evolution of viktor nikiforov’s hairstyle and dress sense over the years
(alternative title: the slow death of katsuki yuuri, ages eleven to twenty-three)
with @n-x-northwest! @lovelytitania and @mixedbird i hope this is something along the lines of what you wanted!!
there are two ways the Iconic Long Hair could go. either: viktor has had waist-length hair since his childhood, and everybody is used to this. no one bats an eyelash. the little rising star of russia wears his hair like rapunzel (note that viktor at this age is still a fairy creature the older generation doesn’t really take seriously), and it is just a part of him, like katsuki’s glasses
or: viktor’s hair is yurio-length, and gradually gets longer just as he’s winning junior competitions and starting to be on people’s radars. past his shoulders and beyond, down to the small of his back, and passers-by look twice at him in the street. ‘listen, nikiforov—’ an rsf official begins, clearing his throat. (he has to stoop down to get on eye level with viktor)
‘can you hold my gold medals for me while i use the bathroom?’ says viktor. ‘thanks.’
the rsf official subsides.
if he grows it out from being short originally, there’s that in-between stage of hair being too long to wear down but too short to put up properly, so lilia does tiny side plaits like these for him, just to get his bangs out of his eyes
the stage of lilia brushing viktor’s hair before competitions doesn’t last long, because viktor soon learns to do everything for himself, and do it better. viktor is very independent
viktor’s hair is so fine that it’s easy to manage and even the most elaborate updos look elegant rather than over-the-top. he is at the age where he isn’t thinking much about his appearance and image, just trying new things for the fun of it, and absorbed in his skating. he works his way up to half-up styles and braided crowns, very tidy and functional and pretty, and he’s at the rink most of the time so he’s usually in comfy long-sleeved shirts and gloves and practice pants with a thirty-seconds-or-less chignon
he gets older. he gets sponsorships. people are taking notice of viktor, important people, and he gets good at being noticed. there is a lot of attention on viktor suddenly, not that it came as a surprise to anyone
sitting crosslegged in front of the full-length wardrobe mirror in his small moscow apartment to comb his hair is a good way to unwind. you can do a lot of things with your hair while not really having to think. it’s probably around this time that he gets into painting his nails
clean, sleek ponytails and ballet buns are the go-to in this period. again, it doesn’t last long; he decides the prima ballerina image doesn’t suit him
the transition to seniors is rough. his limbs are too long all of a sudden, and he has a dry spell or maybe an injury. at this point it occurs to viktor that you can accomplish a lot of things by making an effort to look nice. being yakov-banned from the rink and doctor-banned from off-ice training leaves viktor with plenty of free time, and he spends several puzzled hours in boutiques and clothing stores
by the time puberty is through with viktor, he’s figured out that he’s going to be tall, and promptly embraces it. this is the phase where he wears nothing except jeans and high heels. french braids and messy soft updos are favourite options
viktor gets his groove back. returning to the podium means he’s approached with various offers to model for ad campaigns, and viktor starts wearing mascara whenever he goes outdoors. he likes soft pastel colours, gentle greys, comforting sweaters and blouses. yakov moves him to st. petersburg and gets him a bigger apartment. viktor gets a puppy.
some skating magazine does a ‘what’s in your bag’ feature with viktor nikiforov. notable items include: hair ties, band-aids, sports drink, lip balm, a handful of candy, and a photo of makkachin
viktor breaks his first record. all the older champions have retired. he does interviews where they call him the best of russia’s generation, possibly of all time. viktor spends a lot of time in classic black dresses or tailored suits paired with heels and red lipstick, and wears his hair mostly loose. his english improves. soon the famous nikiforov charisma will be impossible to overlook
viktor enjoys the limelight, since he finds he’s very good at being in the public eye. it’s entertaining
this next phase is Peak Viktor. multiple record-breaking programs, fashion icon/celebrity athlete, competition-scores-out-of-this-world, Could Russia’s Viktor Nikiforov be the Greatest Figure Skater in History? young adult viktor. he’s the face of so many big-name brands that half his wardrobe is high-end, and then more. viktor impulse-buys a lot of skincare products and renovates his st. petersburg apartment, not that it makes any difference to makkachin.
