#it’s true i’m a silver level smooth dancer
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Heads will role
Warnings: Violence, light swearing, angst
Word Count: 2,955
Summary: You are an opera singer with a public life that has been blackmailed to work for a secret organization. Your current mission gets sabotaged by Bucky.
Notes: This is mostly exposition so sorry if that’s not your thing. This is also my first fic EVER so please by kind!! Also, I’m still trying to get a handle on how to post on this platform so please, please be patient with me! There are a couple links in there for music. I’m actually an opera singer so if you know about stage life at all this will make sense to you, if not, ask me! I have links in there for the music I was listening to (kind of like a soundtrack) while I wrote this. I think it makes the story more fun to read but up to you. I will probably continue this into a second part because our reader’s story isn’t done yet and I need more interaction with Bucky, but I hope you enjoy!
For @mermaidxatxheart‘s 500 Followers Challenge!!
They picked you because of your background - documented stage combat training, classical dancer, martial arts expert. They picked you because of your name. It was easy to remember, and just as easy to forget, rolling off the tip of the speaker’s tongue. They have picked you because you had a reason to fight and those reasons came in five loving bodies waiting for you back home.
But mostly they picked you because you had the easiest cover story of anyone in the department. If anyone was going to be able to get all of the necessary international documentation quickly and easily, with the fewest eyebrows raised, it was you. An internationally accredited opera singer.
This used to be one one of your favorite roles, but as the opening chords of Anna Bolena by Donizetti vibrates through the house of La Fenice you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart for the job you knew you had to do. Taking a deep breath you fixed your headpiece one more time and smoothed out your gold and red satin gown.
The lights glowed hot and little flecks of fog could be seen as you stepped onto the stage for your first scenes as the tortured queen in Donizetti’s masterpiece.
There were lots of things that could go wrong with this mission and as you looked up at the first box and saw your target the music was the farthest thing from you mind. Heavy red curtains hung around him that when drawn would give you the cover you needed to get the job done. It would have to be at the end of the first act. It was the only way to keep your cover.
“They” had specifically designed tonight’s opera around what needed to be done. At the end of the act you would dramatically faint during the fight scene between Percy and Smeton rolling to the other side of the bed where a body double would be waiting to take your spot. It was only a 60 second scene. There wasn’t any room for error. Some of the crew had even been taken down with a fever that morning and you knew that their “replacements” would be there in the wings to get you to the trap door leading into the box. The perfect cover. Plausible deniability. You, yourself a “tortured diva” at the end of the performance. Well, at least that part would be true you thought to yourself as the tenor playing your opera husband banged through the doors of your stage room. Now was the time. At the first sound of steel being drawn you put a hand to your forehead dramatically and rolled on top of your fake bed to the other side. The two fighters cut a curtain that fell dramatically across the bed and you swapped with your body double.
60 seconds. “They” were there. Fourteen pairs of hands were on you, stripping you of your big skirts and headdress, attaching your hidden harness to the rigging and in 7 seconds you had a sword in your hand and were being flown straight up to the third level to the trap door.
You hit with a thud that was covered by the swell in the orchestra.
13 seconds. Two. One. Now
You push open the door and spring into box as the lights flash. You don’t know who you strike and your knife flashes across the top of the seat placed at the front of the box. You never ask who your target is. You’re sure you’ll read about that tragedy later.
Something’s wrong. As soon as you hear a thud you realize that no one is there. There isn’t a body where there should be one. You look around in haste. The box is empty.
You look at the chaos on the stage and down to your watch on your harness unsure of what to do. Puzzled you look around. You look straight to the box on the other side of the house and see two eyes watching you intensely in an unlit box.
“Shit.”
You duck quickly behind the curtain and look at your watch. 45 seconds. You have to be back on stage! This mission is a bust!
You rolled back to the other side of the box and quickly threw your legs up over the trap door, clipping yourself in as you swung it shut again. Pulling the break you sped down the last twenty feet of wall with the team waiting below you.
You knew you would never see their faces again as the grabbed you and started dismantling your harness and putting you back in your costume.
You were quiet and pensive as a skirt came around your waist and a headdress was placed at the top of your head.
“He wasn’t there.” you whispered.
The flurry of hands around you stopped as the dresser in front of you looked in your eyes and her face went white.
“60 seconds” the man behind you cursed. You knew this would be your last night on stage. You knew that the people who had just helped you in and out of you costume were never going to make it out of the theater doors alive for your failure. You just had to get through this next act and prepare for whatever came after.
As you rolled back onto the stage and began singing the last few lines of act one finale you mentally prepared for you what you were going to be facing later tonight.
You raced back to your dressing room. You had to think. Thankfully you weren’t in the first scene of the second act and could form a plan. Ordinarily you’d stay in you costume but tonight your dressing room became a staging ground for the battle you knew you were about to face.
“They” expected you to be at the gala tonight. Your evening gown was even hanging in the closet to your left but you dove right past it and grabbed the black bag that you had made improvements on as soon as you had gotten tapped by “Them”.
You reached in about found your four inch knife and holster, strapping it to your thigh. It was a smooth weapon that would barely made a line through your dress. You dug out your passport, obviously a fake, and tucked it into your bra for later. It was only about 5 minutes before they were knocking on your door.
“Ms. Y/N, 5 minutes to places.”
“Thank you, five!” You called through the door praying the poor stage manager wouldn’t come in seeing you in such a state.
You climbed back into your costume and prepared for the second act...and the chase of your life that was bound to follow.
The final chords of the opera played furiously as the curtains fell. The audience roared their gratitude as the executioner stood before his block, sword in hand. It was the last image they saw before a black out. You breathed deeply trying to get the air back into your lungs that you had just given in that final aria. Everyone around you was congratulating each other on a show well done and it was all you could do not to run for your life.
You slowly made your way to your dressing room where a flurry of costume techs were surrounding you - hands coming from all different directions. You flashed back to act one.
Those eyes in the dark box. Blue and curious. Waiting and ready.
Who was it? Why did he compromise you?
Whoever he was you knew that it didn’t matter. Right now you just had to get to the next door.
As the last tech left you slipped your silver evening gown over your body double checking that your knife and passport where still on your person.
Looking around the room one last time you looked at the picture of your family - the five people you’d be leaving behind and sighed. Undoing the frame itself you folded the picture and tucked it safely into your knife holster.
Taking one last look around the room you walked out the door.
You brushed your way past the chorus and backstage hands weaving your way through the throng. You didn’t stop to chat as people yelled “Brava” to you as you brushed back.
Your dress brushed around your legs as you rushed back up to the stage hoping to make it to the loading dock and slip out the door unnoticed. You wove your way around the set. The tower, throne, and executioner's block still out waiting to be reset by stage hands.
You heard voices coming toward you and hide behind the raised throne’s dias waiting for them to pass. You breathed low and slowly so as not to be heard.
Staying low you backed away from the throne watching the stagehands as they left through the door. Crouched down you reached for the door behind you while still watching to make sure no one came.
Cold, smooth, ROUND metal met your hand.
(Music)
Panicked you swung your head around as your fight or flight instincts kicked in. You dropped your clutch, you hand forming a fist as you punched straight for the crouch now directly in your sight line.
You heard a groan as you twisted around the man now doubled over in pain almost making it to the door before two arms wrapped themselves around your waist and picking you up back toward the stage. You brought your legs up and pushed against the wall, using it as leverage and kicked pushing your attacker back and over a box. His grip loosened slightly and you threw your head back into his. Using the momentum of your fall you flicked your legs over your head grateful for the flexibility that years as a dancer had given you.
Reaching through your dress slit you grabbed your knife and came over the top or your opponent to stab his chest, your head above his. His hand grabbed your wrist inches from his chest and for a moment you registered that his hand was the smooth metal you had felt from earlier. Shocked you looked into his cool blue eyes and saw him smirk at your discovery. His hand squeezed slightly, twisting your wrist and dislodging the knife from your grip. It bounced harmlessly against his chest.
With a singer’s scream you swept your right leg around his through using the grip he had on your wrist against him pulling his arm straight up as you sought to cut off his air supply.
You felt your stomach lurch as he picked you up as though you weighed nothing, your bare leg peaking out of your dress, still wrapped around his neck.
“Who is this guy!” You thought to yourself. This was taking too long and all of his moves were nearly missing you. He had you in the air and threw you onto the mattress of the bed you had started this mission on. Having been rolled to the wings during the intermission you only had about two feet of clearance between you and the wall. You crawled around to the head of the bed, knowing there was a fake backing, while he made his way to the foot. Slinking around the side you felt a sharp piece of the bed frame graze your face stinging as your ran for you knife lying on the ground.
Three loud, long steps sounded behind you. And you felt air as the man dove for your knife trying to get it away from you. Knowing that he would get there first you stopped, remembered the executioner's block he had fallen on at the beginning of your struggle and changed course. You wiped the blood from your cheek and picked up the sword. His eyes followed your blade as it pressed against his neck.
“Don’t move”.
“Mercy” he said. Now that you had the advantage you took in the person in front of you. He looked at up at you half sitting up with you knife in his hand.
“I’m not going to hurt you” he said dropping your knife on the ground as he looked straight into your eyes.
“Really,” you scoffed, “The bruises on my knees and hips say otherwise.
“Self defense.” he shrugged.
“WHAT?”
“You threw the first punch.” He said matter of factly, “And it was a cheap shot too.” His eyes squinted as he cocked his head to the side away from your sword.
You were thrown for a second but pressed the blade back to his carotid.
“Who are you?” You demanded.
“That’s what I was going to ask you, doll. I would say Y/F/N Y/L/N considering I just heard you sing but the way you just fought would say you’re a little bit more than that. Then there’s that pesky detail of you trying to kill our poor friend in that box.”
You panicked for a moment.
“No one was supposed to know about this mission. Where are you getting your information? Who do you work for?”
He laughed as he slowly got off his knees, hands up in defeat, your sword still precariously place on his neck.
“Let’s just say I have some very patriotic friends who can’t seem to mind their own business.”
You stood in confusion as you pieced together his words.
What happened next was entirely a blur. His metal hand swirled around the blade of your sword and the clang of metal sounded as it hit the floor.
