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fullcfphobias-a · 8 months

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Miranda had not answered Oz at the door. She would not answer Oz at the door. Even if she had known that they were there, she wouldn't have. This was the nature of things.

The halls were quiet for them. The halls were always quiet, in some strange quirk of Miranda's schooltime castle, that though she was loud and musical and cared a great deal for the auditory, that the actual structure of the castle she lived within was silent most of the time. There were sounds of her serfs moving around sometimes, the bubble of tanks or of waterworks, the call of the ocean below, but all felt muffled and too small within such a vast space, as though none were enough to fill it up. Even her voice could come as a shock sometimes, an abrupt breaking of silence, too loud and too vast and painful for it, frightening in some unknown aspect that was never fully clear and which clearly had some effect on Miranda too.

No staff came to see Oz in, even though they surely recognized them by now. The doors would open, unlocked, but there was no one waiting for them in the typical places, no one in the entrance hall or in the ballrooms nor anywhere that Oz could see. It was occupied, clearly, Oz wouldn't have gotten in if it wasn't, but this was somehow worse than the thought that everyone was merely absent. Like Oz had missed a memo of some kind. Like there was something important going on, something that had to be attended to with all the grace granted by the castle and its amenities, but something that no one told Oz about, outsider as they were, allowed entrance but not permitted knowledge.

No trace of the princess. No trace of anyone. Left alone, to wander the halls.

Even when Miranda was found, finally, it felt wrong, as if by accident. Walked by the right door at the right time, catching it open, enough to see the princess there, sitting on a couch, staring off into space. Easy enough to miss, really, needing to circle back and catch her by the time the full realization hit, but Miranda wasn't going anywhere. She hadn't even seemed to notice Oz.

Her eyes remained fixed on the wall. Her fins sitting stiff by the sides of her face. Breathing, yes, but automatically, unthinking, letting her body exist for her when she wasn't acknowledging it, when she didn't want to touch it.

There was blood dripping down her face, from perfectly set matching lines of teeth marks, clamped down over her brow, over her mouth, cutting deep as they could go. One had torn her lip, and it was bleeding stubbornly, repeatedly tapping droplets of blood down against the carpet.

Far more was flowing down her neck from her gills, surrounded by a velvet bed of purple and yellow bruises that were turning ripe beneath her scales, scratch marks gouging as though they were trying to dive down her throat.

Her crown was still on her head. She was even dressed better than typical, abandoning her beloved sundress for something thicker and heavier, laid over with gilded thread and accenting wine reds. Stark white caught little blooms of dropped blood like it was nearly on purpose.

She still wouldn't look at Oz.

"Go home."

She spoke without looking, without turning her face to see Oz, without acknowledging them in the slightest. Her voice rough, aching, surrounded by the trembling aura of someone who had just stopped crying. Blood bubbled up and made her cough around the words, hoarse and sticky in her throat. The bite marks opened with the movement of her lips, another little trickle of blood coming down to try and cover her eyelids.

"Go home, Oz. Just go home. Turn around and go home. You do not have to stay here to see this."

It wasn't the emptiness that unsettled them, they were quite familiar with empty places, it was the space. Their faux fins twitched, gathering up the sound of distant movements.

This castle had people in it, but none who wished to be in their line of sight. No doubt a deliberate decision, one which they were scrambling to understand. The space only felt bigger the more they traversed it, any familiarity washing away as they ran through the list of explanations.

Perhaps something was planned? Surely they would've been stopped at the door if so, at the very least the place would've been locked up.

Maybe this is a test of some kind? Their face fell at the thought, gaze darting around. Surely others would've made an effort to be quite if that was the case, if they were being monitored in such a way.

Oz picked up the pace at the thought, search growing frantic until one of the phobias pointed them back to a door they'd rushed by.

"Miri..?"

Their voice was hushed, still operating under the impression the silence of the castle was an intentional one. It wasn't until they spotted the blood that their hesitance at the doorway broke, the amalgam by her side in an instant.

