#YoI Au

[bullsfish]

These two *clutches heart*.

Commission for @neutronice 's fic Fool's Gold. ✨

[cosmiclion]

Jsyk I'm on winter break so I'm gonna be insufferable and spam y'all with silly doodles. I saw this meme and I just couldn't resist making it about my lil Viktor-and-Yurio-are-half-siblings AU.

Also yes I was too lazy to draw a bowl of katsudon myself.

[apatheticlexicographer]

Pictured above: MICHAEL WHEELER, gold medalist in men's single skating at the Calgary 1988 Winter Olympics.

[rambling + alternate versions below the cut]

this was supposed to be a silly goofy little doodle inspired by something @messrsbyler posted, but then i. hmmmm. how do i say this. i spent 26 hours on it.

YUURI ON ICE AU!!! YUURI ON ICE AU!!!

he's skating to stammike vicino

i'm slow leave me alone <///3

here's a few alternate versions, since i made a bunch:

just TV lines with no noise

only background blur

just the lineart

^^^ this is the fugly screenshot i used as a reference because i couldn't find a decent screengrab 💀💀

[nicomoon69]

ABWHAHDHWHEB YOI X TIMBER WOULD HAVE ME IN SHAMBLES ACTUALLY

I would pay to see who Yakov is abdbsnsn

DUDE ITS ON THE BRAIN NOW

hmmm as for Yakov it’s difficult. I would say Bruce but I would like Damian as Yurio so I feel like that may be a weird dynamic (tho imagining Talia as Lilia is kinda funny and Damian having his kinda divorced parents be his coaches is one of the reasons he wants Tim to be his coach)

Dick being Yakov could also be funny tho their personalities differ majorly (also maybe Helena??) but idkkkk

[capsensislagamoprh]

Yuuri slept. It was a simple sleep, filled with the thoughts of cold and shink of skates. It danced in his head and let him breathe in gulps of wonderful things. He could sense a tune playing. In his dreams he chased the notes, dancing along the winter scene, laughing, reaching, playing a game of catch me with something that glimmers just out of reach.

He stopped as the world opened up from the ice of the rink to the ice of a lake, lumpy at the edges with sticks and bits of rock, a river flowing towards it feeding the mirror of its surface. The lake was huge, and in the distance someone twirled like a music box ballerina. It was graceful and elegant. He wanted to do that. Eyes wide, he beamed, clapping his hands. Yōsei! A beautiful yōsei was angling towards the ice, hand never touching as it teased the snow from its blades into a swirling arch about its body, twizzling into an arch that lead into a double… a backwards double. This was backwards. Yuuri was confused.

He tilted his head, trying to understand, only for the world to tilt with him. He slipped thrugh the ice, standing on the other side. Through it he could see the yōsei dancing forward now, but it was no longer beautiful. It terrified him. The face was carved ice, translucent without letting him see what lay beyond. Was there anything beyond? There must be, he could see it smile. The teeth were razors, pointed and fanged. It's every breath froze the air, the silver that was its hair made of frost. Even its clothes were mere frost feathers. Only the blades were real, and those were made of the purest cutting edge.

Looking around, Yuuri tried to figure out where he was, why he was thrugh the ice. It had to be a dream. This was the only thing that made sense. Slipping on the silver, Yuuri fixed his stance, careful not to use his toe pick to much, afraid to crack the mirror. As he slid into the shadows, his found the darkness full of nothing.

"Ahi!" he cried, waving his hands as he felt himself stumble. It would be good to have some light. Suddenly illumination began, steady and soft, radiating from his skin. Yuuri spent a good deal of time staring at his hands, trying to figure out what just happened before he remembered he was in a dream. Dreams were not limiting. Raising his head, he tried to see what had tripped him.

A claw was sticking out of the darkness that was the sky. A sky he was skating on. Turning to look from where he'd come, he saw that every strike of his blade had left a little trail of clouds. Trying to touch them, he pushed forward, only for small bursts of light to shine thrugh. Dawn breaking the night. Yuuri paused, something catching his eye. He looked up. The yōsei had stopped. It mirrored his movements now, head turned in his direction, arms twisting when his did, gliding as he pushed himself along.

