#plant yuri if you squint

[dotppelganger]

Fog Plants 25-32

Possibly my favorite batch yet :D

[3cheers4alex]

“You get along with my family really well.” Seated on an stool made from a car tire, Yuri draws shapes in the dust with the tip of his shoe. Time passes peacefully in this place. Otabek and Nikolai engage in light-hearted arguments over crossword puzzles, and Yuri teases Otabek when his brothers outperform him in Mario Kart. At night, Yuri drifts off to sleep, comforted by the rhythmic sound of Otabek’s breathing. “You didn’t know I was charming?” Yuri chuckles. “I must have missed that. I distinctly remember face-planting on the floor during our first encounter.” The light gently caresses half of Otabek’s face, casting a golden glow on the parts of his skin that escape the shadows. As he leans closer, his loose tank top reveals a glimpse of an Oscar Wilde quote. To live is indeed the rarest thing in the world… but why would a guy as laid-back as him get that tattoo? “I thought I was ‘totally ripped,’ ” Otabek says after a moment of silence. Yuri squints, as if shielding himself from an overly bright sun. “Being ‘ripped’ and being ‘charming’ aren’t quite the same thing.” “So, I’m not your type?” “Are you trying to flirt with me?” A faint smile smooths Otabek’s perpetually furrowed expression. “Yes.” “You’re lucky I have terrible taste in men.” Yuri plucks a daisy, remarkably preserved despite the scorching heat of the week, and plucks its petals one by one. Otabek, focused on the motorcycle, appears frozen in time, like a colorized image from Grandpa’s photo album. Here, amidst the backdrop of dilapidated buildings and kitschy trinkets, he reveals another side of his personality. Clumsy in the art of flirting, yet undeniably charming.

[welcome-back-to-hoimycraf]

my gift for @storytellerofuntoldlegends for the @mcyt-summer-of-yuri gift exchange!!! i hope you enjoy ^^

Pearl squinted down at the address on the next letter, reading it and then rereading it again. Wasn’t that place way on the edge of town? Even Pearl herself was pretty far from the central neighborhood, but this was right next to the Northern river- almost completely out of her mailing zone.

She hummed to herself and tapped her fingers against her carrier’s strap, tucking the envelope back in. Luckily, it was the last stop on her route for the day, otherwise she would’ve been in some big trouble getting the rest of the mail delivered in time. He continued along the path, hoping it would take him in the right direction.

As she strayed further and further from town, the roads gradually degraded in quality. They lost the flowers planted along the sides rather quickly, with the smooth brick transitioning to rough cobblestone soon after. He noticed the streets becoming darker as well, both with the setting sun and the growing distance between each streetlamp.  

Pearl tightened her grip on her bag. He really hoped he'd get there before dark. She didn't know these roads well, and getting lost was becoming a very real possibility if she took too long.

Lost in her thoughts, the Postmaster failed to notice a large pothole in the cobbled street. Her foot got caught in it, sending her tumbling heavily into the rough rock. He groaned, sitting up and brushing off the dirt and small pebbles he'd accumulated from the fall. A few things hurt, but he was probably just a little scuffed up at most. He continued on and resolved himself to bandage it up later once he was back home.

Not long after her unfortunate spill, the Northern river came into sight. He silently cheered for his impeccable sense of direction and perseverance. It always helped that he was great with those- if he does say so himself!

He strolled along the docks, taking in the old-style buildings lining the shore. Two large houses and a lighthouse. Upon further inspection, one of the structures seemed to be a fish market of some kind, so she concluded the only one left would be the house she needed to deliver to. She glanced down at the address one last time to confirm it was the right place, stepping onto the porch and knocking tentatively.

The door was opened soon after by a young woman, around Pearl's age, she assumed. She had long, orange hair that reached all the way down to her hips. It swayed gently in the breeze, like a candle's flame. It contrasted the dark blue hues of her clothes rather nicely, drawing attention to the beautiful features of her face as it curled around them. In all honesty, she was one of the most beautiful people Pearl had ever met.

Realizing he'd been staring, he quickly cleared his throat. “Howdy! Do you happen to be Miss Gemini Tay?” He glanced down at the name on the letter, hoping it was right.

The lady blinked in shock. “Uh, yeah. I heard about a new head at the Post Office," she said, eyeing Pearl up and down, presumably at her uniform. Though, that knowledge didn't help the blush spreading across her face. "Did they send you here?”

“You could say that!” The brunette laughed. Miss Tay continued to stare, confused. “I happen to be the new Postmaster!” She bowed dramatically, tipping her hat. “Pearl, at your service.”

The shorter laughed, and butterflies flared up in Pearl's stomach. She made the pretty lady laugh!

“Fantastic! Well, I appreciate it. I don’t get too many visitors out here from closer to town, so it’s nice to see some new faces.” She paused as she leaned against the doorframe. “Plus, not having to travel down to get my mail every time is nice, too.”

“That's what we’re here for!” Pearl gave her a salute, offering the letter over. She'd been hoping this interaction may go on a bit longer so she could learn more about this mysterious lady she'd never met, but she supposed just standing around would be weird.

The lady didn't move, staring at his hand for a second before looking back up at him. "Oh gosh- are... you alright?"

Pearl raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly fine, why-" He glanced down to see his whole arm dripping blood onto the lady's wood flooring. Red had seeped down his hand and onto the clean paper of the envelope, staining it. He sucked in a gasp. Had that happened when she tripped? Had she just not noticed?

She must have been quiet for a bit, because the lady piped up again. "Here, I can patch it up for you if you want? That looks like a pretty nasty cut, not gonna lie," she grimaced in sympathy, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Pearl's face flushed, and she giggled nervously. "You're too kind! I'm fine, I swear it. I just need to get home and clean up, no biggie!"

Miss Tay shook her head, giving Pearl a polite smile. "To be honest, I'd rather not feel responsible for you bleeding out on the way back home," she laughed, turning and stepping inside, gesturing for Pearl to follow her.

She hesitated for a moment. She'd only just met this woman. What if she was trying to kill him or something? She shook off her apprehension. This was just a person trying to be nice. Plus, if he miraculously went missing, there'd be a pretty good paper trail of where he disappeared to. She'd like to think Tango and Etho would be capable enough to figure it out. Mostly.

Pearl made sure to close the door on his way in, wincing as he dripped more blood onto the floor. He made a mental note to clean that up once his wound was taken care of.

The inside of the house wasn't anything extravagant. It seemed old and worn, but still lived in and loved. It was oddly homely and cozy in a way.

He followed the lady upstairs to the bathroom, plopping down on the toilet across from the sink. Miss Tay was already hunched over and digging through her sink cabinet, presumably for medical supplies.

Pearl cleared his throat awkwardly as he waited. "Thank you, Miss Tay. I really appreciate the help."

"Oh, just call me Gem," Miss- Gem snickered, pulling herself from the cabinet to wave her hand reassuringly. "''Miss Tay' makes me sound old."

The Postmaster cracked a smile at that. "Lovely! Will do, Miss Gem!" she teased.

The sound of Gem's laughter made her stomach twist giddily.