"Are you okay?! I mean– you're obviously bleeding but— What do I— Let me just—"

Turning, their gaze scanned the room for anything of use. Surely there had to be some medical supplies around, or at least something to wipe the blood from the princess's face. It wasn't until Miranda's voice cut through their frantic questioning that they paused, glancing back at her.

"Go home? But—"

They felt silent as she continued, taking note of the tremor in her voice but making no comment. Something did happen, something bad.

"I.. I want to— Can I just at least– If you really want me to go, I will, but.. I wanna help first. Okay?"

#// AUGHHH MIRI </3 #royalreef #just in case [ic]#marine melodies || oz <3 miranda (royalreef)

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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maybe youth is wasted on the young {Roger Taylor}

ask your destiny to dance Modern High School AU

A/N: 2685 words. Not Asked For But Here Nonetheless. might write a bit more for this AU, but i’ve got a lot of prompts, so no promises. hope you enjoy.

Brian got saddled with the two worst tutoring students in the world, and if the high school wasn’t paying him, he’d have let them both go after the first day. Roger he knows; before Brian had graduated they’d both spent lunch times in the music room, and Brian taught him a bit of guitar, and Roger smashed away at the drums and sometimes took a nap. He never expected Roger to be taking physics, but they didn’t usually talk about school when they were at band practice. The band had formed in Brian’s last year of high school, and fortunately there was only a few months after graduation where Roger was the only highschooler, until they went in search of a bass player, and found John Deacon, who seemed to live his life in the engineering workshop room. Together, along with Freddie, who’s two years above Brian, and a design student of all things, they make a pretty great team, musically speaking at least.

Ash, as a student, is an unknown quantity, bursting into the room he’d booked for studying, covered in paint and clay, and fifteen minutes late. She’s bursting with apologies, but Brian gives her the benefit of the doubt, points to the seat opposite him, and smiles. If he was being honest, Roger’s session finished late, he was thankful to have a full hour between appointments to grab some food and go over his notes.

He doesn’t know if they’re in the same class, but they’re in the same year, and both not there out of their own free will. Ash sleeps in class, Roger gets into arguments with the teacher; both are failing.

Ash is new to town, and all of her school shirts are pink. Not on purpose, but she put them through with a red sweater and the rest is pretty self evident, and she hates Physics more than almost anything else in the world.

“Then why are you doing it?” Brian asks when she announces this during their second session together.

“Because I don’t wanna dissect frogs and rabbits and shit, and I can’t remember the periodic table to save my life; maths, even complicated physics maths, is still maths.” She explains, slapping down a falling apart notebook and fishing around her bag for a pen.

“Language.” Brian admonishes, and Ash frowns at him, elbow deep in her bag.

“I’m seventeen, go fuck yourself.”

The thing is, she's a good student, she can do the math, it's just a struggle working out what it means, but she's scatterbrained more than anything. And often late. Usually only by a few minutes, but everything changes the day Roger comes in ten minutes late, which comes as a surprise, he's always quite punctual, and he's covered in lime green paint. It's in his hair and everything. He looks like he’s had an afternoon full of regrettable situations.

"I don't wanna talk about it." He doesn't even give Brian time to ask, though Brian himself is rather distracted; it's a Friday, they've got a gig tonight.

"You'll be right for the show thought?" Brian asks, and Roger agrees easily, looking uncomfortable; the paint was still partially wet. As promised, Brian didn’t ask, and when the hour’s up, Roger leaves to go home and have a shower. After Brian’s break finishes, Ash doesn’t show up. Fifteen minutes after she’s meant to arrive, she’s still not there.

“What?” Ash snaps into her mobile when she picks up, and Brian’s taken aback; she’s not necessarily soft-spoken, but he’d never known her to be so hostile.

