#❛ katsuki yuuri. ✧ ( visage. ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

omgkatsudonplease · 7 years ago

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Hi! I hope this helps? Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine, Viktuuri

so this and the next one are day 2 responses

Yuuri’s ears are ringing.

His head is spinning, his heart is racing. The Nevan has protected him from the worst of the shrapnel, but that means now they’re sporting several grisly cuts from where the crystal has cut them. Yuuri’s heart sinks. “Oh my god,” he blusters, unpinning the cape that the Nevan had given him and putting it back around their shoulders. “How bad -- are you in pain? You’re bleeding. I can -- Let me --”

Their fingers brush. The Nevan startles, bright blue spots appearing in his high cheekbones. They jerk their hand away, wiping away an angry cobalt cut on their cheek, but Yuuri, too, is already reeling from the burst of emotion he’d just felt from the handsome Nevan now ripping off their mask.

Prince Viktor of the House of Nikiforov slowly clambers to his feet in front of Yuuri, shrugging off the cloak from his shoulders. “Is there anything in my back?” he asks casually. Mutely, Yuuri rises up to check, and shakes his head. Viktor nods, taking off his gloves and cracking his knuckles.

“Are -- what are you doing?” asks Yuuri. “You’re bleeding, Your Highness.”

“Just Viktor’s fine,” the prince says immediately. “People are panicking and hurt inside. I need to help them.”

Suddenly, Yuuri finds himself drowning in an overwhelming wave of calm. He can feel his limbs go slack, his heartrate slowing. The wave soothes him, even as Viktor walks back towards the fragmented ballroom. Shh. Check yourself for injuries. You’re going to be all right.

It’s wrong. It’s so terribly wrong. Yuuri’s brain screams in protest at the wave, but it continues to bear down on him, cloying and sweet. Stay there. Don’t move.

“Shut up!” Yuuri hisses. How many times has he told that to himself already, even without outside help from devastatingly handsome Nevan empath Princes? “I’m not doing that. You can’t make me.”

The retreating figure freezes briefly. The calm tries to redouble, but this time Yuuri anticipates it, tensing himself and rising back to his feet. “Terran, it might be dangerous,” the prince pleads, though his back remains turned. “Stay out here; it’s safer.”

“My friend’s in there,” snaps Yuuri. “I’m coming with you.” He pauses. “And my name is Yuuri Katsuki, Your Highness.”

Viktor chuckles. “The legendary Terran stubbornness,” he says. “I can see why your kind are popular companions.”

“Yeah? Wonder why.” Yuuri rolls up the sleeves of the outfit, swings the cape around his shoulders. “Do you have a commlink?”

“The security and medical teams should be on their way already,” Viktor says, as they head back into the ballroom. Swathes of it are covered in rubble and shards of glass. Guests are huddled together away from the piles of rubble, some of them visibly injured. Others lie motionless; Yuuri’s heart sinks at the sight of them.

“Yuuri!” Phichit’s voice shouts. Yuuri turns, relief flooding through him as he sees that Mila, Sara, and Christophe are also relatively unscathed. With them is a dark-haired person arrayed in Mandalan scholar robes; they seem to be sporting a gash on their cheek which Phichit is dabbing gingerly at.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Yuuri mutters. Next to him, Viktor blinks, as if he’s hearing either a censor or a mistranslation. Yuuri runs over, wishing he’d at least tried to hide a medikit somewhere on this ridiculous stripper suit of a ball outfit. But just as he kneels down besides the Mandalan, another wave of calm rolls through him.

Other partygoers are silently getting up and following the guards out of the nearest exits. Yuuri closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

“Come on, everyone,” Mila says, shakily rising to her feet. “We need to follow the guards evacuating everyone.”

“Seung-gil’s hurt,” Phichit points out, and Yuuri looks down to notice vibrant bloodstains on the Mandalan’s robes.

“Leave it for the medical team,” says Sara, also clambering up to take her wife’s hand. Yuuri shakes his head.

“There’s gotta be something we can do to help in the meantime,” he insists. “Phichit, do you have a medikit?”

“No, they don’t let you carry hypos or scissors,” Phichit says.

“Right.” Yuuri swings off the cape. “How bad is he bleeding?”

“Neither of you are medical professionals,” Seung-gil bites out, sinking further down to the ground as Christophe also stands. “It is more logical to leave me to be attended by the medics when they arrive.”

“They’re being too slow,” snaps Phichit, but the anger in his brow smoothens at another wave of calm emanating from where Viktor is standing in the room, trying to control the situation. “Anyway, we’re companions. We have basic medical training.”

“We need to go,” insists Mila, as a guard comes up to them. Yuuri’s gut freezes at the memory of something Viktor had said earlier.

“Mila, you need to be careful -- Prince Yuri can’t actually grant the pardon.”

Mila’s expression hardens. “I know,” she says, jerking a nod towards the center of the ballroom. “We’re going. Meet us at the craft in a standard hour or you’ll have to find your own transport to the spaceport.”

“Got it.” Phichit flashes her a thumbs-up. “Are you going, Chris?”

“I...” Christophe wavers, looking down at Seung-gil. “Take him with us? I can get Minami to look him over in Sickbay when we return.”

“He’s supposed to be with his delegation,” Sara points out.

“His delegation are unconscious,” Phichit retorts. “Chris, help me --”

“I need to stop the bleeding,” Yuuri says hastily, already tearing at Seung-gil’s robes to expose the hideous gashes at his sides. “Oh. We’re going to have to get the glass out, too.”

By now the rest of the people who can move have left. Christophe wavers, as Sara and Mila head out with a set of guards. More guards are showing up, ready to sift through the rubble for other survivors, while teams of medics have finally arrived on the scene.

“We’ll take it from here,” an automated voice announces. Yuuri looks up into the mechanical visage of a medibot hovering by a floating gurney. Two Nevan medics, suited in stark white with thick rubber gloves, hoist Seung-gil onto it.

“He’s a Mandalan, he’s got two separate circulatory systems!” Phichit shouts after the medics as they vanish out of the exit. Outside on the balcony, the sound of rescue hovercrafts can be heard. Viktor appears at their elbow.

“I think you’ve done what you can,” he says. Yuuri numbly hands him back his cape.

“I’m sorry it’s all bloody,” he says, for lack of a better thing to say. Viktor laughs, shrugs a little.

“You really should get out,” he says. A small burst of calm, of compulsion. Yuuri plants himself, despite knowing that’s a patently stupid idea.

“You still need help. Don’t you have people you want to make sure are safe?” He dimly registers Phichit and Christophe shooting him odd looks as they rush to safety on the balcony, dimly notes that some of the unmoving people are being covered by the medics and medibots on their way out. But he stands anyway, because he’s a Terran and Terrans are stubbornly attached to things until the bitter end. “Prince Yuri, for example?”

Viktor’s expression turns slightly ashen. “He’s fine,” he says.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. Viktor shakes his head.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” he admits.

“He could be under the rubble,” Yuuri points out. “People have survived stuff like that before.”

“Terrans have survived ‘stuff like that’,” corrects Viktor. “Your homeworld is plagued with fire-spewing mountains, ground-shaking earthquakes, storms of all kinds, deadly beasts of all stripes -- your kind is built for survival. Nevans are... less hardy.”

“Mila’s been through plenty of tough situations.”

“She got used to it,” says Viktor, shaking his head. “She’s not a normal case, especially not as a former Candidate. And even then she presented her abilities later. Yura was born and raised in this world; he’s even more helpless.”

Yuuri has so many questions. But he knows it’s not the time nor the place to ask, so instead he turns towards the guards who are moving through the rubble, looking for survivors.

“We should at least patch you up?” he suggests, but Viktor shakes his head, wiping away the cobalt bloodstains with the corner of his cape. Blue stains -- and not from the drink Yuuri had spilled earlier -- are blooming all over his back. Yuuri wants to help, wants to staunch the bleeding, clean his wounds -- but when he moves to do so, Viktor flinches away, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushing.

The hovercrafts leave with the evacuees. The news crafts circle the palace ahead, occasionally blocking out the moons. Yuuri looks up, squinting at their spotlights, wishing he didn’t feel such a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches the guards continue to dig.

They dig and they move, and there are a couple more bodies and a couple twisted scraps of metal from the device uncovered, but Prince Yuri is nowhere to be found.

#yoi #viktuuri #victuuri #yoiroyaltyweek #lily's dabbles #rewrite the stars #day 2 #morgen huoreart #ask

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theirlives-blog · 8 years ago

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tag drop: katsuki yuuri

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ao3feed-victuuri · 6 years ago

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Katsuki Yuuri : l'ascension

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2LkVn3k

by Silu_chan

"Et wow, c'était un sublime Viktor - je veux dire, un sublime quadruple flip exécuté par Viktor." Yuuri grimace et se couvre le visage avec les mains. Morooka lui jette un regard en coin, inquiet, mais Yuuri se reprend bien vite, secoue la tête, et poursuit, "Vraiment, personne d'autre que Viktor ne peut exécuter un quadruple flip aussi parfait. Les autres patineurs essaient, mais il me semble improbable qu'ils parviennent un jour à égaler son niveau - dans l'hypothèse où ils réussissent �� ne pas tomber."

Ou :

Un UA où Yuuri finit commentateur sportif, mais est toujours complètement énamouré de Viktor Nikiforov. Et c'est évident pour tout le monde.

Words: 10896, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Français

Fandoms: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov, Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont, Morooka Hisashi, Katsuki Mari, Yuri Plisetsky, Mila Babicheva

Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Reporter/Journalist, Anxiety, Social Media, POV Multiple, everyone skates except for Yuuri, Alternate Universe

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2LkVn3k

#ao3feed #fanfic #victuuri #victor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yoi

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yuurisolympicgold · 7 years ago

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Yuuri Week 2017, Day 5: Eros Title: Strut For Me Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov. Pairing: Yuuri/Victor. Genre(s): Romance, Fluff, Humor, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon. Rating/Warnings: G/None. Summary: "Darling, as your coach and choreographer it is also my job to make sure you get the exposure you deserve!" Or, there were aspects of being a world champion figure skater Yuuri was not prepared for. At all.

“They want to put me on the cover of which magazine?!” Yuuri sputtered.

“IFS Magazine! They’re doing coverage of the 2017 World Championships. Of course they want to interview the gold medalists. They also want to do a spread!” Victor replied enthusiastically, still brandishing the cursed proposal in his direction. It even had terms and royalties outlined.

“Oh and one other thing,” Victor added. “A former colleague contacted me this morning. She says you have the ideal summer casual style and wants to do a piece on you in their next issue. Congratulations, Yuuri. You made the top 10 of Sports 2017′s Fashionable 50 List!”

Yuuri wanted to sink into the floor.

Today was a day of rest and Yuuri had been looking forward to doing just that. Yuuri was seated on the bed, rolling up the ends of his jeans over his ankles as he finished dressing when Victor walked in. Conspicuous as he hid the proposal behind his back. Yuuri had no idea why they wanted to put him on the front cover of International Figure Skating, but a skating magazine was at least understandable. The fashion stuff though? That was ridiculous.

