#piyo ballerina

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Thanks for the tag @snowflake-sunflower!!

10 songs you've been listening to a lot recently and tag 10 people:

1. Star Of The County Down - The Irish Rovers (I've been listening to obscene amounts of Irish folk because I've been rereading lotr and it fits well with hobbits)

2. The Cult Of Dionysus - The Orion Experience

3. Angel Of Small Death And The Codeine Scene - Hozier (it bangs lads!!!)

4. Concerning Hobbits - Howard Shore

5. Cicciolina - Erika Vikman (Eurovision winner in my heart...)

6. Work Song - Hozier

7. Gunfight at the Dolorous Guard - The Mechanisms (this band is so good PLEASE check them out!! the albums have stories in them tho so please listen to the songs in order, they got it all: immortal space pirates, King Arthur's legend but they're cowboys and in space, "space rock opera that's also a detective story" version of ragnarök (not the movie, the norse mythology apocalypse), tons of LGBT+ characters...)

8. Kisses of Fire - from the Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again movie (tbh the whole soundtrack bangs)

9. Buffalo Run - Orville Peck

10. Platform Ballerinas - MIKA

I'll tag uhhh @juniper-pompadour @celebrimbot @nutmegs-tired @jul-likes-magpies @allergekko @soft-gay-kid @neroushalvaus @seksivitsi @piyo-13 @kuuttituutti

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Its Puella Shonen Natsuki Magica everybody!

So me and @ifanclover have a dead AU and I kept promising I’d draw my idea of what it would look like and never did, so in honor of Madoka’s birthday I finally did it! I’ll probably draw everyone else eventually. E v e n t u a l l y .

Art rambles:

• just a reminder to watch Madoka Magica bc its beautiful

• just bc I cheated on body proportions doesn’t mean I can draw clothing proportions

• he looks more like a ballerina than a magica girl but whatever

• PIYO PIYO PIIIIYO PIYO PIYO-CHAN!

• being idoruu is suffering

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prompt: chris has a day off training!

@piyo-13​ Three Times Christophe Giacometti Took a Day Off And The One Time He Didn’t one. 

The new Game of Thrones book comes out. Christophe is not the sort of person who woke up one morning and decided that, as a matter of personal style, he desperately needed reading glasses that were too big for his face, over-round, thin-framed. No: Christophe is the sort of person who stayed up reading for hours after bedtime growing up, hidden under his sheets with a flashlight in a third-story flat in Geneva, Switzerland. He’s now the sort of person who has a prescription for reading glasses. The reason Christophe has been in a steady relationship with well-understood, respected boundaries carefully and lovingly crafted around his never-ending ability to devise new ways to flirt isn’t because he’s an Olympian, or because he’s famous, or even because he’s got an ass you can bounce a euro off of. Christophe is in a steady relationship because on his third date with Julien they fell into a conversation about Macbeth, and on the fourth they talked about why they he loves the Silmarillion more than The Hobbit, and by the fifth, Julien loaned him one of his favorite books: Invisible Cities, by Calvino.  Julien also bought him his tablet, a necessity Christophe resisted for years because there’s such satisfaction in a handheld book. It’s the kindle, with all the fancy paper-lighting, something as close to the real thing as possible. It keeps him occupied on planes and trains, where he churns through more books than anyone would expect; anyone except the people who know him best. Sometimes it feels like he’s gone more than he’s home. It’s nice to hold onto this device and remember that someone who loves him bought it once, because they were thinking of him. Back to Game of Thrones: he does stretches with the tablet on the floor, then tries to skate a lap around the rink for warm-up with it still in front of his face. His coach looks like a nice guy, and he doesn’t have a reputation for yelling only because Yakov Feltsman is currently the gold, silver, and bronze medalist for that sort of shouting. “Christophe. Go home.”

two. 