“Just reminding you about your tutoring session is all.” He said gently, and he hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Right. Okay.” Ash breathes, a little distracted, a little put-upon, and it’s followed by scuffling, a door being slammed, and a tap blasting water into a metal sink; the art room. “Hey, listen, I’m just a bit-” sighing again, this time with resignation, the water’s still running in the background, “I’m just not up for it right now, some stuff has happened, and I just-” And there’s rustling as Brian hears her cover the receiver and holler a string of curse words at the empty - at least he hopes it is - art room.

“Is everything okay?” Brian asks when Ash uncovers the mic and apologises quickly.

“I’m fine. I will be fine.” She tells him, before apologising that she won’t be able to make it to their session that day. She hangs up.

When he makes his way to the art room, because she’s obviously not fine and he cares when one of his students misses a session, he sees her through the window, sitting down with her head on her arms at a table covered in various shards of a sculpture. At a glance he thinks she’s asleep, but as he knocks gently on the door, he sees her look up, shocked, her eyes red-rimmed.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, roughly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, standing in the door frame. She sniffles a little.

“I just came to make sure you were okay; the art room’s the only one with a metal basin that sounds like that.” He pointed over her shoulder at the art room’s sink. “What’s wrong?”

Ash is quiet for a very long moment, narrowing her eyes when she looked up at him, before turning on her heel and heading to the table with the sculpture fragments on it. They seemed to be in some sort of order, and Brian can pick out that it’s meant to be the bust of a woman, but it’s completely shattered, with a few pieces super glued together, though it seems she’d given up.

“My major work was destroyed.” She explained, voice flat, the statement followed by another sniffle. “Some dickhead put it in the kiln beside a piece with a huge air bubble in it.” At Brian’s confusion, she picked up a piece that looked like it had part of an eye; “the air bubble expanded and exploded and took out all my hard work on the way.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what else to say, she looks absolutely devastated about the whole situation.

“I’m not up for Physics, I’ve gotta try and jigsaw this all back together.” And as she looks over all the work she still had left to do, her lip began to tremble.

“Yeah no, no worries; is there anything I can do to help?” Brian asks gently, Ash just shakes her head, can’t even open her mouth to speak because she knows she’ll start crying again. There’s a blur of movement out the window, and when Brian turns to leave, there’s a figure in the door. He’s tall, with the same striking ginger hair as Ash, and looks like every hipster English major Brian’s ever encountered.

“Who are you?” The ginger man asks, scowling, and Brian raises his hands in surrender, but Ash cuts in.

“Oz, he’s my tutor, he’s just checking in because I couldn’t make it today because- because-” and her voice catches on her explanation as she looks over her weeks of hard work scattered on the table before her. Brian goes to introduce himself to ‘Oz’, who he’s pretty sure is her brother, but the moment Ash sniffles, trying to hold back more tears, Oz brushes past him and it’s like they both forget about Brian.

“It’s going to be okay, Biscuit,” Oz murmurs gently, wrapping a now weeping Ash up in a hug, “I’ll help you stick all these back together and then we can go home, okay?” And he’s so fucking gentle about it that it actually surprises Brian, who hasn’t really thought enough about Ash as a person to devote an opinion on her beyond the fact that she’s a good student with a sharp sense of humour and terrible work ethic in regards to physics; not once, until now, had he ever really considered her fragile.

He tries not to think about it too much, as he leaves, but it’s hard not to when the two of them show up at his gig later that night. Even in the dim light of the pub he’d recognise her hair from a mile away, and he’s silently wondering how she got in.

‘Oz’ turns out to be Oscar Clarke, a friend of Freddie’s, Ash’s older brother, and as Brian had called it, an English major.

“I didn’t realise I’d be seeing you again so soon, are you feeling any better?” Brian asks when the first set finishes; Ash is sitting on a high stool by one of the little round tables, and Oscar is leaning beside her with a bright smile. Ash nods, though she’s still a little subdued, and Oscar gives Brian an official greeting, thanks the guitarist for taking the time to check on his little sister, and offers to buy him a drink.