“Why would anyone want to feature me in something like that?” Yuuri asked.

Victor chose not to address that question. Now that Yuuri was a Grand Prix silver medalist, a World Champion and a future Olympian it was time the world took even more notice of him.

“Darling, as your coach and choreographer it is also my job to make sure you get the exposure you deserve!” He said with a flourish and sweeping gesture. “Especially now that the world’s gotten a taste of your true Eros,” He added with a wink.

Yuuri blinked once and then twice more. There were a million and one questions and statements he wanted to make, but right now he was utterly stuck.

“And as my husband?” He asked instead.

“As your husband I get the unfiltered version of your Eros of course,” Victor replied without missing a step. His expression softened. “That’s my pleasure alone. The world can have your visage and the part you play. You gave me everything else.”

“Of course I did,” Yuuri said automatically, then felt like cringing away as his face heated up. What stopped him however was reminding himself that he wasn’t the same Yuuri from months ago. He wasn’t the same Yuuri who used to shy away whenever Victor complimented or paid any attention to him. Now the reminder was always reassuring. He knew he had all of Victor, he also wanted to make sure Victor knew he had all of him as well.

“There’s nothing official about these lists, of course. Basically the magazine writers team up with sports and fashion experts, but you’d be surprised how seriously people take them,” Victor mused with a finger pressed to his mouth. “This is how people become the next trend setters, you know. You’ll become a fashion icon in no time. People will start emulating you—”

“Victor!” Yuuri cut in incredulously. “Being a fashion icon is your thing. I’m not starting any trends!” He picked at a loose thread on his green cardigan. “Absolutely no one is going to want to dress like me,” He assured.

Victor just smiled brightly.

He had been featured in countless magazines, layouts and articles since the time he broke ranks at fourteen. He knew how fame and celebrity status worked. Yuuri had no idea how completely, indubitably and utterly wrong he was. It would be difficult for Victor, but he could wait.

That time would come a month later. Victor schooled his expression as he nonchalantly handed the newest issue over to Yuuri, making sure it was open to the correct page.

“What,” Yuuri said warily. “Is this?”

“Hmm,” Victor reached around him and plucked the offending item back from Yuuri’s hands and turned it upside down. Then tilted it sideways.

“I’m not sure,” He replied. “It’s really hard to tell. These things change all the time, you know. Usually monthly. But I think it’s a magazine. Yes!” He handed it back to Yuuri. “Definitely a magazine!”

Yuuri gave him a deadpan look. He wasn’t having it. Not right now anyway.

“No, Victor. Why are people wearing their pants,” He trailed off and gestured to his own tightly cuffed jeans. “Like this?!”

“I did tell you this would happen,” Victor unhelpfully reminded. He leaned over Yuuri’s shoulder, skimming over the article. “It says here that a rolled hem and bared ankles are expected to be the hottest trend this summer,” He read. “Look they even go into extensive detail called ‘The Right Way to Roll’ and what to do based on the cut of denim. Apparently optimal ‘rolling’ is a 1.5 inch cuff. Wow,” He blinked. “I had no idea the process was so involved!”

“It’s not that involved,” Yuuri groaned, covering his face in mortification. He wondered if it would be possible to hide himself inside a wall somewhere.

“By the way,” Victor said, lifting his eyes from the article. “I have wonderful news.”

“...Which is?” Yuuri asked cautiously. He had a feeling his definition of ‘wonderful’ was not the same as Victor’s right now.

“This morning I received a call from a local sports magazine. They want to schedule an interview and photoshoot with you tomorrow.”

Cursed. That could be the only thing Yuuri was at this point.

These were far from the first times Yuuri had done a photoshoot of course. When he’d been a Junior there had been journalists who wanted to do pieces on him and take photos of his practices. Mizuno sponsored and supplied athletes with official gear and jackets from when they were young. He’d done many advertisements for their athletic wear over the years. He’d had sponsors, outside the JSF as well, this was nothing new. Photoshoots was like going through the motions, interviews never became much easier. They were important to his big name sponsors and he still needed to spend time beforehand, talking himself through his nerves.

Victor was much quieter than he had been yesterday. He kept a distance yet close enough for Yuuri to feel comforted by his presence. It had nothing to do with anyone in particular, but it often times felt stifling if people hovered while he was feeling anxious. He appreciated how much Victor listened. It meant the world to him. Each time their eyes met he focused on Victor’s neutral expression, but Yuuri could now see the underlying message; are you okay? What do you need? Say the word and I’ll take you away from here.

Yuuri knew he could do this. It was just something he needed to work through by himself. Nothing filled him to the brim with more love and gratitude than knowing he now had someone who would stand by him while he did it.

The studio they were in was quite large and used for multiple purposes. He’d been here before so he knew the layout. Right now he just wished he could find a better distraction. He blinked, noticing a partially open door down the quiet hallway he’d sequestered himself in. He wondered if it served the same purpose as before...

Yuuri walked over and pushed the door the rest of the way open with a creak. Blindly, he felt along the wall and flipped the light switch. He smiled to himself reminiscently at the sight. Before walking the rest of the way in he called out to Victor.

“What is it?” Victor asked from the doorway. He leaned against the frame and crossed his arms, looking on in amusement. “Yuuri, those are stage costumes. This is a costume storage room.”

“I know that,” Yuuri said as he leafed through the hangers on one of the many lines crammed in the room. He pulled one out and smoothed away the wrinkles.

“Then I’m starting to think you have no fashion sense at all if you think the photographer will go for this,” Victor teased. If he had anything else to add it was cut off as fabric landed on his face.

“I’m not worried about that right now,” Yuuri said as he replaced the empty hanger. “Come on, Victor. This could be really fun and we have time to kill.”

Victor lifted up the clothing article enough so he could observe him. Yuuri looked...so content and at ease as he rifled through the various costumes. There was no sign of the earlier stress that had made his husband barely motivated to get out of bed that morning. Victor had almost cancelled on principle, but Yuuri eventually got ready on his own.

Victor set the clothing aside and looked around in appraisal. There was certainly no shortage of costume ideas. The room was well organized and sorted by categories, with tags detailing the individual racks contents. There were various styles of shirts, jackets and trousers. Clothing from different time periods. One piece dresses and petticoats. All manner of accessories like wigs, masks, crowns, feather boas, faux weapons and armor. It could feed a person’s creativity for hours.

Yuuri was currently in a section filled with full ensembles for stage productions. At some point he’d swapped out his track pants for a pair of green tights and was looking through the decorative shirts. Victor moved over to his side and plucked a faux flower crown from a nearby rack. He placed it snugly over Yuuri’s hair.

“There,” Victor said. “You could be Titania.”

“You mean from a Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Victor hummed and continued looking around indifferently until something colorful caught his attention. Something extremely colorful that looked like a rainbow. He pulled down a very long and elaborate looking coat.

“Yuuri, what is this?”

Yuuri looked up from the box of costume jewellery he was sifting through. “Oh, I think I remember that one. It’s based off of an American musical. That’s the Technicolor Dreamcoat. I don’t know how the studio ended up with that, but they’ve always had a weirdly extensive collection.” He straightened up and helped him into the coat then nabbed a fedora from the racks and placed it on Victor’s head.

“Hey that works. I don’t know how it works, but it does,” Yuuri said with a grin.

Between Yuuri’s happy energy and being surrounded by so much potential for creativity, Victor felt the beginning thrum of excitement.

Which was exactly how they spend that afternoon. It was messy and silly as they spent most of the time dressing each other up, giggling at the mostly gaudy combinations they came up with. At one point they found the matching Oberon costume and posed together for a picture Victor immediately uploaded.

For Yuuri, being here filled him with nostalgic memories. He had once been here with Takeshi and Yuuko when they were still young competitors. Takeshi had still been a jerk then, but he’d loosened up and had fun trying on the different costumes too. It had brought Yuuri such joy when he’d been a nervous wreck at his very first photoshoot. He wanted Victor to be part of that joy too.

What started off as trying on different ensembles then mixing and matching ended up with both of them covered in layers. They were each wearing a cavalier hat and a garish amount of clunky jewellery. Altogether they looked ridiculous and it was yet another of Victor’s treasured moments since he met Yuuri. He’d certainly not enjoyed himself this much at one of his own photoshoots.

Victor found him sitting at one of the vanities, looking through the various cosmetics. He’d removed both his hat and glasses. The only light in the small alcove came from the circle of small light bulbs around the mirror. He tossed his own hat and settled unceremoniously onto Yuuri’s lap as his husband let out an oof.

“Good thing I’m wearing extra padding,” Yuuri said and shifted into a more comfortable position.

“What exactly are you implying, Yuuri?”

Yuuri pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “That you’re kind of boney. Just a bit.”

Victor mock gasped and placed a hand on his chest. “Are you calling me lanky? How could you injure me like this?!” He said dramatically.

Yuuri leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I like it,” He said simply.

Victor held a hand to his cheek and pouted. It would be all Yuuri’s fault if he had to be taken to emergency for this, he thought with a blush.

He quietly observed through the mirror as Yuuri used a wand to press black novelty spider eyelashes to his eyelid. He then sealed them in place with a black eyeliner pencil. Occupying himself he picked up a few tubes of lip gloss and painted samples on the backs of his hands as they lapsed into comfortable silence.

After awhile the arm pressed against Yuuri’s chest started to go numb. Victor adjusted his position so he could settle his arm instead along the back of the chair. He idly toyed with the tresses at the nape of Yuuri’s neck. His hair was getting long now. Victor wondered if he’d let him plait it someday.

“You look very good, zolotse,” Victor said simply. “Gorgeous.”

Yuuri ducked his head and blushed with a faint smile. “Thanks, um. You’ve been calling me that a lot lately,” He noted. “I know it’s a Russian word, but...”

“Why wouldn’t I? It essentially means ‘my gold’ by the way,” Victor said. “And you are my gold, even without a gold medal.”

“Victor...” Yuuri’s voice shook. He bit down on his lip, stopping himself from dragging the eyeliner pencil. “I need a steady hand to do this, you know.”

Victor laughed.

Needless to say they were very late for Yuuri’s appointment and had to reschedule. Not that any agency would complain. Being a gold medalist granted at least some leeway. Moments like these were much more important.

#yuuriweek #day: 5 #theme: eros #theme: fashion #katsuki yuuri #yuuri katsuki #yuuri's ankle thing #queue #fic

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tanteichi · 3 years ago

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YUURI KATSUKI TAGS

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — In regards to love: Eros. (YUURI KATSUKI; MAIN ACT)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI’S MUSINGS)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; DASH COMMENTARY)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — ❝ We call everything on the ice love.❞ (YUURI KATSUKI; VISAGE)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; ANSWERED ASKS)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — ❝ NOW PLAYING: History Maker. ❞ (YUURI KATSUKI; music box)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; HEADCANONS)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; AESTHETICS)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; STARTER CALL)

「 ❄️ ✧༄ — (YUURI KATSUKI; DASH GAMES)

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littlestarlost · 8 years ago

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Perfect Collision, We Call it Art (AKA Happy birthday Hailey!)