A strong, chemical smell filled the small bathroom, which Pearl recognized quickly as isopropyl alcohol. He scrunched up his nose. Gem turned to set the supplies around Pearl’s feet, already unpacking some. “I’m gonna start cleaning it first, that alright?” She asked, dripping the disinfectant onto an awaiting cotton ball. 

Pearl sucked in a breath. “Yup, that’s fine. Just… warn me, okay?” 

He was awarded with a curt nod, Gem holding out her hand expectantly. The Postmaster assumed she was asking for her arm, which she obliged. The woman’s grasp was gentle, the contact barely even there, yet it still made heat pool in Pearl’s face. He jerked his head to the side, hoping she couldn’t see the blush growing across his cheeks. 

Luckily, she seemed to me more focused on the wound than anything else. “Okay, it’s gonna sting in three, two, one.”

Pearl grit his teeth at the burn, but was quickly distracted. The alcohol stung, sure, but the way Gem muttered a soft apology after every wince made it all worth it. She was so gentle with every touch that it made his skin flush. Pearl learned that her hands were rough and calloused- presumably from dock work, if her location had anything to do with it. She could almost see Gem hauling cargo, sweat glistening in the sun. How her muscles would flex as she picked up the heavy containers and-

“Done!”

He jumped, staring down at his arm that he could finally see the skin color of. When had that happened? With the haze of blood now gone, the array of scrapes across his bicep made themselves clear. He grimaced. Thankfully, it had seemed worse than it turned out to be, but it still wasn’t pretty. 

Gem was a lot less bothered, from what Pearl could tell. She happily made sure to properly disinfect the wound, as well as bandage it up tight. Something in Pearl said she was probably rather familiar with injuries at the speed she worked. He was almost disappointed with how fast her regular touch was gone.

“Your sleeve’s pretty much ruined,” the ginger frowned, reaching out to pluck the dampened fabric from Pearl’s arm.

She waved her hand to dismiss the statement. “Oh, it’s fine! I’m sure I can borrow one from Etho or something till I get a new one.”

Gem cracked a smile. “Oh! You know Etho?”

Pearl perked up at that. “Yeah, I do! They work over at the Post Office with me!”

The redhead hummed as she put away the medical supplies. “They didn’t tell me about that. Maybe we should catch up, it’s been a bit!"

They chatted a bit about their shared friend and some of the Post Office shenanigans they'd been up to, giggling over the story of a stray potato messing up the entire mailing system.

"It took them an entire day to fish it out!" Pearl sighed fondly. They made their way back down the stairs together, her stomach twisting giddily once more at the sound of Gem's laugh. He could get used to it, honestly.

The Postmaster stopped at the bottom, grimacing at the breadcrumb trail of blood leading up to the staircase. "Here, I'll clean your floor since I messed it up."

Gem shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. Maybe next time, though. For now, just rest your arm." And with that she smiled her pretty, charming smile that didn't fail to make Pearl's heart stop for a moment. Next time? There'd be a next time?

"Well, sorry for ruining your mail, at the very least," he chuckled.

Gem rolled her eyes. "Stop apologizing for stuff!" She teased. Pearl couldn't help but laugh.

Somehow, Pearl even ended up saying her goodbyes out on the porch with a warm bowl of seafood soup in hand and a flashlight to see her way back home with in the other. As the light of Gem's windows faded into the distance, Pearl clutched the gentle heat of the bowl closer to his chest. She'd have to throw in some more mail on this route soon, anything for an excuse to see her again.

[jawsandbones]

They had come upon them almost by accident, hardly able to see them underneath the downpour. Edelgard is shouting something, but it’s barely audible, covered by the deep crack of thunder. She points forward, rain clinging to her lashes. Two dark figures, in the grass, by the abandoned building. It’s only when they get closer, do they see what’s going on. Byleth, on his knees, cradling Jeralt’s body in his arms. His head rests against his son’s chest. Edelgard is yelling something again. It’s background static to the look on Byleth’s face.

Yuri goes down to his knees at the other side of him, reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you carry him back,” he says, unsure if Byleth even hears him. The rain has made a river of his temples, dripping from his bangs, falling onto his cheeks. It’s clearer, here, in front of him. Whoever said the Ashen Demon had no emotions was sorely mistaken. Grief echoes clearly behind a blank stare, an stretch of loss, of continuing to lose. Byleth looks at him blankly, but allows Yuri to slip an arm underneath Jeralt.

The walk back to Garreg Mach is a hazy blur. A rush of knights and concern, of Jeralt’s body being placed on a stretcher and Byleth being dragged away. Dripping wet in the main hall with the rest of the students, Yuri watches Byleth walk away with Rhea. At the top of the steps, Byleth pauses, looks over his shoulder, his gaze finding Yuri for the briefest of moments. Then Rhea is putting her hand at the small of his back, and they disappear together. The line of Edelgard’s mouth is thin, her arms crossed. Yuri suspects it’s not just Jeralt’s death she’s angry about.

Their classes are officially on hold while things are settled. The whisper of beasts on Church grounds begins to make its way from student to student. In Abyss, sitting in one of the small chairs, his upper half stretched out over a desk, Yuri turns a chess piece over and over in his hand. He rests his chin against his arm, which is bent underneath him against the desk. He watches the knight spin, in that hand he dangles over the edge. That night, he walks with a candle down a narrow corridor. He leaves it beside the ladder, climbs up into Garreg Mach proper.

He always knew this corridor existed. One of the many passageways in Abyss. It comes out right beside the dormitories, but specifically right beside Byleth’s room. The moon shines brightly overhead, easily illuminating Yuri’s path to Byleth’s door. He tilts his head at the lock, before bending down and getting to work. If only people knew how little locks stop a determined thief. Yuri isn’t here for theft, however. Instead he slips into Byleth’s room, finds it dark.

The candle on the table has burned low, and needs to be replaced. The wick is a pathetic stub of a thing. Byleth’s bed is flush against the corner, and just barely, Yuri can see a fan of Byleth’s dark hair against his pillow. He’s a lump, facing the wall, but it doesn’t deter Yuri. He kicks off his shoes as he slips into Byleth’s bed, and presses himself up against Byleth’s back. Their relationship is a tentatively growing thing, a seed newly planted. It was all harmless flirting at first, of course, made into something more solid by their secret time shared in the Goddess Tower.

Byleth’s breathing is even, apparently untroubled. Yuri presses his forehead against the first bump of Byleth’s spine, easily felt underneath his thin shirt. “Jeralt raised you, yeah?” At that, Byleth’s breathing hitches. “He was all you had… You must be feeling a lot right now.” Yuri had practiced different words to say, going through sympathy after sympathy. Those words didn’t feel right. “When a parent dies, it really leaves a mark. So feel what you need to, no matter how that looks.” The lost look on Byleth’s face is still etched into Yuri’s mind.

When Byleth turns over to face Yuri, it’s a different face altogether. The tears are few but full, spilling over Byleth’s lashes, running down the side of his face. There’s pain there, as well, as if he’d suffered a physical, mortal, blow. Yuri curls himself closer, winding their legs together. He brushes back Byleth’s stray locks from his face. “Jeralt taught you well. You’ll keep fighting forward, even through the hardest times.” Yuri then opens his arms wide, puts the choice in Byleth’s hands. He accepts, moving into the embrace, safety in the way Yuri’s arms are tight around him.