“Oz! It’s so good to see you!” Freddie wraps Oscar in a hug, interrupting them, before turning to Ash with a bright smile. “You must be Ashley, it’s lovely to finally meet you, my dear.” And Ash is halfway through a greeting and a grin when Roger hops down the the pub’s stage and comes over with their bass player to see what all the fuss was about. The moment they realise who the other is, both Ash and Roger freeze.

“I’m going to fucking murder him.” Ash says with a terrifying degree of confidence, and Roger can’t read her lips without his glasses but he sees her expression, and how she’s sliding out of her stool, and he bolts, leaving poor John confused. Oscar wraps his arms around Ash without hesitation, restraining her. “I’m going to gut him like a fish.” She says, with that same calm fury, struggling in her brother’s arms.

“So you know Roger?” Brian asks, and Ash snorts out a laugh but doesn’t say anything.

“Why do you wanna kill him?” Oscar asks, matching her calm tone, and Ash stop struggling.

“He’s the one who ruined my major work; him and his fucking meme-y, dick sculpture.” She spat, the composed veneer breaking as she dwells on it, and Oscar lets her go and turns back to a confused and concerned Freddie.

“Is she going to kill our drummer?” He asked, as John joined them, looking like an actual child, and he asks if someone can go to the bar and buy him a coke.

“She might.” Oscar says blithely, and heads to the bar. Freddie frowns after him. Brian chimes in, thinking only of Ash, covered in clay and crying alone in the art room hours after school had finished for the day, super gluing her shattered project back together one piece at a time.

“Listen, Freddie, I don’t say this lightly, but he might deserve it.”

“You’re a fucking bastard; if you don’t know how to work with clay properly, you shouldn’t even try, do you know how much work I put in-?” Ash snarled as she found Roger trying to hide his face at the end of the bar.

“I didn’t mean to-” He tried; she’d just thrown paint at him earlier that day, didn’t have the words to articulate herself. This is worse than the paint.

“You sculpted a dick - a dick of all things - around a piece of scrunched up newspaper and didn’t think to leave a hole to let the air escape? To let the air in the clay expand? Have you never-” She seethes, standing right up against the stool he’s sitting on, forcing him to edge away.

“Are you yelling at me about sculptures in the middle of a bar?” Roger asks, and yeah he feels guilty about what happened, but he’s also pretty sure she’s using a fake ID, and the bouncer only didn’t card him because he’s in the band, and if she draws too much attention to them they’re both going to get kicked out.

“Yes.” She snaps, and shoves him rough enough to push him from his seat. He catches himself before he faceplants. “I should kick your ass.” Snarling, she gives him the single most derisive look he’s ever seen, though he stands his ground.

“First of all, I’d like to see you try,” he smirks, moving the chair back and stepping into her space; her hands twitch as if she’s aching to hit him, “and secondly; over a sculpture?”

“Over my major work!” She crows, and he finally realises what the whole situation meant for her. “Do you know how much work I put into that? Over a month and a half, you dipshit!” There’s tears in her eyes, and it seems to take her a moment to realise, and she turns away, gently dabbing to not smudge her mascara.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” Voice gentle, Roger awkwardly pets her shoulder, but she brushes him off. He crosses his arms, unsure of what to do with his hands. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

“We’re the same age.” She squints at him over her shoulder, and he shrugs.

“I’m in the band.” He smirks, puffing out his chest a little, and she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t drink.” And with that she leaves, finds her brother who’s bought both her and John sodas, and Brian gives her a sympathetic smile, and Freddie breathes a genuine sigh of relief when Roger follows behind, somewhat sheepishly.

“How you doing, biscuit?” Oscar asks, wrapping Ash in a side hug, and she shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink and leaning against him. They stay for the rest of the band’s sets; Oscar had brought her out to cheer her up, and eventually, when she starts bopping along to the music, it starts working. Roger, from what he can make out of her in the crowd, feels something in his chest ease to see her relaxing and enjoying herself.