You found yourself with your arms at your sides pressed up against the man’s broad chest. You felt tiny compared to his large frame and had to pull your head back to keep from being two inches from his face. You were so close could smell his musky aftershave.
“So, do you want to tell me who you are now, doll?”
“You already said you knew who I was” you retorted.
“True, Y/N, but I don’t know WHY you’re here.”
“I had a job to do” you looked away from his eyes in slight shame. You didn’t want to answer these questions.
“Yes, which you failed because the president got a suddenly violent flu before the end of the duet.”
You raised your eyes in shock and looked into his deep blue ones.
“Who are you?” You gasped in fear.
“I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.”
A shadow fell across the back wall behind Bucky. You saw it coming fast and furiously, eyes widening.
Bucky, seeing the fear in your eyes, released you and turned to face the attacker. You knew there was no running from this.
A black blur was all you could see as you realized these would be your final moments and you prayed to whatever God there was out there to keep your family safe. At least if you died they wouldn’t know what you did... you hoped.
Instead of the pain you knew was coming you heard grunting and fighting instead. Opening your eyes you saw Bucky fighting off your attacker, throwing him across the backstage with a yell. The black-clad attacker fell into the executioner's block with a loud THUD. You chuckled for a moment over how heads had rolled over this prop tonight.
You gaped for a moment as Bucky went in pursuit of the attacker following him over the block. He landed a nice right hook across the attacker’s face.
You knew this fight wouldn’t last long. Bucky really had avoided hurting you when you fought. He wasn’t holding back now. You took this opportunity to get out of the grips of both your attackers, picking up the knife Bucky had dropped and dropping down to the trap door of the backstage to get out to the loading dock’s alley as quickly as possible. You didn’t know what your next stop would be, but you knew that the next stop was going to be completely of grid.
As you slunk from shadow to shadow down the alley in your evening gown, you faded wordlessly into the Venician night. Running was going to be your life now.
If only it would be that easy. You pulled out your family’s picture from your knife holster and thought for a moment.
Once you had criss crossed the Venetian canals long enough to distract any pursuers you walked into a small tourist shop and grabbed a postcard from an outdoor spin tower.. La Fenice was on the front. You also grabbed a pen and kept walking. No one suspected you to lift while you were dressed like this and you used it to your advantage.
You needed a message. Something only your family would understand. Saying that you were safe. Saying that you would watch out for them. Knowing that they would worry regardless you wrote one word on your postcard. It seemed insignificant, but it had been a password for your family since your youngest sibling had been born. They would understand. They had to.
You searched for a post bin and slipped your message inside, and with it said goodbye to your life. Turning, you squared your shoulders, head on swivel, and you hopped on a water taxi. You still weren’t sure what Bucky was doing there tonight but he was the reason you were in this situation. As the boat pulled back from the doc you made your way through the warm humid night. Whoever found you first, you’d be ready.
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Never Ending Survey: Toshi
Rules: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!
Tagged by: @gildedandgolden
tagging: Everyone I wanted to tag was already tagged but I shall throw in a few peeps AKA @benes-diction @theaetherhealerffxiv and @talechaser-ffxiv <3
basics.
FULL NAME: Toshinaku ‘Bajhiri’ formerly known as Sozoh’a Bajhiri
NICKNAME: Toshi by just about everyone really, he prefers it to his full name most of the time.
AGE: Unknown, Looks to be in his Early to Mid Twenties. He is a voidsent after all, Age means nothing to him.
BIRTHDAY: 29th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon
ETHNIC GROUP: Au Ra (Cursed Form), Voidsent (True Form)
NATIONALITY: Former Memeber of the Bajhiri Clan
LANGUAGE/S: Eorzean Common, Huntspeak (Keeper and Seeker), Dravanian/Draconic, Ancient Allagan and Voidsent. Knows enough about other languages to manage.
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Homosexual
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Not really interested, No one can sway/win him over
HOMETOWN / AREA: A dense forest found in the deepest parts of the North Shroud.
CURRENT HOME: Nomadic
PROFESSION: Master Alchemist and Engineer, takes up the study on Genetics and Genetic Altering (As well as a darker business in the background selling Fantasias). Entertainer and Belly Dancer in Ul’dah, offers his services as a male prostitute as well.
physical.
HAIR: Long and down to the top of his tail, Burgundy colored with purple tips, usually kept fairly decent.
EYES: Burgundy that matches the color of his hair but it is blocked out most of the time by the Lavender Limbal Rings.
FACE: Sharp but somewhat ‘soft’ looking, has a very young and youthful appearance
LIPS: Full, Plus, Silken Words
COMPLEXION: Pale, Greyish-Lavender skin with Opal-Moonstone Scales
BLEMISHES: Body looks to be in perfect condition with nothing staining it
SCARS: Pristine and almost unreal in appearance, whatever scars he might have heal quickly
TATTOOS: Numerous Tattoos that cover all of his form with the most notable being on his torso and back which cover the entire area.
HEIGHT: 8′9″ far taller than any normal Au Ra
WEIGHT: 290lbs.
BUILD: Muscular and very toned with legs that many dancers would be jealous of.
FEATURES: Golden Claws, Somewhat Dragon-like Feet, Adorned with Silks and Jewelry
ALLERGIES: While not allergic to it he is extremely sensitive to white, holy and light based magics and Aether.
USUAL HAIR STYLE: Long and left completely down most of the time, will sometimes tie his hair up into a high ponytail that cascades down to the middle of his back like a waterfall.
USUAL FACE LOOK: Coy, sometimes playful, teasing and flirty in some cases. When in hunt mode however he seems to have an almost smug and cunning look.
USUAL CLOTHING: Dancers clothing that is made out of long silks usually in Grape Purple, silks are transparent and show most/all of his skin. Wears a Kohakama to reveal as much skin as possible since he is an entertainer.
psychology.
FEAR/S: While he will never admit to them, Toshi has a fear of being alone though he has gotten far better with it obviously.
ASPIRATION/S: Breaking the seals on his body and earning his freedom once again.
POSITIVE TRAITS: Attractive, Observant, Playful and Resourceful
NEGATIVE TRAITS: Aggressive, Deceptive, Impatient and Obsessive
TEMPERAMENT: Generally Coy and Playful at the start but can quickly turn to wild and destructive.
SOUL TYPE/S: The Warrior
ANIMALS: Snakes, Serpents, Dogs, Wolves, Dragons.
VICE HABIT/S: Murdering People who Upset Him, Obsessively on the Hunt to break the Seals, Extreme Pride and Looks down on others, Constant Lies and Manipulation to get what he wants
FAITH: Formerly Menphina, the Lover (When he was Sozoh’a) now he follows no one.
GHOSTS?: He’s seen the souls of his deceased family... so yes.
AFTERLIFE?: He did destroy the souls of his family after killing them so... very much yes.
REINCARNATION?: Going through what he has, there is a small thought that it could be possible.
POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Keeps well away from it.
EDUCATION LEVEL: Well Educated at the very least to get what he needs to get done. Basically he knows what to do in most situations to the best of his abiities.
family.
FATHER: Name Unknown, Keeper of the Moon possessed by a High Ranking Voidsent
MOTHER: Sozoh Bajhiri (Deceased, Keeper of the Moon)
SIBLINGS: Sizha (Eldest Sister), Rosah (Sister), Vekhe and Zahveh (Twins, Youngest Sisters) All Deceased
EXTENDED FAMILY: Una’to Bajhiri (Clan Branch, Relationship Unknown), Sebha’to Bajhiri (Clan Branch, Relationship Unknown). Various other Bajhiri Clan Branch members.
NAME MEANING/S: Bright (Toshi), potentially ‘Gift of the God’ for Naku.
HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None...
favorites.
BOOK: Fictional, Fantasy, Horror, Mythology and some Folklore. Also anything regarding Ancient histories.
DEITY: Formerly Menphina, does not truly hold to any deities now however.
HOLIDAY: All Saints' Wake
MONTH: April
SEASON: Fall
PLACE: The Alchemists Guild
WEATHER: Heavy storms with intense thunder and lightning
SOUND / S: Boiling Water, Bubbling Potions, Wind Blowing and Rainfall
SCENT / S: Fresh Rain and Dew, Blood and the many scents of brewing potions.
TASTE / S: Savory and sometimes Sweet. Also has a fondness for Saltiness.
FEEL / S: Smooth Scales with Soft Skin, Silken Hair.
ANIMAL / S: A Beady Eye that he calls Kuso because it’s a piece of shit. It counts as an animal right?
NUMBER: 355
COLORS: Burgundy, Lavender, Grape Purple, Silver, Gold, Opal, Moonstone.
extra.
TALENTS: Potion Crafting, Tinkering/Engineering, Belly Dancing
BAD AT: Not Killing People, Controlling his Temper, Staying in his ‘Cursed’ Au Ra Form
TURN ONS: Gentle Caresses to his Scales, Touches to his tail specifically at the end, Roughly Grabbing at his Hips
TURN OFFS: It’s hard to say what would turn him off really...
HOBBIES: Murdering People is Fun, Seeking a way to break the seals on his body, Fantasia Crafting
TROPES: Dark is Evil, Always Chaotic Evil, Eldritch Abomination, Power of the Void, Demons Lords and Archdevils, Our Demons are Different, Sealed Evil in a Can and Unstoppable Rage
QUOTES: "Are you looking to strike a deal for a potion?” “I want to know where he is...” “I will find you little clan mate...”
mun questions.
Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?
A1 : Pretty sure the movie would be called “From the Darkness” or “The Fallen of Bajhiri” since those are the big things I go with for Toshi. It would easily be a Horror film and it would likely be a trilogy where the first movie is about his past (When he was Sozoh’a) leading up to his transformation to Toshi, the second would be focused on him getting sealed away and his hunt to break the seals. Third is likely him either breaking the seals and getting his freedom or something... I dunno.
Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?
A2 : Mostly Horror Music and Themes, Likely Horror Video Game music such as things from Silent Hill.
Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?