Yuri doesn’t mean to stay. He had been planning on going back to Abyss for the night. His eyes creak open at the sound of birds chirping just outside, sunlight flooding in through the window. It’s unpleasantly blinding, and Yuri squints away from it, right into the sight of Byleth sleeping peacefully in his arms. Well. A little more sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone. Yuri closes his eyes, and nestles back in.

[argent-vulpine]

The Queen’s Scheme(r)s

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Yuri/F!Byleth/Claude, feat. Ignatz

Chapter Two: Sitting Pretty (As a Picture)

Read it on AO3

Byleth shifted uncomfortably in the seat, keeping her face as still as possible. To either side of her stood Yuri and Claude, each with a hand on her shoulders. She wasn’t sure if they were more uncomfortable than she was, but she imagined standing for as long as they had been was at least equally so.

Ignatz sat before them, his deft hands brushing paint onto the canvas, eyes occasionally squinting as he compared his work to the scene itself, making sure the lighting was right. They’d already sat for him before, to get his preliminary sketches out of the way, and now it was time for him to do the official painting.

The archbishop fought back a smirk at her luck, having claimed Ignatz as a Knight of Seiros before Lorenz could recruit him. She hadn’t forbidden him from taking other jobs, but he now lived at the monastery, and his primary duties now were to be her official artist. And not just for important things like this, but also to just capture life at the monastery: the way the sun set on the hills, the cats lounging in the sunlight, the dogs playing in the streets… and the students themselves, laughing and going about their days.

Reopening the academy had been one of her first goals as newly-confirmed archbishop, although she had made some distinctive changes. Students were no longer sorted by what part of Fódlan, instead being sorted at seemingly random, both to foster relations between the three former nations… and to ensure a healthy mix of skills, since each class worked as a unit on missions.

Another quite major change she’d made had been opening the doors to students from outside Fódlan. Petra had been the first to reach out about it, the Queen of Brigid wanting this new age of peace to broker stronger, healthier relations between their lands, and Claude hadn’t been far behind with talks of having Almyran students.

Change was coming, whether Fódlan was ready for it or not.

And part of that change came in the form of this portrait, depicting herself in her Archbishop regalia, flanked on either side by her husbands in their noble attire. Knowing she needn’t stay perfectly still, Byleth took a brief moment to glance first at one, then the other, feeling their comforting warmth. They returned her glances with soft smiles and gentle squeezes of their hands before their attention was drawn back to Ignatz.

Byleth lost track of time at some point. They’d all conversed for a while in soft tones, but the mostly empty room had echoed with their voices, and they’d subsided when it was clear that it was affecting the painter’s concentration.

A soft clatter brought her back to the present, her eyes snapping toward the sound, tensing up beneath her husbands’ hands before she realized it was Ignatz plunking his brush into a glass of water, a satisfied smile on his face.

“It still has to dry, of course, but it’s finished!” he announced, a bashfully proud look on his face.

She did not run… but it was a near thing, her pace quick enough that Claude and Yuri both had barely registered she’d moved from her seat before she was halfway to the painter. Byleth was a mixture of nervous and excited; she knew that Ignatz was an excellent artist, regardless of his self-deprecating during his academy days. And once she saw the painting itself, she knew she’d done well to commission him for the task.

It was, in a word, beautiful. Breathtakingly so. He’d managed to capture a serene, compassionate look in her features despite the expressionless mask she so often wore. She looked regal, more like the queen she was meant to be than the one she often felt she was. Her tactician and spymaster flanked her sides, looking down at her with such love and affection that she almost couldn’t breathe, seeing it depicted in this manner.

“I took care on the detail of the rings,” Ignatz said at her elbow, giving her a soft smile. “I figured you’d want it to be clear that the three of you are properly together.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, she could see it. She wore a band from each of her husbands, while they wore one from her. She’d had a jeweler recreate her mother’s ring for them, keeping the too-small original for herself, on display in their suite beneath a portrait of Jeralt. The light hit the stones in a way that made them sparkle, drawing the eye to their existence while not distracting from the larger image.

Yes, this is what she wanted the church to represent. Love and acceptance without borders – political or geographical.

On a whim, she turned and hugged Ignatz, ignoring his protests at the supposed impropriety and the sudden wobbling of the adornment on her head. “It’s gorgeous, Ignatz,” she said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “I love it. What do you think?” she asked of her husbands, who’d come at a more leisurely pace and had been studying the painting in silence.

“Excellent use of color,” was Yuri’s first comment. “The way the light comes through, it makes Byleth look radiant.”

“As befitting a goddess.” Claude scrutinized the painting as well, leaning in so close his nose was in danger of touching the paint. When Ignatz nervously cleared his throat, Claude grinned and backed away a hair, straightening up. “It really is a masterpiece, Ignatz. This will look stunning in the great hall.”

“I’ll be working on the copies once this one is safe to move. You’ll have them in no time!” he promised.

They’d agreed that Fhirdiad, Derdriu, and Enbarr would all receive smaller version to hang in their main halls. Technically, those palaces all now belonged to Byleth, though the reality was that she had staffed them with trusted allies – her former students – to begin the reparations and ensure a smooth unification. She didn’t have the time to spend traveling between them as often as currently needed, but she had already scheduled a progress around the country… with Seteth’s approval, of course.

Eventually, Dimitri and Edelgard might be allowed back in their traditional residences, but as dukes, not king or emperor. First, though… first they had a lot to make up for. The people of Fódlan weren’t likely to forget that there had been a war, after all.

Ignatz busied himself putting away his paints and brushes, settling them into the case that had been made special for that purpose. He’d originally claimed it was far too grand a gift, when Byleth had presented him with it, but she’d pointed out that as her official artist, he needed to represent her well. That had been enough to get him to subside.

When he was done, she placed a hand on his shoulder, gaining his attention. “Give me some time to take off this regalia and join us for tea?” she asked, a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips.

“O-of course! I’d be honored!”

“Relax, Ignatz!” Claude laughed and clapped a hand on the young man’s other shoulder. “This is Byleth, your old professor. You don’t have to be so formal with her. Or with us,” he added, gesturing to himself and Yuri. “We haven’t changed just because we have fancy new titles.”

The painter didn’t look too convinced. One day, perhaps he’d learn. And she knew he’d relax once they were actually having tea, away from the potential prying eyes that wandered around the church. It was difficult to relax and be yourself around so many people, she knew. Once they were in clothes that didn’t immediately remind him of their elevated statuses, he’d be much more at ease.

“You have time to put your supplies away. I’ll send Cyril to fetch you when we’re ready.”

“Right! I’ll see you soon, then!” He gave her a broad grin, relaxing a little, before snapping the case closed and picking it up with ease.

Once he was safely out of the room, the door closed behind him and no one else in sight, she flung her arms around her husbands, drawing them to her for a hug and planting kisses on their cheeks. “You both look amazing,” she said, voice soft. “But seriously, let’s go get changed. This headdress is heavy.”

[kwrittink]

Punica Granatum 2

Pairing: Hades!TaeHyung x Persephone!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Language, mentions of starving, some melancholy

<one                                                                     three>

Withering like a flower. That’s how you started to feel in that room you used to love so much, now it felt suffocating, the walls were too small and nothing was comfortable anymore.