When asked about how the confrontation went, when the band is packing up and Oscar and Ash have left for the night, Roger, to everyone’s surprised, tells them she had every right to be pissed.

“Though if she follows through on her threat to deck me, she’ll have another thing coming.” He snorted, packing up his high hat stand. Brian asks if they’d known each other before, and Roger turns an interesting shade of pink and goes quiet. “We’ve got art and physics together.”

“But you’re not friends?” Freddie asks, watching Roger for a moment before he and Brian share a small smile.

“Do we seem like friends?” Roger snapped, and Freddie grinned wider. “She’s the best sculptor in our class; even our teacher was pissed when she found out what happened.” He admitted, before his voice dropped to quietly amused. “Ms Roberts got so close to swearing at me like four different times, it was actually pretty funny.”

“He likes her.” Freddie stage whispered to Brian, and Roger turned scarlet at that.

“I do not.” He growled, “she threatened to murder me.” But he was all flustered, and clearly a terrible liar while a little tipsy off of only two beers.

“You think she’s cute and you want to snog her because you know she wouldn’t really kill you.” Brian cooed, dodging Roger’s thrown drumstick easily.

“This is bullying.” He grumbled.

“She is cute,” John piped up, “got really nice eyes too, though the lights made them look all gold at times.” He mused, though Roger couldn’t see the bassist pointedly watching him.

“They’re green.” Roger corrects automatically, and John’s grin widens. He realises too late what he’s said, because both Brian and Freddie are howling with laughter.

“They're green!” Freddie wheezes, and does not get out of the way of the other drumstick quick enough, but also doesn’t seem to care.

“Fuck all of you!” Roger snaps, thankful when he hears the honk of a horn and sees his dad’s station wagon parked outside and waiting. He starts lugging his stuff out as the others are still doting on him. Assholes.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #ask your destiny to dance fic #the angry lizard writes

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essekknits · 6 years

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Victor Nikiforov’s Life and Love

Victor said he’s been neglecting Life and Love for almost twenty years. He was almost 28 when he said it. So, that means Victor started neglecting his personal life and feelings when he was eight years old.

Eight years old Victor with a bowl haircut looking with wide eyes at the fifty years old Yakov, completely admiring cause this guy helps people skate so beautifully and /he can make him do that too/.

Little Victor deciding that he will be the best and win and skate better than anyone, no matter what it takes from him.

Victor, the bright, shiny Victor, who probably had tons of friends in school cause he’s a kind and social boy, slowly drifting away from them because he needs to be BETTER. Conversations in lunchtimes slowly turn to awkward silences. Less and less people invite him places, cause he would probably say no anyway. People he considered his friends regecting him with more and more faint excuses, until at some point they flat out say “we don’t want to be with you, you’re weird”.

Victor deciding that if people already see him as weird, he would be the weirdest. He grows out his hair, stays his sociable self even when no one wants to be around him, doesn’t get attached to anyone and always focuses on skating.

He grows up, and it becomes normal. He dedicates himself to skating, barely making friends. He only bonds with his skater friends and talks to them only about skating. He just knows better than doing anything else. He knows it would be like in school all over again. These people are with him for Skating Legand Victor, and this is who they are going to get.

Victor cut his hair short, deciding that his long hair because “too normal”. Too identified with him. He wants to change. He *has* to change, if he wants to stay relevant. He knows that if he stops being Skating Legand Victor Nikiforov, he would lose all human contact. This is all he is. Without it, who is he? What is he worth without his skating? His art?

Victor constantly trying to surprise people. Do the unexpected. In his mind, always the thought of having to be better. Having to prove that he is better. That he is still worth something. His life depends on that. “I can only find strength in myself” he thinks as he creates elaborate programs and graceful step sequences. At the age of 27, he finally decides to create something personal. He skates to Stay Close to Me. This program is a prayer, a call to his past self. Stay close to me. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to lose myself completely. I lost too much already.