All right, so it’s @victuurificrec‘s birthday, and she’s kind of amazing. So I want to do something to say thank you for all the work she puts in. I have these few hundred words of a drabble about Yuuri and Phichit getting ready for a masquerade ball. I hope she (and you!) enjoys! <3

Here’s the thing about Yuuri Katsuki: everyone underestimates him.

It’s not really their fault, and in his healthier moments he’s able to acknowledge that it isn’t his fault either; it’s just how anxiety warps the world around him, like a miniature black hole or the world’s shittiest invisibility cloak. It coats him in a shimmering mirage of shyness and insecurity, and more often than not it’s basically impossible to remove.

It’s not a problem with him, not at his core. He’s just driving a damaged model, and he’s always painfully aware that the whole world can see every dent and scratch and crust of dirt. But there is a part of Yuuri that isn’t shy or introverted or self-loathing, but is instead all the things which make him awesome—a ball of flirtatiousness and confidence which takes pleasure in realizing his own potential. Being underestimated means you get to surprise people, given the chance, but doing so with all the anxiety is something of an uphill battle. The lump of flesh called Yuuri Katsuki—the one with the blue-rimmed glasses and the propensity for chubbiness around the middle and the infuriating ability to cry at the drop of a pin—is saddled with over two decades of emotional baggage. It’s hard to shine your brightest when you’re dragging all of that around.

So the masquerade is kind of a no-brainer.

Phichit, ever the social butterfly, is the one who invites him. The party is thrown by a complete stranger and details spread by word of mouth; this fact would normally mean a hard pass from Yuuri, but the idea intrigues him. It's not a fundraiser or a networking event or a banquet; there’s no need for him to go and be himself. It's a lavish party thrown for its own sake, promising food and drink and entertainment and dancing, with one strict rule: masks are required.

Yuuri doesn't own a mask, nor does he own any clothing fancy enough to wear to such an event. He buys a ticket anyway.

The anxiety spikes, abates, and ebbs. He lets it come and go like a tide, getting lost in his work and very nearly forgetting that he and Phichit went for tuxedo rentals until the day before, when his roommate drags him to go pick up their suits.

At the tuxedo rental place, Yuuri lets the clerk fuss over him as much as she wants; it’s not until he steps out of the change room and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror that the wave of possibilities hits him. Because holy cats.

It’s not that he doesn’t know he’s attractive; Yuuri’s a perfectly decent-looking person, if a little on the plain side, and he ordered a plain tuxedo, but somehow the two plains are adding up to make a brand new and extraordinarily spiffy whole. He can hardly believe it.

The clerk cracks up when she sees his face. “First tailored suit, huh?”

“How could you tell?” Yuuri can barely drag his eyes away from the mirror.

She leans over to adjust his bow tie. “You look like you’re at your first prom, my lad.”

That yanks Yuuri out of his reverie, and he blushes furiously as Phichit emerges from his own dressing room, clad in a red-trimmed jacket that accents the warm tones of his skin. Yuuri lets the two of them chatter, musing and sneaking glances at himself in the mirror when he thinks no one is looking. His mood remains stoic all the way to the costume shop, at which point the sheer onslaught of sparkle and colour causes him to lose track of why he’s feeling so pensive. For the first few minutes he’s completely overwhelmed by the choices on display.

“What kind of mask are you going to wear, Yuuri?” Phichit asks, his voice muffled, and Yuuri looks over to see his friend glancing out from underneath a comically bizarre demonic visage. He cracks a smile.

“I’m not sure,” he says, letting his eyes wander over row after row of sightless eyes. “I’ll know it when I s—”

There. That one. Yuuri stands on tiptoe to gently lift the mask from its peg, and he knows it’s just his imagination but he swears that a tiny spark of electricity jolts through his fingertips as soon as he touches it.

In contrast with the outrageous amount of jewel tones and gold trim which surround it, this mask seems offensively plain at first. But as Yuuri looks closer, he sees that the piece is actually divided cleanly down the middle, and purposefully asymmetrical: one is an inky blue-back, plain except for three bands of silver that slash across the top corner of the mask, almost like the mark of a knife. The other side is even more stunning; the eye hole sweeps to a slight upward point at the outer corner, and the colour is more charcoal, studded all over with tiny black and silver jewels that resemble the night sky. The colour slowly blends into dark red at the very bottom corner, so subtly that it’s hard to notice except from the right angle.

With only the barest pause, he lifts the piece to his face and turns to look in the mirror.

Oh yes.

This is the one.

#hbdhailey #yuri on ice #victuuriwriters

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stupidfatpenguin · 7 years ago

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Title: First Night

Summary: An ancient law, made in a fit of jealousy by a tyrannous Keiser centuries ago, decrees as follows: in the case of a wedding taking place in his jurisdiction, the Ruler of the Land may take the newlywed to his own bed on the first night of their marriage, with no repercussions, if he so pleases.

As no Keiser or Keiserina since has been in mind to commit such an abomination, the commandment was, over the years, forgotten in its obscurity…

…that is, until an envoy of the Keiser arrives just in time for the celebrations of the wedding of Yuuri Katsuki, proclaiming the Keiser wishes to make use of his right.

Victor Nikiforov x Yuuri Katsuki

NOT RATED

Part 1

Yuuri had really thought the ceremony itself was going to be the worst part.

Perhaps a sudden rain shower would leave him drenched and unpresentable before he even arrived at the shrine. Maybe he would trip on the steps in front of the entire family of his wife-to-be; or, he would step on and rip her pristine skirts, or something equally embarrassing, like forgetting his cues or misreading his vows.

In the end, none of the above occurred, with the exception of the moment of silence just before he gave his vows. It was then, in that moment, the heaviness of the situation dawned on him and he realised that this was it—this was him, giving himself away to the role of a husband for the rest of his life. But he had done it; he had stood tall by his fiancé and the priestess and offered his vows with a clear resolution in spite of his reeling mind.

He had made it through, all well and alive and wed, acquiring an important tie to a powerful landowner along the way, which would secure the future of his parents’ business. It would be left for his sister to run once they decided to retire—comfortably, now, with their boosted economy, social standing and near erased debt.

He had made it through, smile strained, spine tense and wrist tied to the delicate hand of his timid spouse. Now, all that was left were the festivities; all he had to do was sit down with his wife, attempt to stomach some of the feast while receiving congratulations from his guests, try not to down too many cups of wine, or think too much of the marital duties that awaited him once evening fell. If he had managed the ceremony, under the harsh scrutiny of his in-laws and some rather important townsfolks, the rest should be child’s play.

He should have known nothing could ever go so smoothly—not for him, anyway.

It happens like this: just as they all leave the gates of the shrine to make for the halls of his father-in-law, where the celebrations will take place, a commotion from down the road steals their attention. Dozens of people have stopped whatever business they were going about, gossiping excitedly amongst each other while eagerly looking at something that is yet out of sight for their little group.

“Now, what is all this fuzz about I wonder,” Yuuri hears his father ponder as they all curiously look to the mass of townsfolks out in the streets. They don’t have to wonder for long what has arrested them all from their chores, for not a moment later an envoy on horseback and his escorts comes galloping around the corner and towards the gathering of weddinggoers.

A finely dressed herald bellows loudly, “Make way for the Royal Guard!” and the crowd easily parts for them. Yuuri hardly believe his ears until he (squinting, for the lack of his spectacles) spots the familiar shades of the Blue Rose banner dancing behind the approaching envoy and his accompanying guards.

In a way, he finds himself thinking that, surely, they are simply passing by on their way to their true objective, and that the appearance of a wedding party in their way is simply an inconvenient coincidence. This conclusion is the most logical one, and Yuuri stands, waiting, expecting the party continue their hard ride through the town.

Except, the envoy slows, and then turns the horses towards the gathering of the wedded couple and their closest family, coming to a halt not ten feet away of the group.

Only the neighing of the horses and clacks of their hooves drown out the audible hitch of his breath; the entire wedding party has fallen silent.

The herald clears his throat. “We are his Majesty’s Guard sent on a hasty errand from the Keiser himself,” he announces grandly from atop his steed, chest puffed out, showcasing the insignia of the Blue Rose. “Is this the ceremony commencing the wedding of a mister Katsuki, Yuuri?”

Before his name is even spoken, Yuuri is sweating up a storm in his wedding garb, mouth dry as dirt and unable to gather enough wits about himself to speak at all.

Unsurprisingly, it is his father-in-law who takes the first word. His massive ownership of land has made him a local Lord, and while his title is not inherited or a gift from the Royal House, he feels on par to speak with an envoy of the Keiser—and tell them exactly what he thinks of their presence.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Lord demands. “Barging in and causing such ruckus on the day of my only daughter’s wedding! His Majesty, I should think, should have to have some very good reasons to endanger the good terms on which the Royal House is with our rich, resourceful region!”

The envoy seems undeterred by the Lord’s outburst, but his herald's visage betrays an urgency as he speaks again. “Is this or is this not the wedding-party of mister Katsuki?”

“Y-Yes,” Yuuri finally manages to stumble forth. “I am Yuuri Katsuki.”

The herald looks visibly relieved. “Brilliant. Then, may I introduce Sir Georgi of the House of the Violet Poppy, Knight of the Realm and messenger of the Keiser.”

The envoy, Sir Georgi, pulls out a roll of parchment from the breast of his uniform with a certain flourish, and clears his throat loudly. “By the decree of his High Majesty, the Eleventh Keiser, citing the Act of the First Night, set into place by the Fourth Keiser; it is hereby in my right to take the spouse, as commanded by the Keiser, from this blessed marriage to spend the first night of matrimonial service in the bed of his High Majesty.”

The shocked gasps from those close enough to hear reach his ears before Yuuri can fully comprehend what is being said. What is being demanded—what the Keiser demands of them.

His wife sways on her feet next to him. His father-in-law’s face has turned from red to pale so quickly that Yuuri briefly wonders if they should call for medical attention. His own parents are watching wide-eyed while exchanging concerned whisperers with Yuuri’s dear friends, the Nishigoris.

“Let me see the paper!” his father-in-law demands, and while he seems reluctant to hand the document over to the enraged Lord, sir Georgi concedes to let him verify the validity of it. From the crestfallen look that overcomes him, Yuuri has to guess that yes, the paper is indeed not some sort of jest on his behalf and the envoy is indeed here on the Keiser’s behalf.

Upheaved murmurs spread through the crowd. Could the Keiser really do such a thing? Demand, by law, to take a bride from her husband on their wedding night?

The envoy clears his throat again as he rolls the parchment away into his coat, looking pointedly at the red silk tie that bind Yuuri and his wife together, preventing their parting. “We shall give you our patience for long enough to…make yourself available. His High Majesty expects our return to the Palace by sundown, so I suggest you act urgently.”