A3 : Toshinaku was retired well after I created him, I had originally wanted to make him as a sort of adopted into the Miqo’te Clan type character and to RP someone with my good friend @skyysinger with Sebha’to. But I quickly tossed it out... and now that I’ve had a lot of fun RPing and talking with amazing people like @unatobajhiri and @nyrs-nook I got inspired to bring him back. I guess the big reason I wanted to start writing him is because I really wanted to write horror stories.
Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?
A4 : I have way too many muses and ideas at times though when I originally made Toshi again it was him being seen as an Adopted outsider into the Miqo’te Clan. After revising him and RPing with my friends I started to develop a greater lover for horror aspects and I wanted to play with something I never really delved that deep into before. I had done things with Dragons and Halfbreeds for various races but I never touched on any creatures from the Void.
Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.
A5 : I suppose if I had to pick something that I ‘dislike’ about Toshi is I guess that his content can be very... mature and 18+ themed which means that it’s not really suited for everyone. I do love the horror and body horror that I write for him but I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea obviously. I am also always afraid of creating characters like this because of how people might take them (Him being a Voidsent, how he turned, things like that) and how people tend to be at times.
Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?
A6 : Do... I share anything in common with this asshole? Honestly... I do not know and I’m almost terrified if I do have something in common with him...
Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?
A7 : I’m pretty sure Toshi hates me just for the simple fact that I keep throwing him into hell and putting him through a lot of pain and suffering because I find it so relaxing to write those body horror stories of his. I think he might want to tear me apart because of how many times I’ve had him just... well you know...
Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?
A8 : When it comes down to it Toshi really finds most people he interacts with interesting... unless it’s @unatobajhiri‘s Una’to because then it’s just a game of how much can the Keeper annoy the shit out of him. He finds characters like @gildedandgolden‘s Aure very... curious because he is trying to learn why they are how they are. Any other characters he has interacted with were just NPCs for story purposes and he usually goes to characters so that he can try and achieve his goal.
Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?
A9 : The biggest inspiration for me is just knowing that people enjoy seeing the things that I post about any of my characters. When people praise me I don’t know how to take it but that shows me that people are indeed interested in these characters and stories that I have to offer. It helps me fight the bad brain demons that I have where I’ll usually give up on a character entirely either because I feel that I am bothering and annoying people with that character or because I feel like I am wasting peoples time with them or it’s simply because I feel like no one will want to see the character. A lot of the times I feel my stuff is trash or garbage so knowing that people want to see more is always an inspiration to keep me writing.
Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?
A10 : Hrmmmmm roughly an hour but I also had a cat get on my lap and in the way during the middle of this so... RIP
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fic: i believe the storybooks i read
fairytale prince/knight au | title from i know it’s today from shrek: the musical (repost from my old blog - if you’ve reblogged before and would like to again i’d be very grateful! <3)
Candlelight flares, casting soft shadows against the curved walls of his room. He shifts on the bed, gazing up out of the hole in the roof caused by the castle crumbling throughout the years to look at the stars, winking down from the night sky. Breathing out a soft sigh and reaching for the book lying next to his bed, opening the heavy cover to mark off another day passed. Day number eight thousand four hundred and twenty-three.
They promised he’d only be here for a hundred days. But that grew to five hundred. Then a thousand. And he’s been here for years of his life, from a boy to a man. The only person he sees being the messenger who brings new books and food and materials once a month. He taught himself to sew, to map out the stars, to draw and paint and keep the solitude from driving him quite mad. And he’s never let go of the belief that each day could be the day his saviour comes.
A knight, they said. A champion of the kingdom, brave and bold and brash, the sort of man who would cross a blistering desert and climb a mountain and kill a dragon. Climb the swirling stairs to the door that’s been locked since the day he arrived and free him. And he will offer this knight a token of his gratitude, and he will accept with his eyes bright behind a heavy helmet, and sweep him from the tower that has been his prison. They will be married in the kingdom, and he will finally know true love’s first kiss.
That daydream has kept him sane through years of imprisonment, through hearing nothing but the dull rumbling of the dragon curled around the tower breathing. Seeing the gleaming of the jets of fire that stream from the dragon’s nostrils when it grows angry. Clasping his hands to his ears and frantically humming his mother’s lullaby to himself when he heard the distant screams of the knights who came before falling victim to the dragon. He knew that the right knight would know how to slay a dragon. There would be a day when it would be the dragon’s dying shrieks that he heard.
He must fall asleep reading the same love story again, tracing his fingertip over the familiar words of a princess promising herself to her handsome rescuer, a man with dark hair and bright eyes down on one knee, because he wakes to hear the dragon roaring, shaking the entire castle. A distant crash of another tower crumbling, and he scrambles upright, straightening his clothes frantically. Brushing his fingers over the velvet to smooth it down, taking up his looking-glass to correct his hair before he rushes to the window that looks out over the rest of the castle.
There’s a knight at the gate, and his heart soars. Silver armour, and a sword at his hip, a bow strapped to his back, and Vision smiles down at his saviour. Wondering how he looks beneath the helmet, if his eyes are blue or green or brown or grey, if his hair is black or red or blonde, whether his jaw is clean-shaven or stubbled, whether he’ll have gentle hands or callused.
In the stories, when the knight saves the princess, they always kiss. He sees the illustrations dancing behind his eyes, hands cupping faces, curved to waists, eyes closed and eyelashes tangling. Wondering how it will feel for someone’s lips to be on his, to feel someone’s arms around him, to know what it’s like to kiss and be kissed. He feels a flush creeping into his cheek, and pulls his thoughts away from that. He can’t be flushed or unsightly when he meets his saviour.
Far below him, the dragon is uncurling from around the tower, wings extending above its heavy body, a dark blue that blends into the shadows, its eyes yellow as a cat’s. Its teeth and claws gleam white in the eerie light of the flickering torches, and Vision can see the glow in its throat as it spits a weak flame into the air. A warning.
He knows the pattern of the fights. The knight will charge, the dragon will breathe a churning whirl of flame. If the knight manages not to be caught in that and roast alive in his armour, a swipe of the dragon’s massive claws will swiftly dispatch him. He once saw a knight ripped in half by the dragon’s massive jaws. It haunted his nightmares for months, and still rears up in the shadows some nights.
But this knight doesn’t charge. As the dragon’s maw gapes open, he whirls behind a pillar, and disappears into the shadows while the dragon screeches in fury at lost prey, and Vision is leaning out of the window as far as he can without falling to search for the knight’s silhouette. Finding him the dark by the slight shift of the moonlight on his armour, the shine of his sword, and wondering if this will be the knight to save him.
The dragon yelps in agony when the knight slashes his sword across its tail, drawing a stream of purple blood flowing down the dark scales, shining in the light, and Vision cries out in fear when an enormous foot kicks the knight aside, and there’s the sound of metal scraping over the stones, and this must be it. His saviour is dead and he will stay in the tower for years more before another dares to try.
But no, the knight is getting to his feet, sword in his steady hand, and the dragon’s eyes are narrowing, focusing on its prey. Vision leans even further out into the night, his breath rising silvery in the air, watching the way the knight fights. Not like others he’s seen before, but more like a dancer, the movement of his body soft and fluid. Entrancing. Dodging another blast of fire, a swipe of claws, and sparks fly out when the claws drag against the blade of his swore. It must be somehow enchanted, for it doesn’t simply break under the pressure. A deft twist of hand and one of the dragon’s toes is severed from its foot, and it roars in agony as the knight slips beneath its belly and scrambles up its back.
And Vision nearly falls out of the window with excitement when he sees the knight drive his sword deep into the dragon’s back, the jewelled hilt shining. The dragon screams in agony, and so slowly slumps to the floor. Still. Finally slayed, and now he’s free, he’s free, and he almost runs down the stairs before he remembers the instructions. He has to stay behind the locked door until a knight finds the key among the dragon’s horde and rescues him.
He just watches the knight pull his sword from the dragon, wiping the blood away on a scrap of fabric that probably once hung proudly around the shoulders of a knight who met his death at the dragon’s claws. Watches him cross the room to the crumbling staircase and then tilt his head up. Pull the bow from his back and nock an arrow, firing it upwards with a faint whistling sound.
Vision watches in awe as the arrows wraps itself around a sturdy anchor above his head, and the knight presses a button and shoots upwards as if flying. Until he’s level with the window, and Vision hastily moves backwards to allow him to climb in. Noticing that he’s a little shorter than he seemed from above, but amazed by how smoothly he detaches his bow from above and sets it neatly against the wall. “That was incredible,” he says, feeling himself starry-eyed and overwhelmed. “It truly was. You are incredible.” Remembering the routine suddenly, grasping for the handkerchief left with him the day he was trapped, and holding it out, “Please, please, take this. A token of my gratitude.”
A chainmail-gloved hand takes it from him, glancing at the crest of his kingdom embroidered to the corner, and tucks it carefully into the quiver still holding arrows. And those hands rise to carefully lift the helmet away, and a tumble of fiery hair falls over the silver armour, and when the knight lifts their head Vision gasps out, “You’re-”
“Wanda, champion of Lord Stark,” she says sweetly, setting her helmet down and pulling her gloves off, running slender fingers through her hair. “I hate that thing, it’s so hot in there and I can hardly see.” She unstraps her breastplate, detaches the metal coverings on her arms, and he averts his gaze momentarily when the tight crimson tunic she wears beneath is revealed, clinging to her curves and making his mouth suddenly dry. “So how long have you been up here?”
“Eight thousand four hundred and twenty-three,” he says, and she arches an eyebrow at him.
“What’s that in layman’s terms?” she asks, and he flushes. The way she speaks, she can’t possibly be from court. Only thieves and peasants speak so informally.
“Twenty-three years,” he says stiffly, and she glances at him, detaching the greaves from her legs and revealing shapely calves and ankles in skintight breeches, making him stumble over his breathing.
“And no one ever slayed the dragon?” she asks, and he shakes his head. “Gods, I thought maybe this was dragon number five or something. Never send a man to do a woman’s job.”
“Sir...um, Miss Wanda, why are you taking your armour off?” he asks, and she just shakes her head at him. “Shouldn’t we leave?”
