#I reached out to our coaching coordinators and set up time to brainstorm with them tomorrow about it

[whentherewerebicycles]

ugh he woke up BRIGHT red which could just be a flareup of baby eczema but is a little worrisome when combined with his extreme crankiness. of course the doctor has no appointments today or tomorrow and the only clinic that could see us is a 70 minute drive away. nurse triage line put us on hold for 25 min and then hung up on us lol. I called back using a different number and was told that the nurse triage line no longer exists (??) which cannot be true because the coordinator connected me to it. I will call back again but am just gonna give myself a little mental break first. he also screamed his head off when I tried to put him down for his first nap sooo we are napping on mom to ensure he gets some sleep. I think I am gonna officially call it: we are back in Survival Mode this week!!!! on the positive side I made him laugh a lot by showing him he could grab his own toes. this revelation was absolutely hilarious to him and he wanted me to help him grab them many times in a row. peak baby humor lol. we will get through this.

[productivelyfe]

FINAL NARRATIVES

SUBSTANTIVE KNOWLEDGE

I chose the Management career track because I feel it best coordinates with my passion, outlook and natural abilities.   

To this career track I bring the effective management of multiple items (under pressure if applicable). I’m like glue, fusing together the unit from the inside, trusted Senior authorities, and the outside public. I possess the ability to identify and apply the most appropriate solutions. I have an inspirational, developmental and strengthening impact on my kin, as well as, a reaching positivity. I'm capable of motivating, maintaining high morale, and have the ability to win over/shape outlooks. Leader by example, I ensure that everyone prospers. I’m not afraid to assume the burden and responsibility. I desire to serve, with loyalty, the organization, its people, and its missions.

INTELLECTUAL

USAF, Security Forces, Balad AFB, Iraq. Flyaway Security Team. A few of us meet at the office to go to midnight chow. Just as we're leaving, the landline rings in dead silence. The abnormality makes us jump. I walk over, answer. It's another of our team leads, out with his member on a mission, says they were left at an airfield. "What do you mean left!? Where?" "We went in for food, the pilots must have forgotten, we got left here." Running through my mind, "Hostile location. Why, how?" I gathered my sense. "Have your overnight bags and weapons?" "We have everything, but you can’t call me, I can only call you." "Stay on the line." The others are teasing, glad to have not picked up. I drown out the jokes. Only task now- get them home. I fly through contact pages beside the supervisor’s monitor, and computer database for squadrons/titles. I call person after person, until someone with authority to reroute/dispatch planes, confirms a plane en route. They're back by morning. The supervisor arrives routinely at the office. I brief on last night's incident- it's all been taken care of. Through a few long blinks, he smiles of relief. A teammate who witnessed said he "was enthralled by the way” I “expertly handled the situation. There could've been no better Airman to answer that call.”

INTERPERSONAL

Some flight chiefs, thinking they were feathers of a different flock, coordinated days off for themselves, left early, or failed to attend PT with everyone else. If on time to morning briefings, it was either a uniform top unbuttoned, sagging pants, or boots unlaced. Airmen were made to work late, or work posts without rotation, to cover for their absences. Those who confronted the flight chiefs heard sneers like, “Shut up; it’s above your pay grade.” Morale plummeted. Work became affected. The room was filled with threats of making IG complaints (leads to a base-wide investigation by an outer agency). I empathized, but told fellow Airmen the situation didn’t warrant such complaint. Instead, I sent our Senior (flight advisor/manager) an Email informing him of offenses, how bad morale was; but stressed this isn’t IG-level worthy. He spoke with me, asked which flight chiefs, he was already suspicious of one. I confirmed, plus another. He assigned the bad apples to administrative duties to keep an eye on them. A flight-wide anonymous morale/suggestions survey was soon rolled out. A 5-panel board, including myself, was selected to review the answers and brainstorm ideas to implement suggestions. The IG complaint was circumvented, solutions performed, and moral shot up within weeks.

