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offspring-of-calliope · 4 years

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Oneshot #1: BillDarcy (Soulmate AU)

Description: A soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you reach the age of 16. It's BillDarcy in the canon era. Slightly angsty but also sweet with a happy ending.

words: 3411

A/N: Am I procrastinating because I should write so many other things? Maybe. Do I regret anything? Maybe but in my defense, I feel like there is a lack of BillDarcy fanfics and I really need to improve my English skills, so... that's a semi-good reason for writing this. It would be nice if you left a comment (maybe also on grammar/spelling mistakes).

I hope you enjoy (because strangely, I don't think that it's that bad).

Sincerely, me,

Lélodie

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The softly swaying music was the only thing that kept Darcy sane in this stuffy room. Some people were crowded on the dance floor, dancing intimately close with their partners, whereas others stood around in their fancy suits and dresses, behaving as if they were the most important individuals on earth.

Darcy sighed and held on tighter to his glass of sprinkling water, searching for something to get his mind off the fact that everything here was fake. In the beginning, he hadn't exactly been opposed to the idea of accompanying his father to this big event that was hosted by William Randolph Hearst. But he had soon realised that he literally felt trapped in between all these people. He wanted nothing more than to return to his bedroom and continue to read the latest book he had gotten his hands on. An interesting piece of literature, written by Victor Hugo.

He searched for his father in the crowd, soon finding him being in an animated conversation with another newspaper owner whose name he had forgotten. For a small moment, his father glanced back at him and as if he could read his son's thoughts, he threw him an ominous look. As if to say: “You are staying right where you are, young man.”

Darcy answered with a cautious nod and turned away. That was when he saw him. In a small corner, right next to an open window, stood a boy, who seemed to be as young as himself, staring at the floor and looking obviously out of place. His suit seemed to be too big for his slim body, his short brown hair was drenched in sweat because of the heat and his eyes that appeared quite lively on the one hand, signalised exhaustion on the other hand. Darcy couldn't describe why, but he felt like something in him was dying to get to know this boy. With a last look in his father's direction and a sip from his water, he made up his mind.

It was difficult, getting to the corner where the boy stood. Everywhere were bodies, dancing, standing, swaying, and the general atmosphere made it hard for Darcy to take a breath. But eventually, he ended up beside the boy, who eyed him curiously. Then, he raised his eyebrows, an unspoken question as to why Darcy had come over to him.

“You're looking pretty miserable over here,” Darcy explained, fiddling with the brim of his glass.

The other boy snorted and replied in the most sarcastic tone he could come up with. “Oh, quite the opposite, I actually enjoy being around presumptuous people who hide themselves behind a facade.”

Once again, Darcy wasn't able to breathe but this time for an entirely different reason. He had expected everything but not that. When he was younger, his mother had always told him stories about soulmates. Two people that were so perfect for each other that the universe graced their skin with the first words one would say to the other so that they would be able to recognize the right person when they met them. The words usually appeared when one turned sixteen. The days before Darcy's sixteenth birthday had been torture. He had realised at a very young age that he wasn't able to look at girls the way he was supposed to and he couldn't feel anything but shame and fear. A tiny part of himself had hoped that his soulmate would be a girl and he had simply been confused.

But no. The words that he had memorised ever since he had seen them for the first time had just been spoken. By the boy right in front of him. Who was now looking at him with concern in his eyes. Why was he looking concerned? Why wasn't there recognition in his gaze? Didn't he have Darcy's words as well? Had he just not registered them?

Still a bit stunned, Darcy cleared his throat. “That was really the first thing that came to your mind?”

Now it was the other boy's turn to be confused. “Why? Is there something wrong with what I said?”

“No, no, it's not that,” Darcy assured him quickly. “It just...” Think, Darcy, think. In his head, he cursed his brain for not being able to form coherent thoughts any more. “It just makes me glad I approached you.” He was quite satisfied with this spontaneous explanation because the other boy flashed him a smile that made him feel things he never had experienced before.

“Thank you for the compliment. You are the son of mister Reid, aren't you?”

Darcy nodded and stretched out the hand that wasn't still holding his glass. “Yes. My name is Darcy. And you are?”

“I'm Bill. The unfortunate son of today's host,” Bill introduced himself and shook Darcy's hand.

“Nice to meet you, Bill.” His skin was very soft, Darcy noticed, yet he couldn't help but see faint traces of ink on his fingertips. It made him smirk. Bill's hand was perfect. And it was being pulled away by its owner far too soon. For a moment, the two boys just stood next to each other, observing the room and the people in it. Upon realising that every person in this room, except for Bill, was kind of old, Darcy had an idea. “You appear to be the same age as I am. Are you sixteen as well?”

Bill shook his head. “No. I turned fifteen, two months ago. My mother always tells me that I look older than I am though.”

Darcy hoped that his relief wasn't too obvious. So this whole soulmate thing was not necessarily one-sided, at least regarding the role of the universe. But after this short moment of relief, reality came crashing down on him. Even if Darcy's words appeared on Bill's skin on his sixteenth birthday, that didn't mean that Bill wanted to be with Darcy. Homosexuals were very despised within society and he hadn't ever heard of a same-sex soulmate couple that was openly together. Or maybe that wouldn't bother Bill but he still wouldn't be attracted to Darcy. Was Darcy even attracted to Bill?

At the end of the evening, Darcy completely dismissed the last question. How could he not be attracted to Bill? Bill, who had asked him if he wanted to leave the party to show him his father's printing press, after Darcy mentioned his interest in printing. Bill, who had been so gently when he had adjusted Darcy's spectacles. Bill, whose eyes were big and glistening with joy when he talked about things he loved.

It was like Darcy was falling without having planned to jump.

The stars in the sky were especially shiny that night, or maybe that was just Darcy's imagination. He was staring out of the window of Bill's bedroom, sitting on the spare bed and awaiting the moment the clock would strike twelve. Part of him was curious. He wanted to know if Bill would really have his words on his skin. You're looking pretty miserable over here. In addition to Bill's words on his chest, he had his own memorised, repeating them over and over like a prayer.

The other part was afraid. His mind was being flooded with the same questions he had asked himself nearly a whole year long. After the party where they had met each other, Bill and Darcy had started to hang out more and more, sometimes even with Katherine Pulitzer, a childhood friend of Bill's. They had never talked about this whole soulmate topic, at least not when it was just the two of them. Katherine had told them her words at one point but that was it. Darcy had noticed Bill's curious look in his direction when Katherine had asked him if he wanted to share his words. But Darcy had only made a dismissive hand gesture and started to talk about the latest news.

He didn't know what to expect. The only thing he knew was that his body was aching, aching for something that he just couldn't put his finger on.

Suddenly, the room was filled with the faraway sound of ringing bells. It was twelve o'clock. Darcy hadn't gone to sleep the night before his own sixteenth birthday, so he remembered clearly how he had been hugging his knees in anticipation. The abrupt pain in his chest as the universe drew words on his body, his skin, right above his heart. He had wanted to cry. He had known that he wouldn't be able to read with tears in his eyes, however, so he had gripped tight onto the edge of his bed, waiting for the pain to subside. Then, he had run towards his mirror, a flickering candle in his hand, and had nearly ripped off his shirt.

His memories were interrupted by Bill's cry. The other boy had been fast asleep for at least one hour, so Darcy had thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be able to feel the pain. Alarmed, he turned his head in the direction of Bill's bed and saw that his best friend was clutching his chest, still half asleep and panting.

“Bill,” Darcy called out, softly, so that he wouldn't wake up Bill's parents. Bill didn't respond. Instead, he was blindly searching for something to hold on to. The blanket, then the bedsheets. “Bill.” As fast as he could, Darcy left the spare bed and ran over towards Bill. Bill, his soulmate who was in pain and whom he couldn't help. “Bill, sh, it's alright, I'm here. It's going to be alright.” Bill's wandering hands were suddenly in reach, so Darcy took them between his own, tenderly, as if Bill was made of glass.

Still gasping for air, Bill seemed to be able to take in his surroundings now. Through half closed eyes, he looked at Darcy, trying to process what he was saying, while holding onto his hands like a lifeline. “Darcy, it hurts, why does it hurt?”

Now, that was a good question. In every story his mother had ever told him about soulmates, she had never once mentioned the pain that came with getting your words. He had felt betrayed and he had told her so afterwards. But she had just hugged him with an encouraging smile and mumbled something along the lines of: “Nobody wants to remember the downsides of the beautiful things.”

“I know. I know that it hurts, but don't worry, Bill. It will stop eventually. I'm here. I'm with you,” Darcy whispered, softly drawing patterns on Bill's palms.

“You won't leave, will you?” A sob escaped Bill's lips and Darcy wondered if the pain was different for everyone. His own chest began to hurt upon seeing Bill like this.

“I won't leave. I promise.” Carefully, he put his arms around Bill, holding him as close as he could, showing him that he wouldn't go away that easily. He could feel Bill trying to hold him tighter but the tiredness and the pain had taken away the strength of his arms.

For a long time, the room was filled with sobs and affectionate words. The sound of the bells was long gone and the intensity of the stars only an obligatory background.

The next morning, Darcy was awoken by Bill's shuffling. He distantly remembered falling asleep in each other's arms, with their legs tangled under the blanket but in retrospect this might've just been a part of a sweet dream. The bed was creaking and he could feel Bill standing up. Muffled sounds escaped Darcy's mouth. He was nevertheless too sleepy to open his eyes. He could hear steps. Fabric being moved. A gasp.

“Everything alright?” Was the only thing he was able to say in his condition. He wondered if being hungover felt like this. It took him some time, but that didn't matter since Bill wasn't responding anyways, before he finally could open his eyes. Only to see the other boy standing in front of his mirror, shirtless, examining a little thread of ink on his skin. He tried hard not to stare. Then it hit him. “You got your words.”

Bill turned away from the mirror, in his direction, and smiled. “You're looking pretty miserable over here,” he recited. “What do you think? Am I gonna meet them when I am coming out of a fight? Maybe I will join a revolution and a time will come when I don't succeed but then I meet them and everything turns out to end good,” Bill speculated, like the dramatic boy he was. Always dreaming about defying laws and doing something great.

It took Darcy embarrassingly long to register that the words on Bill's skin were his own. It took him even longer to realise that Bill had no clue that he had already heard these words before. For a moment, a short little moment that could easily be missed, he contemplated telling him. But he couldn't. Not when Bill started to go on and on about some fictional soulmate, already planning out their lives together. Some fictional soulmate. Some soulmate that wasn't Darcy.

Maybe Darcy should at least tell Bill that he shouldn't get his hopes up. That he shouldn't go through the streets, thinking that he will meet his soulmate. That he should instead go and find a pretty girl to settle down with. But he didn't.

Instead, he just stood up, wished Bill a happy birthday and pretended to be as invested in Bill's soulmate scenarios as the boy himself was.

A cool wind was blowing through the streets but that didn't bother Darcy. He was just content with walking an overjoyed Bill home. It was an easy concept. After being persuaded by both Katherine and Bill, all three of them had joined the newsboy's cause and helped typesetting and printing an article to get the working kids of New York to unite. Bill was convinced that he was finally part of a big rebellion, so he nearly began floating with delight. And when Bill was extraordinarily happy, he became the most beautiful person on earth. Walking side by side with the most beautiful person on earth was making Darcy the luckiest boy on earth. So some tiny, chilly breeze became nothing to him.

Right now, Bill was talking about the commitment Katherine had shown and how surprised he had been when she had told him that the strike leader himself, Jack Kelly, was her soulmate. “Wouldn't it be nice, being part of a revolution alongside your soulmate?”

Darcy snorted. “I suppose.”

Bill threw him a strange look. The last few days, he often wore this exact same look and it drove Darcy crazy because he didn't know what it meant. Suddenly, Bill slowed down his steps. He hadn't exactly talked loud before, considering the fact that they were walking through the city while most of the people were asleep in their beds, but nonetheless he began to decrease his volume. “Say, Darcy, do you remember what we saw before we left the building?”

Darcy's heart stopped beating for a moment. Of course he remembered. It had shocked him to see two boys kissing openly in front of so many people but then the shock had turned into jealousy. How badly he wanted to do the same. Kissing the person he loved. But these were newsies. They lived after their own rules, as long as nobody got hurt. They may have been treated badly by life but they could be who they are. He wasn't a newsie. He wasn't allowed to follow his heart's desire. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering, you know... If two boys could be each other's soulmates,” Bill stated. His hands, that had been hanging by his sides, were now fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Darcy wanted nothing more than to reach out to them.

Why couldn't Bill stop with this whole soulmate talk? And since when was he so interested in same-sex soulmates? Suddenly, Darcy felt nervousness crawling up his skin. Did Bill suspect that Darcy wasn't interested in girls? “I... How would I know?” He stuttered out.

Silence. Then, without a warning, Bill grabbed his hand and led him into the nearest alley, away from the lights of the street lamps. The smell in this alley wasn't exactly pleasant but Darcy had other problems than his stinky environment. Bill was close. So close. And he hadn't let go of his hand.

“Darcy, look, I desperately hope that I am not wrong but if I am, let's just forget about this whole thing, alright?” Bill's words didn't make any sense to him. However, he nodded, if only to learn what was going on with the other boy all of a sudden. “The party where we first met. How did you think I looked?”

You're looking pretty miserable over here. He remembered. Bill remembered, didn't he? Beads of sweat were tickling Darcy's forehead now as he contemplated his options. He could name a random adjective or act like he didn't know what Bill meant. Or he could be honest and finally get his rejection. But why would Bill be so keen on rejecting him? I desperately hope that I am not wrong. All this time, Darcy had thought that he understood Bill pretty well, but now he wasn't so sure any more. “You were looking pretty miserable,” he breathed out. His heart was beating faster than ever and he distantly registered that his hand was still in Bill's. Bill's wonderful hand that was so often decorated by ink stains.

“Thank God.” It seemed like Bill let out a breath he had not known he was holding. And then, he pressed his lips to Darcy's.

Darcy's brain short-circuited. What was even happening? Was he dreaming? No, he couldn't be dreaming. In his dreams, his kisses with Bill were always perfect. But in reality, neither of them had ever kissed someone before, so it was an awkward touch – lips to lips, with a little too much saliva. Darcy pulled back in bewilderment. “What do – But you didn't remember – What was that?”

Bill let out a shy laugh. “I know I didn't even consider the possibility that someone had already said my words when I first got them. But the longer I thought about some fictional person I realised that I didn't really want them. There was only one person on my mind and I couldn't get rid of all these thoughts about you and then I remembered our first meeting. I knew I said something to you about these presumptuous people but I couldn't remember your words. Context, hope and Katherine were what led me to at least hope that you could be my soulmate. And I just had to know if I was right.” He made a face like he was thinking about something. “Why hadn't you told me before?”

“I didn't want to scare you away. And you were so happy with your idea of an ideal soulmate. An ideal soulmate that wasn't me.”

“I am so sorry, love. It wasn't my intention to make you feel this way. But you have to know that there is no ideal soulmate. There is just you. You and me. From now on.” Bill used the hand that wasn't holding Darcy's to stroke Darcy's cheekbone, trying to not knock the spectacles from his face. “If you'll have me.”

Darcy couldn't help but smile at being called love by Bill of all people. “Of course I'll have you. But... what about everything else? Our parents? The rest of society? I want to make this happen, I promise, but I have to remind you that the position we're in is not exactly an optimal one.”

“I know. I know and we can think of something tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow, I mean, we may be a little busy with joining a revolution. But please, please let us be only us for a moment.”

Darcy didn't even have to think this time. He nodded, feeling tears of relief forming behind his eyelids. Then, he took a deep breath and decided to lift a weight off of his chest. “We are soulmates, Bill.” It felt indefinitely good to say it out loud.

“Yes, we are, love.” Bill had never looked more beautiful to Darcy than in this moment.

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straykidsupdate · 5 years

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Stray Kids are shaking up K-pop’s status quo

The South Korean pop band Stray Kids are clustered around a laptop for a Skype interview, pale in the screen’s glow as heavy rain turns New York City to grey. It’s a fitting backdrop for the group: from their 2017 pre-debut release “Hellevator” to the latest single, the snarling, trumpeting EDM of “MIROH”, the K-pop group have made similarly dystopian environs their visual backdrop, where neon and CCTV screens flicker and the group are hemmed in by skyscrapers, tarmac, and tunnels as they attempt to escape or defy their surroundings.

This concept – of attaining freedom – is central to the group, and it’s an idea that’s rooted in reality. The group’s leader, Bang Chan, handpicked each member for the group from their parent label JYP Entertainment’s roster of trainees, a process unheard of in K-pop, where that power lies with executives and creative directors. Stray Kids write and produce all their material, too, and are one of the few idol groups to do so. Their music focuses unflinchingly on their youth – the anger and frustration, the ecstatic highs and ragged lows – while questioning their own shifting sense of identity.

With bleached bangs falling into one eye, Bang Chan recalls not the gravitas of the opportunity to form his own group, but the pressure of picking wisely. “There was a lot on my mind,” says the 21-year-old, speaking during the band’s run of sold-out North American concerts. “Choosing the right people was a must, because I’m going to be with them for a long time. Because I’d been a trainee for so long,” – seven years – “I think I had the ability to figure out what potential they had.” He turns to his bandmates and namechecks them: Woojin, the eldest at 22; Lee Know; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; and the youngest, I.N, who turned 18 in February. “With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team.”

Bang Chan and 18-year-old Felix, whose cavernously deep voice is at odds with his Bambi-innocent looks, were both raised in Australia, and the broad twang of their accent conveys a cheerful, anything-is-possible resonance. It’s the former who helms the conversation. He’s an engaging speaker and a careful listener, stopping to translate questions for the non-English speakers. At times he falters, and at others he deflects to well-worn answers (a reflection of their newness), but he’s unmistakably a leader, a role he wears effortlessly.