Yuuri stands there stunned for a moment longer before gingerly working on freeing the knot of their marriage string with his one hand, avoiding the look of betrayal that his new wife surely wears. He fails utterly in his endeavour, and is beyond relieved as Yuuko Nishigori appears in front of him to help with her two free hands.

Takeshi Nishigori, Yuuko’s Husband, steps up beside him, asking him beneath the murmurs of the crowd, “Why would the Keiser invoke such a law on you? I have studied our Justice, and it certainly exists, but no Ruler has used it since the reign of the Fourth.”

Yuuri swallows thickly. “I think… I might perhaps have offended him, in some way.”

Takeshi raises an eyebrow. “When should you have had the chance?”

“I’ve never heard of him to be a spiteful man! Not in this manner, at least,” Yuuko reasons as she works the knot loose. “Surely, there is a mistake.”

Her words are probably meant to calm the nerves of his wife, who, after all, is but a young woman about to be sent away from her husband on what was to be their very first night together. To a stranger—the Keiser, no less!

Such an event was a scandalous occurrence, not just for its rarity (meaning, it was practically unheard of), but for the consequences. A resulting child would be under Yuuri’s doubted claim for their entire life, and while his family certainly wouldn’t gain anything on it, other than dumb pride on the gamble of losing everything, Yuuri’s parents could—in theory—void the marriage due to failure of consummation.

“Besides, at what occasion should you have offended the Keiser, Yuuri?” Yuuko stresses.

“The ball of his coronation, not six months ago,” Yuuri realises, paling. “He caught me staring—not that everyone wasn’t, it was the day of his coronation after all—but the timing couldn’t have been worse…He then asked me if we had been introduced, and I was so embarrassed I turned my back to him and wandered off. He must have taken such offence, and remembered it up until now.”

“Oh, Yuuri…” Yuuko sighs, finally pulling their string away, gently rolling it together for safekeeping.

Once the obstruction is removed, looking at his wife is unavoidable. Her lips are trembling and her face is pale beneath her applied blush. He wishes he could tell her something comforting, but nothing seems appropriate. At least she will have to know that he is the one to blame and that it is no fault of hers. He should tell her, at the very least, that he will stand by his duties as a husband once she returns, and that he has no intention of annulling the marriage and tarnishing her reputation, no matter the result.

The words are stuck in his throat, and he can only give her what he hopes is a reassuring nod before turning to the envoy.

“We are ready,” Yuuri tells him. “But may I ask that my wife is returned safely to her father’s home once His Majesty…once she is able to do so. I beg an escort for her to make the return safely. Please.”

Any better man would never make such a request of the Keiser’s envoy with his head bowed to shamefully, but Yuuri is not a good man—not good enough or brave enough to stand up for his wife, no matter what a loveless marriage of conveniences they have entered in. He can only do this much, throw down his pride and esteem in front of his family and hers and hope to secure their amiable relationship.

But Sir Georgi only looks on with a raised eyebrow, making Yuuri’s chest tighten. Will he be refused? Does the Keiser have other plans for his wife to punish him further for his insolence? His stomach twists as he thinks it.

Then the envoy speaks. “I’m afraid I do not see the reason to provide your wife an escort when her father seems ready to assure her return home once we leave. I’m however certain we can have something arranged for your sake, mister Katsuki, once your… business with his Majesty concludes.”

Yuuri stares dumbly. “I do not get your meaning…”

“I believe I spoke plainly, but I shall repeat myself,” sir Georgi says. “His Majesty has requested to share the First Night not with mister Katsuki’s wife, but with mister Katsuki himself.”

#Fic: First Night YOI #Yuri on ice #victuuri #viktuuri #fanfiction #Salty writes: YOI

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fangirlshrewt97 · 8 years ago

Text

A Day without You is Like a Year without Rain

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Rating: General

Warnings: no warnings

Summary: When Yuuri has to go to Japan for a couple of weeks, Viktor does not take it well. (Basically 2.5k of Viktor moping as he waits for Yuuri to return and a sweet reunion afterwards).

[Victuuri Week 2017, Day 2: Travelling, Yuuri: Reunion]

Link to A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9632222

Viktor Nikiforov was 28 years old, a five-time gold medalist at the Grand Prix and Worlds, engaged to the current World’s champion and also currently moping around his apartment in St. Petersburg. His fiancee Yuuri Katsuki, the top Japanese skater in the world was currently back in Japan, it was his parent’s 35th wedding anniversary and he and Mari Katsuki, his sister, had planned a special one. Viktor would have loved to go, but both Yuuri and Yakov threatened him with castration if he dared travel for a week before his first Grand Prix event in two weeks.

So Viktor was now stuck in his apartment while Georgi had driven Viktor to the airport on Yuuri’s request. The Japanese man had said that if VIktor had come with him he was afraid that they would not be able to separate and Yuuri would miss his flight. Which fair, although the couple had only been together for two years, neither could bear to be away from the other for extended periods of time. Even then, Yuuri seem to handle the separations a little better than Viktor did, because he did not become a complete slob who gorged himself on several pints of ice cream (or so Viktor thought, he didn’t realize the Japanese man did exactly that but was ok afterwards).

Yuuri had been gone for a week now, but it might as well have been a year for how Viktor was acting. Viktor couldn’t help it though, till he met the younger man a couple years ago in an unforgettable night, he had grown tired and dull of life. He had developed a mild depression, feeling aimless as skating lost its shine to him. But Yuuri had burst into his life with alcohol and pole dancing, and cinched Viktor’s attention wholly. He had not been able to stop thinking of the man even after that one night that sometimes felt like a dream were it not for the photos.

Then meeting Yuuri, going to Japan, coaching him, getting engaged to him!!! Yeah, Viktor had been on top of the world. Then Yuuri had foolishly tried to break them up right before his free skate at the Grand Prix, but obviously, they had not broken up and were going strong now. Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy with life. He had his inspiration to skate back, he had his beloved Yuuri, friends among skaters who had previously only seen him as unapproachable and someone to knock off the pedestal.

So now with Yuuri gone, the only thing left to do was think about Yuuri for every minute of the day. Because that was what normal people did right? I mean, could you really blame Viktor for missing his precious Katsudon? Since Yuuri had moved to Russia with him almost a year and a half ago, the longest they had been apart was for the one-week lengths when Viktor had travelled elsewhere to compete and Yuuri had stayed back to keep training. But now Yuuri was gone for almost three weeks, and Viktor felt like he was slowly going out of his mind. Yuuri had told Viktor that he could cut it to two weeks, but Viktor did not want to deprive Yuuri of time with his parents.

Everywhere he turned he swore he could see his face smiling at him. His bed felt colder than ever before with Yuuri to cuddle next to. Even Makkachin was affected by the absence of his other owner, whining at the poster of Yuuri Viktor had insisted on buying. Eating was done because it was necessary as was showering and morning jogs, but they seemed harder than ever.

Viktor could barely recall how he had lived without Yuuri, the quiet of the apartment bringing back memories of too many lonely nights. Even worse were the memories of bringing back someone just to have the illusion of a companion for a few hours for when it got really cold. Loving Yuuri, Viktor knew those feeling paled in comparison to what he felt for the younger man. He barely had the motivation to get out of bed today, much less anything else that involved going outside, so he was grateful that it was Sunday.

It wasn’t like Yuuri had been radio silent, in fact they skyped every night before Yuuri went to bed, texted throughout the day, mostly Yuuri texting him to know what he was doing, where/who he was with, what he’d eaten. But it wasn’t enough, no skype video or perfect selfie could fill the empty hole Viktor felt around him. No photo could convey the warmth of Yuuri’s arms and no message could comfort him as much as Yuuri’s touches.

Feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes again, Viktor rubbed them, Yuuri was going to call soon and he would hate to see Viktor crying. He got up from where he had been sprawled on the couch, picking up the empty cartons of ice cream and chocolate wrappers. Willing himself to clean up, he moved slowly through the paces, trying to distract himself from thinking of Yuuri and failing miserably. It probably wasn’t healthy to miss someone so much, but Viktor couldn’t help himself.

Hearing the Skype ringtone from his laptop in the bedroom, Viktor tossed the last packages in the trash can and ran to the laptop. He dived for the bed and making everything bounce, including a sleeping Makkachin. Answering the call and seeing the screen fill with the face and voice of his fiancee, Viktor felt a little more whole than he had all day.

*****

There were still five days left for Yuuri to return, and Viktor was more miserable than ever. Not only was his fiancee not around, practice had been absolutely brutal. Viktor swore that Yakov was not this sadistic when he last trained with him. Walking slowly to not aggravate his feet more than they were, the Russian took almost a half-hour to get back to his apartment only 5 blocks away.

He felt drained from the extra intense sessions, feeling his age in a way he hadn’t before. Barely able to lift his arm to open the door and remove his jacket, Viktor did not notice the extra pair of shoes by the door or the cleaned up kitchen counter. He did notice how his poodle had not come to greet him at the door as he always did, but shrugged it off as Makkachin sleeping. He leaned with his back to door as he tried to relax from the busy day.

As much he didn’t want to think about it, the poodle was getting older, and was more tired all the time. Thinking about the fact that he had to think about saying goodbye to his best friend was something Viktor avoided at all costs.

Pushing himself off, he shucked off his shoes and stripped his clothes as he went, wanting to just collapse into bed. He dropped his duffle bag on the couch to not damage the skates inside and kept walking down the hallway that would lead to his bed. Reaching the bedroom Viktor almost dismissed the lump on his way to the bathroom, the little tuft of black hair giving him pause though.

As he turned back to the bed, Viktor felt his breath hitch, his hands pinching his forearm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming because this would be the cruelest visage yet. At the same time he caught sight of the luggage that was next to the closet and the jacket and hat Yuuri always wore when travelling inside the hamper. Still holding his breath, Viktor walked softly to the bed, where his dog and lover were curled on.

Yuuri was mostly hidden by the blanket, the lump indicating that we was curled inward, with Makkachin resting in his arms. Hesitantly, almost scared to destroy the illusion if that was what this was, Viktor softly threaded his hands through the Japanese man’s soft black locks. Unable and unwilling to remove his hands from Yuuri now that the man was finally back, Viktor slowly moved his hands through his hair and down his face, tracing the hell of his ear.

How was it that Yuuri was here? He had spoken to the man yesterday, still firmly in Hatsetsu from the Onsen yukata he was wearing and the sounds of Mari’s soap in the background. Viktor could not help himself now that his lover was back and slowly moved to the other side, hating every second he wasn’t touching Yuuri. Softly he petted Makkachin awake and got him to scamper of the bed. Seeing just Yuuri now, the man was lying on his side, both arms outstretched as if reaching for Viktor, fingers curled. Under the sheet Viktor could make out a simple black shirt, and bare calves, so Yuuri was probably in boxers.