Victor is drained. No emotion, no colour, no ideas. Without inspiration, Victor is as good as dead. Not only as a skater, but as a person. After all this time, are they even separate? He’s sitting on the couch, his dog, his only companion all these years, close to him, just scrolling through his phone. And then he sees it. A video. A man a few years younger than him, a man he met in the banquet, skating his program. And it is a call for him, an echo. There is music in the man’s movements, a prayer for closeness and warmth, and it is an echo to Victor’s. Later he learns they were praying for the same things, from completely different reasons. And this performance is flowing with so many emotions, that Victor decides on an impulse to leave everything behind and go to the performer, hoping, like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, to gain a heart. Some inspiration for the rest of the way.

Victor arrives to find inspiration, but ends up finding much more. He acts on what he knows, bubbly and flirty like they were in the banquet, expecting Yuuri to act the same. A bit more under control, but with the same sentiment. Oh boy, how wrong he was. The Yuuri he finds is completely different. He is anxious and self conscious. He stays distant from Victor, so Victor reacts the only way he knows, by putting on the Skating Legand persona.

Victor becomes a coach, and tries to remember the lessons his own coach taught him, even though he didn’t always listen. He watches Yuuri carefully, learning what helps him and what sets him back, learning from his own mistakes on how to work with him, and slowly. It surely, he begins… getting attached. Deep inside, he feels warmth he hasn’t felt in years.

They sit on the beach, and Victor already knows he would be anything for that man. He was always good at adapting, so can be whatever Yuuri needs. A coach, a friend, a father figure, a brother, a lover… he knows he would be anything Yuuri asks him to be. He is shocked when Yuuri jumps up, asking him to be himself. It seems like Yuuri is the first person who didn’t want him to be anything but himself. But looking deep into himself, Victor wonders. Does he even know who he is?

A list of things Victor learns about himself through Yuuri’s eyes:

He is a harsh teacher, but a fair one. Willing to push a student to their limit, but always makeing sure they don’t cross it. Complimenting and criticising equally after every competition, working relentlessly to help Yuuri find his own strength.

He is a messy eater, that every time he tries to eat rice he gets some stuck to places rice shouldn’t be able to get.

Even though he is a very forgetful, he is also extremely observant, and the memories that are related to Yuuri are all carefully catalogued in his mind, ready to use.

He has no idea how to deal with other people’s emotions. He just doesn’t always understand them. It makes him come off as cruel and uncaring at times, but he never does it on purpose, and always apologises and tries to learn from his mistakes.

He is a loud sleeper. He snores. He talks in his sleep. He murmurs in soft Russian, and when he asked Yuuri what it sounded like after one particularly loud night, he managed to put together the sentence “promise you won’t leave”.

Things Victor learns about Yuuri while looking at him:

He is very self conscious. When people look at him his hands usually start fidgeting, like he’s not entirely sure where they’re supposed to be or what to do with them. When he skates though, his arms move so gracefully they look like he’s painting a picture on wet rice paper.

Yuuri is almost constantly anxious. Like, all the time. He got used to it by now, so it’s hardly noticeable to people on the outside, but it’s always there. It makes it look like every little thing is setting him off and he’s being over dramatic, but in reality, those little things are just the last straw, making him snap under the weight of the anxiety he carries in him his whole life.

Yuuri isn’t confident. It’s a result from the previous two, but it’s important enough to be a separate section on the list (The list is actually Victor’s Notes app, empty of everything but these two lists). He hesitates before making any choice at all, especially when it has to do with his skating and competitions.

When Yuuri is stressed, he practices. A lot. He would go to the rink, or to the ballet studio, and practice for hours at a time. Nothing too hard, nothing too complex, just a pattern of mechanic movements, and the music that comes out of his body in those practices is melancholic and lost, floating.

Yuuri is determined. Once he decides to do something, he will do EVERYTHING to get it. He will brush off any fall, push any pain or discomfort away from his mind, until he gets to his goal.