COMMUNICATION

Superiors chose me to lead a security team of 4 Airmen on a humanitarian mission in Pakistan. It called for aid after a flood swept most the country. The surrounding chatter was anxieties about it being, Pakistan. My prior supervisor, and local Iraqi, on separate occasions said, "Dangerous. Idiot move to send you there." "You shouldn’t want. There are terrorists there.” I heard them, but had already begun learning the territories from a map I printed. My newly-found team was also willing/excited. We were medically cleared, met our flight crew, and arrived soon to our temporary base- Islamabad AFB. Aside the runway, we set up tents, receiving bed linens from locals. Delivery of food on pallets began day one. The pilots expressed fear of using their weapons, as they rarely carried. My aim was to stabilize/ gain their confidence in us- their security team. I assumed their burden, "Leave it to us, that’s our job." Before transporting passengers, a pilot said, "Searching them ... suicide vests ... terrified." Again, "Our job." We est. a systematic pat down, tailored to local gender customs. By taking command, maintaining open communication check-ins, and flawless performance, we quickly gained their trust. All enjoyed the beauty that is Pakistan in what was the best exp. of our lives.

MANAGEMENT

I set a personal goal to get my Community College of the Air Force (CCAF) degree before my 6 year enlistment was up. It was going well, then it came time to deploy. I was in the middle of a course, but opted to see how long I could delay having to drop it. I brought my laptop and Verizon USB internet stick to training. It was hoorah!, playing war games during the day, to staying up past everyone to study and submit Anatomy papers at night. I maintained effectiveness throughout the duration of the day, and 2 weeks of main-priority training. I also completed my Anatomy course with an "A." After settling into my deployed location, I signed up for dual courses. Half-way through those, I desired to help and encourage others to pursue their educational self-development. My supervisor approved and said I could call myself the squadron’s “Education Monitor.” I sent out a mass email announcing and creating my position. I became the regular point of contact to approx. 10 Airmen. I counseled them on Tuition Assistance, credit hours in relation to the CCAF, and helped them sign up for classes. I scheduled some for CLEPs, and helped answer any questions/concerns. I maintained contact with the base's Education Office to coordinate products/events they were offering. Later, I achieved my CCAF.

LEADERSHIP

Leadership is a main quality I've demonstrated throughout my life. Of two siblings, I was firstborn. In school, my projects were often kept by teachers to use as the example for next year’s classes. Coaches were amazed by my running talent, and in 8th grade, I ran as an individual competitor in the high school’s cross country meets, and started Varsity my Freshman year. No one in my immediate family was military, but at 17 years old, I made a split-second decision to join the Air Force. In BMT, I achieved Marksman on both the M9 pistol, and M16 rifle, and was 1 of 2 females to graduate my class with “Warhawk” (highest PT standard) status, the other girl being on my flight. Deployed to Iraq, I spent my free time in school, volunteered, and counseled others through the "Education Monitor" position I created. I trained with others to improve their PT scores. I’ve selflessly taken Airmen under my wing and put my whole energy into building them. As a result they’ve gotten selected for special duties, monthly/yearly awards, and have won Airman Below the Zone (pin on rank early). I’ve received various awards/accolades, but I’m not satisfied until I’ve inspired, and had a developmental impact on my circle. Excellent leadership = excellent teamwork to progress the success of the mission.

[cafecliche]

Based on a brainstorming/yelling session with @mixedbird​ the other night: SUMMER OF MUTUAL PINING CONTENT. Or: 5 hilariously transparent excuses to touch each other, +1 they didn’t try to excuse. 1. Yuuri Katsuki wakes up much the same as he wakes up every morning lately: on his feet, in motion, with firm hands on his shoulders and the vague knowledge that he’s been upright and moving for at least the past few minutes. “Mmm,” he offers in token protest. “Yes, yes,” laughs Victor, steering him around a corner.