Blinking, he looked away, looked at his feet. The light shinning from him showed him the thing beneath the ice. A great white dragon, curled, and waiting. It seemed stuck in time, but aware. Awake. Yuuri knelt, placing his hands on the sky. A gold ribbon, words etched in red shot from where he pressed. It arched about him, swirling towards the silver of the mirrored ice above. At the same time, a ribbon, properly mirrored, seemed to try to reach down to him.

Turning his attention back to the dragon, Yuuri saw its eyes move, taking him in. He knew this being. How could he not? Slapping his hands against the sky, he tried to free it. Predictably, it did not work. He tried again anyway, only to hear the hollow echo of the yōsei as it did the same over him. Yuuri paused. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Looking up at that freighting face, teeth shinning with permafrost, Yuuri swallowed hard.

"Okami?" Bright blue. It's eyes that opened to stair down at him were bright blue. Unlike the cold that chilled it's flesh, the yōsei's eyes were longing, sad, self contained as if anything more would risk greater death. Pain beyond understanding. It made his heart hurt.

“Sen-Yomi-Oni-Yomi,” the yōsei said, scales of ice slicking over its skin. It sounded… wrong. It was accented, and haunted. Like it was trying for the words, but wasn't sure.

"No one knows the future, Okami-sama. I will be careful with mine."

The yōsei seemed to reach, a red ribbon trailing from it's wrist. He could almost see the writing. Kanji. It was Kanji, and -

"YUURI!" Mari banged on his door. "GET UP! You'll be late!"

Yuuri jumped out of bed, still reaching for something he thought he should have. By the time he made it thrugh breakfast, he'd forgot about the dream. Somewhere in Russia, a long haired teen woke up unsure of why he was crying.

(The links are starting to pile up. Go to the oldest part to find previous links to the story's beginning!)

part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28, part 29, part 30, part 31, part 32, part 33, part 34

[nattyontherun]

Found something in my notes that I intended to hide?? Anyways, here is the ORIGINAL first scene of Chapter Three: his wanting grows thorns

See:

Rest assured of your moral superiority, reader. However heartening, however beautiful, this tale wends the eternal lives of demons and their fellows.

Yuri Plisetsky, for all his tragedy, is no wilting petal. He does not fawn upon the discovery of his true nature; does not confront, with any derision, the necessity of murder to sustain himself.

Picture, as you go along, the porcelain smoothness of his skin, his doll-soft cheeks and seafoam green eyes. He is the garden fairy of your bedtime stories. He is the painting your grandmother cleans on her altar - angel, on the right hand of Christ, himself, blonder than wheat and paler than the white of a blank canvas.

Says the matriarch as you tend to your knees after Rosary: if one's blood heals wounds and cures illness, this blood is without doubt miraculous.

If one's carcass persists in the years that follow their initial passing, untainted by the wretchedness of decay, that carcass must be sent to the Vatican and sanctified.

What a sham, Yuri's youthful appearance! Such deception they preach beneath the apses of their unobservant God, arms raised in teaching - that to die a child is to die innocent! That to die at all means to be raised in spirit to realms beyond the sins of humanity!

Here he stands unbending to the tides of time, month after month, year after year...

Bow at your waist as he reintroduces himself to society; appear appropriately cowed. Maybe he will spare you.

Why did I NOT use this in the chapter despite it being a perfectly fine scene? Simple really. The thought of folks with hurt feelings over religion clogging up my AO3 about yk, fiction, was enough to cow me. Also it deviated a little bit from the point of the plot, so I saw no reason NOT to just boot it out.

That said, I really like the cadence here so I thought I'd post it here on Tumblr anyway! Might as well get smth out of it to enjoy yanno?

Ciao for now~

[galaphianships]

Universo Alterno de Patinaje Artístico Sobre Hielo.

Sí, un AU de Yuri on Ice, porque todos amamos que los personajes se unan sobre el hielo.

Lucerys Strong admira a su hermano mayor, desea poder llegar a dónde está él porque Jacaerys patina ahora al lado de la super estrella de Westeros, Aemond Targaryen.

[cupid-bleedinghearts]

Permission to repost by artist! In my mind Akira/Ren/Joker is like a Victor figure towards my babe Cupid! Yes I'm a YOI fan, so what! I want to make an au for a YOI/Figure Skater for this fandom. And oh my dragon gods, they're super cute together!