Sliding in softly into the spot previously occupied by the poodle, Viktor curled on his hands into Yuuri’s, lifting it softly to his lips and pressing a kiss. The fingers twitched, but the owner stayed asleep. Mindful of the long journey Yuuri must have had, because if he had been in the onsen calling at his regular time, he must have left soon after to make it to the airport and get here. Cradling the hand to his chest, Viktor slid closer to his lover, feeling Yuuri’s heat warm his very bones after two weeks of cold worse than a bitter Russian winter.

Softly, he leaned into his lover’s hair, addicted to him after so long without him. Yuuri was like a magnet, pulling Viktor in with a force that a bigger man might have resisted. But Viktor had long ago accepted that he was slave to this Japanese sleeping beauty, prepared to go to the ends of the Earth if he requested.

In his mind he knew he should stop touching Yuuri, lest he wake him, but the thought felt wrong in so many ways. The hand that had been playing with the brunette’s hair slid down, tracing his face lightly, making Yuuri’s nose scrunch adorably. Running a hand over the curve of his jaw, loving the soft chubbiness that was characteristic of the younger man during his off season. He followed the curve to the juncture of his ear, moving his fingers down the pale throat, skimming Yuuri’s Adam’s apple and collarbones.

A soft exhale drew Viktor’s eyes back to Yuuri’s face. Particularly those now parted lips that looked so plump and delicious. Leaning in more, Viktor pressed a light kiss to Yuuri’s lips, the soft barely-there press of lips was enough though. After almost 15 of not being able to kiss Yuuri, Viktor was a starving man who had found an oasis. He pressed more kisses into Yuuri’s face, one on his forehead, one on his eyelid, move down to his nose, further down to his chin, back to those lips.

Yuuri had managed to remain asleep through all of this, but seemed to be stirring now. Viktor knew he should definately stop, yet he pressed another kiss, a little firmer this time, so he was able to feel the exhale when Yuuri woke up and let out a soft moan, bringing the hand not trapped to VIktor’s chest to cup his cheek.

With Yuuri now awake, Viktor kissed him longer, pushing his tongue into an open mouth. The hand in his hair tightened, pulling him closer and Yuuri’s right leg came to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer. God, VIktor had missed this dance, the soft touches that inevitably became heated, the sounds from Yuuri that were the best song Viktor had ever heard. He slid his own hand further down, cupping Yuuri’s hip and pulling him closer still, till there was barely any space between them.

They kept kissing until they felt dizzy from the lack of air, but even then, separated the barest of distances.

“Good evening Viktor” came the sleep-soft remark from the still half-asleep man.

Viktor swore he was falling in love all over again as he kept caressing Yuuri’s hip and thighs alternatingly.

“Good evening my dearest. I wasn’t expecting you back, if you had told me I’d have come pick you up.”

“Mmmh, that’s why I didn’t tell you. You need to practice Viktor, even if you are the best skater in the world. The trip was hurried anyways so there was really no time to warn ahead.

“What happened? I am so happy you are back but why come back early?”

Yuuri yawned, swallowing and closing his eyes as he tucked himself underneath Viktor. “In Mari’s words? Apparently if I moped anymore I would drive all the customers away. She basically grabbed all my things threw them into my suitcase and pushed me into Yuuko’s car to be driven to the airport. She threatened to bring me all the way here but somebody needed to take care of the onsen and it obviously wasn’t going to me.” Yuuri ended in a grumble.

Affection rushed through every cell in the Russian’s body as he released Yuuri’s hand to free himself and wrap it around Yuuri, properly tucking him in.

“Zvezda moya, I cannot begin to tell you how much I missed you -”

Yuuri interrupted him “Let’s make a promise Viktor.”

“Promise?” Viktor questioned, tilting his head to looking into the younger man’s eyes.

“Mmm promise. Promise that we will never be that far apart for so long again. It was so awful, because even though I was happy to be back home and with my family, it didn’t feel like it. I realized it is because you and Makkachin and even Yurio, you’ve become home to me. And not having you there … I didn’t like it.”

Tears came out of Viktor’s eyes, as the Russian man just hushed any worries his fiancee might have with a deep kiss. Parting, he buried his head into Yuuri’s shoulder as he shook. He had lived alone for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to have someone love him unconditionally. No matter how much Yuuri claimed that Viktor had been the best thing to ever happen to him, Viktor was confident that Yuuri had saved him. In so many ways, so many times, Viktor knew that he would never be able to live without this beautiful soul ever again, and he was ok with that.

“I promise, moya lyubov, I promise a thousand times, i promise upon the sun and the stars, upon the ice that we skate and upon our love. Let us never be apart for so long ever again.

A day without you is like a year without rain

I need you by my side

Don't know how I'll survive

A day without you is like a year without rain

Translations: zvezda moya: my star moya lyubov: my love

---- If you want to read some of my other fics, check them out at: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlshrewt97/pseuds/Fangirlshrewt97

#victuuri week #day 2 #yuuri prompt #reunion #my fanfic #I still don't know how to tag things

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fifteenleads · 8 years ago

Text

on nights such as these

Yuuri knows how all this will end. Victor – beautiful, beloved Victor – will complete his divine task and return to his crystal slumber, while he will die a wretched, goddamned human, alone and forever tainted by history as the one who dared love a l'Cie.

He doesn’t let that stop him.

In which Victor is cursed, Yuuri is human, and they both fall in love just the same. [Loosely based on the mythos of Final Fantasy XIII.]

Yuuri is drawn the most to the statue’s bright, blue eyes – the most beautiful he has ever seen.

He is transfixed on the spot as he looks up in wonder at the unusual monument, the figure of a beautiful, naked man with long, flowing hair, raising his hands to the sky. Surrounded by overgrown foliage, the man-sculpture looks even more enrapturing than Adonis himself, the soft moonlight casting an ethereal glow to its crystalline form. It is truly a mystery why such a thing of beauty is left here to waste away in a dark, abandoned forest.

The young boy focuses once more on the statue’s eyes. They seem to catch a flicker of light, and he thinks he sees a flash of loneliness in them. A gentle wind blows from the north, carrying with it shrill, worried voices calling out his name.

Yuuri gives the statue one last, lingering gaze, a mix of admiration, longing and something vague clouding his childlike thoughts. The voices calling for him grow louder and nearer, and he blinks back tears before finally trudging on the worn path from which he came.

He thinks he hears his name being echoed from behind, a soft, gentle whisper in the air.

He cries the whole way back.

He barely makes the last airship, and he cannot contain his overflowing relief as he sinks into his seat. The young man is too winded from running across end-to-end terminals to care about his sweat staining the cheap upholstery.

Yuuri Katsuki, Atlas University’s newest class valedictorian at twenty-three, almost didn’t make it to his interview for a boring desk job at the Civil Service Department. Now there’s a funny story he could tell the kids someday - plus the importance of punctuality, and all that jazz.

An in-flight service crew member approaches him not long after he’s settled in. He places orders for mineral water and a bowl of katsudon.

Yuuri hooks his chin over the ledge, absently observing the moonlight filtering through the sea of clouds below them. This kind of scenery is very much his aesthetic, and is one of the reasons why he prefers to fly at night. (That, and it’s relatively cheaper.)

He is reminded of that night many years ago, when he saw a l'Cie in crystal stasis up close for the first time in his life.

((Yuko cries immediately when he finally meets up with them. Minako-sensei and Takeshi berate him relentlessly soon after. "What if you got attacked by the forest Cie'th?!"

He does not tell them about the beautiful man-sculpture by the lake.))

Yuuri frowns as the fleeting thought leaves his mind. He knows better now; l'Cie are humans chosen by the gods, bound to live an eternity of loyal servitude in exchange for immortality and otherworldly power. L'Cie who accomplish their divine tasks or Focuses are rewarded with indefinite rest, turned into ornate crystal statues until the gods require their services once more. Those who fail, on the other hand, become mindless monsters called Cie'th, cursed to forever wander the barren lands to prey and be preyed on by the living.

No one understands how and why this phenomenon happens, but everyone agrees that it is better to die than to be branded a l'Cie.

The Sanctum, too, does not look kindly upon l'Cie, if the state-sponsored executions and mass purges are of any indication. Yuuri makes a mental note of this, reminding himself to be cautious if he wants to remain on the government’s good side.

He banishes thoughts of the lifeless, crystalline visage from his mind, the beautiful but soulless blue eyes that, even now, haunt his dream at night.

He falls asleep to the silent whirring of the basement engines and a gentle voice whispering his name. Good night, Yuuri, it says. You’ll be fine tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes, however.

Yuuri attempts to break the thick glass window with a piece of rubble. A terrorist had apparently sneaked into the engine room, revealing themselves only now in the middle of the night to assassinate a high-profile Cabinet Minister who is also on this flight.

He vaguely recalls hearing a loud, strangled cry some distance away, plus gunshots and a neck snapping in half.

Everyone around him is dead, as well.

Terrified, he frantically hits the jagged stone repeatedly on the barrier, praying with every forceful strike for the glass to finally break. He doesn’t want to be here, bloodied and ashen-faced and crying and soon dead.

Another explosion goes off, the shockwave blowing him away and sending him crashing into the disordered seats. Immediately, Yuuri scrambles up on his knees and runs away as far as his exhausted legs and hyperventilating lungs could take him.

He ends up in the tail-end cabin of the airship, crying in earnest while curled up in a fetal position behind one of the short couches. This isn't supposed to happen, this isn’t real, thisisntreal thisisntreal thisisntreal–

A hand suddenly comes down on his shoulder, effectively cutting off his panicked, obsessive mantra. “There you are, Yuuri! Are you okay?”

He instinctively looks up into the eyes of his savior – beautiful and haunting and a bright, bright blue.

Long, glowing, silver hair. Flawless, pale skin and a perfectly-chiseled face. Heart-shaped lips that are pursed in a questioning manner, waiting for his response.

Yuuri is unable to back away, completely paralyzed with fear. He spots the l'Cie brand on the man’s left chest, partially hidden by a half-buttoned, bloodied, gray jumpsuit that is a little too loose on his tall, slender frame.

He is the most beautiful person Yuuri has ever seen.

The l'Cie frowns, his eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. “We should get out of here, Yuuri,” he says evenly. “The PSICOM are coming any minute now.”

Yuuri realizes he’s going to die, either way.

He numbly takes the hand offered to him.

((The burning airship explodes behind them as they leap off the viewing deck.))

"How do you know my name?"

The l'Cie stops walking at the sudden question. Until then, he had not responded to anything Yuuri asked -- who are you, what the hell is going on, what do you want with me, why did you save my life.

The l'Cie faces him serenely, and Yuuri is reminded of the beautiful sculpture that has enraptured him many, many years ago, on a night just like this.

"I heard voices from far away," he says with a smile. "They called for you. They called you Yuuri."

Yuuri's breath hitches at the way his name is uttered -- carefully, reverently, as if in prayer.

It is his own, after all.

"That's me," he concurs. "I'm Yuuri Katsuki. What's your name?"

A flicker of light is reflected in those bright, blue eyes, and it is as if he suddenly comes back to life all over again. "It's Viktor," he finally answers, as the wind blows and blue rose petals dance. "Viktor Nikiforov."