As a whole, Stray Kids are known for their friendly, indefatigable rambunctiousness, but with nearly a dozen rookie awards and five EPs in just over 12 months, it’d be foolish to underestimate their tenacity. Their start was a baptism of fire. On Stray Kids, the eponymously-named survival TV show that they were formed through, they were required to write tracks and perfect performances to short deadlines, then ruthlessly critiqued by the CEO of their label, JYP Entertainment. Two of the group members, Felix and Lee Know, were initially eliminated, although eventually reinstated in the final episode via a public vote. Felix, axed due to his less-than-fluent Korean, hasn’t forgotten the sting. “I still think about my Korean and how I use the language,” he sighs. “I try to learn, and fix it.”

You can see his determination when Stray Kids appear on Korean variety shows to showcase their work and their personalities. Felix’s shyness in speaking had resulted in less camera time but, in recent months, his studying has appeared to pay off and he’s a far more confident presence, able to convey the charm that's endeared him to their fans. It’s the result of constant help from his bandmates, he says, radiating positivity (which is, delightfully, Felix’s default setting). Lee Know, however, who’d had only a short idol training period and was cut early in the series, favours a more stoic approach. “I think I’m here thanks to that feedback. I worked really hard then, and I’m still trying to work hard now too,” he says, and although his small smile seemingly hints at something more pronounced, he settles on a double thumbs up and sits back.

“Choosing the right people was a must... With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team” – Bang Chan, Stray Kids

Their rough-meets-polished sound was set up by the darkly anthemic “Hellevator”, but the thundering EDM and guitar riffs of their official debut, “District 9”, cemented them as a fresh force in K-pop. In its music video, they flee a clinical-looking prison and use a school bus to smash through to the safety of the titular District 9, although even there they’re left searching. “I don’t know who I am, it’s frustrating, it always worries me / Answer me, then give me an answer that will clear it all,” Hyunjin raps with a volatile urgency.

This ceaseless quest weaves through last year’s EP trilogy (I Am NOT, I Am WHO, I Am YOU) and into their latest EP, Clé 1: MIROH, the clear narrative allowing for sonic experiments (from the minimalist electronica of “3rd Eye” to the bright pop drawl of “Get Cool”) without losing momentum. In their song “NOT!”, they celebrate breaking out the “system” – the status quo – and the strength of being different. For Stray Kids, this is more about ambiguous storytelling than holding a deliberate ’us versus them’ mentality. “We usually don’t compare (ourselves) to others,” says vocalist Seungmin, in English. “Like in the song ‘My Pace’, we’re saying we don’t care about others’ (achievements), we’re just talking about Stray Kids’ own way.”

While Stray Kids have definitely created a richly empathetic musical tapestry, their chosen path raises a pertinent observation: in breaking out of one “system”, they’ve joined another. The idol system that they’re now a part of often appears more restrictive than the one they leave behind, and as they move towards the bubble of fame and money, there’s also the potential to lose a sense of oneself. Both feel paradoxical to their story. Bang Chan pauses. “Well, honestly, we wouldn’t call it a system, let’s say a ‘world’, and we’d call it a decision that we made. In order for us to get out of the main system, we chose being idols, and through K-pop we can show the message we want to express.”

Han, the 18-year-old rapper, singer, and songwriter/producer, drapes himself, cat-like, over Felix’s head and neck to get close to the camera. “I think fame and success can be dangerous to a person, depending on how they feel about it, but we’re going to try to always be positive and good natured about it,” he opines, gesticulating rapidly. “We’re still lacking so much, but we’re going to try really hard to understand other people’s feelings and be a good influence.”

Given Stray Kids’ formation, creative freedom, and growing success makes them something of an anomaly, might their presence provoke change in the idol world? Bang Chan furrows his brow. “I suppose so,” he says with the questioning tone of someone presented with an unfamiliar concept. “I guess it’s up to how people take it in.”

Stray Kids, evidently, have been more preoccupied with looking inward, and, when examining their new EP, it’s apparent their gaze has been in flux. Clé 1: MIROH, which Bang Chan describes as “us being really confident because all nine of us are together”, presents a new fearlessness on tracks like “Boxer”, “MIROH” and “Victory Song”, where Han triumphantly raps:“A laidback victor, a smile spreads on my face / Who else is like me, there’s no one.”

“When I was becoming a singer, some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song” – Changbin, Stray Kids

They pose fewer existential questions than on previous EPs, but, says Bang Chan, “if you look at tracks like ‘Chronosaurus’ and ‘Maze Of Memories’, it shows nervousness or anxiety, and a feeling of being lost as well.” The latter, its doomy hip hop propelled by tense piano and bursts of foreboding strings, was an emotional outlet for their silver-tongued rapper, Changbin. “When I was becoming a singer,” he says, in English, “some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song.”

Yet despite sieving emotions and thoughts through the music, their biggest questions, says Changbin, remain unanswered. “But we’re trying,” he smiles. He points to the close presence of their fans, known as STAY. “Maybe we can find the answer soon, through STAY.” How does he intend to discover deeply personal epiphanies through others? “I’m young and lack a lot of experience,” replies Changbin, reverting to Korean. “There are still a lot of childish elements about me as well. By watching those around me, I can find out what I like through them. I feel like I can find myself through (others’ journeys).”

For now, Stray Kids simply continue doing what they’ve done so well thus far – capturing the human condition, including tackling difficult subjects like depression (“Hellevator”), anxiety (“Rock”), and negative thoughts (“Voices”), all of which, Bang Chan says, they’ve experienced first-hand. The group’s core writing team (Han, Changbin, and Bang Chan, together known as 3RACHA) have not only refined their style over the past year but, according to I.N, “improved on their speed of making songs. They’ve gotten really fast,” he says with a sunny grin.

3RACHA’s Soundcloud days are far behind them, although, to their credit, they haven’t deleted the handful of songs that were posted pre-debut. Some will remain just enthusiastic learning curves, but others were raw and powerful, such as “Broken Compass”, which was refashioned into “Mixtape #4” for Clé 1: MIROH.

The “Mixtape” songs, which are only found on the physical versions of their EPs, are where, Hyunjin says, “we all contribute, and fill our individual verses with our personal stories”. In January, 3RACHA revisited a few songs during a Vlive broadcast, and cringed to the point of sweating profusely. As Changbin and Han crease up, Bang Chan covers his face, mock-groaning. “We can’t listen to them now!” But there’s a glint in his eye. “We do have to do episode two of that,” he adds, grinning.

It’s not just the songwriters who are evolving; from being wide-eyed, ambitious and nervous trainees who didn’t always get along, as Hyunjin recently revealed, Stray Kids have become compelling performers with close bonds. They’d clung tightly to Bang Chan during their survival show, but do Stray Kids today feel less lost – or at least more secure in their responsibilities? “I’ll just leave the room so the guys can talk more freely,” jokes Bang Chan, even as Changbin, owner of a bone-dry sense of humour, simply yells, “No!” Vocalist Woojin leans in. “He was very good to us while we were filming the show. At that time we always followed him very well, and relied on him a lot.”

“I don’t have a lot of confidence but when he’s next to me, I know I can do this,” adds Felix, as they ready to depart for the next schedule in a packed day. “But,” Woojin says, “now we’re all developing our own selves, too.”

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#stray kids #190606 #era: clé 1 miroh #t: article #dazed

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madamquacklemore · 5 years

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Chapter 3 A tale of Tales

A/N this will feature moments from the series s03 e05 so you have been warned of spoilers! Again than you all for your feedback much appreciated and as ever i loo forward to your thoughts! When writing I find music helps set the tone for a particular scene or character. So here is this chapter’s inspiration:

Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids Shaking through my spine and down through my ribs No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden ......No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world Blinding-Florence and the Machine Destiny is all arselings!

Finan POV "Easy Lil," Finan stood behind her straightening out her arm. Crouching down he added, "Now see your target and slow slowly slow-ugh!" Liliwen had pulled back the arrow with such force she winded him. She released the arrow not even looking at it,instead she glanced up at him. Sihtric and Osferth who had been watching the lesson laughed at him. "I'm fine child," he ruffled her hair. Liliwen stuck her tongue out at the other two men and moved to get her arrow which had not been too far off the target. A foreign tongue called out to them Finan couldn't help but smile as he watched the child run to her mother? Protector? Friend? Sister? There was still so many questions left unanswered. In the early days of her recovery Finan took it upon himself to visit her, more than once a day if he could. Under the pretence of watching Liliwen he would potter about the room and listen to their strange language. Sometimes he would go in alone tell her about his day and what mischief Liliwen had gotten into. Despite there time together there was so much they needed to know so much he wanted to know. "Fin..he..ok." Liliwen struggled with the English words she told them proudly. The three men turned to look at the little girl. "She has been quite the student in both her studies and her use of weaponry." Sihtric explained to Tarian. "Yes lady we fear Finan's very life might be in danger." Osferth added. "More lie his heart," Sihtric whispered to Osferth as they watched the exchange between their friend and new found ally. "Should you really be up and about Tarian?" Finan asked flinching as an after thought this was the first time he had called her by her name and was not invited to do so despite his visits. Tarian stared at him momentarily."Finan.." she began "I have been bed bound for more than a week I grow restless." "Understandable anything I can do?" Again Finan chided himself he could only imagine what Sihtric and Osferth were saying as he could feel them watching. As was the young Liliwen standing between them head back and forth grinning broadly. "I wish to find the Lord Uthred there is much we need to discuss." she replied. "Indeed there is lady." a voice replied from behind Tarian. Appearing out of nowhere as only Uthred could do, he stood leaning against the pilar with the Aethflead accompanied by the lady that helped Tarian not a week ago. "I suggest we move this sensitive discussion to my parlour?" Aethelflead suggested indicating to her lady to take Liliwen away. This simple gesture spoke volumes as the child walked away willingly-no protest or refusal . For it had seemed the child had grown accustomed to these strangers favouring one in particular offering nothing more than a few welsh words and a "'bye Fin" before she left the courtyard.

***************************** Tarian's POV

The lady of Mercia's parlour was a beautiful room. Fine dark wood furniture, colours on the walls Tarian had never seen before and soft furnishings there was also a fire to welcome them and ale waiting. Standing with her back against the fire, hands placed uncertainly by her side, she looked to Aetheflead seated at her table and the Lord Uthred standing behind her. "Where shall I begin Lord Lady?" "Perhaps the start?" Aethflead replied "Who are you and how did you come to be here?" Tarian sighed and shut her eyes briefly gratefully taking the cup of ale Osferth offered. After muttering a word of thanks she began "Some years ago there was a battle on the edge of our lands between Dane and Celt. We defeated them but at great cost. A great Chief was killed and his daughter claimed by the victor. That woman was my mother. She was brought to the Danish stronghold I believe it to be halfway between our kingdom of Powys and Mercia. Some time later I was born." "So you are both Dane and Celt?" Uthred asked, Tarian nodded, "Who is your father? He must be of great importance for those men to go to such lengths." For not even the mightiest of Danes went near the Welsh border these days. Like the Scots it was re-known for being a mission of heavy losses with minimal reward. Whoever sent men that far West had money power and influence.

"Jarl Jurgen" "Thee Jarl Jurgen?" Aethflead asked. Tarian looked up in surprise "You no of him lady?" "Just who exactly is this Jarl Jurgen?" Finan asked. Before Tarian could explain Aethelflead interjected surprising just about everyone in the room with her vast knowledge of Dane politics. "Only one of the strongest powers of the Norse and Danish invasion. He commanded the biggest invasion of Northern Frankia and has since moved on to Ireland. Although there were rumours he was on our shores no one dared believe it."

"If the Danes and northmen were to ever unite under one king it would be this Jarl Jurgen. He is the most respected and trusted of the Dane leaders." Uthred added. “So basically he's like your brother with just a much bigger army?" Finan asked. Uthred nodded. "No offence lady but I hope to god he never does set back down on these shores."

"If my father had an interest in this Island again we would now it by now." "Yet you were taken." As to Finan's response Tarian had no explanation. If he was back why did he not come back for her himself if she was that important to him worth that much to take in the first place. "I do not know his reasons." Tarian replied. "Nor do I remember much of him just that I hardly saw him as he was constantly away on raids. One night the estate was attacked my mother and I escaped with those who had raided the stronghold. It cost my mother her life. Up until recently I had believed we had been rescued and reunited with my mother's people. However now...Now I am not so sure." "No??" Uthred asked. “You now as well as I do Lord that Danes do not typically use poison." Which meant it was one of her own that wanted to kill her there was no doubt in anyone’s mind. "Jaesus does no one make squares anymore?" Finan joked. "First curses now poison arrows mother of divine sufferin'. What happen' ta killin' a man-or in your case a woman- in a fair figh' " offering much needed reprieve from their dark thoughts.

Once the laughter had died down, Tarian asked. "So now you now my story lord what now?" "We still do not know how you came to escape." Aethelflead asked giving Tarian the feeling she did not trust her. "I had a friend who was amongst them. That friend was killed helping us." Aethelflead apologised and gave her condolences. "Do you hold true to your oath?" Uthred asked. ”I will if Liliwen is kept safe." Tarian replied but she already knew the answer although they may not trust her they were good people they were not the type to serve up a lamb to the slaughter. "Why can't we just sent her back to her own people? Won't she be safe there?" Osferth asked. "'Cause, baby monk it wud be challenge in itself to get Lil back not mention she probably wudnt stay. Also not ta mention if Tarian was poisoned by her own people imagine what they would do to the child." Finan explained. "Am I righ'?" Tarian nodded then tilted her head to the side and examined the Irishman. Lil he called her..Finan has grown fond of her and she him. I knew i made the right decision.He is no fool either. "Is she your child?" Aethelflead asked. "No. She is not. I knew her mother. We were friends. About two years ago Liliwen witnessed her parents deaths when they tried to take her she took her first life and I the others. She had not spoken a word since last week." "A six year old killed a fully grown man?" "By sheer chance. When he grabbed her she had already taken his dagger the Dane tripped and fell he fell on to the weapon in her hand causing his death and nearly crushing her in the process. Whether it was the trauma of a parents deaths or taking a life at such a young age that rendered her mute I do not know." "Look the important ting now is she alive she talking shes smilin' she's even gettin' along with us." Finan reached out in an attempt to comfort her. "Yes she is already getting along with my little Aelfwynn. I worried at first but she is very gentle." Aethflead smiled.

Blinking back tears that threatened to come down she brought herself back to the matter at hand. "So Lord Uthred? Lady Aethflead?" "I could use another warrior. Lady?" “The child will remain here. Her English is improving my ladies tell me." "She will earn her keep I promise you lady and as for your daughter she will guard her with her life." "Aye tha' she will Lady the child's already showin' promise as a warrior. Mus' be the Celt in 'er." Finan teased winking at Tarian. Tarian laughed and for the first time in what felt like years like a great load had been taken from her shoulders and replaced with a strange warm feeling in her belly. A warm feeling she noticed that only seemed to increased whenever the handsome Irishman looked her way.

As Tarian was now sworn in as part of Uthred's company Finan was tasked over the coming weeks with testing her battle skill and together they would train both Liliwen and Osferth. "So you don't use a shield lady like at all?" Finan asked as they gathered outside the walls of the estate the footsteps crunching on early snowfall. "No. Our tribe typically don't. We stick to our borders and when the enemy comes too close we attack from the trees. Or draw them into the forest and spring our traps. Shields would only slow you down." "That makes sense." Osferth replied. All three of them looked at him. "Well it does even I understand that much." he muttered. "We...t-te"Liliwen began picking up staff and shield. She was beginning to understand more words by the day. The workings of a child's mind never ceased to amaze Tarian. Only in her deepest desires late at night would she admit to herself a longing for a child of her own. A man she could live without but she longed to be a mother. Maybe that was why she took it upon herself to take care of Liliwen even if that meant she was now living away from home and her mother's family because of this. "Sound it out" Finan encouraged. "Tee teach! Teach you m-monk!" The three of them laughed. Liliwen was a charmer there was no doubt in that. "Ay lady baby monk is righ'. Trouble is not all our fightn' is done in the trees. You wanna fight with us then you will have to fight sword and shield." "Ah yes the infamous shield wall." Tarian replied taking the shield Finan handed her. Osferth pulled himself and Liliwen to a safe distance as they watched. "Now which is your sword arm?" "Both" she replied simply. "No I mean which arm is strongest." "Both." Tarian repeated. "A warrior is taught from Liliwen's age to have equal strength in both arms. If one is subdued the other is equal in its defence. Finan nodded. "Righ' you defend yourself and I'll attack." Tarian nodded but did not move Finan shrugged and went in for the attack. Tarian side stepped hitting Finan not hard enough to knock him to the ground but enough to throw him off balance. Quicly he regained his composure. Tarian held her shield up as she had seen the Saxon and Danish men do so many times and waited. They circled each other then out of nowhere it seemed Finan had manoevered himself in and around her defence knocking her to the ground. She had heard of his nickname "Finan the agile" and now she had seen for herself. There he sat on top of her his weight resting on his knees as he had her arms pinned above her head. It was not lost on Tarian that this was not the first time he sat atop of her. Forest green met deep brown eyes. She had never seen eyes quite so dark. They stared at each other Tarian could feel his grip loosening his face closed in on hers now a breath away. Tarian blinked where was his sword? Big mistake. She bit his hand and they tumbled as he cried out in pain. Gaining the upper hand she sat on top her hips on his legs either side her dagger that she had unsheathed from behind at his throat. "Do you yield Irishman?" "Aye lady you have won this round," he laughed that beautiful sound like as sweet as a song Tarian was growing too fond off. Too fond for own liking, for her dear Gustaf was not long dead. It was if the memory of her fallen lover brought her back to the present she hopped up and off the Irishman. "You will forgive me Finan but I believe I am done for the day I do not wish to over exert myself."