I think I might do art of my own for Akeshupid as well. Though IDK what to call this kind of ship (Akechi x Cupid x Joker x Futaba)! My baby is onmisexual like me (thought it was bisexual all these years, but someone at work explained to me what the difference between them was and turns out I'm omnisexual.) I'm thinking of commissioning a few more artists for my baby Cupid!

Art by Juu-kah on DA!

[okamionice]

Lmao wow okay this actually killed me tho.

Okay, but imagine if Victor and Yuuri never found each other. Imagine if the video of Yuuri skating was never uploaded and Yuuri was forced fight on his own. Maybe he keeps replaying his mistakes in his head, psyching himself out, surrounded by people who only want to pressure him into skating again without any regard for his feelings. Eventually, he’d decide to take the next season off to get his head straight. That season becomes the next season becomes the next and before he knows it, he’s too old and out of shape to start competing again. 

Keep reading

[bullsfish]

Commission Victor and Yuuri family portrait with some AU lil ones from last spring. 🌈

[cosmiclion]

Some ppl have shown interest in my lil self indulgent YOI AU (tl;dr if u haven't seen my previous posts: the only difference is that Viktor and Yurio are half siblings -on their mother's side, so that each keeps their respective last name- and the parents aren't around anymore by the time Yurio is 6 so he spends half his off time with Viktor and the other half with Nikolai), so I made more art of it bc it brings me joy 👉👈 And then I felt like writing a lil something to go with the piece bc why not, I very rarely write but when I do it's so much fun. Text under the cut.

-------------------------------------

“I did great, right, Vitya?” the little blonde boy asked excitedly as the silver haired teenager crouched down before him to pull up the zipper of his parka. A brown standard poodle pranced happily around them.

The older boy smiled fondly. “You were amazing, Yurochka.” He squeezed his cheeks and chuckled at the noise of indignation that came in response. “I’m sorry, mama and papa couldn’t come to see you skate today either. But grandpa took a lot of photos and videos to show them.” He adjusted the hat on the kid’s head before standing up. “Now come on, let’s not keep him waiting.”

Little Yuri’s eyes lit up at the sight of Nikolai near the exit and he dashed towards the man, Makkachin trotting after him and Viktor following close behind. The kid talked their ears off during the short walk to the car and during the whole ride, through mouthfuls of the pirozhki his grandfather had brought, proudly boasting about every new thing he could do on the ice now. Seated next to him on the backseat to keep an eye on his greedy dog, Viktor just listened and nodded along, trying and failing not to let his mind drift off.

At only 17, figure skating genius Viktor Nikiforov was under an enormous amount of pressure that had nothing to do with any competition. Even for someone who spent as much time away as he did, it was hard to miss that things had been going not so great at home. He had left in pursuit of his dreams long before Yuri was born, only to come back sporadically and spend short periods with his family before going away again, but he had to be blind not to notice just how starved for attention his younger brother was and just how absent his mother and her new husband were.

For a long time now, Nikolai had been putting in the work of being there emotionally for Yuri since his parents barely had time for him and his brother said hi to him only through video calls more often than not, so the least the latter could do to make up for it was to spend as much time with him as possible during the off season. At least Yuri didn’t seem to resent him, if anything he seemed to admire him more and more, and the teenager had gotten used to having the kid following him around like a duckling when they were together. At only 17, figure skating genius Viktor Nikiforov felt like a surrogate parent.

Suddenly, a finger poked the whorl on Viktor’s hair. “You’re distracted!” Yuri protested.

Viktor hadn’t even noticed that Yuri had taken his seatbelt off and stood up on the seat. “Sorry, sorry. Now please sit back down, that’s dangerous.”

Yuri obeyed but narrowed his eyes as Viktor re-adjusted the seatbelt. “You get distracted a lot. And you often forget things. Are you getting old?”

Viktor gave him a half offended, half amused look. Nikolai snorted a laugh from the driver’s seat. “If Viktor is old where does that leave me? Ha! But do listen to your brother, having to keep my eyes on the road is enough responsibility.”

“Sorry~!” Yuri sang almost innocently. He dug into the paper bag he was holding and took out another bun before resuming his incessant chatter. He talked so fast that Viktor wondered whether he actually needed to breathe. “If you’re getting old does that mean you’ll retire soon? Can you coach me? Will I be just as good as you? Will I be better than you? Will I win a gold medal? Don’t answer, I bet I’ll win a gold medal soon! Just wait and see, I’ll win my own gold medal one day!”