It also had been two weeks since your sentence and you had refused to eat anything at all, only drinking water and keeping the fruits your mother bring together with your food - some you stashed in the decomposed, to make nutritious compound for your plants - to feed the bat that came visit almost every night after he recovered. 

You weren’t acting that way out of spite or to show rebellion over her decision, rather because you really had lost your will to take care of yourself and do the things you loved. Your plants were the only thing you decided to keep alive, the roots that kept you sane.

‘A golden cage it’s still just a cage, huh?’ You could hear his voice clearly, like it was just beside of your ear, like mockery. Looking outside as the moon now shone through your windows strong and beautiful you sighed, knowing that in a way you were being selfish and arrogant to not value what you had, the great house were you lived at and the lifestyle provided from you mother. But again, the same phrase from TaeHyung, that man who you met and talked only for a couple of hours, echoed in your mind. Even if you had all that, there was no way you could be grateful, seeing that you didn’t know better - or worse - and weren’t able to just find your path back, instead remaining on a state of inertia.

If only someone… If only him came to take me… The thought was so silly and childish, why would you even need someone to free you when you could just get up and break free, jump over the window and run to the forest, do whatever you wanted. Still, the only thing that stopped you was your mother.

The locking you away was symbolic like you thought, since she did unlock the door the next morning but by then you had no intentions of leaving your room. Breaking ‘free’ was parting from your mother and you knew that willingly, you wouldn’t be able to do it. If I sever our bond and things go wrong, I won’t have her to come back to.

Yet, you yearned for the something that gave you a choice, the someone that dragged you away from your cage. For a domesticated bird, only opening the cage won’t do.

Y/N

The whisper registered a little too slowly in your mind, as you finished cutting up a banana to Yuri - you had named the bat of course - and you looked up with a frown, not sure if you had really heard it.

Y/N…

The unmistakable baritone of his voice made your heartbeat spike up, eyes snapping to the source with hitched breath. This time you were sure to have heard it, even if not sure where it was, beyond the glass window. Getting up, you took the bite-sized pieces of banana with you to the clear glass, setting it on the floor where it usually hanged to eat, between the lilies. Squinting, you leaned on the window wail and tried to follow the way from where the voice came, only facing the tall trees from the forest that surrounded your house, the moonlight not being very helpful on discerning things at far. 

Shoulders slumping slightly you sighed, a little upset at not finding anything and realizing it was just another trick your mind was playing on you. It had been a common occurrence, perhaps due to how poorly you were eating. And since you had spent too much time under the sunlight that morning, it was probable you were affected by heatstroke.

“Hey.”

A small yelp left your lips but you ushered to cover your mouth with your fingers, not wanting to wake your mother which was probably in Morpheus’ arms by then, in her beauty sleep. Smile stretching on his features the man waved, stepping further to lean his forearms on the railing where you were seconds prior in his suited glory, this time clad in all black, suit coat embroidered with silver flowers and flourishes reflecting the moonlight and matching his shiny grey locks.

“T-TaeHyung. How…?”

“That abandoned park is part of this reserve, isn’t it?” He asked, and then you were reminded that yes, that place was just a small part of the grand forestal reserve around your family’s land, so in some way Dryads Park was neighboring to the house and jumping over the right fences one could reach the mansion, so you nodded, answering his inquiry. Mimicking your gesture he breathed out, wild eyes softening. “I was looking for you.”

You couldn’t help the blush painting your cheeks, even if feeble and making you lightheaded. You weren’t aware at how weak you felt till that moment when he put his eyes on you, rising goosebumps and changing the calm, almost morbid pace of your life. Suddenly I realize I missed his eyes.

“Why?” The curiosity was genuine, since you couldn’t see why a man like him, that looked so well settled in life could be in search of you, going as far as invading your house.

“I said it before, you’re interesting.” He answered with a shrug and maybe your face showed him you weren’t happy with his answer, since a small smile played on his lips. “You’re a great company, and I got curious about you, really. Thought I’d find you in the park again and walked through it every night till something gave me a hunch you could be here in this secluded area…” TaeHyung trailed off, head turning to glance around, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

Meanwhile you stood thunderstruck staring at him, still digesting the way he explained so easily how he had visited the park every night since the day you met, just to see you again by chance. “Risky thing to do… What if this wasn’t the right house? What would you do?” Clearing your throat to find your voice, you leaned in the wall at your side making him change position slightly, face covered by penumbra. Smirk growing on his face he looked perhaps as mysterious as the Cheshire cat, when Alice first met him at Wonderland.

“I don’t know,” Shrugging again, TaeHyung leaned down further towards you, not so close to be uncomfortable but enough to make your heart flutter. “Good thing I got it on the first try, huh?” Throwing a wink your way he gave you the feeling that in reality he knew exactly where you lived, or at least you've given him a good hint about it. No, that's insane. If he knew about it, I'd know him much earlier. You snickered, shaking your head slightly.

"Yeah, a really lucky guess," Matching his smile you sighed, heart feeling immediately lighter by his presence.

It was ridiculous how easily the conversation flowed. He refused to walk inside your room deeming inappropriate - or as he put it, 'dangerous for both of us' -, and wouldn't let you jump out for it was too cold outside by that time of the night, so you two stood in opposite sides, talking about everything but at the same time, nothing. It was like a dream, like the sun warming you from inside out.

“Take my hand.”

“What?” Your eyes glanced down at his sudden proposal, meeting his long fingers unfolding towards you, palm facing up, room for your own to lodge there, as perfectly as it had done that day in the park, when you first met. "Didn't you say-”

“Ah, you and all those questions.” He huffed, corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk, eyes rolling. “I changed my mind and just wanted to take you out for some time, I’m free and you look like you need some fun.”

“You don’t look like you’re free.” You eyed his clothes again, making him chuckle as you measured him. He does look really good today... He said he works on business and all but... It's so late and he's still on work clothes?

“But I am.” You crossed your arms, eyebrow quirking up incredulous. TaeHyung snickered. “Right now I am and since I found you I wanted your company.” Stressed, and you eyed him suspiciously for a moment, observing the expecting glimmer of his eyes before breathing out and taking his hand, the touch soft and as electrifying as you recalled.

It was probably stupid to trust that man so blindly as you were, but you were so tempted to spend more time with him, get to know TaeHyung even more...

"Fine, Kim TaeHyung." And once again you felt blinded by his sweet smile, as he helped you jump over the railing, a wild feeling stirring your insides. He's going to be the death of me.

[yurionice-secretsanta]

To  @cadencekismet From @vilchan

Purrhaps Not Today

Yuri kicks open the door of the animal shelter and stomps off the snow stuck under the soles of his leopard print vans. An elderly couple and the girl behind the counter stare at him, pen held motionless in the air over a form of some sorts. Yuri lifts his chin and raises an eyebrow, squinting in that way Mila once described as ‘a delinquent waiting in line to pay for a carton of milk’.

The elderly couple startle a little and are quick to huddle closer together, mumbling under their breath. The girl behind the counter—who can’t be older than twenty—raises an unimpressed eyebrow in return, holding his stare for a moment before she turns back to the couple and points her pen on the next clause to explain.