************************

Finan POV *s03 e05 spoiler alert* Finan's jovial face now sobered "Yeah of course I-" Tarian walked away before he could finish his sentence. Liliwen and Finan exchanged looks before she followed her. What had just occurred between them? In that split second he recalled himself on top of her she wasn't resisting this time. How much he longed to kiss those full lips-audience or not. It was as if strayed into a dream and what a dream it had been. As with all good dreams reality came crashing down on him. She probably sense his longing and did not feel the same. What with having sworn herself to Uthred maybe she felt she could not refuse him? Finan made to go in after them to explain she owed him nothing, to tell her he expected nothing when Osferth called out to him. As he spun round In the distance he could make a figure on a horse striding towards them. Squinting into the distance he had a bad feeling about this. "Fetch Uthred tell him a woman is here to see him." "How can you tell its a woman?" "You have to ask?" The sight of Brida coming towards them seemingly on her own could only spell trouble. A million thoughts rushed to his head at once he would have to push his thoughts and dare he say longing? of Tarian for the moment. Duty came calling.

******************

Tarian’s POV Tarian ignored the men hurrying to the horses. A single rider approached whatever it was she was sure Uthred's men were more than able. She needed to be alone. Was that selfish? Yes. Was she already breaking an oath she had just sworn? Possibly. What did she know of oaths? She had never sworn her life to one person before. Tarian's feet had minds of their own and they brought her to a Christian holy house at the far right of the estate. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had been inside one as a result of brave (and quite foolish) missionaries but only now did she truly appreciate how peaceful it was. Tarian sat at the far left corner not wanting to disturb the holy women, Liliwen beside her grasped her hand and said nothing. "I did not know you were Christian Tarian," a voice broke her through the mist that shrouded her minds After Lady Aethflead with her daughter Aelfwynn in tow blessed herself and the child mimicked her. Again Tarian felt that longing in her chest. Aethelflead look at her. "May we join you two?" Tarian nodded and moved down the bench for her. "I am not Christian but I find a strange sort of peace here. Many summers ago holy men came to our lands wishing to preach the word of your God. They were no threat our leaders knew this and permitted them to settle outside our borders but declined the invitation to convert. Several of us were fascinated especially those who had never seen peaceful foreigners up close before. It's how I learnt your language." "Ah I had wondered how you were able to speak our language as well. Well as I'm sure those priests told you and your people God's house is always open." Tarian did not mention what happened to the priests a year after they had settled it was probably best not to mention such things in their holy house. "As is mine. Something troubles you Tarian?" Aethelflead added. Tarian bit her lip. Where to begin? How could she tell the beautiful lady that she now found her heart torn in two. Guilt for having gotten Gustaf killed for knowing in her hearts of hearts that she may have given her body to him but never her heart and that he was killed for nothing? Or how despite only knowing the Irishman a short time Tarian felt something strange in her stomach it made her both sick and euphoric and in that short space of time they had known each other, even less time they had spent together Tarian found herself developing feelings for him. Feelings she could not recall having for Gustaf despite knowing him since she was an infant. Despite him risking everything when he would send secret messages to her warning her of Danes or confessing sweet nothings her heart was never truly his. "I feel I am conflicted." Tarian replied. It was as close to the truth as she could muster. "When we first met you in the forest you told us you had help escaping. Do you feel conflicted as that friend is now dead?" Tarian nodded eyes beginning to water she had never cried so much in her life. " "He was my lover." she added. "But I believe although his heart was mine my heart was not wholly for him. I find myself wracked with guilt as he died for nothing." She told Aetheflead of Gustaf's last words and allowed the tears to fall this time Aethelflead put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "From what you have told me he made his choice to keep you safe- keep you both safe. His choice was his own and he died a free man. If it is any consolation Tarian I know of what you speak. " Aethelflead replied and told the woman of which she had begun to think of fondly the story of her kidnapping . Of her love for Eric and how she knew in her heart of hearts that her daughter Aelfwynn was indeed Eric's and added how she had his smile something she had only dare tell Uthred. "And you murdered his killer his brother for revenge?" Liliwen said in their native tongue. Momentarily surprising Tarian yet again for the swift comphrension the girl had of a language she did not yet fully speak . Aetheflead looked to Tarian who translated gently chiding the girl for not saying it in English. "Well at the time he was about to kill Uthred so I suppose you could say i killed two birds with one stone" she laughed. The two women embraced one another and left the church arm in arm Aethelflead whispering of her pretty boy husband Aethelred the turd careful not to mention his actual name but the monicker they came up for him-pudding. Tarian translating certain parts for the Liliwen the four came to a halt when they saw the four men returning their horses to the stables. The female rider that had been announced was not with them and no one showed any obvious signs of injury yet why were they looking so grave?

******************************

Finan's& Tarian's POVs Aethelflead lead the children away and motioned Uthred to follow her yet there Tarian stood waiting for them concern showing on her beautiful face. No trace of whatever had made her uncomfortable earlier. There was no denying it now I'm mad for her. Finan shook himself silly after the news Brida just brought and the decision Uthred had made there was no time for such thoughts. "What has happened?" she asked meeting him halfway. "Uthred." He began "Uthred's brother is dead." Tarian thought for a moment she had heard of Uthred Danish family what was his name. "Ragnar was his name" Finan answered her unspoken words. "A good man you know for a Dane. Uthred believes it to be the curse. I fear we have a near impossible mission on our hands Tari. You have sworn yourself to a man who believes himself cursed." Tarian looked up at the use of her nickname only Liliwen called her that then again Finan had a habit of giving those close to him nicnames Baby Monk for example which she would be lying if she said she did not find it utterly adorable.

"Listen Tarian..about earlier when we were sparring I just wanted ta say that if I made you feel that you owed or as a woman are expect-"

She took his hand in hers bringing his words and his heart to a standstill. Looking him in the eye she said "Firstly Irishman I have sworn myself curse or no curse so you had best bring me up to speed" she smiled. "And secondly Finan do you not know well enough by now? I do as I please. Whether it be as a warrior or as a woman."

**************************

"He looks like he's been kicked by a horse what do you reckon she said to him?" Osferth asked Sihtric as he watched them walk hand in hand towards the hall.

"What do you think she said to him Osferth?" the young Dane laughed at Osferth’s reddening cheeks.

"What do you s'pose Uthred will say about this?"

"I do not believe I would care if two warriors were to hump each other as long as it was not against their will" said none other than Uthred behind them.

"Oh shi-sorry Lord you scared me." Osferth stammered.

"Come now baby monk there is much to prepare and you should not be spying. It is ungodly." Uthred teased as the three men made their way to the hall. Both men knew their Lord was putting on a brave face so they laughed all the same for who knew what dangers tomorrow would bring.

@geekandbooknerd @laketaj24 @sprinklesthrows17 @ariellostatci @itzmegaaaaaaan @tesstrash @miahelizaaabeth

#the last kingdom #finan the agile #FinanxOC #aethelflead #mercia #fanfiction #Saxon #Dane #Celt #love

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jjkyoongiee · 7 years

Text

Chasing Inspiration

10k one-shot of victor and yuuri’s life if victor hadn’t become yuuri’s coach.

read on ao3

When the video of Yuuri skating Victor’s free skate program, Stammi Vicino goes viral, Yuuri freaks out. He panics. He holes himself up in his bedroom away from the eyes of his family or Minako or the patrons of the onsen. In fact, he wakes up in the middle of the night and in his dreary state, books a ticket to Thailand where no one knows him except for the one person who won’t judge him or make him feel more ashamed than he already does about the world finding out about his massive admiration for Victor (massive crush is the word Phichit would use).

And so he finds solace in his friend’s reassuring words and comforting touches.

Yuuri sat on Phichit’s bed, his world seemingly ripped apart from underneath him. He was falling into a black pit of despair and he was having a tough time climbing back up. The fact that Victor had retweeted the video didn’t help his sanity at all.

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening,” he repeated over and over again. Yuuri rocked back and forth and clutched his head in his hands, denying the fact that this is happening.

“Victor won’t find it weird,” Phichit said with a hand on Yuuri’s back, rubbing slow circles, “I’m sure he has tons of fans recreating his programs and posting them online.”

Yuuri stopped rocking and raised his head to glare at his friend, “that’s just it. I don’t want to be seen as just a fan, Phichit! What if I finally get to compete with him and all he thinks of me is that I’m just another one of his fans. What if we start getting close and all he can see me as is just his fan. What if he—”

“Okay, okay,” Phichit placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulders, “it’s okay, Yuuri, breathe. You’re gonna be fine. If you and Victor become competitors, he won’t see you as just a fan, he’ll see you as the person you are, he’ll see you for all the skills you have as a skater and he’ll respect you for it, I’m sure of it.”

Yuuri pouted at him, unconvinced, “and what if he doesn’t.”

Phichit seemed to consider this as he tilted his head to the side in thought, “then I’ll have to ask for your permission to kick his ass for you.”

Meanwhile, when Victor had seen the video of Katsuki Yuuri, that drunk boy from the banquet that swept him off his feet and gave him the night of his life, skating to his program, Stammi Vicino with incredible accuracy and skill and musicality, he was shocked.

Dazzled was the word more suited to Victor’s expression. Yuuri had skated to an empty rink with no music. But what shocked Victor is how vividly he could hear the melody, the violins, the flute, the tenor. He could hear it in every movement Yuuri made and every step Yuuri took and the look on his face while he skated was pure bliss and content.

His heart had never felt so light. He had never felt such a high before and the excitement was too much. In a split second decision, he booked a one way flight to Japan, packing all the essentials and his dog.

However, when he got there, Katsuki Yuuri’s family had told him he already left that morning and was in Thailand. Of all places, Thailand was the last place Victor would’ve guessed.

It had already become big news in Russia and Japan in the hours it took to fly there; Victor was rumoured to be taking a season off with an intent to become Yuuri’s coach after the inspiration from seeing that viral video hit him. Yakov was not pleased and made that very clear in a public interview.

But Victor wasn’t sure anymore. Yuuri wasn’t here like he thought he would be. He was chasing an empty thought, a fleeting emotion, something he could never reach.

“Why don’t you stay the night,” Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, asked him in her accented English, “you’ve had a long flight.”

Victor accepted and relaxed in the hot spring upon Hiroko’s suggestion. He ate the onsen’s specialty, katsudon (specialty because it was Yuuri’s favourite), and lounged in their robes.

Hiroko and Minako, Yuuri’s ballet teacher, had gathered around the table as he ate. They told him of Yuuri’s admiration for Victor to an extent, he could tell there was something they were keeping from him, probably for the sake of not humiliating Yuuri by alluding to the fact that he was a massive admirer.

But he knew enough from the women and from what he’s seen in Yuuri’s skating on YouTube: Victor was Yuuri’s inspiration for skating.

Victor spent the rest of the evening exploring the small town. If he couldn’t see Yuuri, at least he could see the place Yuuri grew up in. He walked up the large flight of stairs to the castle, Makkachin trotted alongside him, and took a selfie with Makka with the castle in the background and posted it to Instagram.

As he put his phone away as he noticed a large building at the bottom of the hill, he can just barely make out the words Ice Castle.

He walked into the building and a girl from behind the counter called out something in Japanese he didn’t understand.

“Hello,” Victor said.

The girl glances over and her eyes widened, her mouth is caught in an O shape and her hands flew to cover it.

“Victor Nikiforov!” She shouted in disbelief.

Victor just smiled as the girl slammed her hands down onto the counter.

“So it’s true!” She said enthusiastically in English, “you’re going to become Yuuri’s coach?”

“Well,” Victor scratched his head, “I think I may be making an irrational decision. He’s not here, after all.”

“But…” the girl looked defeated, her eyebrows furrowed, “you’re here.”

He chuckled, “yes. That, I am.”

Victor was a little deterred by the girl’s eagerness, but stayed no less to hear about Yuuri’s skating. He found out from this girl, Yuko, that Yuuri spends his time here to clear his thoughts when he’s feeling particularly frustrated or nervous. This was the rink he started skating in, and he shared that experience with Yuko.

He got the impression that Yuuri and Yuko had a thing back when they were kids, but perhaps he was reading too much into her enthusiastic way of talking about Yuuri and how they would copy Victor’s programs to improve their skills.

“How come you’re not a competitive skater?” Victor asked.

Yuko looked down at her feet with as a fond smile spread across her cheeks, “Yuuri was always the better skater out of the two of us. I was never meant to compete. I never had the passion for it like Yuuri did, and still does.”

Victor nodded. He had instantly recognized Yuuri’s passion in his performance and how clear his expressions were.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love skating!” she rushed to say, “but it’s Yuuri’s whole life. You’re his motivation, his inspiration! He’s admired you for so long.”

“So I’ve been told,” Victor smiled.

“YUURI!” Phichit barged into the small guest bedroom where Yuuri was staying for the next week until things had died down.

“What,” Yuuri mumbled into his pillow.

“YUURI WAKE UP,” Phichit screamed, “it’s urgent!”

Yuuri sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, “what is it? What?”

Phichit shoved his phone into Yuuri’s face and Yuuri had to squint at the bright screen that shined up at him. It took him a second to focus on what he was looking at, but soon all the colour had drained from his face and he felt faint.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said warily.

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri’s hand was shaking, “what is happening. Why? When? What? Why?”

Phichit sat across from him on the bed, “Yuuri, calm, breathe.”

Yuuri breathed. Calm.

“So, he’s in Hasetsu,” Phichit started.

“Yes.”

Phichit said, “I heard there were rumours he was inspired by the video and decided to be your coach.”

Yuuri’s head shot up at that. Coach?

“He said he was thinking of taking a season off.”

Yuuri held up his hand, “wait. Back up. Coach?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Phichit leaned forward, “coach. As in he’s interested in you as a skater, he saw what you can do and clearly thinks you're good.”

Yuuri’s mind repeats those words in his head over and over, interested in you as a skater.

“But…” Yuuri muttered, “that’s not possible. I mean, he’s the best figure skater in the world. The World! And I’m just a nobody. Why would he think i’m any good, when I can’t even qualify for Worlds.”

“Well, judging from this,” Phichit help up his phone with Victor’s face still shining up at him, “he obviously thinks differently.”

He threw the covers off and started pacing the small room with a furiously nervous demeanor, “what do I do?” He asked, as if the answer was not obviously staring him in the face.

“Go to him!” Phichit shouted as he frantically threw Yuuri’s clothes into his luggage and practically shoved him out of the house.

He’s on the first flight back to Japan in five hours. Phichit had told him to take a leap of faith and trust his instincts and not doubt himself because he had a long history of causing catastrophic self destruction when he doubted himself.

However, when he arrived back home, Minako angrily tells him in a drunken stupor that Victor had already left to go back to Russia and he lost his chance to ever hope to have Victor to himself.

Yuuri’s heart fell. He had rode the plane back to Japan with a high and excitement buzzing through his veins but now that Victor had left, he found himself wanting to question every choice he had ever made ever since placing last at the Grand Prix Final.

Victor had probably come to Japan and discovered that Yuuri was just another crazed fan and decided he didn’t like what he saw and left. He silently wondered with a heavy heart if Victor had seen the Victor Nikiforov poster filled walls of his bedroom.

Yuuri stalked back to his room, ignoring his mother’s plea to eat and collapsed onto his bed. If he was going to have any hope of proving Victor wrong, he was damn well going to work his ass off to do it.

The next day he had to listen to his mom and Minako prattle on about Victor and how he really liked katsudon and how he really liked the hot spring and how his dog was almost exactly like Vicchan, “you would’ve really liked Makkachin, Yuuri, he was very friendly.”

With every detail they told him, he felt his heart grow heavier and heavier. He couldn’t listen to their stories any longer and made his escape for Ice Castle.

But Yuko wasn’t any different than his mom and Minako.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, he was so beautiful! I let him skate here and wow is he amazing. He just glides and moves like a god,” Yuko told him with stars in her eyes.

“Oh,” Yuuri just mumbled, disappointed.

Yuko smiled at him, “it’s a shame you weren’t here, Yuuri. He was really interested in you, actually. He asked about how often you practiced, who you practiced with, what your workout regime is; all things a coach would ask, come to think of it.”

Yuuri’s heart sank at the word coach. Exciting as it was that Victor had intended to be his coach, Yuuri knew it was too good to be true. Victor left. He didn’t stay. It didn’t boost Yuuri’s confidence in himself any and to say that Yuuri was insecure was being nice.

“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be,” Yuuri gave her a half-hearted smile.

Yuko tilted her head, regarding him with a hint of pity, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Yuuri shook his head, “It’s okay, Yu-chan.”

Yuko gave him a small smile, letting her shoulders relax as they sat together, “well, what are you going to do now?”

He hadn’t really given much thought to what he would do. After the Grand Prix Final of tears he felt so depressed he didn’t want to continue. Didn’t want to carry out the shame of losing for all of Japan to see, so he came home, took a break. But skating Stammi Vicino, he found his love for skating resurfaced and he wanted to touch the ice more often and wanted to feel the wind through his hair more often and listen to the music reverberate through the rink more often.

He loved skating and didn’t want to give that up. It was a huge part of his life and he didn’t know what he would do without it.

“Well, I still want to skate on the same ice as Victor,” Yuuri said, “so I’m going to try to get better so that I can be on the same level as him one day.”