(("Yuuri, I need your help."))

Maybe life as a fugitive isn't so bad, Yuuri thinks to himself as he heats up the gruel from last night's dinner, watching the city unrest from the safety of their rundown apartment. He no longer has to think about reputation and taxes and responsibilities to the state. He is practically being pampered and taken care of by this beautiful, otherworldly man, who always goes the extra mile to make him feel special. And he's glad he took Home Ec classes seriously back then, because Viktor loves to eat, and Yuuri loves the way his eyes light up and his mouth widens into that heart-shaped smile as he squeals "Vkusno!" with every bite.

In a nutshell, Viktor runs all the errands, while Yuuri keeps house. It's as simple as it gets.

Except that it isn't, really.

It has been three months since the two have gone into hiding together, yet Yuuri doesn't have the slightest idea of exactly what it is Viktor needs from him. Was he a hostage? Not a chance; the Sanctum has already declared him a wanted criminal for aligning himself and conspiring with a l'Cie. There are even charges of terrorism and murder, on top of the public witch hunts and the rising bounty on his and Viktor's heads.

A suitable "companion", perhaps? That, too, was out. Viktor has not expressed any intentions towards him so far, and he doesn't seem like the type of person who would. Maybe having lived for more than five hundred years now has all but erased his humanity.

Viktor, who wears his heart on his sleeve and tells a million stories about his dog, is not human.

Yuuri has not forgotten that, but decides that he doesn't care. To him, Viktor is Viktor, and no one (or nothing) else. It's the only thing that matters.

There is a knock on the door, and his eyes lighten up as he welcomes his roommate home.

He is greeted with a blunt force to his head and a gun to his temple.

((The Sanctum has not forgotten, either.))

He wakes up in a small room, chained, wet and shivering. It is not his first time to pass out, Yuuri eventually recalls, as a gloved hand grabs him by his hair and submerges his head in freezing water. On instinct, he struggles against his torturer, the cold liquid going into his lungs even more as he tries his damnedest to breathe.

His agony is abruptly relieved as he is lifted out and above the ground, and he desperately kicks his shackled feet as he gasps for precious air.

"Where's the l'Cie?" the PSICOM officer asks, his deep, monotone voice partially muffled by his white helmet.

"I... don't.. know..." Yuuri manages to huff out in between painful coughs. He wonders if Viktor has returned home yet, and hopes for both their sakes that he hasn't.

A tinkling, feminine laugh sounds from behind him. "You're not being very helpful, you know," its owner playfully tuts, and he can hear heavy steps from heeled military boots inching towards him. "How many times have you said that again?"

Yuuri barely processes the question, his head feeling light and his vision swimming from the lack of oxygen, but still. "Lost count..." he croaks weakly. "But I'll say it again... for as long as you want." He reinforces his fragile bravado with every word, managing a weak, lopsided smirk at the woman.

"This is getting us nowhere," the male officer comments, his hold on Yuuri slightly loosening. "Maybe he really doesn't know."

The woman sighs in disappointment, and from the periphery of his vision, he sees her rummaging through a bag tied to the thick, iron bars. "We've been at this for a full day, and he still won't talk. No sightings of the l'Cie, either." She walks over to them once more, and Yuuri notices the dark red hair peeking through her uniform helmet. "It's a shame, really; seems like he's left you behind."

No no no, that's not true --

He tenses up as he feels a single baton poke at his side, the female officer's deep, menacing voice ringing in his ear. "For the last time, Yuuri Katsuki, where is he?"

Yuuri's eyes widen in fear. He wants to cry, to get out, to scream for help. For Viktor.

But he can't. His voice catches in his throat the moment he opens his mouth, and he can't.

He grits his teeth hard instead, and makes up his mind.

"I don't know," Yuuri says for the last time, and he screams in pain as electricity suddenly courses through his soaked body like a worn lightning rod.

He thinks he sees hell freeze over in a fraction of a second before he blacks out.

Yuuri is genuinely surprised that he's still alive.

For a while, he is afraid to open his eyes. He doesn't want to see where his two captors have brought him. He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing him to recoil back in terror and shakily turn over while curled up on himself.

Viktor's voice coaxes him back into reality, every repetition of his name like a balm to his shocked soul.

Yuuri eventually relaxes, slowly cracking an eye open, then the other. He is met with the l'Cie's ocean-blue eyes, illumined with the sea-green glow from a Curaga spell. He feels the pain eventually wash away, and tears form in his eyes -- his ordeal has finally ended.

Viktor cries, too, and envelops him in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, Yuuri... Thank the gods you're finally awake..."

They stay silent in each other's arms the whole night, in a mix of tears and feelings and words yet unsaid.

(("Viktor, we need to talk."))

The next leg of their journey brings them to a lush, open meadow directly above ground. There are some monsters and a handful of Cie'th, which Viktor makes quick work of. Soon, they are biting into juicy, roasted meat and succulent fruit, and Yuuri swears it's the best dinner they've had since their escape from the sky-city.

"Nothing really beats all-natural scenery," Viktor happily remarks in between bites of food, a trail of clear juice dribbling down his chin. "I mean, the sky-city is nice and modern and all, but it's different from home."

Yuuri laughs and hands the other man a thin cloth to wipe his mouth with. "So you've always lived like this five hundred years ago?" He snickers at the thought of Viktor in primitive animal hides and loinskins, a funny image when contrasted to his current fashionista look. He looks just as good -- no, maybe even better -- with short hair.

The l'Cie's right eyebrow shoots up as he guesses what Yuuri's thinking, and he automatically waves his hand in defense. "No, no, of course not! We also had buildings and toilets and cars and buses! Our phones and computers aren't nearly as advanced as yours, though."

Yuuri's mouth widens into a big 'O', and he almost drops his own piece of meat. "Wait, if what you're saying is true, then how did all that," and he gestures his other hand around the open expanse of sheer nature, "become this?"

"Everyone abandoned this place," Viktor says matter-of-factly, pointedly looking at Yuuri like he's seen and heard it all. "Mother Nature simply took everything back, and things returned to the way they were."

An awkward silence momentarily fills the air, prompting Yuuri to change the subject. "... Tell me other interesting things about your world."

Viktor purses his lips in thought, then his eyes sparkle and his lips form that ridiculous heart-shaped smile again. "I used to be a figure skater!"

"Figure... skate?" Yuuri is understandably confused; he's never heard of such a sport.

"Yup, a figure skater!" Viktor beams, raising up a wide-open hand. "I was a five-time World Champion, too!"

"W-Wait, I still don't get it!" Yuuri fumbles over his words, Viktor's excited explanations flying over his head too fast. Fortunately, the l'Cie seems to notice this, quietly trailing off and instead taking both Yuuri's hands into his own.

"I guess I'm not explaining myself well, huh," Viktor muses. "Yura always did say I was never a good teacher."

Yuuri senses a pang of sadness at the mention of this Yura's name, so he does not probe any further. Before long, Viktor returns to his usual disposition and pulls them both up, leading them away from the clearing. "Shiva!" he playfully calls out.

A few moments later, a beautiful, blue-skinned female eidolon materializes before them, and kneels at Viktor's feet. He promptly lets go of Yuuri's hands and proceeds to carry on a one-sided conversation with the familiar. Yuuri chuckles to himself as he listens to Viktor's constant shift in tone throughout the conversation, ranging from teasing to annoyance to whining to excitement, all while gesticulating widely with his arms the way only he could.

Finally, Viktor returns to Yuuri's side, a triumphant smile on his face. "I got Shiva to make us a temporary ice rink! I'll teach you how to ice skate!"

"Whaaat?!" Yuuri almost all but screeched, but is soon left speechless as he watches Shiva circle a large expanse of land, adding layer upon layer of ice on the grassy ground. The end result is a large, ovoid area covered with a thick sheet of smooth ice.

Yuuri steps forward and almost trips. Looking down at his feet, he finds sharp blades frozen in place to the soles of his shoes. He whips his head back up to Viktor, who is now seated on a nearby fallen log, lacing up a pair of unusual boots with the same kind of blades underneath.

"Ahh, sorry about that," he apologizes sheepishly, "but it'll hold, I promise."

They soon take to the ice, Viktor guiding Yuuri along while he wobbles on his makeshift skates. He doesn't let go the whole time as they slowly glide on the frozen surface, rounding the corner for another lap.

"Yuuri, try bending your knees forward like this," Viktor instructs. "Put a little more distance between your feet. You'll balance yourself better that way."

Yuuri does as he's told, and he finds that his footing is now more stable. He grins in delight, and Viktor returns it with a proud smile of his own. They each let a hand go, and start skating faster across the ice side by side, Viktor's free laugh ringing in his ears.

It is another thing Yuuri commits to memory, adding it to the list of things he loves about Viktor --- his eyes, his hair, his face, his smile, his voice, his laugh.

His soft lips, as they press ever-so-gently on Yuuri's own.

They melt into each other's embrace at the center of the enchanted ice, thin snowflakes falling all around them beneath a clear, night sky, and Yuuri realizes that he's in love.

The derelict Great Library has an old, bulky mainframe that contains the largest database about the world before it was destroyed more than five hundred years ago.

It is also broken at the moment, but Yuuri sees it as more of a challenge, if nothing else.

His portable tablet is plugged into an adapter, which, in turn, is connected to the main monitor. The computer is displaying less error messages now, if Viktor's translations of the system texts are of any indication.

He hasn't expected the l'Cie to know that he'd majored in information technology in college, and that the job he'd applied for was as technical support for the Sanctum's master server.

"L'Cie in crystal stasis are aware of everything," Viktor says nonchalantly. "We're not nearly as omniscient as the gods, but it's close enough."

Yuuri cocks his head to the side expectantly, prompting Viktor for more proof, to which the latter gleefully obliges. "Your friends, Yuko and Takeshi, got married a month before you left. She's expecting triplets, by the way."

"Wow!" Yuuri exclaims, not knowing if the astonishment stems from the surprise news or from the fact that Viktor does know (almost) everything. The l'Cie winks back playfully in response, causing him to flush quicker than ever, feeling hot in certain areas more than others.

"... So, you know," he eventually manages to get out. "How I've always felt... when I was younger."

There goes that beautiful, hearty laugh again. "If I didn't know, I wouldn't have come find you all these months ago, now, would I?"

Yuuri has nothing to say against that.

"But I'm not in crystal stasis now," Viktor continues on, inching closer to Yuuri on all fours. He notices the mark of the l'Cie peeking out of the other man's loose shirt. The change in color has already progressed two-thirds through.

They don't have enough time -- they never did. (Who is Yuuri kidding?)

"-- Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Why are you wasting time (on me), what is your Focus, go finish the damned thing or you'll turn into a Cie'th, don't die, don't leave me, I lov--

"Nothing in particular," Yuuri finally says, turning back to the ancient computer screen and inputting some more commands. "We need to finish this before sunrise."