He squints. His glasses are on, but the world’s still bleary. “Where?” he asks, without deciding whether or not he means ‘where am I’ or ‘where are we going.’ “Breakfast! And don’t make that face,” Victor adds when Yuuri cranes his neck to squint in his direction. “‘s just my face,” he mumbles, to a rumble of soft laughter. Yuuri faces front again. It’s mostly a formality - his feet are moving, but the momentum is all Victor. He could close his eyes and move where he’s told and trust that he’s not going to fall. There are, however, other reasons to watch where he’s going. “Victor,” he says. “Hmm?” Victor says, indulgent. Yuuri points down the stairwell they’ve just passed. “Dining room.” With a long, thoughtful noise, Victor steers him in a wide U-turn and loops back to the stairs. 2. Sometimes their mutual language doesn’t adequately encompass what their bodies need to do. Today is one of those days. Yuuri sees the frustration building in the set of Victor’s mouth from the beginning. Not at Yuuri, most likely - at himself, or at the words that don’t fit neatly around the posture he’s trying to describe - but it scratches at the pit of his stomach nonetheless. I can make this easier, he thinks, as always. I’ll think of something. Don’t leave yet. Whether he senses this or not, he smiles, in any case. “I’m not describing this very well,” he says, apologetic. “Can I just show you?”

Yuuri nods, and Victor folds into the pose in one fluid motion. The relief is evident on his face. It helps to speak a language that understands you back.

He holds impressively still as Yuuri circles him, though it won’t be long before he starts to get tired. It would be inconsiderate to hold back. At least, that’s what Yuuri tells himself as he sets propriety aside and moves closer.

“Can I…?” he asks, hands hovering.

Victor makes a small sound of assent, and then a quieter, less-readable sound when Yuuri’s fingers trace the line of his shoulders, the creases of his back. He tries to think about understanding the position, mimicking it. He tries not to think about laying his palms flat and holding them still, until he can feel Victor’s heartbeat.

He can see Victor’s ribs expand and release with his breaths, and he times his own breaths quietly, carefully, like a naturalist in an unfamiliar ecosystem. Unbelievable. Who would have ever thought he’d be close enough to Victor to watch him breathe.

“Thank you.” He jerks back, as if from a stove. “That helps.”

“Oh.” Victor looks almost winded. “Anytime.”

3.

“Can I…?” Fingertips ghost over the top of his head.

Yuuri starts to nod. Then remembers all at once what a bad idea that is.

He’s on his stomach, his face pressed into his pillow, eyes closed. The lights are already off, and the shades are already drawn, but it’s the kind of tension headache where one wrong jolt of the universe is going to make him feel sicker. The fewer stimuli, the better.

Victor’s touch goes from barely there to a firm press, starting where his jaw meets his ears – it’s where all my headaches start, he explains, barely a whisper – and moving down and through his scalp. The tightness builds as Victor reaches the base of his skull, and when he finds the knot where Yuuri’s left shoulder meets his neck, he murmurs, “There we are.”

It hurts enough, in that first moment, that Yuuri almost tells him to leave it alone, but the pressure in his head is lessening, even as Victor digs into the unbearably tight muscle. It’s pain, but it’s the kind of pain he knows to trust.

 Victor finishes with the heel of his palm, a warm, solid pressure. He murmurs something in Russian – something like, “How do you do this to yourself.”

It’s the sort of thing Yuuri would apologize for, otherwise. But he’s so relaxed, he’s practically boneless. His sense of shame might as well be offline.

He laughs softly. “Even I don’t know.”

Victor’s hand stills. “I want to,” he says.

It’s the kind of conversation they have, sometimes. The kind where Yuuri doesn’t realize until very late that their conversation is broader than he knows, even if he doesn’t understand how.

“Okay,” he says. He hopes that’s the right answer.

4.

Yuuri jerks awake and swings an arm at his pillow. It’s such deep, ingrained muscle memory at this point, it’s a full second before he knows why he did it.

His palm makes contact with Victor’s shoulder. Victor’s shoulder, which is currently his pillow. He pats it lightly in case he hit too hard.

“Our stop,” he slurs.

Victor hauls him from the train bench and to his feet, laughing. “I have no idea how you do that every time,” he says.

Yuuri blinks himself awake as they move out to the platform, the light rail sliding into the night behind them. It’s fully dark now, the stars boring holes through the hazy black.