Victor returned to Russia defeated and all he could think was that he was making a big mistake. He could’ve stayed, could’ve waited for Yuuri, but Yakov had begged him to return to Russia to continue his training and to stop being an idiot and Victor didn’t have a good enough excuse not to.

Yuri had even flown to Japan to retrieve Victor and told him he was being stupid for chasing that loser.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows. Sure, Katsuki Yuuri had placed last at the Finals, but he had made it to the final. That’s a feat in and of itself. He was one of the top six and to say he was a loser didn’t make it true. Victor didn’t believe it at all.

Victor’s heart wasn’t in the training Yakov had assigned him that day and he fell on more than one jump.

“What is wrong with you today?” Yakov had yelled at him from across the rink, “stop thinking about that Japanese skater and get your head screwed on straight!”

Victor just sighed and continued skating as he readied himself for another jump he would inevitably fall on.

“Are you okay, Victor?” Yuri had approached him when he was sitting on the bench, his feet stretched out with ice packs on his ankles. The teenager looked timid, shy almost, avoiding eye contact with his rinkmate.

“I’m fine,” Victor said irritatingly.

Yuri briefly glanced at him before deciding to sit beside him, “no, you’re not.”

Victor sighed and closed his eyes, “whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it.”

“I just think you need to take a break,” Yuri said.

“I am,” Victor said, taking a sip of water from his bottle.

Yuri rolled his eyes, “I mean, taking time off. You’re clearly not focussed on skating. Is it that Katsuki Yuuri skater?”

Victor eyed the blond kid. Either Yuri was getting more observant these days, or Victor was being really obvious. He looked down at his toes.

“I see,” Yuri nodded in understanding.

Victor fiddled with the cap of his water bottle, lost in the memory of Yuuri’s eyes staring up at him, asking him to be his coach. But that was it, just a memory, it was in the past, something he couldn’t hold on to. His time with Yuuri was fleeting and he could no longer reach out and touch it.

But perhaps that’s what needed to happen. Maybe he needs to let this sit. He’ll wait. Until the next competition. His programs needed fine tuning and he’ll focus all his attention on that. He doesn’t need to see Yuuri now because he can wait.

He’ll spend his whole life waiting if it means he gets to see Yuuri’s shining eyes once more.

“I heard he went back to Detroit to train under Cialdini,” Yuri said nonchalantly as he stands to stretch. He looked back at Victor with an innocent smile, “might be a good time to take a break.”

Victor wasn’t desperate. No, he wouldn’t say that. More like eager. Optimistic is the word he might use. But not desperate.

It took him a month to book a flight to America after convincing Yakov he wasn’t leaving this time. He also didn’t want to seem too desperate because he wasn’t. He wasn’t desperate at all. Who would think that. No one.

Victor wasn’t desperate.

So he waited a month. He didn’t want a repeat of last time; impulsively flying to Japan only to find his plan wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

But this time was different. Because he waited. And surely Yuuri will be in Detroit all summer long, so of course he’ll be there when Victor arrived unannounced.

Only, when Victor does arrive unannounced, Yuuri isn’t there.

Victor wants to strangle something. Of course Yuuri isn’t here.

Of. Fucking. Course.

How could he be so stupid as to think Yuuri would just be waiting for him in America when he arrives fucking unannounced, Victor, you fucking idiot. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“He comes back to Detroit periodically,” Celestino explained, “he trains here so that he can master the program and the elements and listen to my advice, but Japan is where he likes to practice. He says in Hasetsu he has the luxury of having the space to himself and uses the rink to practice whenever he wants.”

Victor furrowed his eyebrows.

“He likes practicing alone. He doesn’t like people watching him when he makes a mistake.”

Victor nodded.

Celestino knitted his eyebrows together, “why did you come here, anyways?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see Yuuri. He, uh… he…” Victor rattled his brain for an excuse to give to Yuuri’s coach.

“There were rumours that you wanted to be his coach?” Celestino narrowed his eyes, “are they true?”

“Well” Victor stuttered, “I—I haven’t fully thought it through I guess.”

Celestino regarded him with a patient expression.

“I just think Yuuri is a really good skater,” Victor said carefully, “and I wanted to tell him—”

The man interrupted him, “you be careful, Victor. He looks up to you. Praises you on the highest of pedestals. Yuuri may look tough, but he’s much more fragile than you think. A skater confides in their coach. There has to be mutual trust; they have to trust that you know what you’re advising and you have to trust that they know what they’re capable of.”

Victor nodded. Celestino’s unexpected lecture had put Victor’s quest into perspective. Did he know what he was doing? Was he good enough to be Yuuri’s coach? Did he have what it took to give another skater advice on the skills he’s acquired over the years of being on top?

Victor didn’t know what it was like to lose. To feel crushed because his performance wasn’t good enough to beat the others. He knew what it took to create a skating machine, but mere mortals tended to have fluctuating emotions and Victor was unfamiliar with those things.

He left the skating club with his head hung low. He’d never felt this much for a boy before, but somewhere in between the banquet at Sochi and Stammi Vicino Yuuri had captured his attention and heart and had reintroduced Victor to so many feelings he had long forgotten about. It was exhilarating.

“Victor was here.”

Those words cut through his heart like a searing hot knife, “what?” he yells.

“He wanted to see you.”

Yuuri looks left and right in search for the man, expecting to find him standing somewhere, waiting for him.

“He’s not here now,” Celestino said, “he was here two weeks ago. Came right after you left to go home.”

“What?” Yuuri yells again, louder this time. Yuuri thinks he wants to cry and collapse right at his coach’s feet and curl up into a ball. Just leave him be, he’ll be okay.

Celestino pats his shoulder, “he said he thinks you’re a really good skater, Yuuri.”

Yuuri makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat.

“He seemed not like himself,” Celestino considered the thought, “like he was more lively than usual. Normally he would be very composed and proper, but it was almost like he was flustered or something!”

Yuuri wondered what a flustered Victor looked like as Celestino chuckles.

“I mean I don’t know what he was thinking coming all the way here, unannounced. He seemed… motivated.”

The Japanese skater furrowed his brows at his coach as he listened to him talk about this Victor he was unfamiliar with. This Victor that apparently hadn’t had a lot of life in him in the past few years. This Victor that Celestino has only seen smile on the podiums and media events and to fans. This Victor that had reverted to a blubbering teenager when he was here just two weeks ago.

He wanted to hear more; this Victor was much more interesting than Five Time Gold Medalist Victor Nikiforov.

Celestino brings his hands up to his face as he spoke out the side of his mouth, “y’know I think he was secretly scoping out the competition. He must’ve seen the video of you skating to his program and wanted to see how good you were in person. I wouldn’t blame him to be honest. Your step sequences are your best asset as a skater.”

Yuuri flushed at the praise, stumbling forward with the weight of his coach’s hand on his back.

“Now, enough about Victor,” Celestino pushed him toward the ice, “you’ll see him at competition. Let’s practice your quad salchow, you’ve almost got it down.”

The season had started and Yuuri had trained all summer long. Every day, in and out, he trained until the blisters on his feet bled through his socks. He trained until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He trained until his brain was dizzy with the force of the spins. The music of his programs were ingrained into his mind, every note, every intricacy, every lilt of the instrument forever playing on repeat through his ears.

At one point, he got tired of it, taking a much needed break from the stress and the hurt, but he was reminded of Victor’s pursuit for Yuuri that was just two seconds too late and he was motivated to train some more. And he did until he couldn’t think of anything else but the ice, the music, and Victor.

His first competition in the series was the Cup of China (after the domestic competition he had to participate in in order to qualify for the Grand Prix) and he was buzzing with nerves.

“Now, Yuuri,” Celestino patted him on the back, “remember what we talked about? You just focus on your breathing and listen to the music. Don’t look at numbers, or placings. Just you and the ice.”

Just him and the ice.

Breathe in and out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Breathe.

Still.

He stretched out his limbs, shaking them loose, jogging back and forth, letting his muscles warm up, when he saw from the corner of his eyes, silver.

He stumbled on a step, tripped over his foot and landed face first into the blue mat on the floor. Celestino rushed over to him but Yuuri couldn’t hear him over the rush of panic in his mind.

Victor was here.

Sure, he knew Victor would be at the Cup of China as soon as the assignments had been announced, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to him that he would be seeing Victor here.

But suddenly all he could think about was Victor. His longtime idol. The man he wanted to reach for so long, wanted to be on the same level as him for so long, was here.

“Yuuri, are you okay?” Celestino gently clutched his arm, lifting him up to stand.

Yuuri pulled his eyes away from Victor’s retreating figure. A pain shot through his leg as he stood. He winced and his coach helped him to a nearby chair where he picked up Yuuri’s leg and bent it, assessing the damage.

“Does it hurt?” He said with a hand on his knee.

It did. But it was bearable, at least for this competition it would have to be, he didn’t have the luxury of the option to call it quits.

“No,” Yuuri said through his teeth.

“Yuuri,” Celestino looked into his eyes, “if it hurts you have to tell me. If you skate, you might injure yourself further.”

Yuuri looked up to scan the hallway in search of Victor, but he was gone, “I’ll be fine,” he stood up, pushing his coach away and continued with his warm up, a little more determined and with every instinct he had in his gut, he limped on through his short program.

He was having flashbacks to last year, placing last at the final. He scrolled through the news after the event for the short program ended. His slight injury had landed him very close to last place, but he wasn’t blaming his failure on the pain. He started to feel the anxiety bubble to the surface while reading through the criticism on figure skating forums.

It didn’t help that Phichit was currently telling him about his hot pot night with Leo and Guang-Hong, “—and then Victor showed up and joined us! He started drinking a lot and got pretty drunk. And he started stripping in the middle of the restaurant, Yuuri! I have photos!”

Yuuri didn’t want to see, “maybe later,” he said. It seemed like they were all having fun without Yuuri, especially Victor.

Phichit’s shoulders sank at Yuuri’s clearly unamused expression, “he asked about you,” he said, putting his phone away, “asked why you weren’t there.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows shot up, he hesitantly looked up at his friend sitting across the bed from him, “and?”

Phichit shrugged, “I just told him you were feeling nervous about competition and you’re very careful about what you eat before competing.”

Yuuri nodded.

“I think he was kind of disappointed,” Phichit said, “when he saw us at the restaurant, he seemed pretty excited, but his expression changed as soon as he realized you weren’t with us.”

Yuuri stared blankly at the lamp on the dresser behind Phichit, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

Phichit jumped up and leaned forward on the bed, “sure it does! He wanted to see you! Yuuri, you’re not seeing this for what it is.”

Yuuri pressed his face between his hands and closed his eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, “I kind of just want to go to sleep right now, Phichit. I’m feeling really nervous about tomorrow’s free skate.”

His best friend nodded slowly, “okay,” he went to the door but paused before he left, “I think you should consider the possibility that Victor might already consider you to be the skater you want him to see you as.”

Yuuri watched as he turned the doorknob, exiting the room with a “goodnight” and leaving Yuuri alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t know what to think anymore. He was spiraling in his own self loathing. He didn’t expect the despair to start so early in the season.

He picked up his phone and continued to read through the article. The reporter had praised Victor’s performance highly and called him things like genius, legendary, inspiring. Yuuri couldn’t deny that Victor was absolutely breathtaking like he always was. But tonight, something had changed.

Yuuri had watched Victor grow as a skater since he was young. Victor had skated throughout the years always surprising Yuuri with every new program and season. But somewhere along the line, Victor had lost his charm. He was still captivating, but he was not longer excited to do interviews, or ice shows, he kept himself hidden mostly, only giving the world a fossilized version of the Victor fans and media portrayed him as, cementing his image in tight photographs and a careful online persona.

Tonight, Victor had reclaimed his youth, Yuuri was a witness to Victor’s newfound excitement. He watched as Victor sat in the Kiss & Cry and pumped his fist in victory at his high score, placing him in first. For the first time in a while, Yuuri saw the cheerful smile that reached the athlete’s eyes as he waved to the camera and held up a hand heart.

Yuuri thought he’d like to reach that level. How he’d like to sit in the green room beside Victor and watch their friends and competitors on the monitor. How he’d like to become one of Victor’s friends. That’s all he really wanted, to reach that place Victor inhabited in the skating world and get to know him outside of the skating world.

He found himself mindlessly scrolling through instagram as his finger landed on one of Phichit’s posts from two nights ago. The hot pot night.

Leo and Guang-Hong were standing behind Phichit who took the selfie and in the back was Victor, his cheeks were flushed with alcohol and his hair was a mess. He was missing his shirt and was holding a bottle of beer in his hands, but he wasn’t smiling. In fact, his eyebrows were furrowed and he had a look of longing in his eyes.

Yuuri knew in that moment that when he stepped onto the ice tomorrow, he wouldn’t let anything stop him from reaching his goal.

Tomorrow, when he stepped out onto the ice, he would dedicate his performance to one person.

Katsuki Yuuri had completely transformed in the hours between his short program and his free. Victor watched him skate instead of warming up, to which Yakov had yelled at him for.

But Victor could not take his eyes off of Yuuri as he stumbled through the jumps in his short but graced the program with his mesmerizing step sequence. This Katsuki Yuuri was different to the relaxed Katsuki Yuuri of Stammi Vicino.

Katsuki Yuuri in his short program was less expressive, less emotional. He was struggling, and it showed, stamped loud in red letters on his face; he wasn’t doing well.

But overnight, the Katsuki Yuuri that placed fifth was now performing in his free as if his life depended on it. Victor watched as Yuuri dominated the arena, his presence radiating power and every single pair of eyes in the audience were glued to the athlete as he fought his way to the top

When he finished, Victor had clapped. He wanted to go congratulate Yuuri and as soon as he took a step toward his direction, Yakov had pulled him back.

“Victor, you need to warm up, stop watching the other skaters.”

Victor was tugged to the back where he continued his warm up now less focussed on warming up than he was on that magical performance.

Before he knew it, Victor was facing the ice and his name was being called and the music was starting and his legs were moving and then the performance was over and he was searching for the person who had filled all his thoughts throughout the entirety of his program.

He had a huge grin on his face, it reached his eyes and he felt refreshed. He never felt refreshed after a performance. Always tired. But now, he was inspired.

“Where’s Yuuri?” Victor had found Phichit walking down the hall.

Phichit turned around and the first thing Victor noticed were his worried brows, “he had to go to the hospital.”

Upon Victor’s frightened expression, Phichit rushed to say, “it’s nothing serious! But Celestino forced Yuuri to get his knee checked out. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Victor relaxed with a sigh, “that’s good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Phichit gave him a small smile, “but just imagining the pain he must’ve been in during his performances,” and clutched his fist over his chest, “it hurts to see him like that.”

Victor’s heart tightened. He wanted to congratulate Yuuri for performing so well.

“Why did you want to see him?” Phichit tilted his head up and looked at Victor with slightly raised eyebrows, his curiosity plain as day on his face.

“I wanted to give him these flowers and tell him he was amazing today,” Victor looked at the flowers in his hand, forgotten.

Phichit’s eyebrows raised further, his eyes widened when he saw the small bouquet in his hand, “I can give it to him! We’re flying out together as soon as the doctor is done examining him.”

Victor deflated, he had hoped to be able to see Yuuri to give the flowers to him personally, but alas, it was not meant to be, “okay, thanks.”

Phichit took the flowers in his hand, transferring the things he was holding to his other hand and smiled at Victor.

“You were great by the way,” he said to the silver medalist.

“Thanks,” Phichit grinned, “you too!”

Yuuri’s knee recovered pretty quickly in time for his next competition. Phichit had come to the hospital shortly after he was admitted with a small bouquet of flowers.

“They’re from Victor.”

Yuuri’s eyes were shining, his heart thumped rapidly and his hands shook. From Victor.

“He wanted to see you and tell you that you were amazing today,” Phichit smiled.

Yuuri’s eyes flicked down to the small tag wrapped around the stems, it read:

you were amazing, Yuuri see you at the finals!

xx victor

“Today,” Yuuri repeated, but not yesterday.

It was as if Phichit could read his mind, “Yuuri, you know what he meant.”

Yuuri nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

“Well, at least he doesn’t see you as just a fan,” Phichit offered.

“I guess so,” Yuuri tilted his head and sighed, “what are my chances of making it to the finals now?”

Yuuri had placed fourth at the Cup of China after Chris so his chances of reaching the finals were slim to none. He’ll have to place high at the Rostelecom Cup and he wasn’t sure he was physically ready or in the right mindset, but he continued headfirst regardless.

He had to win this. If he didn’t he’ll spend the rest of the year until next season beating himself up over it. The free program was where it mattered, so if he messed up in the short, he could make it up with his free skate. What was it Celestino always said?

Oh yeah. Breathe. Count to five. Breathe.

Don’t listen to the roar of the crowd as you skate out onto the ice. Don’t listen to your name being called. Don’t listen to the other skater’s scores.

Just focus on your breathing. Focus on your blades. Focus on the music, the piano, the slow start and the build up.

Focus.

He can almost taste victory. Can almost reach out and touch the face of that gold medal hanging around Victor’s neck as he stands next to him with silver.

No. He had to think higher than that. He can prove to everybody that he’s stronger. That he can be better. It’s not that he wants to beat Victor, just wants to be on the same level as him.

The music finishes with a flourish and he strikes his end pose. The crowd erupts.

At the Kiss & Cry he waits for his score and he can’t believe it when he sees he’s number one. The first thing he thinks is standing on the podium at the finals looking up into Victor’s bright eyes.

The competition ends and Yuri, the ice tiger of Russia walks up to him and shakes his hand, congratulating him on his win.

“You were great,” he said, “but watch out at the finals, cuz I’m coming for your ass.”

Yuuri looked shocked at the bold statement, not knowing what to say.