Related to the last one. Yuuri would never show any sign of pain or discomfort unless he really can’t take it anymore. When Victor saw Yuuri’s feet, bruised, after a long day of practice, he was shocked. Yuuri never indicated that he was in any sort of pain. He would exhaust himself to the point of losing breath without complaining for a second, almost vomiting at the end of the practice as he attempts to catch his breath.

Yuuri is very empathetic. He knows emotions very well and would always consider other’s before his own. It makes him a great friend to everyone else, but also makes others unable to be his friends, since he would never talk about his own feelings if given the chance to avoid the topic.

Yuuri’s smile rarely reaches his eyes. Yuuri mastered the art of smiling without meaning it. His smile can be the brightest thing in the whole world, yet he wouldn’t reach his eyes. They would stay that same mix of sad, scared and tired as they usually are, spiced with something Victor never managed to truly understand.

When Victor sees Yuuri crying in that parking lot in China, crying because of what Victor said and how wrong he interpreted Yuuri, he thinks he missed the chance. He thinks he ruined everything he worked so hard to build between them. And then, through tears that came deep down from his soul, Yuuri said one sentence. “Just have more faith in me than I have in myself”. And then he realises that he does. He has absolute faith in Yuuri to do the right thing.

And then Yuuri goes on the ice, and his performance is… perfection. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t land al of his jumps perfectly. His skating is music. It’s a story. It’s a prayer. It’s everything Victor dreamed of and so much more. It is Yuuri’s deepest emotions, exposed to anyone who knew him well enough to see. And Victor has the honour of knowing him well enough.

When Yuuri skates to him after it ended, with a smile brighter than the sun (a smile that gets from his soul and all the way into his eyes, Victor notices), Victor is too overcome with emotion to stop himself. He didn’t feel this much in a very long time, so when he finally does, he just can’t stop. He practically jumps on Yuuri, arms carefully placed on his head and back so he wouldn’t get hurt, and kisses him. It’s a deep, passionate kiss, and as soon as Yuuri recovers from the shock, he dives right in.

When they pull apart, Yuuri is smiling up at him. His eyes are soft and bright, his cheeks red both because of the kiss and the effort of the program he just skated. He is breathless and trusting and Victor dreamed about this moment for so long, and his entire body is just full of emotions he stopped himself from feeling for twenty years.

When Victor hears that Makkachin is in danger, he is torn. A part of him tells him to go back to his dog, his companion, immediately. It tells him that he should be in Japan, waiting for Makka to get out of surgery. But the other part of him tells him he has to stay with Yuuri, help him in the competition. It tells him that Yuuri needs him to skate his best.

Yuuri isn’t unconfident anymore. He takes control of the situation and doesn’t hesitate to tell Victor to leave him and go back to Japan. Victor has never been prouder, or more desperate. He doesn’t want to leave Yuuri. He is afraid that without Yuuri the numbness would return to him.

The numbness doesn’t get a chance to come back. He spends the next day worried. Worried for his dog, and worried for Yuuri. He is scaredthat his closest friend would die, afraid that Yuuri would lose, and generally very stressed.

24 hours pass very slowly when you miss someone, but the time finally comes. He waits with Makkachin in the airport, knowing Yuuri is just as worried for Makka as he was, especially after losing his own dog less than a year earlier. When he sees Yuuri again, the stress of the last 24 hours is clear on both their faces. They run to each other, impatient to finally be with each other again.

when Victor feels Yuuri’s arms tightening around him, it feels like home. It feels safe and warm and so, so right. It’s like a warm blanket around you when outside is cold and stormy. Or at least, Victor thinks that’s what it feels like. He never had the chance to spend his winter indoors, or in bed with a blanket.

Yuuri pulls away from that hug to say he entrusts himself in Victor’s care, and Victor can feel it means more than just letting him be his coach. He doesn’t really know what it means, but from Yuuri’s eyes, he knows it’s big. So he takes Yuuri’s hand, kissing it softly and smiling as he says that it’s almost like a marriage proposal. Later he learns it indeed was. When they embrace each other again, he can feel Yuuri crying on his shoulder. They both let go of their defences, let down their guard, and just melt into that hug. They are both extremely vulnerable and exposed at that moment, and none of them feels bad about it.