“Reflex,” he says, with a sleepy smile. “Besides, I don’t trust you anymore.”

“Yuuri!” Victor clutches at his heart. “Just once I missed our stop, and you’re still holding it against me? I was still new to the area!”

“That, I understand.” Yuuri tries to look stern. He just ends up laughing. “I just can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner. I woke up and they were shutting the lights off.”

“They could have been clearer about taking the train out of service,” Victor grumbles. “And I was—“ His cheeks pink. “…distracted.”

Yuuri, descending the platform to the sidewalk below, misses the implication.

5.

Victor trips, and for the third time that evening, Yuuri can vividly imagine the headlines. Victor Nikiforov, figure skating visionary and Russian national treasure, broke his neck in Hasetsu today while coaching some nobody from Japan. He will be missed.

But for the third time, Yuuri catches him.

“Yuuri!” Victor gasps. He’s so drunk. So, so drunk. “You saved me!”

Yuuri himself is just tipsy enough that the usual buzz of his thoughts feels further away. His head is clear, surprisingly quiet. It’s—nice.

“What is going on with you,” Yuuri grunts, setting Victor back on his feet. “Did you really have that much to drink?”

“Yes,” Victor says proudly. And after a moment’s thought, he adds, “And these sandals hurt.”

Yuuri glances down at the geta, perfectly coordinated with Victor’s silver and green yukata, and stammers, “They—Victor! Have they been bothering you all night?”

Victor leans in conspiratorially. “I’ve never liked shoes with the—” He makes a vague gesture. “—thing between the toes.”

Yuuri gapes. They’ve been at the festival for hours, and Victor didn’t say a thing. “You didn’t have to wear them!”

“But Yuuri,” Victor says mournfully. “Nothing else matched. And I thought they were supposed to be hard to move in.”

With a flat stare, Yuuri twirls once, then folds into the lowest backbend he can, balancing perfectly on his own geta.

“Show-off,” he thinks he hears Victor mutter.

“Anyway,” Yuuri says. “Take them off.”

Victor blinks. “My shoes?”

Yuuri takes Victor’s face in both his hands. It’s important that Victor understand this. Also, it’s possible that Yuuri is a little drunker than he thought. “I’ll carry you.”

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor giggles. “It’s not far.”

“You’ll hurt yourself. You’ve got your bad ankle.” At the blank look on Victor’s face, Yuuri feels heat prickling at his face. He’s definitely drunker than he thought. “That is—your right ankle—you sprained it the summer after your senior debut. And then again in 2013?”

Something in Victor’s face softens. His hands come to rest over Yuuri’s. “You are my fan, aren’t you,” he says quietly.

Yuuri moves to shrink back. Victor holds on tighter.

“I’m happy,” he says. “I’m your fan, too.”

Yuuri takes a slow, steadying breath.  “And do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Victor breathes out. And then, for emphasis, he repeats it, twice.

Sliding his hands out of Victor’s grip, he turns and drops to one knee. His thighs are going to be in agony tomorrow. It’s for a worthy cause.

“Then get on,” he says.

(If, by some miracle, time travel was invented in that moment, Yuuri would go back and tell his teenage self that it would be okay. That one day, he’d give Victor Nikiforov a piggyback ride through the streets of Hasetsu as he yelped things like “Yuuri!” and “Amazing!” and “You’re so strong!”

His younger self would laugh in his face. But it would be worth a shot.)

+1

Yuuri Katsuki goes to buy groceries much the same way he goes to buy groceries every weekend lately: with Victor’s hands on his shoulders, steering him through his own hometown.

“Oh, Nomura-san!” Victor calls to the little old woman with the Bichon Frise. “Ohayo gozaimasu!”

As Nomura-san waves them off, Victor steers Yuuri down a side street, determination in his voice. “Okay, Yuuri,” he says. “I think I know the way this time. Probably.”

Yuuri smiles over his shoulder. He’s not worried about it. He’s more than happy to see where Victor takes him.