But Yuri just smiled, “just kidding, Katsudon.”

“Oh,” Yuuri relaxed. He tilted his head, “wait. How do you know about katsudon?”

“I went to Japan to bring Victor back to Russia after he went looking for you and he wouldn’t shut up about katsudon. Didn’t take me long to figure out katsudon was a freaking metaphor for you,” he rolled his eyes.

Yuuri blushed. His face was hot.

“Look, whatever he found in Japan… he came back different,” Yuri explained, “he started going to practice more, he busied himself at the rink and when I asked him about it, all he said was that he was suddenly inspired.”

“Was he not before?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri shook his head, “he had no motivation, he was doing to same thing day to day and it was getting old. He was at the top, it was lonely, no one could touch him. But something changed. He was focussed but it was like he was trying to reach a goal. Like there was something he wanted but couldn’t get.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but think that sounded familiar.

“At least that’s what he told me his programs were about; reaching for something you couldn’t get.”

Yuuri’s heart thumped. He nodded at the teen as they parted ways.

As Yuuri leaves the arena, towing his bag behind him, he thinks, next time.

Next time he’ll do things right. He’ll be stronger. Better. He’ll place on the podium, standing next to Victor with a sparkle in his eye and a medal around his neck and he’ll finally get to meet the person he’s been chasing for years.

Next time, he won’t walk away.

Victor was up to his chin in the cold pool water on the rooftop of their hotel in Barcelona. He had expected the water to be heated, but he guessed people in Barcelona don’t go swimming in the dead of winter.

Except for him and Chris.

He was half-heartedly taking photos of Chris striking various poses in the water when his friend noticed he wasn’t giving a running commentary of Chris’s modeling like he use to.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked as he stepped out of the pool and wrapped a towel around his body.

“Hm?” Victor hummed.

Chris came to sit beside him and lean his elbows onto his knees, “you’re quiet today.”

“Am I?” Victor said nonchalantly. He flipped through the photos he had taken to avoid looking into Chris’s eyes.

“Victor,” Chris’s curt voice forced Victor to look at him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Victor shrugged, “I’m fine.”

Chris tilted his head and gave him a knowing look, “how long have I known you? You think that still works on me?”

Victor glared at his friend briefly but deflated, “it’s nothing.”

“It’s Katsuki, isn’t it?”

Victor closed his eyes recalling the golden brown eyes that stared up at him in awe. He recalled the stench of alcohol on his breath as he clung to Victor and asked him to come to his hot spring inn. He recalled the look of calm on the man’s face as he skated to Stammi Vicino.

“I thought Yuuri was giving you ‘new inspirations and a reason to live’ and all that,” he imitated what Victor had confided in him in the summer, “not breaking your heart, or whatever it is you’re wallowing about.”

“I’m not wallowing,” Victor said quietly in the stillness of the early morning brisk winter air, “he didn’t break my heart. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you look so upset?”

Victor sighed, “it’s just—he… Have you ever wanted something so badly that you knew you could never have it, but you tried anyways and at every attempt the thing just slips out of your grasp and you get upset when you failed like you expected to and you start to think that maybe this thing was never meant to be caught, and that you were chasing something impossible?”

Chris blinked at him, “not specifically. No.”

Victor sighed and looked up at the night sky, hoping, praying that this will be the time he finally gets to say hi to Katsuki Yuuri and look into those warm brown eyes again.

“What if i’m not what he expected?” Victor said, “what if the real me isn’t good enough for him?”

Chris understood Victor’s worry, sitting back on the deck chair, “Yuuri loves you. I know because he told me. Well, not in so many words, but he admires you. Clear as day.”

“He admires Russian Legend, Victor Nikiforov. Not Victor,” he said, “and admiring is different than…”

“Than... what?” Chris prompted.

Victor shook his head, “forget it,” he stood up and wrapped his towel around his body.

“Victor—”

“I’ve been chasing this boy since last year and he won’t even bat an eyelash at me. He won’t even so much as talk to me on twitter or instagram!”

Chris followed him as they rode the elevator down to their rooms, “he’s very inactive on social media; you might want to reconsider your mode of communication.”

Victor continued, “am I doing something wrong?”

Chris put his hand on Victor’s shoulder in a comforting gesture when they reached their adjacent rooms, “Yuuri is a subtle guy. I think you’re going about this in all the wrong ways. Flying out to see him without so much as a hello, unannounced I might add, is a little too forward. Even for me.”

Victor looked to the side in thought.

“Victor, take it slow.”

He took Chris’s advice to heart and over the next couple of days was determined to meet Yuuri again.

It wasn’t until the competition was underway that he had realized this would be his sixth consecutive Grand Prix title if he won.

He didn’t care much for these competitions; they’re repetitive and it doesn’t excite Victor anymore. He was at the top and it was lonely. But now he thinks he has a true competitor in the leagues.

He watched Katsuki Yuuri skate through his programs perfectly, every element executed with perfection. The expressions on his face were clear of struggle and graced with a beauty so great and delicate, Victor’s heart almost leapt out of his chest and into Yuuri’s waiting hands.

Yuuri had every person in the audience hanging off the edge of their seats, roaring in applause when he successfully executed a jump. It was like watching a phoenix be reborn as Victor remembered his performances from last year.

Victor watched Katsuki Yuuri fight his way through to the top. There wasn’t any doubt in Victor’s mind that Katsuki was going to get gold. But then it was his turn to skate.

And when he heard Yuuri’s score that had broke Victor’s record, he found himself liking this boy even more.

The last thing on his mind before he readied himself as he heard his name being called was that he wanted to shake Katsuki Yuuri’s hand.

Something had switched in Yuuri between this year and last. Perhaps it was the video of him skating Victor’s program that had set it off (he made a mental note to thank the Nishigori triplets when he got back to Japan). Perhaps the notion of Victor actually recognizing him as a fellow competitor had him motivated to show him and the world what he’s actually capable of. Perhaps he was so depressed and insecure after losing last season that he wanted to prove himself wrong.

Whatever it was, it worked. And he was currently in first place with only Victor left to skate.

And as he watched the champion from the sidelines, the world around him transformed. It was like he was watching magic being made right before his eyes. He felt twelve again, watching the fresh faced Victor Nikiforov of sixteen skating with long, flowing hair.

His performance was nothing short of breathtaking. Every element mastered, the timing perfected, his expressions soft and in another world of it’s own.

He commanded the audience. The judges were in his favour. Every skater in the arena was on their knees.

When the performance was over Yuuri was ushered to the green room where along the way he was bombarded by cameras and interviewers that he had no time to register his just-by-a-fraction-of-a-point silver medal spot on the podium.

It wasn’t until he was shaking Victor’s hand and standing beside him, centre ice, that he really got to bask in his accomplishment.

“Congratulations, Katsuki Yuuri,” Victor’s voice said quietly as they waited for their medals to be awarded.

He was real. He was beautiful. A god stood tall as Yuuri inclined his head to gaze up at the man in the middle.

“Thank you,” he said with a confidence he didn’t know he had, “Victor.”

“You’re an incredible skater,” Victor smiled.

“You’re better,” Yuuri smiled back.

Victor shrugged, “not by much, it seems next time I’ll have to watch out for you going after my gold medal,” he winked at Yuuri.

Yuuri flushed and their conversation was stilted as the officials walked down the red carpet, medals in tow.

When they stood together for a photo, Yuuri couldn’t help but gasp quietly as he felt Victor’s arm find its way wrapped gently around his back and his hand pressing lightly into his waist as he pulled him closer.

The feeling lingered all throughout the night. He stared at his silver medal in his hotel room, it was lighter than he thought it would be but he found himself grinning down at the medal, proud of himself that he had accomplished placing second in the finals. He had done this all by himself, with the help of Celestino, of course. But it was him that had the strength to carry on and not retire like the rumours had said last year.

He overcame all he had to in order to be at the top with Victor. Beside Victor.

Victor.

He had come face to face with his idol and he actually congratulated him for his achievement.

His heart thumped wildly in his chest. For the longest time, hearing his friends and family talk about Victor flying out to meet him, he couldn’t put a finger on what he had felt in his heart at the time. His heart singing at the thought of his idol respecting him and treating him as an equal competitor. He knew what this feeling was now; he was happy.

The gala was the most enjoyable exhibition he had experienced in all his life during his long competitive career. But what cemented his enjoyment for life was the banquet after the show.

Every time he looked over at Yuuri, he found he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

This boy had captured his heart and wasn’t letting go of it anytime soon.

Chris had pushed Victor toward Yuuri as he spoke with another, the Thai skater, Phichit Chulanont. It seemed they were close as Phichit burst out into laughter at something Yuuri had said and clutched his arm as he leaned forward onto Yuuri’s shoulder.

He felt something in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like. Victor stopped in his tracks as he found himself wanting to back out in doubt, but before he could turn around Chris had pushed him forward.

Phichit had caught sight of them, “hi,” he said, waving enthusiastically.

Victor waved awkwardly, slowly stepping forward toward the pair, “hello.”

Yuuri turned around, still smiling at the thing he’d said earlier and his eyes widened when they met Victor’s. He thought it was cute, and his heart certainly did as his pulse quickened and flowers bloomed and spread all throughout his veins, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

There were so many things Victor wanted to say to Yuuri, all of them coming to the forefront of his brain at once, his thoughts scrambled as he tried to speak.

“Hi, Victor,” Yuuri said, his voice casting warmth across his chest and shoulders.

“Hi,” Victor managed to say, “Katsuki Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiled, ducking his head at the way Victor had said his name, “you can call me Yuuri.”

“Alright,” Victor smiled and nodded, “Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiled and looked up at him through his eyelashes and if Victor’s heart stopped beating then he was surely in heaven.

“Hi, Yuuri,” Chris chimed in, leaning his arm on Victor’s shoulder, “you look particularly stunning today.

Yuuri gave Chris a shy smile and the colour on his cheeks darkened to a rose as he stuttered, “oh, uh, thanks,” but quickly returned Victor’s gaze as he batted his eyelashes at him.

“You are amazing,” Victor blurted out rather breathlessly.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, shocked at the compliment. Victor was vaguely aware of Phichit and Chris hiding a giggle behind their glasses of champagne.

“I—I mean skater. An amazing skater. You are an amazing skater,” he stuttered.

“Thanks,” Yuuri said, pink dusted high on his cheekbones.

Victor was speechless at the beauty of this boy.

Thankfully Chris came to the rescue, though he was less thankful at the words that came out of his mouth when he spoke, “Victor watched the video of you skating to his program last season,” he started.

Victor wanted to punch his friend in the gut to shut him up, “well, it went viral and everyone was tweeting it to me and naturally I was curious,” he glared at Chris.

“He watched that video at least a hundred times. He wouldn’t shut up about you, every skype call was Yuuri this, Yuuri that, I was beginning to think he was obsessed or something.”

Victor flushed red, a mirror image to the colour on Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri gazed up at him with sparkling eyes, Victor wanted to stare into them forever.

“I quote ‘you created music with your body.’” Chris continued and Victor wanted to die, “he was so inspired. Actually this is the most inspired I’ve ever seen him.”

“Oh?” Yuuri breathed.

Chris nodded.

“I was inspiring?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course,” Victor said, though embarrassed at Chris’s candor, Victor was proud to own up to it as long as Yuuri looked up at him with those adoring eyes, “you were my inspiration for my programs this season.”

Yuuri’s expression slowly lit up as he let out a disbelieving laugh and his eyes crinkled and he visibly relaxed, “you were mine,” he said.

Victor’s heart stopped working all together and he was sure he would collapse right there onto the table behind him. He rubbed away at the heat growing at the back of his neck as he smiled shyly at Yuuri.

“I’m sure you know this already,” it was Phichit’s turn to be frank with the group, “but Yuuri has admired you for a long time.”

Victor did know this. Was told many times by Yuuri’s family, friends and coach. It was no surprise to him, but he raised his eyebrows all the same, “you did?”

Yuuri hid his blush as he sipped his champagne, “yes.”

“I’d hate to see him, oh, I don’t know,” Phichit brought a finger to his chin, “disappointed or heartbroken.”

Yuuri stepped on Phichit’s foot with a tight smile, causing the Thai skater to stop talking.

They were briefly interrupted by a photographer asking the group for a photo and as Victor stood with his arm wrapped around Yuuri, he couldn’t help but think he would like all the future banquets to be like this forever.

“Would you like to dance with me, Victor?” Yuuri asked him with wide eyes and a small smile on his lips and an outstretched hand offering to take his heart.

He was suddenly reminded of last year’s banquet and the drunken Yuuri that had asked him to dance and swept him off his feet and left without calling the next day. Victor would gladly give Yuuri his whole world if it meant he got to see that smile on his face again, “okay.”

Yuuri took him by the hand and pulled him toward the dance floor away from their friends. Victor didn’t dare take his eyes off of him for fear that he was just a dream and he would disappear if he looked away.

If it was possible to fall in love so soon after meeting a person, then Victor had done it. They laughed and danced and talked the night away until they were stumbling, slightly tipsy, down a random hall in the hotel after stealing some cake from the kitchen’s refrigerator.

Yuuri was snickering into Victor’s sleeve as he clutched onto his arm.

“How does it taste? Is it good at least?” Yuuri asked him, his face impossibly close to his neck. Victor could feel his warm breath against his ear and he flushed at the feeling.

Victor took a bite of the cake, “mhmm, s’good, frosting is sweet.”

“Shh,” Yuuri put a finger to Victor’s lips, “someone’s coming.”

Victor looked right and left and noticed a figure turning the corner.

“Quick, eat it before we get caught,” Yuuri took the piece of cake in his hand and shoved it into Victor’s open mouth.

The woman that rounded the corner walked by them without a second glance and turned another corner, leaving the two men alone in the hall.

Victor swallowed the cake down just as Yuuri looked back at him before laughing out loud. Victor couldn’t help but laugh with Yuuri but soon realized Yuuri was laughing at him.

“You have—” Yuuri tried, “you’ve got frosting on your face. Oh my god.”

Victor blushed, embarrassed. He took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his lips, but he must’ve missed as Yuuri laughed harder.

He looked around for a mirror or a shiny surface but there was none. Instead Yuuri had calmed down enough to take the hanky from his hand and bring it up to his face.

Victor stood absolutely stock still. Yuuri’s hand gently worked over his face as he wiped it clean. He took his hand away and inspected the cream, and then he did something that had Victor weak at the knees and grasping at the cart beside him for leverage.

Yuuri swiped his finger through the cream and brought it to his mouth, sucking it dry. He gazed up at Victor as he moaned quietly around his finger.

He pulled his finger from his lips with a pop and spoke into the quiet, electrically charged space between them, “very sweet.”

Victor sucked in a breath of air, his eyes darted to Yuuri’s lips and watched as he licked the cream that lingered on his bottom lip.

Yuuri’s eyes lowered to Victor’s lips as he breathed.

He distantly heard Chris’s voice telling him to take things slow.

After chasing this boy for a year, missing him by a split second in every attempt, and dedicating his entire season to him, he didn’t want to take things slow. To hell with taking things slow.

He could taste the electricity coursing through them, could hear the sound of his heart beating and feel his resolve crumble as he grabbed Yuuri by the waist and pulled him forward into a kiss.

It was amazing and everything he’d hoped for and more. His head was spinning, his heart pounding. He wrapped his arms around Yuuri, pulling his body flush against him as he leaned back against the wall.

And Yuuri kissed him back with the gentle slide of his lips. He felt his hands slide up his stomach and chest as they came to rest on his shoulders, leaving trails of sparks where he touched.

Yuuri parted, leaning back slightly as he looked at Victor with hooded eyes, leaving him a whining mess, “you taste like frosting,” he bit his lip.

Victor pulled him back into a kiss and brought his hand up to rest in between Yuuri’s shoulder blades feeling them move as Yuuri raised his arms to wrap his hands around the back of his neck.

Their tongues met and Victor pushed deeper, gripping the fabric of Yuuri’s suit in his fingers as he felt his nerves set on fire with the passion of the kiss, needing something to hold onto.

Yuuri parted again, by just an inch and whispered, “so sweet.”

Victor tightened his hold on Yuuri as he flipped them around, pressing him back into the wall. Yuuri moaned softly against his lips as they kissed once more and Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

Victor practically growled into Yuuri’s mouth when Yuuri nibbled experimentally on his bottom lip. He fitted his leg between Yuuri’s, testing the waters and when Yuuri made no move that suggested he was against it, Victor started to shift his body. He rocked back and forth, swallowing Yuuri’s soft breathless moans in his mouth.

Victor parted from his lips and started kissing down Yuuri’s chin and neck, biting and leaving red marks in his trail. His gasps and moans now louder and higher in pitch as they chased their pleasure.

He sucked at Yuuri’s pulse point, feeling the bob of his adam’s apple as Yuuri swallowed down a moan.

“Victor,” he gasped. His hand flew to Victor’s hair, tugging it hard in his fingers, moaning as Victor groaned around his throat.

Yuuri tapped him on the head, “Victor, someone’s coming.”

Victor hummed against his collarbone, “I don’t care,” lips pressed against Yuuri’s flesh.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasped.

“Yuuri,” Victor moaned.

“Yuuri!” a voice called from the end of the hall, “oh.”

Victor reluctantly stopped sucking on Yuuri’s neck and they both turned their heads to the person that had interrupted them. It was Phichit. He was smiling behind his hand as he slowly approached the two.

“Phichit!” Yuuri said, letting his arms fall from Victor’s hair.

“I can come back…” Phichit started.

Yuuri’s face flushed beet red, “No!”

“Yes,” Victor said. He started to lean back into Yuuri’s space when he was pushed away.

“No,” Yuuri said again, “what is it, Phichit?”