“Dragon’s dead, we don’t need to run,” she says, so light and unconcerned. As if she didn’t just fight a dragon and free him. “I plan on sleeping through the night before we leave. Your bed sure looks comfortable. Gossamer curtains and all.”
“But the door is locked!” he protests, and she smirks. Pulls a pin from her hair, another spiral of red falling around her shoulders, framing her pretty, freckled face, and works it into the lock, twisting it around for a moment before there’s a sharp click and the door swings open.
“And presto, we can leave whenever we want,” she says, and pulls her tunic down her thighs, drawing his attention to the curve of her waist into her hips.
“You aren’t like any knight I’ve ever met,” he says, and she grins at him.
“Sweetheart, I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met.” She rolls onto his bed and seems to be asleep in moments,
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Equinox: Summer [3]
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (here) | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Madara wasn’t a morning person. He wasn’t exactly cheerful when he received a phone call barely past 7 in the morning.
Still, he got out of bed and got dressed. And he was at the diner by 9, like she’d asked.
Sakura already sat in one of the vinyl booths. The hoops in her ears were silver, matching the rings stacked on her middle and fourth fingers. She was adjusting her ponytail when Madara walked in through the glass doors.
His designer suit was out of place. It clashed, almost laughably, against the scuffed linoleum and the plastic menus. But, in an odd way, it also fit so well. Then again, Madara made everything look good.
He slid into the seat across from her, lowering his sunglasses. Folding them, he tucked them into his inner pocket. Madara glanced around before his gaze fell on her.
“This is... different. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you functioning this early before,” he remarked.
“Jetlag. Don’t get used to it,” she replied.
He smiled as he accepted the menu she held out to him.
“The strawberry waffles are really good here. So are the coconut pancakes,” Sakura recommended as she glanced over the categories.
“Instinct?”
She peered around the edge of the menu. “Experience.”
Madara’s eyebrows rose. And then he disappeared behind his menu too.
It was true that she wasn’t much of a breakfast person. But Itachi had brought her here a few times before. At first, she had balked at the kitschy decor and the metal counters. The jokes had stopped with her first sip of coffee though- fragrant and just a little burnt. Exactly what she needed to combat her hangover.
The waitress stopped by to top off Sakura’s coffee and then eyed Madara. She was an older woman in her forties, but she smiled at him, tilting her hip toward him as she asked what he’d like. Her tone suggested that she was hoping he would reply, “You”.
Madara had that effect on everyone.
Hands clasped together, he asked for hot tea.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he queried, leaning in toward her. Sakura swatted him back with the menu.
“I’m hungry. Let me order first,” she insisted. And when he frowned, she swatted him again.
"I thought you were patient. Didn’t you brag about sitting through the Peloponnesian War just to see who'd win?” she then remarked. Madara rubbed at his hand. He had cast a low-level glamour over them to hide his talons. They looked like they were made of smooth, white skin.
“I napped through it, Bunny. Don’t be absurd. I waited through Alexander the Great’s campaigns,” he corrected her, resting his cheek in his hand now as he watched her.
“Were you watching the war or Alexander?” she asked, peeking out from behind the menu.
Madara’s expression didn’t shift as he replied, “Not even. He was a horrible dancer.”
And then he grew quiet as he let her decide what to eat.
In the end, Sakura ordered french toast with a side of fruit. Madara declined anything else. Eating was a formality for him, since he lived off energy, like all demons did. He didn’t derive any particular satisfaction from eating, but he had learned to do it to blend into human society. Drinking was also something he didn’t technically need, but he claimed that it helped keep him sane.
His eyes narrowed as the waitress walked away with the menus.
“So,” she said, turning back to him.
Madara raised his left eyebrow.
“I want my own studio. And health benefits,” Sakura declared.
Madara very slowly lowered his arm. And then he leaned in closer, eyes gleaming.
“What else?” he asked, eyes beginning to glow red as he fired up a potent deal.
Sakura barely managed to get home during the next month. She found herself crashing in Temari’s living room almost every night. And even though Temari assured her that it was fine, she couldn’t help but feel guilty.
A couple of those nights, Sakura found herself done with work a little too early to sleep and a little too late to drive back home. She called Itachi, who always claimed that he had nothing going on and hurried out to meet her. It was nice that he was in the city during the weekdays, at least.
“Y’know,” she said, glancing up at him. He handed her a cocktail in a plastic cup as he joined her at the table. The seat was metal and not particularly comfortable, but it was better than sitting on the grass or standing, as most people were doing.
“You don’t have to throw everything out the window whenever I call. You can say no if you’re busy,” Sakura told him.
“I know. I also know that you’re the best excuse to get out.... anything,” declared Itachi as he set two cups down in front of her. They were both filled with chia seeds and something bright purple. A flat yellow disk stuck out of the cup as a garnish. Thick slices of dragonfruit poked out of the purple mixture. Her jaw dropped for a moment. But her mouth closed again as Itachi stuck a plastic spoon in her hand.
“Explain,” she demanded.
“Ube chia cups. The girl said that there’s banana and blueberry in there somewhere,” Itachi replied.
“Yow-za,” Sakura remarked before she took a big bite.
“I can’t believe that your hipster bullshit tastes this delicious,” she then sighed.
“Your saltiness is noted,” Itachi replied.
Sakura and Madara were busy every day looking for a new office space and trying to get in touch with people. It felt like a cup of coffee had become permanently fused to her hand as she hurried around the city. And the amount of schmoozing and networking she had to do made her consider violence on a couple occasions.
They finally found a good place in a good location. After some persuading, she and Madara managed to negotiate it down to a reasonable price, too. And once all the paperwork was signed, Sakura decided that it was time for a break.
“No drinks to celebrate? I’d thought you’d be more excited,” he said, even as he walked her out to her car.
“I wanna sleep in my own bed. I’ll see you on Monday, Boss,” she groaned. Madara held his finger up.
“Ah-ah. Not your boss anymore. We’re both in charge now,” he reminded her.
“Fine. Madara, I’ll see you Monday,” Sakura amended with a smile.
When Sakura pulled into her driveway, it was already dark out. There was no food in the fridge, except for some ancient takeout that needed to go in the trash. As she stood in the kitchen, debating whether it was worth driving to the grocery store or not, there was a knock on the front door.
It was Ino. She had probably just closed the cafe for the night. She held up a blue box in both her hands. Her wings glittered faintly behind her.
“You felt hungry when you drove past,” Ino explained. She leaned in so Sakura could hug her.
“You’re an angel,” Sakura sighed.
“A fairy, actually,” Ino teased as she stepped into the house.
They caught up over the grilled eggplant sandwiches that Ino had brought. There was also a slice of delightful blueberry pie.
“So that’s exciting. Are you a CEO now?” asked Ino, lifting her tea to her lips. Sakura wrinkled her nose, head tilting to one side. Then the other.
“I... guess?” Sakura said.
Ino caught Sakura up on all the gossip before she headed home for the night. Sakura waved to her from the top step of her porch. She scanned the shadows as Ino got into her car and turned the key in the ignition. One of the shadows shifted. Sakura wasn’t afraid, though. Not when she recognized the tail swirling with black mist.
“Hey, Sheriff. Out for the night patrol?” she greeted him as he crossed her yard.
The church grim ventured up the short steps to rub against her palm. Kakashi didn’t like to faze between forms during his nightly patrol. It wasted a lot of energy, according to him.
“Can you do me a favor and make sure that Ino gets home safe?” she requested, scratching between his ears before she got under his chin too.
He stared up at her. With those big, luminous eyes. And it was almost like she could hear his voice.
‘I’d rather stay here.’
But when she smiled, he gave her palm a light lick before he headed down the sidewalk.
Sakura watched Ino’s car roll down the street. Kakashi’s black silhouette ran after it. He would make sure that she got into her house okay.
She stretched out like an overgrown starfish in her bed. It was heavenly. While Temari’s couch wasn’t awful, it couldn’t compare to the comfort of her bed. The bed that smelled just right. And things became even better when the rain began to patter gently against the roof. She almost fell asleep until the raindrops began to fall harder. Plinking out an interesting rhythm over her head. The sound weaved in and out of her dreams as she finally closed her eyes.
The following morning was a Saturday. Sakura woke up to her phone ringing from somewhere up on the loft. She let it ring and went back to sleep once it stopped.
It was only a couple hours later that she stumbled out of bed. Her hair stood up and tangled in ways that might have bent the laws of physics. Scratching her stomach, she shuffled straight to the coffee maker. She felt productive today.
Sakura missed her phone ringing a second time. This time, it wasn’t on purpose. She had her headphones on as she smashed out rhythms on her electric drums. She was sure that if she were playing on traditional drums, someone would have filed a noise complaint against her.
As she pulled her headphones off, she heard a clatter outside. Probably the sound of the mailman dropping off her things. She climbed down from the loft.
Someone yelled from down the street when she walked down the gravel path in her flip-flops. Sakura lifted her chin to follow the sound. She spotted Kiba bolting down the sidewalk toward her. She could see his scratched-up green truck further down the street a second before he collided with her.
“Man, you got TAN!” he exclaimed as he swung her back and forth.
“Are you a werewolf or a bulldozer?” she pretended to complain even as she laughed. She slapped his shoulder with the stack of letters in her right hand.
“Why can’t be both?” he replied in a horrible impression of a Russian accent. That only made her laugh harder.
When Kiba finally released her, he was grinning from ear to ear. That expression faded as he looked her over.
“Woah. What happened to you? I’ve never seen someone come back from vacation and look more tired,” he commented. Sakura wrinkled her nose.
“Things have been crazy with work lately,” she sighed. As if to punctuate her statement, a yawn left her mouth as soon as she finished talking. Kiba stood rubbing his goatee for a while. And then he snapped, expression brightening again.
“....I’ve got a cure for that. You busy?”
Sakura glanced back at the house. “Uh... guess not?”
“Cool. Let’s go,” Kiba said, taking her hand. “I wanna show you something.”
The smell of salt filled the air. Sakura squeezed Kiba’s hand whenever the planks sagged or creaked. She jumped when something rustled in the trees. Kiba grinned over his shoulder at her.
“Want me to carry you?” he offered.
