pleazetsky:

acepalindrome:

senorbunnicula:

acepalindrome:

senorbunnicula:

acepalindrome:

I can’t believe there are 19th century Victuuri AUs that don’t involve Victor having to retire to a fainting couch multiple times a day over Yuuri just…existing. Chris keeps smelling salts on hand for his oh so delicate friend.

“Oh dear, did poor Mr. Nikiforov fall ill again? Whatever could have happened?”
“I understand that Mr. Katsuki smiled in his direction and Mr. Nikiforov fell into a swoon.”
“Good heavens!”

Yuuri, writing in his journal that evening:

“I had thought I looked well in my new blue waistcoat, but upon seeing me in it, Mr Nikiforov swooned from what was no doubt dismayed shock, so I suppose not.”

Further entries in Yuuri’s journal: “I went calling upon Mr. Nikiforov today, who seems to be recovering from his illness. We took a most pleasant walk around his estate, but when the terrain became uneven, I was perhaps too bold and offered Mr. Nikiforov my hand, which caused him to develop a case of the vapors! I tried to offer my handkerchief as he was perspiring most profusely, but his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground! Is my presence truly so offensive to him?”

Victor, relating the incident to Chris:

“When he suggested a walk about the grounds, I thought perhaps he might propose! Alas, he did not. But our hands touched! His perfect skin brushed mine; I almost died right there! And then he offered me his handkerchief!! It smelled so divine, I fell to my knees in worship.”

While Mr. Giacometti and Mr. Chulanont appear to be ardent supporters of the the match, young Mr. Plisetsky has condemned both Mr. Katsuki and Mr. Nikiforov as an utter disgrace and their behavior the height of impropriety. His opinion of Mr. Katsuki is particularly unfavorable, but his judgement is perhaps colored by the unfortunate affair in which Mr. Katsuki became inebriated at a ball and challenged Mr. Plisetsky to test their skills against one another in the subject of dancing, to which Mr. Katsuki soundly defeated the youth.

“Bloody hell,” Mr Plisetsky cursed as he bit down a few
slices of ham. He was nothing short of stabbing the food on his plate. That is
not to say Mrs. Nishigori had not arranged a fine soiree this evening.  A pity that he could not, for the life of him,
enjoy it to his heart’s content, for the encounter at the ball had managed to
creep back into his consciousness of late.

“Manners, young man.” He turned to see whose voice it was,
only to discover it was Mr. Leroy’s, the Canadian business magnate who had more
hair than wit. Seated beside him was Mr. Giacommeti, who seemed to agree with
the sentiment with a ridiculous hum.

He debated on responding, yet he decided to indulge them. Making
a show of studying his cutlery, he said, “This rather pales in comparison with last year’s stunt with Mr. Katsuki, don’t you think?”

“Last year’s stunt?” Mr Katsuki cut in.

“You mean to say you don’t remember? Why, I recall it as
though it happened last night!”

“I do not,” a response that met a rather stunned silence,
only to be broken by what seemed to be the sound of a choking Mr. Nikiforov.