The Thai boy flicked his eyes between the two, “someone wants to meet you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

But Phichit had escaped before Yuuri knew it and Victor’s lips were back on Yuuri’s throat in an instant.

Yuuri’s heart jumped and his hands shook as he tried to push Victor and the feeling of his warm tongue against his neck away.

“Victor,” Yuuri said breathlessly, he wanted to stay here forever basking in the feeling of Victor pressed up against him, “we should go back.”

“No,” Victor mumbled against his skin.

“Someone’s waiting—” Yuuri found Victor’s lips pressed against his once more in a searing kiss.

Victor pulled away, “let them wait.”

“But—” Yuuri tried but was once again interrupted with Victor’s lips, “we have all the time in the world.”

Victor stopped kissing him then, staring into Yuuri’s eyes with an emotion that he couldn’t place rushing to Victor’s heart.

Yuuri’s panic was visible on his face, “I—I just mean—not that we’ll spend the rest of our time together, you don’t have to, but—”

Victor rushed to kiss him thoroughly, taking his time to appreciate Yuuri’s mouth and savour in the taste.

“Yuuri, he mumbled against Yuuri’s lips, “I’ve been waiting you for so long and you don’t think I want to spend more time with you? Of course I do.”

A smile spread across Yuuri’s cheeks as his eyes widened and sparkled up at him, a familiar sight to the drunken Yuuri of Sochi, “you do?” he asked incredulously.

Victor nodded and pressed a light kiss to his lips, “yes. Do you?”

Yuuri let out a breathless laugh, “do I? Victor, I’ve been trying to chase you my entire life; I will always want to be with you.”

They shared a private kiss, more intimate that the others before, more caring and gentle, Victor would go as far as to say it was loving.

They returned to the banquet hall, holding hands and looking thoroughly disheveled.

Victor saw from the corner of his eyes Chris reluctantly handing over a few American dollars to Phichit who just smiled at him.

Victor spent the entire night clutching onto Yuuri like a lifeline, holding him close and tight. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he would have to once the night was over and they had to return to their separate worlds. This night spent with Yuuri was the most fun he’s ever had in years and he wanted to savour every feeling and every smile and every kiss.

“When will I see you again?” Victor cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands as he pressed him against his hotel door, kissing his lips softly.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri clutched Victor’s shirt in his hands and pulled him closer.

“I don’t want to leave,” Victor kissed him hard, savouring Yuuri’s plush lips and the sweet taste of his tongue, “I want to stay with you.”

“Then stay,” Yuuri whimpered.

And stay Victor did. And the next morning they parted ways. Victor was afraid this was the end. He knew he would see Yuuri again, but when, he wasn’t sure, which was the part that scared him the most.

But they would see each other again, Yuuri and Victor would meet again and again at each competition for the rest of the season. And Yuuri worked twice as hard to keep his position on the podium next to Victor.

By the time the World Competition had rolled around, Yuuri was gunning for a gold medal. And he won. He was standing on the middle podium, smiling down at a beaming Victor who shone so bright he could blind any unsuspecting bypasser.

Yuuri had surpassed Victor. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could be better than Russia’s living legend Victor Nikiforov. Yet here he was, on top of the podium, beside the person he looked up to and chased for years and years.

The World title was his. Victor was his.

At the press conference that day Victor had announced he was going to take the season off. And questions of what his plans were for the next year came flooding in.

Yuuri was shocked just like everyone in the room. He stared at the person beside him, his heart crushed at the news; would Victor be able to make a successful comeback at this time in his career? But then Victor turned his head to look at Yuuri.

“Well, if Yuuri would have me,” Victor smiled at him, “I’d like to be his coach.”

Yuuri was speechless. His jaw hung open as he gaped at Victor.

“He’s a very good skater and I think he has potential to be even greater and I’d like to help make that possibility a reality,” Victor said.

Yuuri blinked, baffled at the idea that Victor wanted to coach him personally.

“And what’s your reply to that, Katsuki?” One reporter asked in a sea of cameras clicking.

“Um,” Yuuri breathed, “I—uh.”

Victor then said, “Yuuri doesn’t have to decide now, but I just wanted to proposition the idea for the future.”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, “yes, I want to be your student.”

Victor snapped his head to look at Yuuri. A smile growing on his face, “that’s great.”

A flurry of questions came rushing at them and cameras clicked and flashed at them and everything was a blur from then on, the only thing Yuuri could think of was Victor becoming his coach, indefinitely. And it put a huge grin on his face and his heart thumped wildly. He was happy.

At the banquet they had discussed details and logistics; Victor would move to Japan to train Yuuri in his hometown, and would live at Yu-topia, Yuuri’s family Inn.

Victor asked him the one question he’d been dying to ask, “Yuuri, now that we’re going to be seeing each other everyday, would you consider being my boyfriend?”

Yuuri smiled at him, showing off his pearly whites, and kissed him, “yes. I would.”

And a year later Yuuri was competing at the Grand Prix again, this time with Victor by his side, supporting him in every way.

Yuuri loved Victor. And Victor loved Yuuri. And they broadcasted their love at the final with rings of gold around their fingers and an exhibition pair skate to the duet of Stammi Vicino, announcing Victor’s comeback to competitive skating.

Yuuri couldn’t be more happy than he was at that moment, having skated on the same ice as Victor as a competitor and now as a team.

He had a dream so big and was strong enough to fight on his own and met and fell in love with his idol along the way. They called everything on the ice love.

#victuuri #victuuri fic #yoi fic #yoi fanfic #yoi au #my writing #aaaaaaah idk what this is but i felt compelled to write it #it sounded way better in my head than down in words

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yoireverse · 7 years

Text

homecoming - p1

((hi everybody!! welcome back to the rev au!! always wonderful to talk with you all and i hope you’re having a wonderful time here!! bc i sure am. :’) anyways, here’s this installment. enjoy! ♥♥♥ part 2 to come soon!))

summary: When Victor and Yuuri announce that they’re going to vacation in Japan for a week in the summer, they don’t expect their teenaged rink mate to come stomping up to them after practice.

“I’m coming too,” Yuri Plisetsky snarls. “No way I’m letting you two go overseas for secret practice sessions or something. What time is your flight?”

Yuuri sighs when he gives him an answer. It’s good that his family home is an inn. word count: 2k+ rating: t ✮read on ao3 | ✮series on ao3 | ✮reverse fics | ✮reverse art →my personal blog | →em’s art blog!

Yuuri and Victor glance at the calendar to find the best dates for a vacation and book their tickets early in January. Tourism will reach a bit of a lull in Hasetsu in the summer, skating season will be briefly reprieved, and this gives them plenty of time to see the city, and for Yuuri to finally introduce his fiancé to his family.

Since he’s a fairly old-fashioned person, it feels a little bit silly that this will be the first time Victor’s met Hiroko, Toshiya, and Mari, but hey. He’d tripped into his romance with the other skater in St. Petersburg, and the two of them have proven that there’s nothing wrong with being unconventional.

As the trip gets closer in April, the two of them discuss what kinds of clothes to pack. Victor reties his ponytail absently, talking about swimsuits, and then Yuri skates over and skids to a stop between the taller skaters.

“Rumor has it that you’re headed to Japan,” the teenager says, turning his head to spend equal amounts of time glaring at Yuuri and Victor. “I want details.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes at the blonde. “We’re going to my parents’ place for a week or so. They live in a small town, but, hey. It’s home.”

“I’m so excited!” Victor leans over and clasps his hands together against his chest. “We’re going to have so much good food. I’ll get to meet Yuuri’s family. It’s going to be fantastic.”

There is a beat of silence before Yuri snarls, “I want in.” The older men blink at him as he kicks the blade of his skate into the ice.

Victor raises a brow at the blonde, tossing an arm over Yuri’s shoulder. “What’s this? Just yesterday you were whining about much you hated staying on our couch, and now you want to go on vacation with us? Yura, you silly boy! Why didn’t you just say you wanted to spend more time together?”

At the teasing tone, Yuri snarls and Victor’s coach sighs, gently pulling them apart so that they can’t knock each other over on the ice. “Yura, if you want to go, I’ll email you the flight details. Did you want me to get you a ticket?”

“No,” Yuri grumbles, pushing off with a flick of his wrist. “I can pay for myself, fluffy. No way I’m letting you two go off to practice in secret. Get back to work, losers!”

Yuuri sighs with a small smile. “When is he going to admit that he loves being around us?”

Victor shrugs, kissing Yuuri quickly on the cheek. “Probably when he’s thirty-two. He’s like fine wine - much improved with age.”

The older man snorts at the comparison, agreeing quietly.

The three of them land in the airport, take the train to Hasetsu, and relax until they unload. Yuri and Victor look around in awe, even though both of them have had competitions in Japan, this kind of experience is different. Both of the visitors take in the landscape until they make their way to the port town. When they arrive at the quiet little station, Yuuri is momentarily embarrassed to remember that his home town pays high favor to his image.

Posters line every wall of Hasetsu station, and Yuuri pushes his student and the teenager out of there in a hurry, blushing and refusing autographs under his breath.

Victor digs his heels in, though, determined to take a selfie in front of the posters with the real Yuuri beside him. “You look so charming in this photo! Imagine all the press we’ll get once I tweet that we’re here together.” Yuri sticks out his tongue at them and Yuuri refuses, dragging both of them aboveground before people can flock over and bombard him with questions.

The trouble of being an internationally renowned athlete from a small town is that there is no place to escape from his notoriety here. As soon as the three of them are aboveground, Yuuri is startled to find his old ballet instructor waiting for him with her small car.

“Yuuri!” Minako says, twirling around with a banner that reads Welcome Home in kanji. “It’s great to see you!”

He laughs awkwardly, willing his heartbeat to slow down. He’d expected to have to flag down a cab, but this is certainly more convenient. “Minako-sensei,” Yuuri politely bows to her, barely refraining from speaking Japanese. “I’m home.”

Minako chatters to Yuuri in battered English until they make it to the inn. Victor joins in at irregular intervals and she drives along with a chipper tone. Once she drops them off at the inn, Toshiya and Hiroko come to the landing; Yuri and Victor have to hold back their laughter as Yuuri motions to the couple.

He doesn’t even have to tell the blonde and the silver-haired man who they are.

Yuuri, with his soft cheeks and dimpled smile, looks just like his mother and father, albeit significantly slimmer than either of them.

As soon as everyone says their hellos and Yuuri plays translator for a few minutes, he furrows his brow and chirps for a time before eventually moving his guests to their bedrooms. Yuuri has to pry Victor out of his mother’s hands. The woman is so busy patting Victor down and playing with his hair that her son has to murmur reprimands.

Toshiya stands around watching the madness with a smile. Yuri eventually stamps his feet with frustration, spurning the eventual movement to the upper floors.

Yuuri and Victor slump on the single bed in the older skater’s somewhat barren room. There are a few posters up of dogs, but otherwise the place doesn’t look lived in. This is unsurprising, since Yuuri hasn’t lived in the room for years.

Both skaters share a look before they flop onto the mattress. Yuri stomps over after Mari shows the teenager to his room, almost walking in on the murmuring couple kissing. He gags and points to Yuuri, asking, “Where’s the bathroom? I wanna get washed up.”

“Yura,” Yuuri grunts, falling into the soft pile of Victor’s hair on the narrow space of his bed. “It’s public and it’s downstairs. Can’t this wait?”

The blonde snarls, “There’s no way I’m going into that open-air bath. Find me as soon as you wake up!” He slams the door shut when he leaves.

Once he’s gone, the men sigh and fall asleep, momentarily rolling their eyes at Yuri’s melodramatic entrance and exit.

In the evening, Yuuri ambles downstairs with a yawn. He’s put on clothes from his teenage days, which still fit, for the most part. Luckily, he’d always been fond of oversized t-shirts and sweatpants. Yuuri helps his sleepy fiancé into a jinbei before they head to the living room. He teaches Victor how to sit properly - not that it matters. Yuuri doesn’t expect Victor to sit with perfect posture, and, in fact, he tells his parents that they should let Victor do his own thing once they sit at the table.

Yuri emerges from his room looking as sleepy as the older couple. Victor and Yuuri greet him while Hiroko brings familiar dishes. The teenager sits angrily, and asks, “So, where’s the bath?”

“Shh,” the legendary skater shushes him with a wave, already nervous enough. “We’ll eat first. Besides, I need to talk to my parents.” He’s mentioned the engagement to Mari already, and he’s sure that his mother’s sharp eyes have noticed the band on his right hand.

Dinner begins around seven. Yuuri tries to teach the messy blonde how to eat with chopsticks properly, and is slapped for his efforts, which just makes Victor pouty. He curls up against Yuuri pretty quickly, making the older man jolt at the shock. Mari quirks an eyebrow at her baby brother, who is flushing.

Yuuri snaps to attention, cheeks hot. He bends into a bow that shakes Victor off of his shoulders for a minute and surprises his guests. “Sorry about the sequence of events, but I’m getting married. To a man. This one, to be specific.” He shakily lifts his hands as he points to Victor, who senses the gravity of the situation and grows still. “This is Victor. My, um. My fiancé.”

“Mm,” Hiroko murmurs, smiling softly as she puts her chopsticks down. “I knew you looked different. Does he make you happy?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri drawls, turning even more red. Victor flushes a bit at his gentle expression, wondering what Yuuri’s parents could be saying that’s making him so nervous. “He does.”

Toshiya snickers. “Who cares, then? Where will you live?”

“Good question,” Yuuri mumbles. He turns to Victor and coughs awkwardly. Mari and Yuri oversee the interaction with a sort of sick amusement. “Um, sorry. My parents are asking where we want to live, like. After we get married.”

Victor hums for a moment, grinning. “I don’t care, Yuuri. Wherever you like.”

Yuri snaps to attention at that. “What? You grew up in Saint Petersburg, and now you want to leave Russia? Fuck that.”

The silver-haired skater rolls his eyes. “I’m going to be retired, Yura. Why does it matter where I make roots?” Yuri clenches his fists and stands up, opening and closing his mouth rapidly. Yuuri moves to calm him down, but Victor grabs his partner’s wrist quickly. “It’s not an obligation for me to stay in Russia. Who knows? What if I fall in love with this town?”

The teenager stomps out of the room, making the Katsuki family stare at him with concern. Still, Victor puts on his business smile and bows to Yuuri’s parents, taking his partner’s hand and hoping that he conveys his sincere emotions.

Yuuri finishes introductions while feeling slightly removed.

Once Mari, Hiroko, and Toshiya have welcomed Victor with food and drinks, Yuuri slinks away, leaving the four of them to awkwardly communicate.

Meanwhile, Yuuri adjusts his glasses and goes to find the teen he shares a name with. He finds Yuri scowling in the hallway outside of the shower room, squatting and fuming. For a long moment, the older skater just stands there, waiting for the blonde to open room for discussion.

After a few minutes, Yuuri says, “If you don’t want to use the public bath, we can draw a bath for you in a private room.”

Yuri snorts. “Not in the mood. I think I’ll just shower in the morning.”

Yuuri stands there next to him, watching the anxious rage on Yuri’s face fade to a confused pout. Once he feels confident that the blonde is going to be alright, he moves to go to the changing room and is startled to be tugged backwards.

“Where are you going?”

The brunette lifts an eyebrow. “To change and take a bath. Did you need something?”

He scuffles around for a moment. “Without Victor? Aren’t you two inseparable or something?”

Yuuri chuckles, closing his eyes. “I think we can bathe separately. Victor’s still talking to my parents, somehow. Mari speaks a little English, so they’re probably working it out.” Green eyes flick back and forth, studying the older man. Yuri finally loosens his grip, doggedly following behind the legendary skater. Yuuri is ready to peel off his t-shirt when he sees that the teenager is still next to him. “I’m going to the open-air bath. I thought you didn’t want to go.”

“It’s authentic, right?” Yuri grumbles. Under his breath, he continues, “And Victor’s busy, so it’ll be quiet.”

After a pause, Yuuri begins to laugh. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Follow me. I’ll show you around, then.”

When Victor hears that Yuri and Yuuri had taken a bath together, he rolls his eyes. Furthermore, Hiroko tells him that Yuuri is already back in his room, asleep, and Victor pouts.

The information just makes Victor even more determined to traverse the city for the next week, learning as much as he can. After he bathes and meets Yuuri in the bedroom, stubbornly kissing his coach’s cheek while he’s asleep, he dreams of all the adventures they’ll have, and how many pictures he can sneak of Yuuri casually enjoying himself in his hometown.

#txt #mod: ash #reverse fic #yoi #tbc!

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wbtrashking · 7 years

Text

cheerleader vic wip

((not sure if i’m gonna finish this? anyways here’s this! ♥♥♥ it’s not at all important to this snippet, but i intended for vic to be nb trans! ♥))

summary: Yuuri snorts at that, cracking the barest hint of a smile for the first time in the conversation. “Nice to meet you, I guess. If you’re not interested in track parties, how’d you find me?”

“Let’s just say that I heard about you from an acquaintance,” Victor says and Yuuri snorts again. word count: 900 rating: t

Victor hears about the guy on the track team by word of mouth.

Their university isn’t very huge, honestly. Most people come to study business or literature, which is why it’s so interesting that their track team is so well-renowned. Victor has a full schedule of classes that are focused on grammatical improvement and the theory behind language, so most of the people he’s surrounded by have little to no interest in sports.

Every once in a while, his peers whisper about going to see the heats, because it’s the popular thing to do on the weekends. People who are interesting in partying and dating wind up at the frat houses or with members of the track team. There’s often an overlap, because eighty-percent of the members of the team are in Kappa Phi.

He yawns after he emerges from his creative writing workshop. There are two girls chatting in front of him, some of the better authors from his class, and he absently listens to their words.