“You asshole,” she snapped. Laughing, Kiba faced forward again.
In her head, Sakura had always known that technically Old Pines was right by the ocean. But for some reason, it had surprised her when Kiba had taken her through an old footpath past the old church. Through the woods until they could see the water sparkling under the summer sun.
There was a wooden walkway that zig-zagged down the side of the cliffs, leading to the shore below. The beach wasn’t covered in fine sand like in all the Hollywood movies. Instead, it was covered in rocks and chunks of driftwood worn smooth by the waves.
“It’s.... empty,” Sakura observed.
“Too rocky. Most people drive up north to get to the sand beaches this time of year,” he explained. And then he pointed to a lonely fishing pier at the end of the beach. There were a narrow set of wooden steps leading up to it. Sakura climbed up after him. Sakura touched the surface, just to test it. The planks were still a little damp from the rain the night before. Kiba didn’t seem to care about that as he plopped down at the end of it, legs dangling over the edge.
“This is my secret spot. I used to come here with my sister when I was a kid,” he told her, patting the spot next to him.
Sakura glanced down at her white shorts. She crouched beside him instead.
“You fish?” she asked. From what she understood, fishing took a lot of patience. Kiba seemed more the type to dive into the water and yank them out with his bare hands. He didn’t ever seem to like sitting still for too long.
“Nah. My old man would teach my sister. Mostly I’d just follow and dick around. Dig worms up for them. Stuff like that,” he explained. Which made a lot more sense to her. She could imagine him as a kid. Rolling around in the mud and making a mess. Grabbing wiggling handfuls of night-crawlers and pestering Hana with a million questions. It was cute. Just imagining it made her smile.
Kiba watched her. And, as if on reflex, he smiled when she did. She realized that he had a faint dimple in his right cheek.
“Wait. Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he then asked when he noticed that she wasn’t actually sitting.
“White pants, my friend,” she explained.
“Oh.”
Kiba looked around, patted his pockets. And then he stared down at himself.
“Kiba, what are you doing?” Sakura sighed. She watched as he pulled his t-shirt off. The way that guys always did it. Grabbing the back of his collar to yank it over his head in one motion. He stretched it over the damp wood and then patted it.
“It’s clean. Promise,” he assured her.
Sakura snorted even as she sat on top of the shirt. “Okay. You’re clearly just looking for an excuse to show off your muscles. But okay,” she retorted.
Kiba glanced at his bicep, giving it a little flex.
“I mean, that’s not the only reason,” he muttered. And then he met Sakura’s eyes. “Am I jacked? You likey?” he then asked, the fake Russian accent returning.
She couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles. “Yes. So jacked,” she assured him.
Sakura was glad that Kiba had shown her this place. It wouldn’t have ever occurred to her that there was a path from the town down to the beach. And only after he had assured her that he didn’t mind her using his spot, she started to come here to clear her head. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore felt like it was scrubbing her brain clean.
The first time she had come out there on her own, she had fallen asleep for a while. The angry sunburn that stretched across her shoulders helped her learn her lesson. She always remembered to wear a hat and sunblock from that day on.
Sakura followed the wooden walkway and stairs that zigzagged down the side of the cliff. The planks creaked, but they held her weight well. Someone had done a good job of maintaining this path, although she couldn’t imagine who.
Kiba never joined her there again. At first, she worried that she had stolen his spot. But when she asked one day over beers on her porch, Kiba shook his head too much.
“Sakura, I have, like, a million hiding spots. I gave that one to you. It’s yours now,” he replied.
“Why?”
Kiba blinked a few times. He tilted his head a little. Sort of like puppies did with their big, floppy ears. “You just... you just look like you need a break. So that’s your spot now. Don’t worry about me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The next time she ran into Kiba, it was while she was getting lunch with Tenten. He ducked into Ino’s cafe to pick up a coffee and a quick snack. And when he spotted them sitting by the window, he hugged both of them.
“Hey, Ten. Did you tell Sakura yet?” he asked.
Tenten’s eyes widened. She slapped her palm against the side of her head. Turning to Sakura, she exclaimed, “Shit, I forgot. Sorry, Sakura.”
Baffled, Sakura lowered her iced coffee. “For what?”
“We’re having a bonfire down by the beach tomorrow. You have to be there,” he told her.
“Oh, that? Ino already told me,” replied Sakura. And Ino appeared from the kitchen with Kiba’s sandwich. She set it on the counter, leaning her elbow against the refrigerated display case.
“What would any of you fools do without me?” Ino sighed.
“Die, probably,” answered Tenten. Kiba and Sakura considered this before they both nodded.
The following afternoon, Ino and Tenten picked her up. Sakura hopped into the car, next to the blue plastic cooler strapped into the back seat. She peeked inside as Tenten drove down the street.
“What’d you bring?” Ino asked, twisting around to look at her.
Sakura held up the big tupperware container resting in her lap. As soon as she cracked the red lid, the fragrance of vanilla and chocolate flooded the car.
“Ooh! Did you sing to those cookies or something?” Tenten exclaimed.
Ino pinched a cookie out of the container. She broke it in half, stuffing one piece into Tenten’s mouth before she took a bite of the other.
“Wow,” was all Ino said.
Sakura smiled as Ino repeated “Wow” in a louder voice. Ino turned around again, pointing at her. “Let me know if the whole music thing doesn’t work out. I could use you.”
By the time they arrived at the beach, it was already busy with people.
Someone had set up a volleyball net. A small group of people were playing a game. Poorly. But they were laughing all the same.
There were a couple event tents dug into rocky sand. Some people lounged on towels and folding chairs in the shade. Music played from somewhere nearby. Likely bluetooth speakers or someone’s car parked just off the road.
Further down the shore, Kiba and his sister stood near a glowing pit. Steam occasionally rose from it whenever one of them prodded at it with a stick. As Sakura got out of the car, Kiba’s head jerked up. He sniffed at the air a couple times before he abandoned his sister mid-conversation and ran to greet her. A few people complained as he sprayed sand on them in his hurry.
“Here he comes,” muttered Ino, shaking her head in a fond sort of way.
“You’re here!” he exclaimed.
Sakura sighed as he engulfed her in a tight hug.
“Yes, Kiba. And you literally saw me yesterday. No need for the drama,” she pointed out. Scratching the back of his head, Kiba released her.
“Sorry. Wolf-brain,” he replied.
“You-brain, more like,” muttered Tenten. Ino hid her snicker behind her hand. As Kiba glared at them, Ino headed for the shade of one of the tents. And Tenten wandered over to join the volleyball game.
Sakura rubbed her palms together as she questioned, “Need any help?”
“Yeah. That’d be great,” replied Kiba. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he steered her in the direction of the clam bake buried deep in the sand.
A few hours later, everyone was digging into their early dinner. The lobsters had turned bright red and the shrimps pink. The sweet corn glistened in the sunlight as people took big bites. There was more than enough food for everyone, but whatever was leftover, the pups finished off. They were ravenous, which, according to Hana, was normal. She only intervened when one of them began sniffing around the garbage.
Hana put her feet up on a cooler as her husband gathered up all the empty plates and went to clean up.
“It’s the weekend. Count Chocula isn’t around?” Kiba asked. His sister whacked him on the back of the head.
“Don’t be an asshole,” she scolded him.
“Relax. He thinks it’s funny when I call him that,” Kiba insisted. Hana smacked him again. And as the siblings squabbled, Tenten nudged Sakura with her elbow. Sakura looked at her, confused. Tenten nudged her again, eyebrows rising as she gestured to her hand. Sakura looked down.
She had been fiddling with her necklace again.
Tongue between her teeth, Ino smiled too. Tenten snickered as she tossed another piece of driftwood onto the fire.
Ino and Tenten had already grilled her for details about Ibiza and about Tobirama.
“So... all fixed?” Ino had asked over tiny cups of espresso.
“Um. Well. Better,” Sakura had conceded. She was fiddling with the lapis lazuli around her neck, twisting it between her fingers as she thought. And then she glanced at it. “Much better,” she had amended. And then she had looked up at her friends.
“Better than it’s ever been. I asked for some... space... but... it’s good, I think,” she remembered fumbling her way through the tangled thoughts in her head.
“Huh. Good, then,” Tenten had replied. The simplicity of her answer had baffled Sakura. So much that it had made her laugh. But she liked that. And she envied it, too. Tenten’s ability to make up her mind about how she felt.
And that came to mind later as she dug her heels into the sand, staring into the fire. She could hear cheers on the other end of the beach as Kiba and some of his buddies tried to light some sparklers. Tenten was helping the butcher load up the leftovers into the back of his minivan.
Sakura poked another stick into the bonfire, listening to the wood pop in the heat. She started as she felt a hand on top of her head. It was Kakashi. She smiled at him. He returned the expression.
“Can I kidnap you for a bit?” he asked.
Sakura took the hand he offered her. “Of course.”
They strolled down the beach, away from all the noises and people. A tinkle caught her attention. Sakura peeked over her shoulder to find Biscuit following after them. Sakura waggled her fingers at him before she faced forward again. But she stopped short when she saw Kakashi wasn’t walking anymore.
He stared out at the water, hands in his pockets. Even when she crept up to join him, he didn’t move. Like he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the ocean.
“I only started being able to come out here a few years ago,” he suddenly told her.
It dawned on her. She looked down at her feet. Then out at the waves, too.
“This is pretty far from the church, huh?” she commented.
Kakashi nodded. The breath that left him was long and tired. He tried to shove his hands deeper into his pockets, chin rising. Head tilting to one side as he added, “Maybe, one day, I’ll...” He trailed off.
And Sakura could see it. The way the horizon called to him. And how his body- his original body- pulled just as hard. From the cornerstone of that old church with ivy creeping up the white walls. It felt, just for an instant, like the space between her lungs hurt. Just from the look on his face.
But then Kakashi blinked, and he was back to normal. Turning back to her with that gentle smile. She didn’t smile back.
Instead, Sakura tugged on his arm. He pulled his hand from his pocket. She wormed her way under his arm, pressing up against his side.