"Right you are," Viktor murmurs, and the matter is dropped. He continues reciting translations to Yuuri, the remnants of a rueful smile lingering on his lips.

They reach Viktor's old hometown after a few weeks, following the coordinates provided by the old database. The whole place has been frozen over, including the giant wave that threatened to crash into it.

It is eerily beautiful and haunting, and it causes Viktor to all but break down on the spot.

Yuuri holds on to Viktor's trembling fist, but the l'Cie pulls away, downcast. "I need to be alone for a while... Please."

He watches Viktor's retreating back in silence, the frigid wind blowing through those short, silver locks. It hurts him very, very much.

Left with nothing else to do, Yuuri aimlessly wanders around the ghost town, kicking away the snow and small chunks of ice to read the street signs -- they're all in the old language, anyway, so it's pointless, really. (At least, he can periodically mark his way like this and not get lost later.)

He stops at a sparsely-decorated bridge and observes the frozen river underneath. He blinks away a sudden ideation of a bus crossing it, shielding his running form from the rising sun. And Viktor would be on the other side, waving at him to "come here faster".

A life where Viktor isn't a l'Cie, and they lead normal lives. Do ice skating. Live happily together.

Yuuri's heart breaks at the thought.

He knows how all this will end. Viktor -- beautiful, beloved Viktor -- will complete his divine task and return to his crystal slumber, while he will die a wretched, goddamned human, alone and forever tainted by history as the one who dared love a l'Cie.

A gust of cold wind blows from the north, carrying with it quiet, heart-wrenching, anguished sobs, filled with loneliness and bitterness and regret. Yuuri breaks into a run, searching for the familiar voice that cried for him from far, far away.

He finds Viktor standing before a large edifice encased in ice, his eyes glazed over and devoid of light. A swell of waves frozen in time bursts out from the building's entrance, at the center of which is a young boy with blond, chin-length hair and emerald-green eyes dressed in a shimmering white leotard. His last expression is frozen in one of pure terror, as his outstretched hand grasps nothing but thin air.

The horrifying image, the opposite of Viktor's own while in stasis, is burned in Yuuri's mind, and he is suddenly made aware of the painful burden the l'Cie has had to carry for the past five hundred years, ever-growing in his heart and granting his mind no rest, all while his body is trapped in cold, unfeeling crystal.

Yuuri embraces Viktor, letting his hot tears seep through the other man's clothing. Viktor soon keels over, burying his face in Yuuri's neck as he sobs violently. "Yura... Yakov... The whole town... Because of me..."

"It's all right," Yuuri answers, slowly rubbing circles onto Viktor's back.

"I never wanted to be a l'Cie!" Viktor shouts, his whole body shaking in anger and frustration. "I don't want this... I want to die..."

"Mm." Viktor, of all people, is truly the most qualified to say that. Yuuri cannot even begin to fathom how much weight those words really carry.

"I want to be with you forever."

Yuuri's hand stills at the revelation. All the wishful thinking comes back in a sudden rush, overwhelming his heart with feelings of part sadness and part joy. And though it is very selfish of him, he lets out a staggered breath in relief, letting out the rising tension forming from within.

"I will be right here."

Forever, too, let the gods be damned.

((They make love that night beneath thin, scratchy sheets, sharing the little warmth that remained between their tangled legs and beating hearts. And Yuuri vows, no matter what, to stay by Viktor's side and never leave.))

"Tell me about your Focus."

Viktor sits up with a start, as if it were the last thing he expected Yuuri to say while in bed. They have been avoiding this matter for weeks, now, finding it easier to fall back into routine -- Viktor hunting, Yuuri cooking, and them both fucking at night.

They measure time in moments now, in funny, domestic gaffes and stories about each other's lives. Yuuri talks about the hot springs from his hometown and his friends from college, while Viktor opens up about his past life as a champion figure skater -- his overbearing coach, his rinkmates and competitors, and Yuri Plisetsky.

(("The gods had chosen Yura. I had to protect him."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're a l'Cie. It led me to you."))

They both know it won't last forever, so they treasure each day as it comes.

"What did you see?" Yuuri rephrases his question, turning to look Viktor in the eye. He traces the l'Cie brand on his lover's chest with trepidation, all but a fifth of it already transformed in color.

Viktor considers Yuuri's words, seemingly lost in thought as he absently draws figure eights on the other man's naked thigh. His eyes glisten with tears, which he quickly blinks back before they could even fall.

"Hellfire," he eventually begins, and Yuuri props himself up, listening in earnest. "Everything up in flames. A creature roaring in the distance. Yet..." He pauses, trying to make sense of his own words.

Yuuri leans in closer, the worry lingering in his eyes as he hangs on to every word.

"... Oddly, I felt happy," Viktor continues, feeling conflicted himself. "Like it was the best thing that could ever happen. And it terrified me." He draws his human lover close and buries his head into the crook of the other man's neck. "So I ran away."

Yuuri laughs emptily, despite himself. "And took me with you."

"That I did," Viktor agrees with a chuckle. He brings his lips close to Yuuri's ear. "You're the only one who matters now. No one else."

Yuuri turns redder than the fresh meat they'd had for dinner, despite the fact that they have just finished doing more sinful things prior to this conversation. It is unfair how this beautiful, otherworldly man still manages to do things to him, even after already having seduced him completely, in body, mind, and soul.

Well, that's one serious moment ruined; he might as well.

He hungrily tackles Viktor with a deep kiss in response, and things devolve from there.

((They will talk in the morning; Yuuri will make sure of that.))

Viktor doesn't wake up the next morning.

Yuuri tries his hardest not to panic, wiping a cold towel onto the l'Cie's burning forehead with one hand while holding down his convulsing form with the other. Only a tenth of the brand has not progressed yet, and even that fraction is steadily diminishing by the hour.

At some point, he frantically calls out to Shiva for help. A blue aura envelops Viktor in response, slightly lowering his body temperature to a more manageable level. Even then, it does not stop the brand from advancing to its final stage, and Yuuri gasps when he sees that only the pointed embellishments of the l'Cie mark are left untouched.

It is not the first time he has felt powerless, but this time, it strikes him so much, and he wails.

"Gods, please! Don't take Viktor away from me!" Yuuri screams loudly in between violent hiccups and nerve-wracking sobs. "He's suffered long enough! He doesn't deserve this!"

And then, "I'll do anything you ask of me! I'll be a l'Cie in his place! So please let him live!"

All at once, Viktor's mark shines a blinding, bright blue, enveloping Yuuri's whole being until he could see no more. He is consumed by a sea of fire, stretching across the whole town, rapidly melting the ice and incinerating everything in the pure, red flames.

Yuuri opens his eyes and finds himself unhurt. He immediately looks around for Viktor, panicking when his lover is nowhere to be found. A loud, feral roar rings throughout the entire area, and a great beast with two long horns descends before him.

Bracing himself, he makes his way to the creature, the sea of fire parting with each step. He looks it straight in the eye. "Where is Viktor?" Yuuri demands.

"He is not here," comes the solemn, gravelly response. "You shall not pass."

Yuuri's fist shakes in anger, his teeth clenched so hard it bleeds from the corner of his mouth. He raises his head and stares the creature down. "Let me go through."

The beast roars in his face and breathes out fire. Yuuri does not flinch.

"I love Viktor," he declares. "I promised to stay by his side and never leave. Nothing and no one will stop me from going to him." His eyes narrow, and he spits out the last words. "Not even you, Ifrit."

The eidolon slams its fist into the ground, and pillars of lava rise up in succession. Some stray drops of hot liquid fly into Yuuri's face, body, arms and legs, and he winces in pain, but remains undaunted. He goes even closer, his goal in plain sight amidst the hurling rocks and dazzling flames.

As he does, Yuuri raises his voice once more, shouting with finality. "I am your master. Submit to me at once!"

His command is punctuated by the same burst of molten rock and fire, and a single word enters his mind: Hellfire.

The sea of flames burn brighter than ever, until it turns white-hot and Yuuri no longer feels anything but the searing pain of a l'Cie brand marking itself on his back.

A barrage of disjointed visions assault his mind in quick succession, but he is able to understand everything all at once.

It is the story of Viktor's past.

((Viktor is horrified upon seeing the accursed mark on Yuri's forearm, the brand almost completely consumed. "Why do you have this?"

Yuri brusquely slaps Viktor's hand away, unrolling back the sleeves of his one-piece costume. "Things happened, okay?" he says through clenched teeth. "Don't pry, old man. And don't tell anyone."

Viktor quickly falls into step behind his junior. "What is your Focus, Yura?"

"Like hell I'd know!" Yuri snaps, angrily stomping his right skate onto the matted ground. "Just go away already. You're distracting me."

The young skater stalks off towards the rink, muttering something incomprehensible. Viktor thinks he hears a choked sob before the door is slammed shut.))

((He shouldn't have left Yuri alone.

Viktor is filled with dread as the live feed from the rink shows Yuri clutching his head in pain in the middle of his short program, the commentators and reporters a cacophony of confused shouting as they wonder what in the world just happened. Yakov, too, is beside himself with worry.

I'm sorry, Yura, he thinks, not bothering to finish lacing up his skates, going straight to the kiss-and-cry instead.))

((It all goes to hell soon after.

The dike walling off the ocean from their below-sea level town has broken, and water is flowing in fast. Ironically, it's the skating rink that is submerged first.

Yuri is still unconscious in Yakov's arms, while Lilia and Georgi part the panicking spectators to escort them out. And it works really well, once they see the telltale beam of light penetrating the white of his costume sleeve.

Viktor meets them at the lobby, checking on the young boy's brand panickedly. Almost the whole mark has already been colored in.

He is too late.))

((Viktor holds onto Yuri for dear life, and prays like he's never prayed before.

"Yuri is still young. He doesn't deserve this... I'll take his place, so let him live!..."

Really, he doesn't know what he's wishing for. But it works, and now all he sees is an icy wasteland. The beautiful, blue-skinned eidolon taunts him, for lack of a better word, and all he can do is beg for everything to be over.))

(("Everything" soon comes to an end with the blink of an eye.

He wakes up to a dead, frozen town, "Diamond Dust" on his lips and everyone else's blood on his hands.

It is Yuri's face that seals the deal, forever frozen in time as he shouts for Viktor to not do this.

He is terrified, so he runs away, not to return for another five hundred years.))

((The gods finally take pity on him after more than a century of flitting between l'Cie and crystal, wandering and killing and fending for himself. He slumbers in the middle of an abandoned forest, and there he waits for a miracle, his tired hands reaching for the sky.

It comes nearly four hundred years later, in the form of Yuuri.))

"He was not weak," Yuuri murmurs, kneeling before Viktor's still form, the whole town burnt away around them beyond recognition. He clasps both cold hands into his own, reciting the incantation of a Cure spell. A gentle, green light bathes Viktor's hands, soon extending to the rest of his body. His erratic breathing soon evens out, his cheeks and lips now less pale.

"You've been fighting alone all these years," Yuuri whispers, finally coming undone, letting his tears fall onto Viktor's hands. "It's all right, I'm here."