“I hear there’s a new guy, a sophomore who transferred in,” Elizabeth murmurs softly, moving the position of the canvas bag on her shoulder. “He does pretty well, honestly, but he doesn’t eat with the team, and I’ve never seen him at any parties.”

Victor quirks an eyebrow at that. How rare. Madison chimes back, “Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. He usually wears glasses, right? I’ve seen him in my history class.”

Before he can help himself, the silver-haired man asks, “Is he just nervous? Maybe he doesn’t know anyone on campus.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Elizabeth says, shrugging. The wings of her eyeliner are sharp as she slowly blinks and Victor’s a bit envious of her talent. “But you won’t make friends unless you branch out, and he’s in the best place for that. The track team is pretty friendly.”

“Mm,” Victor hums and Madison grins.

“Interested?” She toys with her long brown curls, nudging Victor in the side. “He usually grabs lunch in the Student Center.”

Victor gives her a look, toying with his V-necked t-shirt. “How do you know that?”

“I just told you we have history together,” Madison scoffs. “He gets lunch at the same time every day, and he always gets the same thing. We can swing by there on the way to Fillian.”

The two girls keep laughing about some album they’ve been listening to as they pass through the halls. Victor’s blue eyes wander over the student art on the walls until Madison gently pokes him in the elbow.

“That’s him,” she whispers, discreetly pointing to the brunette in the middle of the lunchroom area who has his face half-buried in his phone, a simple sandwich lying half-eaten on his plate. “He’s not bad looking, I guess, but a little quiet for my tastes.”

“Nobody asked,” Elizabeth retorts, rolling her eyes.

Victor isn’t particularly fond of the younger man’s appearance. He has large glasses, dark, unkempt hair (like many other college students), and long fingers. Still, there’s something about him that’s striking.

He chalks it up to the fact that the track team member is sitting alone with a sad meal. “What’s his name?” Victor asks as the girls push the glass doors open and take the shortcut to Fillian Hall.

“Don’t know.” Elizabeth shrugs. “Maddie?”

“Mm, I forgot,” Madison replies. “Last name starts with a K, I think. I can ask on Thursday, if you want.”

Victor hums. “That’s alright.” He watches the brunette go for a bite of the sandwich and miss horrendously, licking mustard off of his lips. “I think I’ll speak to him myself.”

In front of him, the girls cackle.

Victor dashes out of Grammar & Theory at one-thirty and watches the track member take a seat with his same bland-looking sandwich. He checks his dark gray halter top for stains, makes sure his jeans are in order, and grabs soup and a salad before sauntering over casually. “This seat taken?” It’s obvious that the brunette hadn’t been expecting company, and that he’s rather off-put by Victor’s appearance.

“No,” the dark-haired man murmurs back, moving his seat a bit so that Victor has comfortable leg space. The taller man delights in the slow assessment Yuuri makes of him, taking in Victor’s dangling black earrings and loose gold bracelets. “Help yourself.”

As soon as he gets settled, Victor opens brazenly. “You always eat here by yourself?”

The suddenness of the question obviously takes the track member by surprise. “Well, yeah. The guys from the team have invited me, but they’re loud. Eight of them eat together.”

“Ah, I see,” Victor hums airily, almost giggling as the brunette furrows his brows. “Which team?”

“Track,” the younger man replies. “Which is why I assume you’ve come over here.”

He’s observant – and cynical, too. Victor smiles slyly. “That’s certainly part of the reason. What’s your name?”

“Yuuri,” the track member answers him with a soft sigh, taking a small bite of his sandwich. “Long distance runner, nursing major. I’m not in a frat, and I don’t go to any parties in town. Any other questions?”

Victor giggles at Yuuri’s grumbled response. “No need to be so defensive. I just thought you might be a bit lonely at lunch by yourself.” With a flourish, Victor pushes his curtained bangs from the left half of his face and leans forward on the table. Yuuri leans back in response, which just makes Victor smile harder. “I’m Victor. English major. Interested in making a new friend.”

Yuuri snorts at that, cracking the barest hint of a smile for the first time in the conversation. “Nice to meet you, I guess. If you’re not interested in track parties, how’d you find me?”

“Let’s just say that I heard about you from an acquaintance,” Victor says and Yuuri snorts again.

#txt #yoi #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #cheerleader au #wtk drabs

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rose-of-pollux · 7 years

Text

The Deadly Admirer Affair (MFU fic), part 3/10

Title: The Deadly Admirer Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: Illya wakes up but can’t provide any useful information about his attacker; the others reach dead ends, as well.

If you prefer reading on FFN, you can read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12338876/3/ If you prefer reading on AO3, you can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9472766/chapters/21779225

Act III: Questions but No Answers

Illya had been keeping his eyes closed even after waking up some time later. He did a mental check now, trying to get his bearings.

What happened…? he asked himself. He winced as he moved and felt the pain flare up in his side—where he had been wounded. …I was shot…!

His breathing suddenly quickened as the memories from the night before returned, but he was soon aware of a gentle hand on his face.

“Hey,” he heard Napoleon say, softly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Napoleon’s words were punctuated by soft murowrs, and Illya relaxed, realizing that both his partner and their cat had obviously been looking after him while he slept.

Illya opened his eyes now, seeing that it was clearly daytime, but Napoleon had closed the blinds to allow Illya to sleep some more.

Illya looked up at Napoleon with a wan smile.

“After our last mission, I should have been the one looking after you,” he mumbled. “Napoleon…”

“Don’t think about that,” his partner said, gripping Illya’s hand. “I’m fine. But how are you?”

“As good as I can be for being shot at,” Illya said. He sighed. “I suppose you wish to know what happened?”

“That would be good.”

“Alas, I cannot say much,” Illya sighed. “I had just gotten the bagels and had been taking a shortcut through the alley to get to the nearest subway entrance to come back here. I admit, my mind was… elsewhere, and I was not as vigilant as I should have been. Whoever it was took me completely by surprise.”

“Do you have any description of your attacker?”

Illya shook his head.

“It happened so quickly, and the lighting in the alley was dim,” he said. “And the attacker spoke to me in a harsh whisper; the voice was well-masked.”

“The attacker spoke to you? What did they say?”

“Nothing much. Taunted me for not seeing it coming, and…” Illya trailed off, shuddering.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked, softly.

“They said they wanted me to bleed out—die a slow death.”

Napoleon swore under his breath.

“Napoleon, please… I am fine now. …I hope you did not worry too much.”

“Well, I breathed easier when you started snoring a few hours ago; that was when Baba Yaga took a catnap, too.”

“I do not snore.”

“Au contraire; who would know better than me?” Napoleon asked.

Illya smiled in spite of himself, and then he sobered.

“I still don’t know what the attacker was after. I seem to remember Mandy saying last night that the reports were still intact.”

“They were,” Napoleon said. “Whoever it was stole a piece of my bagel. And before you ask if it was someone hungry who took it from you, they only took one piece of my bagel; they left yours and the rest of mine alone.”

“…What.” Illya’s tone of voice wasn’t even questioning; it was flat disbelief.

“We were just as puzzled, believe me.”

“It sounds as though someone shot me and then took the piece of bagel just to taunt me,” Illya muttered.

“That was my thought—sounds like the kind of thing THRUSH would do,” Napoleon said. “April and Mark have been out looking for clues; hopefully, they’ll be able to find something so we can find out which feathered fiend did it.”

Illya sighed.

“And how long am I to be stuck here in this purgatory of Medical?”

Napoleon grinned; if Illya was complaining about being in Medical, then he was most definitely on the mend.

“Can’t help you there—though I’ll do my best to convince the staff that you’ll be best recuperating at home. Maybe I’ll tell them that I’ll rest, too, if they let you go home… We can malinger together.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” Illya said, suddenly concerned.

“I am,” Napoleon assured him, now pulling a cart with a covered tray beside Illya’s bed. “It was Mr. Waverly who thinks I need to rest. Personally, I’ve never felt better. And I bet you’ll feel much better if you get something to eat. You want lunch?”

“Don’t you mean breakfast?”

“No, I mean lunch,” Napoleon said, showing Illya his watch.

Illya’s eyes widened.

“I slept in until two in the afternoon!?”

“Well, you did just spend half the night getting shot at and then going under the knife,” Napoleon reminded him.

Illya grumbled and complained under his breath some more, and it was music to Napoleon’s ears as he uncovered the tray of food.

The sight of the food did slightly improve Illya’s mood, and he began to eat, pausing as Baba Yaga meowed and started staring at his tray very intently.

“…I think she wants you to share,” Napoleon mused.

Illya shook his head in amusement, but caved in and gave Baba Yaga part of his filet of sole, which she happily accepted.

“She has me wrapped around her paw, and she knows it,” he sighed.

“You’re just a great dad to her.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but you’re the one who spoils her,” Napoleon teased.

Their conversation was soon halted by a knock on the recovery ward door. Napoleon momentarily panicked as Illya indicated Baba Yaga; Napoleon quickly scooped up the cat in his suitjacket to hide her from view, who protested as she dropped her piece of fish because of the sudden movement.

“Come in!” he called. “Oh, it’s you guys?”

He put Baba Yaga back down to reclaim the fish as April and Mark entered, followed by Mandy and George. Illya greeted them.

“How are you feeling?” April asked.

“Much better,” the Russian assured her. “Now, perhaps, you can tell me something about my attacker?”

“Sorry, Chum,” Mark said, sympathetically. “Whoever it is knows a lot about how to cover one’s tracks. There wasn’t a shred of evidence at the site or on either the papers or the bagels.”

“They must have worn gloves and shoe covers,” April said. “There were no footprints, either.”

“After they checked the reports and the envelope for fingerprints, I went over them and even had two people from the cryptology department go over them in English and Portuguese,” Mandy said, shaking her head. “There were no codes or any sort of hidden messages in those reports.”

“And I haven’t had a chance to test the bagels yet,” George said. “Someone’s already using the lab’s analysis equipment; I have to wait until they’re done. But the fingerprint check came up empty, and all the preliminary tests show that, so far, the bagels are just regular, ordinary, edible bagels without any adulteration or secrets.”

“And Illya didn’t get a good look at his attacker, either. Great; so we’ve all hit nothing but dead ends,” Napoleon sighed.

There were a couple of sheepish apologies all around him, and Napoleon managed a wan smile.

“It’s alright,” he said. “You’re all doing your best, and I appreciate it. Whoever did this knew what they were doing to avoid being identified. But we’re still going to find out who did it.”

“Anything in particular you want us to do now?” April asked.

“See if you can pick up any news on THRUSH sightings in the New York area,” Napoleon said. “If you and Mark can get a list of names, maybe we can deduce which of our suspects is most likely to have done this. …But, ah, get some rest if you need it; I know you two have been out there searching since early this morning.”

“It’s for Illya; we don’t mind,” Mark insisted.

“We want this creep captured too, Napoleon,” April agreed. “But we’ll be sure to pace ourselves.”

“Okay,” Napoleon said, with a grateful nod. “Mandy, I know you said cryptology went over those reports--”

“You want me to go over them one more time?” she asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble—compare them to the previous set of reports and see if there’s anything different. And George, as soon as that lab equipment is available, see if there is anything amiss with that bagel.”

“Right.”

“And what I said to Mark and April goes for you, too—you’ve both been busy since early this morning, too, so take as much rest as you need.”

“And we want to find out who did this, too,” Mandy said.

“So if there’s any small way we can help, we want to,” George added.

“Thank you,” Illya said, quietly. “All of you.”

The others insisted they were glad to do it, and Napoleon just smiled at him.

“See, Tovarisch, it isn’t just you and me against the world; we’ve got a whole team on our side—the very best there is!” He winked and gently touched Illya’s cheek. “If you’re feeling up to resting by yourself, I’d like to get out there and shake a few trees myself.”

“What do you have in mind?” Mark asked.

“I have it on reliable authority that Victor Marton has been setting up a new THRUSH front in Newark,” Napoleon said. “Perhaps I can cash in on his former partnership with Mr. Waverly to get some information on who was in Manhattan early this morning—or who would have enough of an axe to grind to go all the way to Manhattan just to confront Illya.”

“Good luck,” April said. “We’ll let you know over Channel D if we find anything important.”

“That goes for us, too,” George said.

Napoleon and Illya both thanked them as they headed back out, and Illya turned his attention back to his lunch.

“So…” Illya said, as he ate. “What happens if you meet with Marton, and he does not wish to divulge any information? You know how difficult he likes to be.”

“I normally don’t like to involve my Special in an argument, but I have found that it can be quite persuasive; if it means finding out who did this to you, I’ll gladly resort to that, even on Marton himself.”

Illya paused, hearing the underlying anger in his partner’s voice—a rare occurrence, and, therefore, significant.

“Napoleon…” he said, softly.

“Sleeping darts,” Napoleon promised. He paused. “Unless you’d prefer that I stay with you.”

Napoleon glanced back at him, and Illya stared into his partner’s eyes. Of course, Illya wanted him to stay; Napoleon’s presence was always the biggest comfort whenever he was shacked up in Medical. Yet he could also see the burning desire in Napoleon’s eyes to bring whoever did this to justice.

“Go on,” Illya encouraged him.

“Are you really sure? Just say the word, and I’ll stay right here.”

Illya smiled at him.

“Da, I am sure, Napoleon. I’m still rather tired; perhaps if I sleep some more, I can convince the staff to let me rest at home.” He paused. “Are the stories about our last mission still circulating?”

“…I haven’t really been around the building since you were brought in here, but I assume—and hope—that your latest misfortune has pushed those aside for now,” Napoleon said. “Look, ah… As soon as I’m back from Newark, I’ll pull rank for a bit and convince them to let you go home.”

“I would appreciate that very much.”

“I thought so,” Napoleon mused. He felt a sudden twist in his gut, as though his sixth sense was telling him that he should do that sooner rather than later. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t I do that now—drop you off at home and then go to Newark?”

“While I would appreciate that very much, as well, would it not make more sense to try to pick up a trail before it goes cold?”

Napoleon blinked.

“I guess you’ve got a point there…” he said. He smiled as Illya put the empty food tray back on the cart, and Napoleon obligingly tucked him in as he laid back down on the bed. “I’ll see you later.” He gave Baba Yaga another scratch behind the ears as she curled up again next to Illya’s wounded side and resumed purring. “And I’ll see you later, too.”

“Good luck,” Illya offered, as he closed his eyes.

“Thanks; hopefully, I’ll return with some good news.” He paused on his way out, looking back at his partner, who was resting while absently petting the cat. Once again, Napoleon pushed aside the nagging feeling that he should take Illya home now, bid him goodbye, and headed out of the recovery ward.

There was work to do.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #napollya #mfu fic #the man from uncle #The Deadly Admirer Affair

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stonerboy-writings · 5 years

Text

A L’Avis De Victor : Une Réponse à la Première Essai que J’Avais Ecrit

The general dissatisfaction that I had with the mark I had received, compelled me to “re-interview” my friend so that we could bond over my most unfortunate loss. Even though this our discussion had begun as a means to remedy my overall disappointment with the system under which I had been judged, it did provide me with a sense of pride surrounding my work as well as an improved understanding of Victor’s field of study.

I messaged Victor via Facebook to express my discontent at around 12:30, which had been 6:30 in Paris. I was happy to receive a quick response from him, which said:

“Darling I’m almost home, let me tell you about my day. It will make yours seem like nothing. I’ll be on skype in five minutes.”

I smiled and knew that we would have a marvelous session complaining about the insignificant details of our lives.

I put down what I had been doing, placed my phone on my desk, and woke my laptop from its most somber sleep. After entering my password, I logged into skype, to then be happily greeted by skype’s “wheep” tone, which notifies its user that they have a new message. Unsurprisingly it was from Victor, who then initiated a phone call. I answered, to be greeted with Victor’s dark apartment and his unkempt hair, which had to be accompanied by a nearly overflowing glass of two-euro red wine.

He smiled and said, “well darling tell me about your troubles.”

I looked down to say, “well was nothing, it was just a bad mark, and I’ll be able to make it up later in the semester.”

“Yes, too bad you are no longer in high-school when your grades were actually something –

I cut him off “Ah, grades how American of you, even I don’t even call them that anymore”

He glared in continued, “As an Albertan, I take offense in drawing those conclusions, but as I was saying, it’s too bad that those do come more frequently than they once did”

“Yes that is true, but I do have four more essays to improve help improve my mark,” I responded.”

“hmm” …Victor glanced up to then go on to say, “well why don’t we just redo it, it is a shame though as I feel that your essay did capture my, essence.”

I chuckled to then say, “well if you wish dear, we can”

I opened my marked word document to then go through the specific criteria required for this assignment.

“I have it!” I exclaimed, “Okay Victor, let’s start from the top, first question, what ‘specific claim about the literacy (reading and writing practices) in [your] field’ would you make? (Phifer-Byrne)”

Victor smiled to then say, “the study of Anthropology, or rather the study of people has gone through great changes over the past half century. The field’s conception was out of European Imperialism, and with this background, it has and continues to oppress the people it studies. I feel that it has changed to become less oppressive, but the goal of Anthropology is to critically analyze, or judge the people it intends to study and to some that can appear to be oppressive. This analysis is then contained in the various essays that we make on a number of subjects related to our people of study.”

Very good, “Now how and why are you Victor, ‘appropriate for insight to a specific field, (Phifer-Byrne)’ or for your case Anthropology?”

“Well darling you and anyone who read your initial assignment would know how accomplished I am in my field, so I believe we can continue.”