“You will. I know you will,” she lied. His hand hovered in the air. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. And after a long while, she felt his sigh. Arm wrapping around her. Hand resting on her upper arm as he held her there.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His voice was almost swallowed by the sounds of the waves rushing in.
A few days later, Sakura wandered down to the beach again. Her head a tangle of unfinished melodies and half-baked chords. She ambled down the wooden walkway, hands tucked in the back pockets of her shorts.
She blinked hard.
A boat sat next to the pier, rocking softly with the motion of the waves. She had never seen it in the area before. In fact, she hadn’t ever really seen a boat around this area. It was too rocky and the waves weren’t very gentle.
As Sakura approached, she looked around. The door was wide open. There was the tinny sound of music playing from a cheap speaker.
“Hello?” she called. She took a step. And then another.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Sakura asked, raising her voice a little.
“Hello.”
She gasped when something sprayed her right leg with water. A webbed hand emerged from the waves. The gills on the side of his throat flattened, sealing shut as he hauled himself up onto his elbows. The necklaces of mother of pearl tangled together on his chest.
“I thought I smelled you here,” he said, flashing a grin full of sharpened teeth.
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A Serpent’s Tale part 2
@thel3tterm
Those on the wall gasped almost simultaneously. It had been centuries since a new Aergod had been born. As we stood in awe, the remnants of the storm flowed in and around the Aergod. He held out his arms, and an army began to form itself. It was a race never seen before at least, by me. Their heads bore a crown of horns, with beautiful, lean, but predatory features. Theirs was a haunting beauty, made terrifying by the cruelty in their eyes. As we marveled at this occurrence, we felt a voice crash into our minds.
"Children of my brothers and sisters, I greet you. Many are the archetypes which they and by extension, you follow. The Warrior.The Battle-Mage. The Wild One. The Healer. The Craftsman. But there is still an Archetype lacking in this world, which the Ley has seen fit to now unleash upon a waiting world. I am Avad, Aergod of Conquest. With me are my children, the Sharak-Kai. Your Emperor claims to take the weak and make them strong, uplifting them into the ranks of those who can stand their own. We feel this is the wrong way to go about things. The weak are meant to serve the strong. And with our might, we shall prove it. The laws of my kind prevent me from directly interfering, but I shall watch as my children prove my point. I shall give you one full week from now to prepare. However, do not take me for a fool, none will be able to leave or enter the city, or it's immediate surroundings during this time."
The strange Sharak-Kai broke into a massive spread of campfires as the indescribable array of lights that made up Avad ascended back up into the sky. Grandfather placed The Viper's Fang back in its special sheathe, which protected the sheathe from the power of the blade. He held my gaze for a long moment before muttering under his breath.
"A whole week, huh? Mighty generous of the Aergod of Conquest, don't you think, Viperi? Why'd you think he'd do that?" I sighed deeply, my mind still partially stunned from the feeling of hearing an Aergod speak.
"Now's as good a time for a lesson, eh? Huh, He seems confident in his ability, maybe overconfident, or should I say, his Sharak-Kai's ability. Also, the way he spoke, he truly seems to believe he's doing the right thing. That makes him dangerous, i'd rather face an insincere Conqueror than one who believes in his cause. Same goes for his children, presumably." I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Good appraisal of the situation, kid." I let out a slightly nervous laugh, not even turning around to face the voice.
"Late to the party, Therin? That's unlike you enough to cause concern." The elvish spell-sword laughed heartily.I could hear the chuckles of the rest of the squad of the Bastard's Own. Grandfather came over and placed an hand on the Elf's shoulder. I clasped hands and bumped shoulder's with Drake, Therin's Dreng second in command. I then saw a young Orcish woman, about my age, wearing a well worn, utilitarian, obviously handed down, set of shield-cloth. Her sword on the other hand, was of the finest available, with some master level enchantments on it. I could see her sizing me up the way I was her. She walked over with a dancer's grace and outstretched a hand. We clasped hands tightly and in the way of her people, gently butted heads.
"Roka formerly of house Gruxi , now of the Bastard's Own, and you are?"
"Viperi of house Adderzae, a pleasure to meet you."
"Humph, I guess. Therin has a lot of respect for your grandfather, says him retiring was a great loss to the Bastard's Own. He train you?"
"Aye, my fondest memories of him involve sparring."
"Think you're better than me?" I could feel a slight edge in her voice and noticed Drake and Therin almost simultaneously roll their eyes.
" And why would I think that?"
"Lot's of people, when they hear I was raised in the nobility, only with the Bastard's Own for a year, they think I'm weak. I . Am. Not. Weak."
" Never crossed my mind, I'm sure your parents bought you the finest sword masters available, and the Bastard's built on that foundation. But your obvious insecurity does make me think-" in what I thought was a tone of friendly jest I heard Therin groan and Drake laugh as Roka's eyes flashed scarlet for a brief second.
"Right! That's it, here and now, you and me, Snake-Blood!" As she began to draw her blade, Therin stepped between us.
"Enough! Viperi, trying to joke with an Orc about their swordsmanship is a bad idea, period, okay? Roka, challenging somebody to a duel for a shitty joke is behavior unbecoming a member of the Own. Now both of you apologize to each other. If you really want to duel, you'll do it in the training room back at quarters." We inclined our heads, spoke in subdued tones.
"I apologize for making light of your skill with blades, I understand the wish to be recognized for your own skill in battle. Even if it was in jest, I should not have insulted you"
"I should not let my temper get the better of me, you meant no harm. You meant no harm, though I must say, when we have the time, I invite you to put your blade where your mouth us."
"Anytime, Roka." With a grin. Grandfather and Therin shared a sigh and spoke as one.
"Aergods save us. If the war doesn't kill these two young idiots, they'll do it to each other." The two old fighters shook their heads, then Therin assembled his squad and grandfather called me over to Wilheim. The guard captain looked over the army at his gates. He was so intent in his watch that I had to tap his shoulder to get his attention. He jumped in alarm.
"Wha-! Oh, Viperi, glad you and your grandfather were here to see this. Asperius, and you, Therin, come over !what do you reckon is our best shot here? Grandfather's claws tapped a steady rythm against the smooth hard scales of his face, while Therin brushed strands of silver hair out of his face before bowing to my grandfather.
"I'll let experience speak before beauty."
"Hah! If that was truly the case, I'd get to speak twice. But onto more serious matters. Wilheim I'll be honest with you, I'm at a loss here. There's been no new Aergods in centuries and never an Archetype that was so... ambitious. We don't know anything about his forces, whether there's more than just, boy! What'd he call his children?"
"Sharak-Kai grandfather."
"Good, and they look fierce. Hmm there may be a way to ascertain the true scope of this, but I don't want to use it, too dangerous." At that I felt a wry smile upon my lips as he continued speaking. " Therin, can you think of anything that might let us get a closer look at the forces we face?"
"Maybe, were you thinking...?" Roka frowned.
"Why aren't we even naming this plan? Why dance around the subject?" Grandfather sighed.
" Because my grandson enjoys his little jaunts a bit too deeply." She raised an eyebrow.
"I thought he was Snake-Blooded, how can he-?" I let out a laugh and ran to the edge of the wall facing the city proper.
"Like this, Roka!" I shouted as I leapt over the edge. As I plummeted towards the ground, I activated one of the rune-charms on my heavy leather coat, which was so riddled with enchantments the thing was more magic than material at this point. A pair of raven black wings sprouted from my shoulders. I took a deep breath, exhilarated at the feel of the wind in my hair as I soared up and landed back onto the wall, the wings folding back into my coat. Roka nodded as I walked over.
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i haven’t written nessa and oliver being cute and silly and romantic in like...years, so here is a little thing i wrote for fun :3c
::
Nessa braces a hand against the wall as his hands - suddenly full with her hips - find her from behind. The hallway is thankfully deserted, but that won’t last for long. His lips burn a trail from her ear down the length of her exposed neck.
“Excuse me, sir, what but do you think you’re doing?” she asks breathlessly, pressing her hips back into his hands.
He sighs. “I’m ravishing you, of course,” Oliver murmurs, generously holding true to his own statement as he places open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck. He’s not gentle, but he’s not rough, either.
“Here?” she breathes out as he steps closer and she rests her forehead against the wall.
“Everyone else is preoccupied in the ballroom,” he replies and the way his nose caresses the back of her neck makes her shiver.
Her breath catches when one of his hands curls around her waist and skates upwards over the beading on her bodice. “What’s that...supposed to mean?”
“It means yes, here,” he murmurs as he stops just short of the swell of her breasts. She sucks in a breath at his unabashed touch. “Well, it doesn’t have to be here. Where else would you like me to ravish you?”
The wall is cool against her suddenly inflamed face, bright with a blush that burns every inch of her skin. A thousand different locations, safer locations, come to mind, but when his hand smooths back down the length of her body - tender and sure and warm - the thoughts flutter away from her.
Her loose hairs tickle the back of her neck as he continues to kiss the freckles on her spine, along the line of her shoulders.
“You are far too bold,” she says softly, biting her lip to keep from making any sounds that might encourage him when his hand drifts heavily down the side of her leg over the fabric of her dress and back up.
He kisses the soft spot under her ear. “Elaborate.”
“This behavior is improper,” she mutters, voice jilted by the sensations running over her body at his eager hands and relentless mouth. She prays he won’t stop.
“The true scandal here is that you haven’t kissed me once tonight,” he murmurs against her skin.
“I’ve had more important business to attend to.” Nessa slowly turns around to face him, her back to the wall.
He props his hands on his hips. “You savage beast.” She grins and he leans in, mirth in his gaze. “How do I convince you that kissing me is of the utmost importance?”
Nessa taps her bottom lip pensively as if to seriously consider his question. “Ah!” she says, holding up her finger. “You’ll have to - !”
He kisses her briefly, his mouth pressing to hers firmly for just a moment before he pulls away, innocence in his expression as she stares at him in shock. “What?”
“You ruined my clever line,” she says, but she’s reaching for him, tiring now of playing games. It has been a rather awful night, if she’s being honest. She’d rather forget everything and everyone but Oliver, for as long as she can afford.