The wall behind her is covered by posters of cats in the arms of smiling children and dogs leaping after frisbees or tennis balls, with titles like ‘Become someone’s forever home now’ and ‘Make a difference today’. She doesn’t quite fit in with the vibrantly coloured backgrounds and photoshopped faces—on the contrary her messy bun is lopsided and coming apart at the seams, her t-shirt wrinkled and covered in dog hair from the looks of it, and there are not one, but three coffee mugs next to a computer who looks as if it’s been running since before he was born. If it weren’t for the customer friendly smile and the easy flow of her speech as she informs the couple about the different options they have, Yuri would’ve easily mistaken her for one of the many stressed college students he sees in front of him in line at the 24-hour open supermarket, arms full of comfort food, painkillers and coffee grains.

Two waiting chairs and a table take up most of the space in the small room. Yuri ignores them and leans against the wall, skimming the pamphlets spread out on the table briefly before his attention wilts and his fingertips start itching. Hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, he twists a tiger shaped keychain around his pinky.

The elderly couple give him a wide berth on their way out, and the pleasant smile from the girl slips once the door shuts. She looks him up and down, dark eyebrows pinched together—Yuri is long used to stink eyes, it comes with the territory of being a child prodigy who also spent his teens being a total asshole, but an animal shelter wasn’t the place he expected to meet one.

«Can I help you?»

He plants his elbows on the counter, chews thoughtfully on his chewing gum as he skims the mess of papers and loose documents strewn across the desk and observes her idly as the girl’s lips purses themselves into a frown as she waits. Her name tag reads ‘Natalya’.

«I wanna volunteer,» he says, tilting his head slightly to the side so his hair falls away from his eyes. 

Not what she was expecting, he could tell. A moment passes in which she just stares at him, stone faced with a disbelieving tilt to her mouth. Her eyes narrow and she looks him up and down again, this time with none of the welcoming hospitality she showed the couple from before. Yuri clenches his jaw, considering for just a moment to leave if she won’t take him seriously—but back home is an empty apartment and the looming threat of a phone call from his grandpa where he’ll again have to make his uneventful days sound healthy and engaging.

«Do you have any prior experience volunteering?»

«No.»

«Any experience handling animals?»

«I had a cat,» he replies, fingers twisting and untwisting around the keychain.

Natalya rummages through a drawer, curses quietly when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for and pulls out another. Eventually she slides a form over to him, the paper slightly crinkled and with what looks like coffee stains in the corner.

«You don’t get a lot of volunteers, do you?» He asks, mostly out of curiosity, but also to see that annoyed twitch in her expression.

She makes the kind of face Yuri over the years has learned to recognize as a warning; she pulls the form back over the counter and Yuri has to yank it back, banging his hand against the polished wood in the process. A mutual glare is shared before Yuri snatches a dog face-printed pen from a cup next to his elbow and stalks back to the chairs. He can feel the force of her glowering as he discards the top and lets it fall to the ground.

He takes his time reading through the document, paying extra attention to the clause in which they promise not to divulge personal information like his phone number or email; Yakov had at least taught him that much. He scrawls down his name, address and contact information. He writes down his date of birth and age, and for once it doesn’t make him feel old to write down 24 years old.

He ticks off ‘walk dogs’, ‘shelter care’ and ‘cat attendant’ when they ask what types of volunteer work he’s interested in, and after a moment of hesitation he ticks off the box next to ‘other’ as well, for good measure.

A question about when he’ll be available comes up, just to estimate the amount of time he’ll be able to devote. He checks off the box saying ‘at least five hours a week’, but beneath it he scrawls ‘anytime’.

Natalya looks up from her paperwork as he slides the form back to her, their gazes locked in a steely staring contest as they both hold onto the form. 

«We’ll be in touch,» she says briskly and goes back to her paperwork, apparently done with him. Yuri bites the inside of his cheek and wonders for a brief moment if this is how Yakov felt all those years. Maybe he should send him a gift basket for his birthday.

He turns on his heel and marches out, making sure to slam the door just as hard on his way out as he did on his way in. 

***

“Yurotchka. It’s been too long since your last call.”

Yuri looks down briefly and his grip around the phone tightens; beneath the chiding gruffness is worry, and he hates it when his grandpa worries.

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. How’s your back? The weather must still be cold in Moscow.”

His grandpa barks out a laugh at that. “My back is fine—it’s you I worry about. Are you eating well?”

“Of course. …Actually, I’m thinking about volunteering at a shelter. Just part time, but it’ll get me out of the apartment at least.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end and Yuri has his lip held between his teeth, holding his breath because this is another kind of nervous than what he’s used to. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” his grandpa says, calm and collected where he is not, and Yuri can finally breathe again.

***

A week later he’s called in for a basic introduction on how the shelter operates. It’s not Natalya who shows him around, but an older man with greying hair, big glasses and worn leather shoes who introduces himself as Josef. Yuri pays rapt attention as he’s given a tour of the shelter, informed about the different procedures and what volunteering entails. When he asks how many other volunteers they have, Jakob rubs his neck and chuckles awkwardly.

“There haven’t been many volunteers except Talya, lately. I’m the owner and deal with most of the paperwork, while she handles the animals and reception along with some college students who drop by once a week or so.”

Jakob looks at Yuri through those comically big glasses, and for a moment it’s like being fifteen again with one skate on the ice and Yakov’s steady hand on his shoulder just before a competition, both to ground him and to give him that extra push. Yuri recognizes very well that hopeful, expectant expression.

“I guess that means I’ll have plenty to do, then,” he says and turns on his heel. Once he stepped out on the ice he never looked back at Yakov, and he doesn’t look back at Josef either. Eyes forward. “The cages are next, right?”

Deep in his pocket, the keychain is wound tightly around his pinkie.

***

 «I wasn’t sure you were gonna show up,» Natalya says as the door slams shut behind him. She doesn’t sound happily surprised.

Yuri holds back an eye roll and twists his hair up into a ponytail. She watches stoically from the counter with only one coffee cup this time—still steaming. Hopefully she isn’t one of those people who get grouchier with more caffeine.

«Well, here I am,» he says, «What do you need me to do?»

She waves him along to the door behind the counter which he already knows will lead to the back rooms with the animals.

The first back room is for the dogs, and they all perk up when they enter, barking and panting for attention like a certain poodle he’s glad is currently on another continent. Natalya tries to shush some of the barking and leads him quickly past the cages—stopping only to ruffle the ears of a moping golden retriever who wags weakly with his tail in response.

“I’ve already cleaned the dog cages, so you take the cat ones. Someone set up an adoption meeting in—” She glances briefly at her locked phone screen, “—thirty minutes, so I’ll do one cage for you to see before you’re on your own.»

The cat room has thirty cages lining the walls and within are cats of all colors and shapes. Some stay curled up on their bedding and will barely turn an ear in their direction, while others get up on their hind legs and wail like sirens for attention. 

A siberian with long, smokey grey fur pushes their face close to the bars and blinks up at him. Yuri reaches out to let them sniff his hand—

«I wouldn’t do that if I were you,» Natalya comments drily from behind his shoulder. «She likes to act all innocent, but that one’s got some claws on her.»

Yuri has half a mind to ignore her, but the cat’s tiny paws are indeed armed with a set of sharp claws she methodically digs in and out of the bedding with her blue eyes firmly fixed on him. Better let scheming cats lie.