Yuri’s enthusiasm was almost contagious. Viktor ruffled his hair, earning himself another noise of indignation. “Of course you will.”

-------------------------------------

Some notes:

-I mentioned before that I couldn't find any official data on whether Nikolai is Yurio's maternal or paternal grandfather, but for this AU I'll assume the latter, so he and Viktor aren't related. -I almost deleted the whorl poking part, it's such a special thing between only Yuuri and Viktor that I felt like I was defiling something sacred lol. But then I thought that it'd be cute if Viktor's hair just had that effect on people. -At first I worried I had made Yurio too ooc but... he's 5 yrs old here, tbh most kids are the same at that age, just give him some time to develop his characteristic personality. Also I think it'd be both hilarious and tragic if he was a sweet adorable bby who loved his big bro before turning into an edgy teenager who hates everything ☠️

[demaparbat-hp]

The Crew is boisterous and loud, full of traitors, inside jokes, and secrets. The scum of the Fire Nation. The forgotten tiles on the Empire's Pai Sho board. The ones who change the game.

But most importantly—they're a family. And no matter how much they complain about their boss (teenage menace that he is), they'll do anything for their Prince.

Anything.

.

The Crew is the heart and soul of my fic For the Spirits. No one really knows just how important they will be to the story...how important they already are.

[nicomoon69]

timber Yuri on ice au idk who'd be who but

ooooooo a timbern YOI au would be so cool, I love any sports au (they’re so fun ahshsghs) but specifically YOI aaaaa <3

I lean towards Tim being Victor and Bernard as Yuri bc their personalities line up more that way (at least that’s my interpretation)

[capsensislagamoprh]

CHA 3

“When you said I could come along, I didn’t know I would be carrying your gear and moving lights,” Victor groused.

“How else was I supposed to get you in,” Christophe grinned. “It’s not like anyone can just wander on and off the set.”

“Outdoor setting is a location, not a set,” Victor mumbled, trying to be right about something. His morning had been pretty basic. Rise. Skin care, hair care. Two hours - one for each. Beauty is upkeep! Dressing, forty five minutes. One must accessorize properly! His look doesn't just create itself! Then breakfast of a decadent croissant from the most delightful bakery by the apartment, washed down with a vanilla latte`. Christoph washed his pastry down with rooibos, sturing in a touch of honey to sweeten it up. They then got into the Miata and drove. Today’s shoot was for children’s clothes, taking advantage of the whimsical nature of Paris’ many highlights. Wrot iron, the Eiffel Tower, Lurve, streets made of old stone, and niche locations. All within a few blocks of each other whenever possible. 

It was an interesting side of the fashion world. Most were concerned with avant garde, couture, or stage costumes for high end productions. Victor wanted to see his designs out there, making people feel beautiful, special, even on the worst days. He wanted someone to reach into their wardrobe, pull out that one special piece and know the feel of it on their body would get them through the roughest day because they knew they were not only comfortable, but fashionable. There was just something about how the touch of cashmere or the pull of silk could change the way one thinks. But first he had to pay his dues.

Christophe had some of the best assistants twitching lighting, fixing props, lining up markers. Paris itself seemed to adjust to him. Crowds dissipated, birds flew at artful angels, and the sun kissed just the right part of every model. Victor was amazed by the way he managed to walk casually through any scene, clicking his camera until the city noises were overwritten by the sound of another moment being captured in time. They looked over the shots between changes of clothes and models, keeping the children busy so as to avoid boredom and antsy guardians.

The street-wear line was fun, playful, full of youthful vigor. When they changed over to the more elegant, formal designs, the models did too. Dark haired girls with luminous eyes, boys with elegant cuts mocking adult slide backs, slick at the sides and tapered to look upscale. Accessories changed to watches that were less Swatch and more metallic. Some seemed to be casually dressed as tinny ideals, while others were fantastical. Few stood out, being nervous or a little too full of themselves.