“Serves you right,” he says softly as he presses his forehead against hers. His blue eyes flick down over her dress before he looks back up to meet her gaze. “Like you can just stand here and pretend you hadn’t all but tried to seduce me back in front of everyone in that room. Subtlety is not your forte, you absolute disaster of a woman.”
Nessa blushes and reaches up to thumb the embroidered collar of his jacket as the silver threading catches the low warm light of the hallway. “Everyone is too drunk to notice.” She pauses, smelling the liquor on his breath. “You might be, too.”
“I noticed,” he says, hands finding her hips again. It’s a sudden movement that spikes her heart rate and the heat in her belly yawns, growing warmer. His head tilts so that his top lip nearly brushes hers, eyes heavy as his eyelids lower. “I notice everything, Nessa.”
Her breath trembles and she aches for him, in ways she didn’t know a person could yearn for someone. A match lights in the coldest, darkest part of her heart. “I wish I could have danced with you tonight,” she murmurs, reaching up to gingerly cradle his jaw in her hand.
He hums. “I am a terrible dancer.”
Nessa sighs as he closes in on her. She stands up on her toes to meet him halfway. “That doesn’t matter.”
He kisses her before she can say anything else and its so warm. She can taste the alcohol on his tongue as his mouth parts against hers eagerly and she can tell that he’s been thinking about this for far longer than she has. It’s intoxicating. She grabs his shoulders and pulls him down closer to her.
He laughs, breaking away marginally. “You’re too short,” he says.
“You’re too tall,” she snaps back irritably. Oliver begins to straighten but she doesn’t want him to be any further away than he is now. “No.” Her hands tighten on his shoulders. “Stay.”
He shudders a bit at her tone of voice. “Here? I thought it was improper.”
She links her hands behind his neck and slides away from the wall, walking backwards toward the door that leads to the courtyard where she knows it is dark and quiet. He follows obediently, although a bit awkwardly as he hunches over to her level and lets her pull him through the door into the darkness.
Immediately, the summer air wraps around her like a hug and she can smell the warmth of it. Oliver’s hands tighten on her hips and she gasps as he lifts her up and sets her on the ledge of a shuttered window. The shadows cover them so tightly that no one can see as she widens her legs and he steps into the bracket of her thighs, her skirt riding up in the front.
Nessa clasps her hands behind his neck as he leans his forehead against hers. “Now I’ve got you where I want you,” she says with mock danger in her voice.
“You fiend,” Oliver says.
She laughs and pulls him back in for another kiss.
#nessa and oliver#the banter here is so cute i love it i love them#taylor writes things#he y they are JUTST SO CUTE OK
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Ch. 3 - In Our Dreams - A YOI Fanfic
Here it is, Chapter 3. In which I hope I am using the -san honorific right.
I had a lot of fun listening to classical music and trying to decide what young Victor would skate to, especially given the history I gave him last chapter.
Then I gave that poor boy angst.
Chapter 3 is ~3800 words
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
The opening notes of Mozart’s The Magic Flute poured from the sound system. Brass and strings contrasted with beats of silence and Victor allowed himself the joy of just skating to the music.
The overture was considered a safe choice by most skaters, powerful but sure to not clash with the sensibilities of the judges. It held a different meaning for Victor. It was music that he’d heard at a young age; a lullaby as his parents practiced long into the night. It was the piece he’d learned to move to as dancers led him through the choreography during rehearsals. It was the first opera he’d ever attended. He loved it, and long ago decided that he would skate to it his first season in the senior division.
The gentle swell of sound carried him to his first, then second jumps, followed by a spin. He knew this music, this routine. His feet danced to the staccato of strings, and his arms accentuated the melodies of flute and oboe.
All he had to do was skate in a way that made him happy. If he did that he knew Yuri would be happy too.
Victor tuned out the applause of the audience, forced himself to forget about his fellow skaters and focused on his love for the music and for his profession. He’d done most of the choreography himself, with only minor input from Yakov. He’d matched his feelings about the piece to elements of his program, now his body just had to carry him through to the end.
Layers of sound built, one upon another, rising to a crescendo. Victor absorbed each note and reflected it on the ice. The music was inside him, he merely needed to play his part.
All too soon he was in his final pose, breathing heavily in the brief silence before the audience roared to life. Victor’s eyes welled up as he bowed before the crowd. He didn’t care about the score, he was happy with his performance. Even Yakov’s lecture about which elements needed work couldn’t bring him down from the euphoria of skating just the way he wanted to.
He allowed himself to enjoy the routines of his fellow skaters, and by the time there was one skater remaining he was in second place. His senior debut would have him standing on the podium at the Grand Prix Final with a bronze medal, and he couldn’t stop grinning.
He didn't need to connect to Yuri’s mind to know how the boy felt about the performance. He was free on the ice, and he knew he’d conveyed it. The weight of the medal hanging around his neck was secondary to that knowledge.
However, Victor didn’t have time to celebrate his success. The following day he attended a press conference for the medalists, then hopped a plane back to St. Petersburg. He had only about a week to prepare for the Russian Figure Skating Championships.
He found it a little serendipitous that he would be skating the short program on his seventeenth birthday, and on the heels of his bronze he had an ambitious new goal in mind. What more could he ask for as a birthday present than to make the Russian team for the Olympics?
Yakov, of course, was thrilled as the week progressed. As soon as Victor had made it clear he intended to make the Olympic team he focused on helping the boy clean up his programs. By the middle of the week the coach had given days off to anybody who wasn’t competing and drilled his top skaters, some of whom it would be their last chance to win one of the coveted spots.
Victor almost felt guilty at times, aiming so high during his first year as a senior. Some of his rinkmates were within a year or two of retirement. If he made the team they wouldn’t, and they never would. But he also couldn’t help himself, he wanted to give Yuri that rush of excitement.
How will he react when he hears I’m going? I have to find out, and the only way to know is to actually make the team.
Victor woke early to practice and arrived home late and exhausted almost every day during that week, but each time he thought he needed to slow down he would remind himself that the opportunity came along only once every four years.
I don’t know what the future holds. I can’t wait, I can’t step aside. Everybody wants this, so I have to fight even harder.
The flight from St. Petersburg to Kazan was the most rest during the day that Victor had allowed himself since his return from the Grand Prix Final. He felt the familiar ache of pushing himself too hard as he shifted in his seat during the short flight, but he didn’t care. No matter what happened when he took to the ice he knew that he would fight to the last note to give a performance that he could be proud of.
***
Watch me Yuri! Don’t look away.
Victor was jubilant as he took his place on the ice for the short program. He was ready as Yuri’s thoughts rang through his head. All he had to do was keep skating in a way that made him happy. He knew he could do it.
Victor let confidence and enthusiasm carry him through the following three minutes, and when he joined Yakov in the kiss and cry the normally stern coach had nothing but praise for his performance. Victor beamed as his scores were displayed. The numbers were high, and he was confident that, even with half a dozen skaters remaining, he would be in striking distance of the podium.
By the end of the night he was right where he wanted to be. He was in third going into the free skate, and he needed to take either gold or silver in order to make the team.
I want to feel your smile, to know your excitement. I want you to keep reaching for me Yuri.
Victor was too excited to dreamwalk that night, and he was quietly grateful for it. He didn’t want to find himself in the mind of another until after he stood on the podium.
***
Victor stared at the silver medal in his hand, and was both astonished and dismayed that he had it.
He’d underestimated his competition’s hunger for a position on the team, and had made it on only the thinnest of margins and the backs of others. What should have felt good was bitter instead.
I shouldn’t be holding this.
He’d skated a flawless program. Every element was perfect, but his competition was fierce, and the night had been filled with personal bests. After his free skate he was in second place with two skaters left to take the ice. Both were known powerhouses determined to end their careers with a flourish.
For several long minutes it appeared that Victor would come in fourth, not even eligible as an alternate. He retreated to the restricted area of the venue, and had slumped against a wall when he heard the faint voice of an announcer from a nearby monitor. The skater after Victor had first fallen, then popped a jump.
After the scores were announced it was clear that Victor was guaranteed bronze at least.
An alternate to the Olympic team my first year at the senior level really isn’t so bad. Victor tried to tell himself, but inside he was angry.
What could I have done differently? Should I have moved more jumps to the second half? Do my step sequences need additional work?
Victor was headed to the locker room to fix his hair for the medal ceremony when he heard an astonished gasp from the audience, then the music cut mid piece. He stopped and slowly made his way to a bank of monitors where he could see that the final skater of the night was sitting on the ice in obvious pain. Blood flowed from a wound on his head, but the way his leg shook was even more concerning.
“... suffered an injury after last season, and had pushed a tight recovery schedule in order to compete tonight. It appears that last jump may have caused a recurrence,” the voice of an announcer drifted from tiny speakers.
Victor felt his stomach drop.
Not like this. I don’t want to win like this. A missed jump, a fall… I can handle those. But an injury?
Victor watched in horror as a medical crew skated over. He knew even before they moved the injured man to the backboard that it wasn’t good.
“Vitya…” came Yakov’s voice from behind him.
Victor turned and nodded. No words were needed. Yakov knew Victor hated the circumstances, and Victor knew the reverse was true.
Nobody wants to win like this.
Victor’s shoulders sagged as he resumed his walk to the locker room. Inside he saw the man who was now guaranteed a gold medal, his eyes wide and glued to a small monitor as he watched the medical team carry the injured man from the ice.
They shared a glance that conveyed more than words ever could. Neither was happy, and in a few minutes they’d both have to wear fake smiles and accept their medals. It was part of the performance, whether they liked it or not.
Victor grimaced. I’ll work harder, I’ll make it right as best I can by showing the world the power of Russian figure skating.
Victor combed the inevitable tangles from his hair as the other man smoothed his costume and made sure that it looked just as he wanted. They left together toward the rink, neither saying a word. Both Yakov and the other man’s coach waited just inside the wings with similar sour expressions.
“Ready Vitya?” Yakov asked quietly a few minutes later as one of the event staff informed them that the medal ceremony would begin in a shortly.
“No,” Victor replied truthfully. “But I don’t think anybody is ever ready for this.”
Yakov nodded solemnly. “No, but you know what you have to do.”