«What’s her name?» He asks. The finger he moves from side to side in front of her cage must either smell like dead mice or look suspiciously like a red dot, because her eyes follow it with searing focus.

«Belle.» Her tone is clipped and dismissive and if she had pigtails Yuri would have to fight back the impulsive need to tug on them. But, he reminds himself, she does not have pigtails and therefore he should not tug on them. That would be immature and petty.

Natalya gives him a quick rundown; pull out, shake, laundry basket, fold and repeat. A dry ‘good luck’ later and he’s on his own.

Cleaning cages is—unexpectedly—a shitty job. It’s smelly, moist, tedious and it’ll take forever to get through just one row. At the pace he’s holding it’ll take at least another hour before he’s anywhere close to finished, but the thing is…

Yuri kinda likes it. 

Except for the smell and the symphony of thirty cats crying out for food, Yuri really doesn’t mind the task. Every cage comes with a new furry face, and it feels good to use his body for physical work again; his height is for once an advantage instead of a pain and saves him the effort of pulling out the ladder Natalya pointed out for him earlier.

Around the time he reaches the halfway point, Natalya pokes her head in to check on him. 

«Things alright in here?» She asks, sounding remarkably, almost friendly. Just a tad less grouchy and he might even give her credit for trying. «I’m gonna go for a walk with the dogs. You good to stay here for another hour?»

Yuri nods, doing his best to keep his expression from screaming ‘my schedule is a black void of nothingness with the exception of the weekly calls to my grandpa’. Every now and then he gets a text from Yakov reminding him to eat a minimum of two meals a day and get something between eight to ten hours of sleep, but other than that his time is his to do with as he pleases. 

«If someone rings the bell, just tell them to come back some other time.»

Yuri raises an eyebrow. «And if I can actually help them?»

She looks him dead in the eye. «Don’t. Most likely they want more info about the adoption process or they want to schedule an adoption meeting—you’ve been trained for neither. Just tell them to come back. If they’re serious, they will.»

Her semi-friendly tone is all but gone as she observes him. The way her gaze lingers on his leopard printed vans and the bold print of his hoodie reminds him of Lilia when he first met her—but unlike Lilia who always fought to bring out the potential she saw in him, Natalya looks more like she’d like to see him reduced to dirt than anything else. 

She stares at him and some old, stubborn part of him wants to bite back, call her a hag and stomp off somewhere to stew until she comes creeping back. But that tactic never really worked with Mila or Lilia or Victor, and imagining the faces of his grandpa or Yuuko if they saw him behave like a literal fifteen-year old just… doesn’t appeal to him.

«Fine,» he says, «But chasing them away doesn’t sound as the best tactic if you want them to come back.»

And in true fifteen-year old fashion, Natalya glares at him with the power of a thousand burning suns and slams the door—or, well, more like shuts it firmly to not scare the animals, but the intent is there.

A drawn out, raspy meow from Belle reminds him of the dirty bedding he’s holding and what he should be doing with it.

«Yuuko better be feeling fucking proud right now,» he grumbles and whips it once, twice; successfully transferring a ton of cat hairs from the bedding onto his newly washed, black jeans. 

***

Natalya is, in fact, not back within an hour. Yuri finishes up with the cages, and since he’s not allowed to help any clients if they happened to stop by anyways, he waits in the back, mostly out of spite. But fifteen minutes passes, the cats are pacing in their cages and complaining, and she’s still not back, so he refills all of their water bowls and then—after a quick glance at the feeding schedule taped to the wall—he refills their food bowls too.

Josef is the one who finds him thirty minutes later on the ground making funny faces at a dozing tabby who really couldn’t care less. The cats all perk up at the sound of someone entering the room; even Yuri’s lazy tabby meows for attention.

«Ah… I see you’re having fun?» Josef says, absently pressing his knuckles against one of the cages to let one of the cats sniff them. «Have they’ve been out already?»

«What? No. Natalya told me to clean the cages, but they’ve been acting weird ever since I finished.»

«Wow, she sure isn’t going easy on you, giving you the crappiest job first,» he says, and Yuri has to physically ease his hold on the keychain he’s been fiddling with to avoid breaking the chain. In the beginning it could be accounted to a bad mood, but now it’s really starting to look as if she doesn’t want him here. Either Josef doesn’t notice the tight set of his jaw or he chalks it up to the fact that he’s just spent two hours cleaning cages; there’s nothing but a curious tilt to his voice as he continues:

«She didn’t tell you about the socialising? We usually let them out of their cages after cleaning for some playtime. If they were to adopted by a family with kids, for an example, we want them to be fairly used to humans. So we take them out in batches of ten to play.»

At his blank look, Josef waves him up. «I’ll show you.»

Three batches of ten for thirty minutes each; they carry them one by one into a playdate room with boxes of cat toys, water bowls and a cat tree stationed in the corner. Belle scratches him in thanks before she darts out of his grip, tail lifted high and haughty like she owns the place. Even though she’s small in size, Yuri doesn’t miss that some of the other cats shy away from her, so that might very well be the case.

When every cat is safely moved and the exit properly barricaded, Josef gives him a few safety instructions and tells him to yell out if he needs him. Something about paperwork or responsibility or whatever, Yuri had two cats in his lap and tried to secure a third one climbing from his shoulder to his head at the time, and multitasking was never a specialty of his to begin with.

The lazy tabby who didn’t appreciate Yuri’s funny faces earlier is apparently called Rolf. Josef carried him in earlier, and the second he had all paws back on earth he headed for the cat tree, probably to continue his day-long nap with a higher vantage point. A single narrow eyed look and a flick of Belle’s tail as Rolf nears is all it takes to dissuade him from that idea.

Instead he curls up at Yuri’s side and keeps a watchful eye on Belle, tail curled around himself. Yuri’s hand finds its way into his fur almost on its own, and after a tense second in which Rolf contemplates wether protection is worth the ear scritches, he softens and closes his eyes to doze.

«Hmph, coward,» he says, carding his fingers through the soft fur of his neck. «Letting her boss you around like that, where’s your pride?»

Rolf rumbles with a deep, vibrating sound and offers no other response except the lazy curl of a paw.

The cats look happy to do their own thing; dozing on the different levels of the cat tree, sniffing around the water bowls in search of food, snuggling up to him for some attention or just to be petted for a while.

One of the boxes next to the door is filled with cat toys, and especially the younger, more playful cats seem to enjoy chasing after jingling balls and swatting at stuffed mouse toys. Yuri manages to lure some of the lazier cats in the cat tree down by using a plastic fishing rod with a feather at the end of the line, tickling their noses and pulling away when they try to bat at it until they’re leaping from one spot to another with their claws out to catch and kill.

When the first half hour is up, most of the cats aren’t all that happy to be picked up again and placed back in their cages. A new set of scratch marks join their comrades on his arms, courtesy of two worked up cats whom he doesn’t know the names of.

Cute little bastards.

Natalya is having her own playtime with some of the dogs in the other room, wrestling them for a chewy toy and scolding them lightly when they get overeager and jump up on her. 

She hasn’t noticed him yet, so he leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms as he observes. A moment later he realizes that he looks like a moody teenager and plants his arms back at his sides, shuffling his feet a little to rearrange himself.