hairstyles get increasingly elaborate, not least because he spends so much time being dressed up and retouched for magazine photoshoots. viktor can wear anything designers put him in, no matter how avant-garde. the time for being young and gentle and ethereal is long past. he discovers his talent for looking like an otherworldly creature who could eat you alive, which is the sort of thing people expect from the reigning king of the ice. (at this point viktor just automatically shows up to casual lunches wearing a smokey eye)
viktor gains a reputation for making even the most hideous skating costumes work. he makes sure he also gains a reputation for being charming and pleasant to work with
he reads articles calling him a sex symbol, so viktor perfects his playboy wink
when he’s well and securely into his winning streak viktor moves towards a more conventional style. simple lines and good quality fabrics, everything chosen to radiate expensive, gorgeous confidence. he wants to look older, established and in control, with the kind of comfortable stylishness everybody takes for granted. the hair changes again, but it’s so troublesome to maintain long hair
he doesn’t stop painting his nails because they don’t go well with the new look. he adopts a new look because he’s too tired to paint his nails
side undercut is an easy transition to cutting the hair off for good
the final hairstyle change is meant to be permanent. it’s not quite an undercut, definitely longer than otabek’s or jj’s, especially when viktor lets the sides grow out; he grows out his hair as long as he possibly can while still keeping it short. sometimes he misses... not long hair itself, exactly, but the feeling associated with having it, the feeling of being the person he was back then
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#16: "sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn [[emotionally??]] intense"
many things about this are thanks to @mixedbird
(sex tropes meme)
16. sleepy morning kisses that accidentally turn intense
The sofa doesn’t look comfortable. It is too stiff, and it can barely fit Makkachin and one human, let alone two humans, let alone two humans snuggling with each other and their dog, so Yuuri dislikes it on principle. The sky’s turning pink and dove-grey through the windows when Yuuri pads out of the bedroom, in Viktor’s fuzzy slippers, to find Viktor on the sofa.
Yuuri frowns at St. Petersburg and the world from the doorway of their living room.
‘It’s six in the morning.’
Over the mug of hot coffee he’s nursing, Viktor wrinkles his nose in apology. ‘Body clock.’
The coffee smells nice. Yuuri’s feet carry him across the room and onto Viktor, onto the sofa, nestling himself on top of Viktor instead of the cushions, which are less welcoming anyway. Viktor sets his mug carefully on the coffee table to avoid spilling any steaming liquid on Yuuri. Viktor’s long legs rearrange themselves around Yuuri; Yuuri settles himself into the curve of Viktor’s body, wrinkling Viktor’s grey T-shirt worn threadbare at the seams. He lifts Viktor’s left arm to make more room for himself and then, after a second’s thought, tucks himself underneath it. Yuuri picks up the coffee mug with both hands and takes a long sip.
‘Help yourself,’ says Viktor, low and amused. Yuuri reaches out and touches Viktor’s eyelashes with a fingertip. Viktor’s built his entire media image on being beautiful and untouchable, and now, sweatpants pooling around his ankles, feet curled like two small animals on the arm of the sofa, he looks so very, very inviting. He has crust in his eyelashes. Yuuri loves him.
‘Awake yet?’ Viktor asks. His hand creeps up the back of Yuuri’s shirt, the stretched-out hem just long enough to cover the tops of Yuuri’s bare thighs.
‘No.’ Yuuri puts down the mug and closes the distance between their mouths, to chase the lingering bitterness of coffee on Viktor’s tongue. His palms are on either side of Viktor’s face, and he can touch the soft creases underneath Viktor’s eyes. Viktor’s thumb traces the bruises he sucked into Yuuri’s neck last night, presses a little too hard into tender skin, and Yuuri flinches and bites at Viktor’s mouth.
Yuuri pulls away only after they run out of air. Even then, it’s difficult; Viktor nearly doesn’t let him. Yuuri touches the pad of his index finger to his own tongue, runs it over the soft seam of Viktor’s lips, and Viktor closes his eyes.
Viktor wakes up to Yuuri looking at him. Yuuri’s sitting up in bed, curled against the headboard with one arm over Makkachin and Makkachin’s head and paws in his lap, and his eyes are sleep-crusted; he must’ve just woken up himself. Viktor gazes at them both for a bleary minute or two, unsurprised.
‘You scared me last night,’ Yuuri says, his voice very quiet. Makkachin’s still asleep, snuggled between them; it doesn’t seem right to talk about these things in front of Makkachin.
And yet you’re still here, Viktor does not think. He puts a hand out to feel Yuuri. Yuuri smoothes Viktor’s hair back from his forehead.
‘Really?’ Viktor can’t remember what he said last night. He must have said a lot of things, then. ‘I’m sorry.’
Yuuri makes a low, dissatisfied noise full of the matter-of-fact stubbornness Viktor adores: don’t be sorry, what’s the point. He puts his arms around Viktor and pulls Viktor’s head into his lap. Viktor twists around to put his cheek against the cool, velvety skin exposed where Yuuri’s shirt rides up. His mind goes comfortably blank, but Yuuri’s must still be lingering on some forgotten remark or other, for Yuuri asks:
‘Do you really think that?’
Viktor has no idea what Yuuri’s talking about. Viktor thinks a lot of things. Viktor replies anyway (muffled into Yuuri’s belly, arm draped over Yuuri’s thighs), ‘Sometimes.’
Above him, there’s a long pause. When Viktor glances up, Yuuri looks so upset that Viktor slips his hand beneath Yuuri’s shirt to get his palm on Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri cups the back of Viktor’s head. Next to them, Makkachin snuffles and seems to be stirring, and Yuuri absently reaches out and scratches between Makkachin’s ears to soothe him back into slumber.
‘You make me better,’ Viktor says.
‘How?’
‘By being you.’
Yuuri is holding him very tightly. Viktor turns his head to press his lips to the inside of Yuuri’s elbow. His eyelashes brush Yuuri’s skin. ‘I wish I could make you better all the time.’