Christophe watched the world through his lens, waiting to strike. Victor saw a few potential stars starting to shine, caught in the flair of his lens, but only one seemed to carry that shimmering quality that would take them from childhood through the cruelty of puberty and into adulthood with all their beauty intact. A fairy-like boy, very young and very serious. When asked to turn, he turned. When asked to be whimsical, he stood tall, arms stretched to the sky before doing a jeté with ease. He leaned against a lamp post, the billowing sleeves of his cooler colored shirt, polka dotted with puffs of thread a sheer overlay for the thin undershirt pressed into his thin frame, white shorts cut in an arch at the thigh, white tights tucked into ballet flats. His golden hair picked up the echoes of sunset as he looked towards the Tower. Victor could almost see the fairy wings that were not there. Christophe must have seen it too. He took more pictures of the boy in his many outfits than the others. He just pulled them off better, seeming to look at home in anything they threw at him. The casual play line clothes earlier were tried on him. As he darted about the darkening streets, arms thrown behind him in a playful run, eyes to the sky, his smile just a little melancholic, Victor felt what Christophe saw. Ethereal took a lot of work, but when you came across it naturally, you worked with it until it could do no more.

The boy wore what was asked, changed as many times as needed. He went through hair style after hair style, make-up touches, and did not complain when he received little to no break for four hours of grueling activity. But those smiles. Those melancholic smiles. No filter in the world could make that smile true.

As they were wrapping up for the day, Christoph looked over the stills, picking and choosing with rapid efficiency. As he stretched his aching back, he turned to see how the clean up was going. The boy was crouched down, hand low, a street cat slowly approaching. Quickly he snapped some candids. These would be great for his school portfolio. He didn’t even need a release, as anything he took while working was free game, and since the boy was still wearing the hair and make up style from the last shoot, he figured that counted.

Soon, the boy was picked up. Christophe turned back to the dailies, while Victor stared for a moment. “I could get used to living here,” he sighed as the man in the ass hugging jeans took the boy's hand, leading him to a silver Lexus. Popping his head up, Christophe smiled.

“Ah, Paris! De tels trésors abondent dans la ville de l'amour.”

“I don’t know about l’amour, but definitely… how to say, strast'?” Victor tapped his temple a few times. “Passion!”

“There’s passion and there’s lasciveté. What you have, mon ami, is a need to release.”

Victor raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “You can’t blame me for looking.”

“Can’t I?” Christophe purred.

“Heartless tease.”

_______

CHA 4

They sat together looking over stills, images caressed by just the right amount of light and ones born of miserable reflections captured in lens flares and ill timed background elements. “You could adjust them,” Victor offered quietly.

Christophe looked scandalized. “I will do no such thing. When making some elements it is fine, the amount of adjustment these images will need? Non. When creating art it is never a good idea to bring dishonesty to your piece. The human can tell, even if they don’t know what the lie is.”

Leaning against the wall in the antechamber between his bedroom and the bath, he sighed. “It’s not that hard, right? You have the skill, da?”

“I have the skill, but correcting these is … It’s like seeing a blurry, pixelated Monet and asking a toddler to make it better. You can’t replicate that look of melancholy, the way the sun caught his hair, the way the clothes seemed to float around him. I’m telling you, Vita, that kid is magic. There’s something about him.” Christophe threw himself backwards in his chair, sending both it and him sliding back a few feet. “Something special, and I almost captured it.”

“Comrad, you have so many other images of him. Look, in this one he’s even smiling.”

“It’s plastic, Vita. Can’t you see it? Here.” Christophe pulled himself back towards the computer. “Look at how there is no light in his eyes. Too many teeth, shoulders are tense.”

“You see all that?” Victor looked again, trying to find the signs the photographer noted. To him the child looked happy, well dressed and fed, other children surrounding him just as pleasant and cheerful. He saw children playing a game with chalked out squares and a rock. It seemed like the kind of thing all advertisers ached for. An air of youthful relevance combined with age old money. It practically commanded people to buy what was shown without being too obvious about it. At least not until the company plastered their brand on the page with a massive scrawl across the pleasant scene.

“I do. I see a lot of things through the lens. A lot of very secret things.”

“Voyeur.”

Christophe smiled. “Have you considered using those exceptional skills at flattery on that man with the tight ass?”

Victor blinked, his blue eyes vacant as he tried to recall who Christophe was talking about. When he remembered his cheeks turned pink, his eyes sparkling. “If he shows up again, I just might.”

“Flirt.”

Victor gasped. “You? Call me a flirt?” He grinned. “Flatterer.”