«I thought you said you’d be back in an hour.»

Her smile slips for a moment and one of the dogs bark triumphantly as he finally manages to steal the chewy toy from her lax grip. Immediately, two of his smaller cage mates leap on him, yipping and shoving their noses beneath him to snatch the toy away for themselves.

Natalya fixes him with a sour look. «I took a longer route and came back twenty minutes ago. What about it?»

«Oh, I don’t know, you could’ve told me?» He says and crosses his arms. «Or you could’ve explained that I was supposed to do the socialising thing after I was finished, instead of leaving me waiting for you to toss me a crumble.»

She snorts, and Yuri scowls. «What, is that too much to ask? I’m here to help, but it doesn’t really look as if you want me to.»

«Yeah, sure, you’re here to help,» she snorts. «Believe it or not, but I’m not gonna waste my time training someone seriously when you’re obviously not taking it seriously.»

«Where is that even coming from? I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me—you’re the one who’s not taking me seriously!»

«Oh, for fucks sake, you’re an olympic champion and my brother has your posters plastered on his walls! You show up here in your flashy clothes with no experience volunteering, and I’m supposed to what? Act as if it’s not a publicity stunt? Sure, you can clean cages and cuddle with cats as much as you want, but at the end of the day you’re gonna make your dramatic return to figure skating next season with a better reputation than Jesus himself. I want nothing to do with it,» she says, looking slightly redder in the face than before. 

It’s Yuri’s turn to snort, and he doesn’t bother to hide the sceptic look on his face. «Who the hell shot your Santa Claus? First off, I’m not going back to skating. Long story short, my injury from the Grand Prix was just the feather to tip the scale; my body’s so busted the doctors won’t allow me to even look at a rink, so that’s a big no. Second, I get three worried phone calls a week from people who want me to get out of my apartment, so I thought doing something nice for the society would be a good start. And also: cats. I really like cats.»

He looks down his nose at her and raises a sharp, blond eyebrow. «Are we done here?»

***

The next morning, Yuri wakes up feeling like piece of shit gone through the drier. His shoulders are sore from leaning into cages all day yesterday, aching in ways he’s grown unaccustomed to after so long away from the ice and the training regime following it. He twinges as he reaches up into the cupboard to retrieve a mug, but he sucks it up; feeling like a piece of shit after coffee is usually better than feeling like a piece of shit prior. Maybe it’s time to pick up a membership at a gym or something. 

The thirty minute long bus ride to the shelter sounds about as tempting as eating the leftover kibble in the dogs’ feeding bowls, but being a no-show after yesterday’s shitshow is absolutely out of the question. Natalya and her entitled opinion can go die in a hole for all he cares, but hell if he’s gonna let her think she’s right about him.

His closet has been forty percent workout clothes and fifty percent tiger stripes and band logos since he turned fourteen, but he fishes out a plain, black hoodie and a pair of white sneakers he’s used maybe two times in his life. Not that the chance of being recognised out on the street was very high to begin with here, but he knows his absence has made the atmosphere among his fans more… turbulent than usual. 

He leaves his apartment with the hood pulled down low and arrives at his bus stop five minutes early. He keeps his earbuds in and his nose buried in his phone for most of the ride, and for once he doesn’t make a ruckus on his way in, instead shutting the door gently behind him.

Natalya looks up, for once not with a frown. Her hair is pulled away from her face with a bandana, and it takes him back to an onsen in a has-been town with nothing to speak off except their broken ace and the people who love him. But unlike Mari, Natalya has none of that easygoing confidence. She looks at him with weariness in her eyes, pen halting in the air and stumbling in its steadfast ‘taptaptap’ against the counter. She looks ready to say something, but makes no move to do so.

«Where do you need me?» He asks, tilting his head to the side in a manner his grandpa would scoff at. It’s a bad habit he hasn’t quite managed to shake since his teens, and an annoying coworker isn’t what’s gonna inspire him to get rid of it. It’ll take a heartfelt apology and a bag of newly baked piroshki to even consider, and Natalya hasn’t even made it halfway.

«Uhm, dogs,» she says, blinking a little to compose herself. «I’ve finished most of their morning walks, but Yoda, Dany and Eloise haven’t been out yet. Take them to—you know that park two blocks from the mall? The one with the little pond and oak trees, right by the dentist office? Take them there.»

Unlike the cats, the dogs’ cages are all marked with their names and are thus easy to find. Yoda is apparently the shi tzu who always greets him with a hoarse ‘bork’ when he passes by his cage. He and Dany, a standard poodle and are two of the older residents well-used to the routine. He fastens leashes to their collars and leads them down the hall to the last cage. Unlike her buddies, Eloise is a bundle of endless energy, constantly pulling at her leash to run ahead and very insistent in where she wants to go.

Except for the occasional jogger and elderly person passing by with sneakily hidden bags of bird seeds, the park is theirs to rule. They keep a leisurely pace so that everyone will have the time to stop and sniff at lampposts, flecks of grass or a bush of interest. Natalya gave him the ok to let Dany loose without a leash if it wasn’t crowded, and she trots diligently a few steps behind him, sometimes slacking off a bit or taking the lead as it suits her.

Yuri’s experience with poodles is limited to Makkachin, and seeing Dany leaping ahead does bring back memories of the countless times Victor had him dog-sit for the weekend whenever he planned to whisk his husband away. But Dany doesn’t jump onto him or bulldoze him down with wet kisses and snouts pressed under his chin like Makkachin. It’s been a while since he though about her, actually. Maybe he should give those two idiots a call later.  

Once everyone has found a spot worthy of their droppings, they head back. On their way in, Yuri holds the door open for a father and his daughter. Between them is a carrier, tightly shut and with a familiar, furry face hiding behind the bars.

“—can’t wait to introduce Ketchup to Billy; do you think they’ll get along? I hope so since…”

Is all he hears of their conversation, even as he turns to watch them leave with Rolf; or Ketchup, as it seems he’ll be known as from now on. Good for him.

Yuri leads the dogs back to their pens and hangs the leashes back on their hooks. He refills their water bowls and spends some time showering a long faced mixed breed with affection.

While he’s been out, Natalya and Josef got started on cleaning the cat cages and are almost finished by the time he pokes his head through the door.

«Ah, there you are, Yura. Could you just get started on the socialising while we finish up here?» Josef asks.

Natalya has her back to him, shoulders tense and hunched. Josef hands her some clean bedding, and their gazes meet for a split second across her shoulder before she breaks it off.

***

They meet in the playroom with the eyes of ten cats on them. Belle has finally accepted his existence and even lets he pet her; the first touch to her furry, little head is hesitant and careful, ready to pull away at any sign of hostility. She stares at him as he pets in slow, light movements, and then her head sinks back to the floor and her eyes close slowly.

Yuri holds his breath, almost moved to tears at the display of tolerance trust.

Natalya joins him on the floor with her back to the wall, and she is immediately surrounded. One cat comes out victorious and settles on her lap, purring loud enough for him to hear six feet away. Two others settle down on each side of her thighs, pressed close to steal some of her warmth.

They sit in silence for a while. Yuri has no need to break it; he’s not the one who should be apologising right now, so if Natalya wants to stew, he’ll let her stew.