It’s the end of the 2014 season, Sochi. Christophe has won a bronze medal comes in second place behind Victor again at Worlds. The next week he’s already back at the rink, trying to figure out how to steal Victor’s quad-flip triple-toe combination when Julien puts his foot down. They’ve been dating for almost a year now: Julien’s his choreographer, or has been since he fired the last one.  (He fired the last choreographer for being a fucking snob. Christophe does not do what Victor does, what Yuri Plisetsky will someday do. He is not a ballerina. When he thinks about dance he thinks about the laws of attraction, about romance, about sex. He doesn’t care if the judges prefer waltz and ballet to tango and salsa. They hire Julien because Julien won a salsa championship while still in college, dancing with a male partner. It’s very possible Julien is his actual soulmate. Long-suffering, enduring, dance-is-sexy, always-needs-a-haircut, literature-nerd Julien.) Back to 2014. They’ve been dating for almost a year. They’re tip-toeing around the idea of moving in together, of making it a little more official. “I am not choreographing you a program right this minute.”

“Jules, babe, I -” 

“No.” Julien marches him into a travel agent’s office forty-five minutes and one argument later. “Hello,” he says, through clenched teeth and a too-perfect smile. “We are in love. We want to go on a vacation.”

“Where to?”

Julien has only two requirements: wherever they go has to be somewhere they can leave for tomorrow, and it needs to be remote enough that there is zero possibility of a skating rink. They spend a week in Bali in one of those little villa huts with a walkway out to a beach. Every beverage they drink has a little umbrella in it.

“What about Touch Me from Spring Awakening?” Christophe’s in the process of being stripped out of his shirt; Julien is drunk and handsy and leaving marks on his neck. 

“I swear to God, Christophe, I can make you sleep on the couch for this entire trip.”

Christophe grins a coyote smile and cups Julien’s ass. “Too easy.” 

Jules bites him for it. Which may have been what Chris was going for.

three. He is the best man in a wedding. Christophe has known Victor Nikiforov for a goddamn decade. He has seen Victor at his professional best and his personal worst. He’s an artifact of the years before Yuuri Katsuki, the years when he’d text Yakov to suggest Victor maybe had too much to drink, or the competitions where Yakov suggested Christophe could maybe take Victor out for a night on the town, remind him how to have fun again, get inside of that unknowable perfect-champion head of his. 

Nobody’s skating today because everyone who could possibly be skating is here. Everyone who could possibly be skating is drunk at the reception; Phichit Chulanont grows big, watery eyes while he gives his best man speech; Yuri Plisetsky is off making teenage mistakes with another one of the wedding guests while everyone pretends not to notice. Christophe’s getting a refill of champagne and not paying attention when a cheer goes up from the assembly and oh, he realizes, they’ve just thrown the bouquet and oh.

Julien is the one who’s caught it, and only because he happened to be walking by to talk to one of the caterers and it hit him in the face.

There is a stripper pole in the banquet hall; all Victor’s doing. Christophe and Julien come in second place in the duet dance battle, only, Christophe insists, because it’s rude to beat the newlyweds at a contest. 

Julien is the one who signed him up for lessons in the first place.

four. 

It is the day after the Barcelona Grand Prix Finals. Christophe and Julien are spending the weekend staying over, ostensibly for two days of oceanside R&R. Which may be why Julien is currently hunting him down at the rink with an air of patient exasperation, the kind of contradiction in terms that only Jules can pull off. Actually, Julien is rather good at masking his expressions, but Christophe can read the ways his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Did you see his exhibition skate?” Christophe asks, pre-empting the argument before they can have it. Everyone is talking about who-showed-up-who at the exhibition skate, whether or not Victor and Yuuri stole Plisetsky’s thunder with Victor’s return to the ice, or whether the Altin cameo in Yuri’s Shock-And-Awe attempt made up for it.

In Christophe Giacometti’s humble opinion, people participating in that debate are missing the point.

He’s the sexy one. 

Not some twinky teen whose molecular makeup is currently hormones and rage who went on a shopping rager and decided to go all Hot Topic on the ice. “Welcome to the Madness,” he scoffs, and scowls at his choreographer-turned-boyfriend. “We are teaching that child a lesson at Europeans, Julien.” Julien reaches into his jacket and pulls out a notebook that Christophe has learned to recognize. He carries it at every competition, keeps choreography notes, writes down little sketches when inspiration strikes. “I may have a few ideas.” What was it Victor said about always getting inspired late in the season? 

Here they are now. “God,” Christophe hums appreciatively. “I love you.”

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