Victor nodded. “Do they know what happened yet?”
Yakov sighed. “He suffered a stress fracture late in the summer, and the doctors told him twelve weeks of recovery. Apparently he started training again early. The medical crews have taken him to the hospital but the guess is that the fracture opened up again and he may have a broken leg.”
Victor grit his teeth. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“No, but now isn’t the time to dwell. The Olympics are a month away, and you’re going to be competing in them. How you got there has to be put aside or it’ll affect your performance.”
Victor nodded, and forced a smile as he was ushered once more in front of the public. However, he noted a dramatically muted atmosphere had diffused through the arena.
He couldn’t blame the crowd one bit.
***
Victor felt that his heart was about to break when he found himself in Yuri’s mind. A part of him wanted the boy not to watch, not to realize how the night unfolded. But he also knew that it was necessary for Yuri to see the truth.
If he’s going to be a competitor he needs to know the stakes; that there are circumstances that we cannot control. He needs to know there are situations that leave this bitter feel to a win.
“Mom said Victor made it to the Olympic team with a silver medal!” Yuko squealed, kneeling on the bench. He recognized the surroundings as the lobby of the ice rink.
That’s right, the rebroadcast probably isn’t at night since it’s not an international competition. So they would have no reason to be home to watch.
“Really?” Yuri begged, and Victor felt the surge of energetic hope through the boy.
Yuko leaned forward and nodded.
“I bet his program was flawless, just like at the Grand Prix Final!” Yuri exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see it!”
The conversation continued and Victor heard the music of his competitors. The kids were waiting for the scores of the skater right before him when Yuko’s mother walked out from behind the counter of the rink.
“Time for practice after Victor skates,” the woman ordered. Victor immediately saw through her fake smile.
She knows, and she’s trying to protect them.
Victor felt Yuri’s confusion, but for the time being he nodded to the woman’s demands.
The woman walked away and Yuko leaned in and whispered to Yuri. “His scores must be incredible if it’s so good that it’s not worth it to watch the last two skaters.”
Victor saw himself standing in the middle of the rink and the music started. He saw the calm and confidence that he felt throughout his program. He wished it had been enough, that he’d have stood on that podium because of the strength of his skating. Despite that, he had to admit that the program was clean. Every element was well executed, and he knew his love of the music was evident.
By the end he was even more conflicted. He had turned in a performance to be proud of, and he knew it. But the bittersweet taste of it hadn’t lessened.
“Ok kids,” Yuko’s mom called as the applause was still sounding. “Skates on. Get in there and start warming up.”
“We wanna see the scores!” Yuko protested.
“Now, Yuko,” her mother declared, an unrelenting tone in her voice.
Yuko huffed, but laced up her skates. Yuri had turned his attention to his own laces, but decided that he wasn’t happy with the tightness and loosened the boot on his right foot so that he could fix it.
“See you in there Yuri,” Yuko said as she stood and walked toward the ice.
“Right behind you,” Yuri replied.
Yuri stood a few seconds later and was just two steps toward the rink when the scores were announced. He seemed to not consider the numbers, and for that Victor was glad, until the announcer cut in with:
“... putting the young skater in second place, with two left to take the ice.”
Yuri stopped and turned to look at the television. “Second?”
“On the ice Yuri!” Yuko’s mother scolded.
“Yuuki-san?” Yuri asked cautiously. “How did Victor make the Olympic team if he’s only in second now?”
The woman’s lips faded into a thin line as she pursed them. “Don’t worry about that Yuri,” she finally said softly.
“But the final two are amazing! They’ve been the top Russian skaters for years. What happened?”
Even as young as he is, he’s perceptive.
The crowd roared to life, the next program was about to start.
“Go warm up Yuri,” Yuuki said softly, not even trying to hide behind the mask of a stern teacher. She was now a mother who was worried about a child she considered one of her own.
Listen to her Yuri, you don’t want to see it.
“Yuuki-san, I want to know what happened!” Yuri demanded, realizing that he was being sheltered.
The woman sighed, walked over to the glass doors and called Yuko back in from the ice.
Yuri sat back down, and watched as the next routine started. He wasn’t surprised to see the fall, and Victor felt the boy’s dawning realization that something worse had happened.
“Mom?” Yuko asked as she came into the lobby just as the music ended.
“Have a seat, Yuko,” her mother said as she knelt before the kids. They were waiting for the scores, and all three knew that a decision had to be made quickly.
“I didn’t want you two to watch the final skate from last night,” she explained carefully. “It doesn’t end well, and I don’t want to discourage you from skating.”
Yuri swallowed. “He gets hurt, doesn’t he?”
Yuuki nodded. “Yes, he was injured.”
Yuri looked to his right and saw that Yuko had gone pale. He turned back to Yuuki.
“I want to watch,” he said softly.
“You really shouldn’t Yuri,” Yuuki replied.
“Is it bad?”
Yuuki shook her head. “A little blood, and a broken bone. But with his age it means the end of his career. I don’t think you want to see that, especially when you want to be a figure skater too.”
Yuri looked at his feet, his toes turning inward nervously. “That’s why I need to watch.”
Yuri…
The boy looked up again. “If I want to skate I will see injuries, I might even get hurt myself. I… I need to be able to face it.”
Yuuki sighed, knowing there were only seconds before the scores for the previous skater were announced. She turned to her daughter.
“Yuko. I’d prefer you not watch, but it’s your choice.” She then stood and returned to her position behind the counter.
Yuri was shaking slightly as the scores were displayed, putting the second-to-last skater in fourth. But the nerves settled when Yuko took his hand in her own.
“I need to see it too,” she said softly, squeezing his fingers with her own. “I might not want to go pro like you, but one day I’ll manage this rink. I need to learn to see it as much as you do.”
Victor considered leaving. He hadn’t watched the replay. He’d avoided it out of a sense of guilt, and because he didn’t want to see one of his idols fall like that. But he realized that he had to display as much strength as his juniors.
Victor set his nerves as the opening notes sounded from the speakers. The intro was flawless, the first two jumps clean. But he saw a strained expression coming out of the flying sit spin.
He knew… he knew right then, and decided to push through the pain in the hope of giving one last, great, performance.
The next jump, a triple, turned into a double and Victor saw that the man was fighting to keep going.
Just stop…
“He doesn’t look comfortable,” Yuko said, a worried tone to her voice.
“I think he’s already hurt,” Yuri replied.
Victor knew it was coming up, and when the man turned to face into the axel he saw the leg tremble as he flexed for the jump.
Two and a half perfect rotations. Victor knew that the man on the screen had downgraded his program to push through. The blade came down on the ice, steady and sure, and the man collapsed around the leg that failed under him. He was able to mostly brace his fall, but was close to the barrier and slid into it, the impact jolting him again and making the side of his head slam into the ice.
Shocked gasps and groans filtered down through the audience as crews scrambled to cut the music.
Victor was grateful that the rebroadcast cut not long after the medical team skated over. Rather than dwell on the accident they focused on highlights from the evening. They also skipped the terrible minutes between the accident and the medal ceremony and after a few commercials he saw the podium, and his own fake smile as he accepted silver.
“Poor Victor,” Yuko said softly. Victor could hear the dismay in her voice. “He must have hated that. Look at that smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes at all.”
“He looks so sad,” Yuri agreed.
“He’ll be ok,” Yuuki said from behind them, and Victor realized that nobody had noticed her make her way back over. “Yakov Feltsman is one of the top coaches in the world. He’s seen injuries before, and even if Victor is having a hard time right now his coach will help him through it.
“Besides, even if it’s fake, he’s smiling. He’s strong enough on his own to put on that performance for the public. That’s important. A weak person can’t do that”
There was a pat on Yuri’s back as the woman made her way toward the rink. “Take a minute, then it’s really time for practice, ok kids?”
“I wish I could give him a hug…” Yuri said, dismayed. “He looks like he needs one.”
Victor felt a moment of surprise when he realized Yuri was right. He’d pushed people away in order to focus on his sport, and in that moment something as simple as a hug seemed an absolute necessity.
“Maybe Coach Yakov will give him one,” Yuko suggested. “Mom said he’ll know what to do to help Victor.”
Yakov? Hug? Victor thought about it for a minute.
“Do you think he wants a hug though? He just turned seventeen, right?”
Yuko turned from where she was walking ahead of Yuri and looked at him. “Wouldn’t you want one? Seventeen isn’t that old, he’s only four years older than you are.”
Yuri stopped and thought about it. “He might… I can’t imagine ever not wanting hugs.”
Yuko grinned. “I bet if he needs a hug he’ll know where to go for one.”
Victor felt strangely calmer after the exchange. A part of him wanted to stay through their lesson, but he already knew that the media would be ruthless the next day.
***
Victor was ready before Yakov had to come fetch him for once. He’d pulled his hair into a low ponytail, rather than let it drape freely over his shoulders as was his normal style.
He needed to project the confidence that he would be able to deliver a good performance in Turin. Every aspect of his wardrobe reflected that. He was in his best suit, and looked a bit older with his hair pulled back.
Now he needed to stop faking it and feel the emotion.
I took third at the Grand Prix Final. I can skate at the highest levels, and I’ve already proven that. Yes, fierce competitors withdrew to focus on the Olympics, but their absence does not take away from my achievements.
He stared at himself in the mirror until he thought that he could convey a confidence he didn’t feel. Before his insecurities about the circumstances could overwhelm him he stepped into the hallway and walked down a couple doors to Yakov’s room.
Yakov was visibly surprised to see Victor standing there. “Ready Vitya?” he asked, masking concern at the unusual punctuality from his student.
“Almost.”
“Go back to your room then and do whatever you need. We should head down in a few minutes.”
Victor shook his head. “What I need isn’t in my room.”
“Vitya?”
Victor looked at Yakov, and though he tried to smile he could feel how strained it was, how much inner turmoil he was still facing.
“Yakov… can I have a hug?”
#yoi fanfic#yoi#yuri on ice#yuri on ice fanfic#yuri katsuki#victor nikiforov#victuri#In Our Dreams#dreamwalker#yuri!!! On ice#yuri!!! on ice fanfic
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