The day before the finals, Yuuri doesn’t act like his usual self. Victor, observant as he is, notices it. When Yuuri asks him to take him sight-seeing, he agrees. He couldn’t refuse to him. They go everywhere, shop everywhere (well, Victor does. It’s an old habit). In the evening they walk through the Christmas market, Yuuri standing by his side and thinking, searching for an answer to a question Victor didn’t know. So he just watched at the light in his eyes outshone the strings of lights around them, watched him blush as he spotted something.

Victor follows him into the store, curious. What could Yuuri possibly want from a jewellery store? When Yuuri buys two matching gold rings, Victor’s heart almost explodes.

Yuuri leads him to a church. He stands in front of it, and takes Victor’s glove off. When he slides the ring on Victor’s finger, Victor feels almost nauseous, his heart too fast. His face is calm though, a soft smile and shining eyes, and the faintest blush on his cheeks. Yuuri, on the other hand, is blushing. Unlike Victor, his face tells how nervous he feels. When Victor puts the ring on Yuuri’s finger, asking him to show him the Skating he likes most, there is determination in Yuuri’s eyes, and love so big and open it can melt the ice around them.

In the restaurant, Victor doesn’t think before saying it’s an engagement ring. He thinks he messed up, but Yuuri is actually more worried about the mention of the gold medal in front of all of his competitors than about the marriage proposal.

When Yuri kicks him in the back, screaming “Victor Nikiforov is dead”, Victor falls into his fear, just a little. This is a faint, nagging voice now, whispering “are you even you anymore” when he lets himself listen to it, and Yuri lights it all over again. When he breaks Victor’s record, Victor couldn’t be more proud, or more afraid.

“After the finals, let’s end this” Yuuri says, breaking Victor completely. Yuuri that made Victor helpless. Yuuri that filled him with so much emotion he can hardly contain it. Yuuri that just a day earlier gave him a ring, that earlier that day kissed the same ring before starting a program about love and passion. That Yuuri is now telling him so coldly that he wants to end what they have, tomorrow. And for the first time in a long time, Victor cries.

He decides it wouldn’t be in vain. All that Yuuri taught him, all he showed him in their time together, it wouldn’t be in vain. Victor will go back to the ice. He found more than inspiration. He found love. Love for skating, love for life, love for Yuuri. He will skate again, and Yuuri would see the music he learned to make with his body.

The day of the free program arrives, and Victor stays careful and observant. He stays distant, like a coach should be. When Yuuri tells him he wants to smile for his last time on the ice, Victor remembers the parking lot in China. “Just have more faith in me than I have in myself” Yuuri yelled at him through the tears. And Victor does. “How long are you going to stay in warm up mode” he asks Yuuri, and Yuuri understands. He hugs Victor. The reporters might say Yuuri cried, but Victor knows he was actually laughing.

In Yuri On Ice, much like in Stay Close to Me, Victor can hear an echo of himself. “All you taught me wasn’t in vain. See the Victor that lives inside of me” Yuuri says with every movement. With his ambition. He adds another quad, and his entire body is begging “look at this. I can be better. I can be the best. I can be like you, so watch me”. And Victor watches. And Victor knows.

When Yuuri gets off the podium, 0.12 points away from his goal, Victor waits for him. “It’s not gold, but…” Yuuri’s smile is a bit embarrassed as he hands Victor the medal. Victor gets closer and closer, leaning over him. “Do you have anything that would make me excited” he asks, hoping that he didn’t misread Yuuri’s eyes. When Yuuri flips them, jumping on him and hugging him tight as he asks Victor to stay with him just one more year, Victor cannot contain his happiness. He found it. He can stop neglecting it. His life and love.

#yuri on ice #yuuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #yuuri katsuki #Victor Nikiforov #Viktor Nikiforov

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