“The next question asked Victor, would be, ‘adequately explore the reading and writing practices of the specific field, considering different variables like: what types of texts and genres are read, referenced, and produced. What methods and and technologies are used to consume, use and produce texts. What work of the field is accomplished through reading and writing? (Phifer-Byrne)”

“Well we do use primary sources, I remember that in one of the papers that I wrote during my master’s program I included a notebook written by this prostitute that I had been interviewing. Materials such as these are invaluable as they act as an account of a multitude of interviews over time, which allowed me to study a number of experiences that my subject had experienced. We can also use visual references, such as photography, or works of art. I know that in my line of Anthropology some Anthropologists have examined Picasso’s “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon,” and Ingres’ Grande Odalisque to understand the historical perceptions of prostitution in Europe over the past centuries. So because of that there are countless forms of expression that we analyze as Anthropologists to gain an understanding of the people we study.”

“Now Victor, I must, ‘include appropriate evidence from the interview to support an analysis (Phifer-Byrne)’ would you mind elaborating on the ‘evidence relevant to [your] main points and [your] overall claim[s], (Phifer-Byrne)’ ‘make evidence appropriate for [your] topic[s], audience, and purpose[es] (Phifer-Byrne)’ that you covered, and ‘provide detailed connection [or] description of how the evidence supports the point [or] reason, [or] claim? (Phifer-Byrne)”

Victor paused and said, “well I guess one could say that Anthropology is the study of people; however, that is the first definition out of your Oxford English Dictionary. I think that what we have learned as a field is how to be more respectful of ‘the other,’ since the mid-twentieth century. All you need to do to understand how Anthropology and Archaeology was used during the third Reich to support Aryan claims to ethnic superiority. I feel like there is much more that needs to be done in that regard as there is still a level of judgement to scholarly superiority in regard to the study of non-western peoples. Because of that I decided to people a social anthropologist as I would be studying sub-groups within the western world, which would help me stay away from issues such as ethnic and cultural superiority that has been the means under which abuse has been committed against non-western peoples. I think that we will eventually become better as time goes, on. Typically, philosophers are the ones that inspire the artists, whose art compels us to become better at understanding the human condition and the pressures we face as members of our world’s various societies.”

I interjected to say “I agree with that opinion. I know that when we had spoken a few months ago about our own educations, primarily in Canada and the United States, there were rituals that w preformed to have a sense of collective superiority. With the arts, which artists do you think have been deconstructing this Euro-centric superiority complex?”

“Oh yes Ted I do remember that, very good point. I think that many of the apparatuses rituals that we have as people and within our western societies help speak to a certain hierarchy, which is common throughout many cultures; however, it is not an essential part of human society as a whole. I remember studying collectivism at University and how many so called ‘primitive’ societies used inclusion rather than deprivation as a means of supporting their societies. I think that Artists such as Marta Minujín, especially in her Destrucción (1963) speaks to how arbitrary our societies place value on certain practices. In her performance, the Destrucción (1963) she destroyed all of the art that she had made throughout her career as an artist to symbolize rebirth as an artist that was free of the so called “high-arts,” an artist that excluded herself from this arbitrary valuation. This performance acted as her first great performance and launched her career as a visionary who challenged our western status quo. I hope that someday the social-sciences, sciences, and humanities at some point might be able to become more universalist, rather than the critical exclusive disciplines that they had originally been drawn out to be. I feel that once our Universities can help shed light on these misfortunes that we might be able to provide a truer understanding of plant’s peoples and cultures. Anyways, sorry for going on is there anything else that I should respond to?”

I looked down to examine the rubric to see I had stayed true to its requirements in order to receive a higher mark, but then realized that beyond proper grammar and syntax that all the questions that I had been asked to question Victor on had been answered.

I looked up at the screen and said, “No Victor, I think that is everything, so long as I remember my student ID number and section number this paper will have all the content necessary for a ‘proper’ mark.”

He smiled and said, “well darling, I hope that it all goes well. I would love to chat longer but I have a gig tonight so I should put get ready.”

“A gig?” I asked.

“Why yes I gig,” he said while winking at me.

I giggled, we then said our good-byes, and ended our call.

***

As this has been the first one-hundred level course that I have taken at the University of Arizona, I would like to apologize as I am used to having more creative freedom in my writing. I hope that this would answer all of the requirements that I would be asked of for this assignment and I hope that I might be able to improve myself in the future assignments for this course. The problem is that I am typically used to writing a paper around a general topic, that would be covered within a specific course. One example would be one course that I took on Conflict Management and Resolution. The general requirement was to write a final essay that carefully examined a conflict and then provide suggestions and commentary on how this conflict could have been more easily resolved. For this assignment I examined it as an exercise on conducting and recording interview surrounding aspects of academia. In that regard I do believe that I was to some degree successful at that in my first essay that I submitted for this course. Either way I hope that the response above can help show that I am trying to remember how to navigate a first-year course and that I am capable of following a rubric’s specified guidelines.

Figures:

Figure 1:

Marta, Minujín. Destrucción. 1963. Performance Art/Photograph. MoMA, New York. Image Courtesy of: Henrique Faria Fine Art, New York. Online. Accessed 24 Feb 2017. http://post.at.moma.org/sources/8/publications/129

Figure 2:

Pablo, Picasso. Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. 1907. Oil on canvas. MoMA, New York. Acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequrest. Online. Accessed 24 Feb 2017. https://www.moma.org/explore/conservation/demoiselles/

Works Cited:

Phifer-Byrne, Kasey, Erin. Grading Criteria. 2017.

Originally published on Old Wordpress site: edwardjelliott.wordpress.com on Feb. 27 2017

#assingment #interview #marta minujin #pablo picasso #re-writing #series #writing

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perfectzablog · 6 years

Text

A Deeper Look at the Whole School Approach to Behavior

To hear a podcast version of this story, check out the MindShift Podcast on Apple Podcasts, NPR One, Google Play or wherever you get your podcasts.

Classroom management is an essential tool for an effective teacher, but it’s not always easy to do well. Without an orderly classroom it’s hard for teachers with upward of 25 kids in their classrooms to lead effective lessons, help students who are struggling, and perhaps most important, to trust students. That’s why getting behavior under control was Michael Essien’s number one goal when he started as the assistant principal at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Academic Middle School (MLK) in San Francisco.

Essien became an administrator after more than 20 years in Oakland classrooms, where he taught math and special education. He saw firsthand how students responded to project-based learning that was connected to the real world when he became an instructor with the University of California Mathematics, Engineering, Science Achievement (MESA) program. The program supports students from low-performing or poorly resourced schools in STEM fields through hands-on competitions, summer learning and academic mentoring at school sites throughout the year.

“I saw that kids who are in public school, if they were exposed to certain pedagogy and had certain content, that they can learn regardless of situation,” Essien said. The program doesn’t use lectures. Instead, instructors try to hook kids by posing inquiry-based questions and empowering students to find answers for themselves.

“Kids had a great time, especially since in the project-based learning they had to produce something in the end,” Essien said. “So we had kids doing things like building prosthetic arms — like literally building,” or figuring out how to measure the height of the Campanile on UC Berkeley’s campus. Essien was blown away by what kids could do. But even better, he saw those students return to school with more confidence, succeeding even when the pedagogy of their classrooms wasn’t as dynamic.

MLK and Vis Valley students at Oregon St. vs Cal Football game. Producing life long memories @SFUnified @SFUSD_Supe @pliucb @VVMSFalcons pic.twitter.com/uDFkbAez4Z

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) November 5, 2017

“The students actually developed skills around agency that it didn’t make a difference where they went and or who was teaching; kids began to excel in classes,” Essien said.

These experiences made him want to lead similar changes on a larger scale, which brought him to MLK Middle. But teachers there were drowning in behavior issues and burning out along the way. Essien knew he needed to help them manage that before he could convince them to take a plunge into new teaching techniques.

“We were surviving,” Essien said honestly of the tone at MLK when he started four years ago. “Students weren’t learning because students were having challenges in the classroom with their own academic abilities and or behaviors. Teachers who were trying to teach were having a difficult time getting into lessons because they were dealing with behaviors. It was challenging to hold collaborative conversations among the teachers because all teachers could deal with in any setting was the overwhelming behavior.”

MLK serves many students who live in poverty, for whom English is not their first language, and who have been poorly served by the education system for a long time. So it’s no surprise that some students are academically behind and struggle to access grade-level content. When Essien started at MLK, teachers dealt with behavior disruptions by sending students out of class to a room where they waited for the deans in charge of discipline to write them up. While that may have calmed down the classroom, kids soon learned that if the day’s lesson was challenging they could make a disturbance and get sent to a room where many of their friends had also been sent.

Michael Essien greets students warmly during a passing period. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

Eighth-grade English and history teacher Jennifer Founds’ classroom was right next door to this holding room. “You would just hear through the walls sort of like screams and loud music and cursing as the one person supervising this room of 10 kids who’ve been kicked out of class is trying to keep things under control,” Founds said. Worse, kids wanted to go there precisely because it was chaotic and out of control. “Especially if a kid has no idea how to do the work for the day, or has a bad relationship with the teacher, or doesn’t think the teacher believes in them, then they’re like, ‘I’m out of here,’ ” Founds said.

Everyone at the school knew something needed to change, but figuring out what would work better was an iterative process. First, Essien thought he could “cocoon” the chronically difficult kids during transition periods, but that didn’t help the classroom dynamic. Then he and the counseling staff tried talking with kids who were sent out of class about what was going on in their lives. They hoped they could leverage the strong relationships they had with kids to get at the underlying problems. They found out that often kids were hungry and traumatized, but that didn’t ultimately solve the classroom behavior issues either.

“At the end of the first year it struck me that we were saying we were holding restorative conversations, but they could not be restorative conversations because the kids didn’t do anything to us,” Essien said. “What needed to be restored was actually in the classroom between the teacher and the classroom where the disruptive behavior occurred.”

A full day of school-wide behavior expectations for students, with passport accountability and fun BINGO. And still we rise!!!! #MLKstrong pic.twitter.com/V6QWKaI1ME

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) August 24, 2017

So, Essien started trying to support teachers to have restorative conversations in the classroom, at the moment when a disruption occurred. This sounds like a good idea, but in an environment like MLK disruptive behavior was constant, and teachers didn’t always have strong relationships with their students, which are the foundation of effective restorative practices. Restorative practices are still central to the school’s approach, but the burden isn’t all on teachers now.

“We were asking teachers to do too many things,” Essien realized. “They need to be rigorous in their instruction; they need to be big brother/big sister; they need to be counselors; they need to be therapists. And how are teachers supposed to do all of that and still deliver a quality lesson? There was just too much.” He needed to figure out how to remove something from teachers’ plates, not add another big mandate that they felt unprepared to carry out.

That’s when Essien hit on the idea of sending support staff — adults who don’t have teaching roles, like the social worker, deans, academic adviser — into the classroom to help when a situation arose. He calls it “push-in” and his staff started implementing it at the start of Essien’s third year at MLK, but his first year as principal. They had no information about whether it would work or not because they hadn’t been able to run an accurate trial at the end of the previous year. All they knew was that something had to change.

Counselor Clifton Szeto returns from helping a teacher and student with a push-in call. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

Here’s how it works: First, Essien got all his teachers trained in de-escalation tactics. They learned about how nonverbal communication, tone, volume, cadence, word choice and proximity work to either escalate or de-escalate a situation. Now, when a teacher sees that a student has become escalated, rather than engaging with her and potentially worsening the situation, teachers pick up the phone, call the office for a push-in, and go back to teaching. The support staff all carry walkie-talkies where they receive the call and they respond on a rotation.

“The idea of going to the room and the push-in is to help the teacher repair the damage, the harm that has been done, the disturbance, whatever you want to call it, in the class,” said Antoinette Marracq, who was head counselor at MLK during this transition. When support staff show up in class they can either take over supervising the lesson so the teacher can step out into the hallway and resolve the issue with the student, or intervene themselves. The hope is to help de-escalate the situation and get the student back into class and learning.

“Students ended up learning that, when a teacher calls for a push-in that they were never getting out of class, that somebody was coming,” Essien said. Once students got used to the new system, he said, their behavior started to change. Even the threat of a push-in is enough sometimes to convince a student to get back on task. And in some cases the relationships between teachers and students started to improve as teachers were freed up to talk things out with students.

“I think it communicates this idea that we’re here to learn and our interest, all of our interests, are for students to be in the class and learning and engaged and to feel supported,” Founds said. She says she doesn’t often have to call for push-ins anymore. When the classroom is calmer overall most kids will stay on task and that has allowed her to feel more comfortable giving students more choice and freedom over their assignments.

HONORED for Team @sfusdCEC to catch a photo with @SFUSD_Supe, Principal @EssienPmessien, & the amazing @mlk_ms Team! #SFUSDEnrollmentFair17 pic.twitter.com/BzV9dqkhSO

— Victor Tam (@PrincipalTam) October 14, 2017

Eighth-grade students who have experienced these changes agreed that the school culture has improved at MLK. On the whole, they said they felt safer and more supported, although they acknowledged discipline felt stricter. Some students weren’t so sure that the push-in process had improved their relationships with teachers, though. They like teachers who demonstrate some understanding and give them chances to improve before getting upset. It was clear, however, that they like and respect the support staff, even saying they feel bad when a teacher calls for a push-in because it means a support person would have to come to the room.

There are still students who want to get out of class and run around the hallways, but they are the exception now. And, when a serious issue does come up, support staff are more available to streamline support systems, make a phone call home, or suspend a student if warranted.

The push-in system isn’t easy for the support staff, who all have other jobs like coordinating social services for students, conducting counseling sessions, communicating with parents and taking care of the paperwork that accompanies any kind of disciplinary action.

“Push-in is a priority because the student is escalated,” said Clifton Szeto, a dean who handles much of the discipline. “So sometimes we have to drop what we’re doing and go for a push-in, and it makes it hard to get your other things done.” All of the seven support staff have these feelings at times, but they also say the culture and climate of the school has improved dramatically because of the push-in system.

Overall, the disruptions feel worth it. Even better, by working more directly alongside teachers, support staff are sharing some of their knowledge about how to form deep relationships with students. Some teachers even ask for feedback on how they handled different situations, looking for guidance on how to improve.

SHIFTING TEACHING PRACTICES

As an instructional leader Essien has credibility because he spent so long in the classroom, but when he started at MLK teachers were wary of him. He knew he needed to show them he could teach, so they’d trust him as a thought partner on how teaching practices could change. He remembers leading a three-day inquiry with an algebra class that got students making predictions, talking to the adults in their lives about algebraic concepts, and debating mathematical ideas. When the lesson was over, the teacher had a new appreciation for what might be possible in his classroom.

Students exploring actual data around diversity of children’s books. I love my AMAZING staff @SFUSD_Supe @SFUnified @pliucb #MLKstrong pic.twitter.com/0XH7Ziw12r

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) October 18, 2017

Essien calls this “cognitive disequilibrium,” an experience that displaces teachers from some of their previously held beliefs. With behavior issues causing less stress, teachers are experimenting with project-based learning. MLK held a STEAM night where students displayed their work to the community. Essien said it was a wonderful event, but he noticed that teachers did all the talking. He waited a week so he wouldn’t seem too critical, but then convened teachers to think about how the following year they could get students speaking more. And when the second annual STEAM event rolled around, he said teachers agreed it was even better.

“So what made it better? Teachers still did the same work in terms of working with kids and projects, but the students presented.” Now he’s thinking about how he can make sure every kid presents, and how the school could do themed nights in every subject.

Principal Michael Essien in his office. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

“I’m the guy who is always thinking about how can we drill deeper. How can we make something better,” Essien said. “So although I feel good that we’re making these changes, I’m thinking still: How can I support teachers in increasing their capacity.” This quality might also be why Essien has been successful at MLK, something he attributes to his special education training. He’s used to making a plan, evaluating if it’s working, and changing course if goals aren’t being met.

MLK still deals with some behavior issues; it hasn’t completely transformed. But there’s a feeling that all the adults in the building are working toward the same goal and they’ve got a leader who has articulated a clear vision — make MLK Middle the best school in San Francisco. Essien knows his students deserve that.

A Deeper Look at the Whole School Approach to Behavior published first on https://greatpricecourse.tumblr.com/

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bisoroblog · 6 years

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A Deeper Look at the Whole School Approach to Behavior

To hear a podcast version of this story, check out the MindShift Podcast on Apple Podcasts, NPR One, Google Play or wherever you get your podcasts.

MLK and Vis Valley students at Oregon St. vs Cal Football game. Producing life long memories @SFUnified @SFUSD_Supe @pliucb @VVMSFalcons pic.twitter.com/uDFkbAez4Z

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) November 5, 2017

“The students actually developed skills around agency that it didn’t make a difference where they went and or who was teaching; kids began to excel in classes,” Essien said.

Michael Essien greets students warmly during a passing period. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

A full day of school-wide behavior expectations for students, with passport accountability and fun BINGO. And still we rise!!!! #MLKstrong pic.twitter.com/V6QWKaI1ME

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) August 24, 2017

Counselor Clifton Szeto returns from helping a teacher and student with a push-in call. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

HONORED for Team @sfusdCEC to catch a photo with @SFUSD_Supe, Principal @EssienPmessien, & the amazing @mlk_ms Team! #SFUSDEnrollmentFair17 pic.twitter.com/BzV9dqkhSO

— Victor Tam (@PrincipalTam) October 14, 2017

SHIFTING TEACHING PRACTICES

Students exploring actual data around diversity of children’s books. I love my AMAZING staff @SFUSD_Supe @SFUnified @pliucb #MLKstrong pic.twitter.com/0XH7Ziw12r

— MLK Middle (@mlk_ms) October 18, 2017

Principal Michael Essien in his office. (Samantha Shanahan/KQED)

A Deeper Look at the Whole School Approach to Behavior published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/

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