viktor laughs, a little ruefully as he presses closer to Yuuri, leaning on the edge of the pool with a sad knit to his eyebrows. “I’m not who you think I am, either. I’m not perfect. I… I ran away from my home, from my country, because I’m a coward and I didn’t want to do the duty I’ve had since I was born.”

“Your duty,” echoes Yuuri. “To your country.”

Viktor nods, and when he looks up at Yuuri his expression is the most open Yuuri has ever seen on him. “I’m the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Petersburg, Yuuri.”

feed me prompts

[postsofbabel]

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[kiaronna]

I keep rereading Just Hold On (We're Going Home) and I can't help but feel like my heart is being ripped into shreds even though I KNOW what's going to happen. It's one of my favourite fics!

Thank you, oh my gosh! JHO was written at a weird time for me and I’m so glad it can affect you that way, even after the first read. I enjoyed writing it, so much. I was addicted to writing it. Knowing that other people like reading it is the perfect conclusion to its existence :)

I LIKE TO RIP HEARTS