"I love you so much."

Viktor slowly comes back to life. Bright, blue eyes gaze into serene, brown ones, and he raises his hand to cradle Yuuri's cheek, delivering his happiest, most beautiful smile in more than five hundred years.

"My Yuuri," he begins, and it floods his whole being with overflowing warmth, "I could ask for nothing more."

They share a tender kiss in an expanse of ash and rubble, two beings cursed to live forever with powers they never wanted, not knowing what future awaits them in a cruel world that abhors their existence.

But maybe eternity isn't such a bad thing, when spent in the arms of the one you love.

"I love you," Viktor says, his hands freezing in place around Yuuri's torso as shards of crystal form around them. Yuuri doesn't move away, playfully bumping against his lover's forehead with his own. Their crystalline forms share an expression of pure bliss, their eyes shining with boundless love, unadulterated joy and the promise of forever.

It is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen.

#victuuriweek #day five #crossover #victuuri #tw: violence #tw: character death #yuri!!! on ice #final fantasy xiii #fabula nova crystallis #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #l'cie #eidolon #shiva #ifrit

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hikariyumeko-blog · 8 years ago

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Title: Only you can colour my world Author(s): hikariyumeko Rating: general audience Warnings: no one applies Summary:

Ses yeux avaient presque toujours vu exclusivement le monde en noir et blanc. C’était une réalité immuable qui était devenue la sienne lorsque, comme tous les autres enfants de son âge, il avait peu à peu perdu la vision des couleurs à l’âge de cinq ans. Depuis lors, son monde, terne et fade, n’était plus qu’une spirale infernale d’un gris monotone de laquelle il n’aspirait qu’à s’échapper et il ne vivait plus que pour l’espoir de retrouver un jour ces couleurs ainsi que de les voir à nouveau fleurir autour de lui, tourbillonnantes et éclatantes. Un espoir qui ne pourrait devenir réalité que lorsqu'il trouverait la personne qui lui était destinée, celle qui ferait voler en éclats dans une explosion de couleurs chatoyantes cet océan de gris autours de lui.

Link to AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9671444/chapters/21845498

Prologue

Depuis lors, son monde, terne et fade, n’était plus qu’une spirale infernale d’un gris monotone de laquelle il n’aspirait qu’à s’échapper. Il ne vivait plus que pour l’espoir de retrouver un jour ces couleurs. De les voir à nouveau fleurir autour de lui, tourbillonnantes et éclatantes.

Longtemps, il avait cru dur comme fer qu’il trouverait un jour la personne qui lui était destinée, celle qui ferait exploser cette grisaille monotone dans une déflagration de jaunes, de bleus, d’orange et de rouge. Il l’avait espéré de tout son cœur tendre d’enfant, puis d’adolescent, priant chaque jour pour que, lorsque l’aube se lèverait sur le matin suivant, il puisse la contempler dans toute sa beauté.

Mais les années s’étaient inexorablement égrenées tandis que son monde restait désespérément et impitoyablement gris. Et peu à peu, il avait cessé d’espérer. Pour oublier, il s’était jeté corps et âme dans le patinage artistique, passant plus de temps à s’entraîner que tout autre. Sur la glace, il se sentait pris d’un irrésistible sentiment de liberté. Et lorsqu’il fermait les yeux et virevoltait, il avait presque l’impression de pouvoir voir à nouveau le vert des premières floraisons, le rose, le rouge et le jaune des fleurs s’épanouissant dans sa maison d’enfance ou le bleu serein du ciel et celui, plus foncé et saupoudré de blanc, des vagues venant mourir sur la grève, toutes ces couleurs qui lui manquaient tant.

Telle était sa vie lorsque, pour la cinquième année consécutive, il remporta haut la main la finale du Grand Prix, face à son rival de toujours, Christopher Giacometti. Il aurait dû être euphorique. Fier. Débordant de joie. Mais depuis longtemps, il n’éprouvait plus de plaisir, plus de surprise à se tenir sur la première marche du podium et toute l’euphorie qu’il avait pu ressentir au début de sa carrière en brandissant son drapeau et en offrant sa médaille aux flashs des appareils photos des journalistes avait disparu depuis plusieurs années. Seule demeurait désormais un sentiment de banalité affligeant. Il gagnait parce qu’il n’avait pas de réel rival, parce qu’il ne savait faire que ça. Mais ses succès le laissaient désormais indifférent.

C’était dans cet état d’esprit qu’il arpentait les couloirs de la patinoire de Sochi tandis qu’à ses côtés Yakov débriefait Yurio. Il n’avait qu’une seule hâte. Fuir tous ces inconnus qui ne l’aimaient que pour l’image idéalisée de lui qu’il renvoyait lorsqu’il était sur la glace et rentrer à son hôtel. Savourer une longue douche brulante avant de se glisser sous la couette. Seul, comme toujours.

C’est alors qu’il le vit.

Un éclair fugace. Un flash coloré, d’une nuance proche de celle du chocolat chaud que sa mère lui servait en souriant lorsqu’il était encore enfant et rentrait d’un longue journée de jeux dans la neige qui lui réchauffa le cœur.

Une étincelle d’espoir dans la monotonie de ce dégradé de gris.

Mais aussitôt l’avait-il aperçue que la lueur avait disparue et, les yeux avides, il eut beau scruter la foule des spectateurs qui se dirigeaient vers la sortie, il ne la retrouva plus. Victor serra les poings, retenant un cri de frustration qui aurait surpris ses compagnons, habitué à son caractère taquin et éternellement enjoué. Ce monde avait un sens de l’humour tordu et cruel et foulait au pied tous ses sentiments. Depuis plus de vingt ans, il ne vivait plus que pour l’espoir de pouvoir à nouveau le contempler dans toute sa beauté et il ne pouvait imaginer pouvoir supporter plus longtemps cette existence bichrome, froide et terne, qui lui rongeait le cœur et l’âme. Et à peine une mince lueur d’espoir lui avait-elle été accordée, à peine pensait-il avoir enfin trouvé ce qu’il cherchait que tout cela lui était aussitôt brusquement arraché.

Comprenant qu’il était trop tard et ne trouverait pas l’origine de ce phénomène, Victor reportait son attention sur Yakov, toujours occupé à débattre en long, en large et en travers de la performance de Yuri, lorsque son regard intercepta soudain celui d’un jeune homme qui le fixait. Le russe sentit un étrange frisson le parcourir de part en part. Bien qu’il était presque sûr de ne les avoir jamais croisé, ces yeux lui semblaient étrangement familiers, comme un souvenir flou et confus qu’il ne savait pas identifier. Victor le scruta des pieds à la tête. Grand pour un asiatique, même si plus petit que lui ainsi que plus jeune de quelques années. Avec ses yeux écarquillés, sa bouche légèrement entrouverte, il affichait une expression gênée si mignonne que Victor ne put la qualifier que d’attendrissante.

Un fan venu assister à la finale du Grand Prix et qui ne savait pas comment réagi en apercevant son idole, pensa-t-il avec amusement.

Victor lui sourit et il eut envie de rire lorsqu’il vit ses joues foncer instantanément, signe de son embarras plus que manifeste.

Adorable, pensa-t-il. Il était tout bonnement adorable.

- Une photo ? Lui proposa Victor en agitant la main, à la foi pour faire plaisir à un fan dont pour une fois l’admiration, loin d’être horripilante et empressée, semblait véritablement sincère et à la fois pour le taquiner et à nouveau voir cet air embarrassé si mignon se peindre sur son visage.

Mais il fut loin d’obtenir la réaction escomptée. Au lieu de voir ses joues noircir, au lieu de voir ses yeux se mettre pétiller d’enthousiasme tandis qu’il se précipiterait vers lui et accepterait avec joie son offre, ses yeux semblèrent se briser et son visage se fermer, comme s’il était sous le coup d’une indicible douleur. Sans lui adresser un mot, le bout des oreilles rouges d’embarras, il tourna brusquement les talons et se dirigea à grandes enjambées vers la sortie malgré les exhortations d’un reporter japonais qui l’incitait à rester. Victor se sentit perdu et confus. Qu’avait-il donc fait ou déclaré de mal pour le mettre dans un état pareil ? Au vu des paroles du journaliste, le jeune homme devait être l’un de ses fans. Il l’avait regardé avec une admiration si manifeste qu’il pouvait difficilement en douter.

Mais alors, pourquoi avait-il réagi ainsi ? Pourquoi avoir presque pris la fuite alors qu’il lui avait de lui-même proposé une photo ? Peut-être était-il tout simplement timide ? Se dit-il.

Non, se corrigea-t-il immédiatement. Si cela avait été le cas, s’il l’avait juste embarrassé par sa proposition, il aurait simplement rougi avant de partir. Là, il avait arboré la même expression de douleur que celle qu’il aurait eu si Victor l’avait frappé en plein ventre.

- Yakov, demanda-t-il soudain, dévoré par la curiosité, en pointant du menton la silhouette qui passait les portes du complexe avant de son fondre dans la nuit, est-ce-que tu saurais qui c’est ?

Yuri et Yakov stoppèrent net leur conversation pour le dévisager d’un air incrédule, se demandant visiblement s’il était sérieux ou non, et Victor eut soudain l’horrible impression d’avoir demandé quelque chose de particulièrement stupide.

- Vitya, rugit son coach, laissant libre court à toute la puissance de sa voix, essaie de prêter au moins un minimum d’attention aux gens qui t’entourent et surtout à tes adversaires ! C’est Yuuri Katsuki, l’un des poulains de Celestino, et tu l’as affronté il y a quelques heures à peine ! Même s’il a fait une performance vraiment médiocre au libre et s’est classé dernier, ajouta-t-il, l’air réprobateur.

- T’es vraiment qu’un imbécile, Victor, lâcha impitoyablement Yuri sans mâcher ses mots. Même moi, qui suis encore dans le circuit junior, je savais qui il était. Victor se sentit subitement honteux. Tout s’expliquait. En ne le reconnaissant pas et en le prenant pour un simple fan, il lui avait fait le pire des affronts. Alors qu’il s’était pourtant qualifié pour la finale du Grand Prix, ce qui n’était pas un mince exploit en lui-même pour la plupart des patineurs, ses paroles donnaient l’impression qu’il le tenait pour quantité négligeable et qu’il ne valait même pas la peine qu’il se souvienne de lui. Une attitude qui avait dû être d’autant plus blessante que le jeune homme, comme nombre de ses rivaux, l’admirait visiblement.

Victor poussa un soupir. Très bien. Avec un peu de chance, il le recroiserait lors du banquet et il pourrait s’excuser. Et, songea-t-il, peut-être pourrait-il le taquiner à nouveau et apercevrait-il cet adorable air d’embarras se peindre sur son visage, ce qui lui tira un sourire.

Pour une fois, le banquet aurait certainement un semblant d’intérêt.

#victuuriweek #day 6 #prompt: soulmates/reincarnation #fanfic

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