A deep chuckle mingled with the light, airy sounds of laughter as they felt tension leave them with the faint breath of gentle comradery. Finally, Christophe turned from the computer, having saved the files, ready to take them in the next day for approval and printing. “So,” he smiled, deep burr fairly purring the word, “What plans do you have for the evening?”

“Dinner, I suppose. I should work on that desk, and I need to get some more boxes unpacked…” Victor sighed. “I need to put together my start of semester portfolio.”

“Victor! You should already have that completed,” Christophe chided.

“I did, but then I moved, and I didn’t want things ruined, so I …” A vague gesture to the many tubes and flat pack boxes with reinforced edges stacked in various piles gave depth to the weight of the problem. “Now I have to find everything again.”

“Oh, min vän. You start sorting this,” Christophe stood, wiggling his fingers at the daunting task, “and I’ll order something. We can make a night of it.”

Victor’s shoulders dropped as his knees bent back. “Must we?”

“Min kärlek, vi måste. There is no time like last week. Today will have to do.” Slipping through the door to the bathroom, disappearing through another, the tall blond was off, leaving Victor to stare down the many packages wanting his attention.

By the time Christophe returned with lobster bisque, fresh salad, and the crispiest chunks of crackling bread Victor had the privilege to break diet for, he was more than ready for the wine that accompanied it. He’d found several of his more necessary sketches wrinkled by box shift during the move. A few of his fabrics were naked, ripped, or had holes that made it very clear what postal thought of the extra money he’d paid to have them expressed and marked ‘KHRUPKIY’. All those rubbles down the proverbial drain.

“Oh, Victor. These photos. Did you mean for them to be so…” Christophe tried not to wrinkle his nose, he really did. Victor looked over sharply.

“Oh! Oh no! Net! Net, no, no, net, no!” Victor slipped between English and Russian in his frustration. The whole album was sticky, as if someone had spilt a sugar drink, carelessly pushing the package along without a care. His hands found his hairline, tugging great tufts of silver pale locks.  His whole fashion line from his previous collections was represented in those photos. Photos he would need for his classes, for reference, for the memories. “Christophe! Chris, comrade! Can they be saved?”

The Swedish man winced as he tried to unstick a few pages. Looking at the box of supplies they’d found earlier, Christophe rummaged until he found the pressure blade he’d spied earlier. Carefully he cut the picture free of its sheath, only for it to make a puckering, Velcro sound that caused every fiber of his being to shiver in distaste. Catching the pale cheeked face of his friend, his blue eyes so wide with the edge of desperation and hope, Christophe braced himself. Turning the photo to the light, the damage was clear. Colors peeled off, micro tears deformed some of the image. It was coated in what smelled like cola, which was clearly eating into the integrity of the paper. Victor’s throat dropped to his thighs, hands slack at his side. “What am I going to do?”

These photos were useless now. He’d not been able to get the originals, only prints. The photographer he’d worked with had refused to give up his claim, wanting exorbitant amounts of money Victor simply didn’t have. Someone’s carelessness cost him over a fourth of his portfolio.

“Do you still have the clothes?” Christophe asked, looking at the many unpacked boxes.

“I … yes, most of them. Some were sold to pay for my travel.”

“Bien. Here is what we’re going to do…”

cha 1&2

[dailyirukapics]

OH MY GOSH YES PLEASE!

i watched YOI and my brain demanded victuuri pair skate but make it kakairu ice skate au

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Just For Him

Knowing Danny's family and his time as a hero you would think that Danny would grow up having a similar job, and so did he honestly!

That was until he put on a pair of skates and stepped onto the ice.

Maybe it had something to do with his ice core that made his movements on the ice feel more natural than any other kind of ground under his feet.

Once he was on the ice he felt like a completely different person, confident in every single step, in the way he would spin and jump- using a bit of his ghostliness to gain more air time in his jumps.

The entire sensation on that ice was freeing,

invigorating,

peaceful.

It was just him and the ice under his blades.

It felt like everything in his life was for someone else, his creations his protections all of it that he would gladly give to those who need it and to his loved ones.

But when was the last time he had anything that was just for him.

For him to enjoy

For him to find unrestrained happiness from

Just for him

So no, while it was surprising to everyone around him including himself at the direction his life turned to he couldn't be happier.

He now traveled a lot for his competitions & own fun, with a very happy Ellie tagging along to support him and enjoy what the world had to offer.

" We have arrived at our destination. Welcome to Gotham."

~

Just an idea