“I’m not really sorry. I mean— My thoughts, not the way I treated you. The way I treated you was pretty shitty, to be honest, but I don’t think it’s weird for me to be suspicious when an Olympic champion stumbles in and wants to volunteer at an understaffed shelter. But I guess it wasn’t very fair to you, and we need more volunteers, so, y’know, you’re welcome to stay.»

It’s a pretty crappy apology in his opinion; no eye contact, no bag of piroshki, and he never actually heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ in there. But well, he’s probably delivered much worse apologies himself when he was her age—not that that’s a high bar to reach.

«I could show you how to work the computer system later, if you want,» she offers.

«Sure.»

He can’t waste time on grudges when there are cats to pet and cages to clean.

Thank you for reading! This was a gift for cadencekismet! I had some trouble coming up with something for your prompts, but I hope you liked it :)

[callunavulgari]

TOP 25 FICS OF 2018

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Where Johnny goes, the Devil follows; where Johnny goes, the Devil is already there.

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Billy Hargrove fits in there somewhere (probably).

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5. a road less traveled and a life less led by Azzandra | Dishonored | Billie & The Outsider | 9k

She took him out of the Void, as promised. And then she kept him, she supposed.

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6. But I’m Not There Yet by sarahyyy | Yuri On Ice | Yuri/Otabek | 71k

“Are you not going to read the article?” she asks, flopping onto his bed. “Look who ranked second, just after Phichit Chulanont.”

Otabek reluctantly scrolls down, and oh. #2 - Yuri Plisetsky

In the embedded Instagram photo just under that subheading, a very grumpy Yuri is cuddling a very grumpy-looking cat. The caption reads: I found the cat version of me at the shelter today. #iknowisaidnomorecats #canyoublameme

Heather Says: And here, in the stupid cute category we have teenagers navigating love through social media. What’s more, there’s a companion fic.

7. flowers start to bloom in every different hue by orphan-account | Coraline | Coraline/Wybourn | 1k

Coraline grows up, gets a tattoo, and falls in love. In that order.

Heather Says: I read this fic on a slow day at work, often in quick bursts while I was waiting for the kitchen to finish my table’s food. It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s everything that I was looking for when I ventured into the Coraline tag on ao3 because I was curious.

8. Victory Conditions by @astolat | Transformers | Megatron/Optimus Prime | 37k

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” Megatron said mockingly. “You won’t like it, Prime. It’s not a very nice one.”

Heather Says: Fun fact, I’m not even in this fandom. I haven’t touched the Transformers fandom since the first movie came out in 2007 and I spent a very confusing week shipping a boy and his car. But Astolat has literally never lead me wrong, and I was having one of those bored days where nothing quite itches the right spot, so I sat down on the couch and spent two hours reading this. Worth it.

  9. just in it for the game by grim_lupine | Thor | Thor/Loki | 6k

“It's excellent rehabilitation for my image,” Loki says, widening his eyes. “They love you, and because of that they'll trust me. You wouldn't ruin this for me, would you?”

Thor glares at him.

Loki’s mouth twitches. “Also, it's the funniest thing that's ever happened to me.”

Heather Says: The Thor/Loki bug never really bit me until after Ragnorak came out. I mean, sure, I read it and it was good, but hella’s Frostiron fics basically destroyed me for any other Loki pairing. HOWEVER. Ragnorak happened and screwed that all the way up. Also, you know, this fic is absolutely lovely and was just what the doctor ordered.

10. so this guy walks into a bar by MasterOfAllImagination | Pacific Rim | Newt/Hermann | 2.5k

“Bourbon,” Hermann says, hooking his cane on the edge of the bar and sliding by degrees onto a stool.

“Straight up?” the bartender asks.

“Please.” Does he look like the kind of man who enjoys having his nostrils fumigated by undiluted whiskey? “On the rocks.”

Heather Says: I coped with Pacific Rim 2 by reading a couple AUs and a couple very, very long fics full of tragedy and math. Weirdly, the AU of a chance meeting in a bar was the one that stuck.

11. cherry pie by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 133k

Billy Hargrove lives for summer. Endless sunshine, heavily chlorinated pools, roaming ice cream trucks, and unencumbered freedom? There’s nothing better.

Even being stuck in Hawkins can’t ruin the summer for him. He eats it up, devouring every day whole.

Heather Says: Yeah, okay, but this is the fic that made summer worth it. Highly recommend reading at the pool or with your feet hanging off the back porch. Every piece of this fic was dripping in summertime nostalgia. It was fan-freaking-tastic.

12. the ghost and the good queen val by Wildehack (tyleet) | Thor | Thor/Valkyrie/Loki | 27k

“What,” she says, her heart racing, “was that.”

“What was what?” Korg asks, frowning up at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Valkyrie squints suspiciously at the ship.

“Oh my god,” Korg says. “You did! You saw a ghost!”

Heather Says: So, remember how I coped with Pacific Rim 2 with copious AUs? This is how I coped with Infinity War.

13. For Better or Worse by DragonBandit  | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 22k

All Damien ever wanted was someone who wanted him. All Damien deserves is to die alone, stripped bare of any of the comforts or affections of humanity, a title he willingly shed.

Mark Bryant seems to be the Universe's compromise.

Wherein Damien and Mark are soulmates, and this changes enough.

Heather Says: I think I’ve read this one three or four time this year? It’s 22k of well-written fic for a fandom that has a max of like 100 fics all with lengths that tend to vary between a couple hundred words to 2 or 3k, max. This fic is the one that really catapulted me into the fandom. 

14. in waves by @lymricks | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 38k

It’s March and it’s too cold for Billy to be shirtless and wearing shorts, but he hadn’t noticed until Harrington appeared and made him hold still. Harrington can’t seem to stop looking at the bruises. “What’s it to you if I miss a little school, Harrington?” Billy asks. He feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

“I don’t know,” Harrington snaps back, looking uncomfortable. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Plant your feet, Billy wants to scream at him. I’m going to bowl you over.

Heather Says: And here we have the first fic that wasn’t written by either @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger or @brawlite that made me realize that this fandom was gonna be a good one. So fantastic.

15. the cure by aquaexplicit | The Flash | Cisco/Harry | 43k

“I guess I don’t really get what you need to fix? Harrison Wells is a hot, rich genius that pays you to make cool stuff with his daughter and is totally into you. If you guys boning is the biggest problem you have, I think this officially qualifies as your best relationship ever.”

When Barry puts it like that, everything sounds so simple and not at all as angst ridden as Cisco has been suffering the past few months.

Cisco hangs up on him.

Heather Says: I remember a couple years ago, I fell absolutely head over heels for this one Sterek fic where Derek had twin toddlers and Stiles was the hired babysitter. So I think there’s something about dad + babysitter fics that get me, even if this one in particular the ‘baby’ in question is a fifteen year old genius. Still. Dad + babysitter. I don’t even know, but apparently it works for me.

16. pull out the insides by SpineAndSpite | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 3k

“Stop,” Damien says again, more insistent this time.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Mark's heart pounds in his ears and he sees Damien’s hands shaking. God. They shouldn’t have started talking about sex. Shouldn’t have filled in the colors and shadows to this pencil outline of a sketch forming between them. They shouldn’t have given it a name.

Heather Says: This year seems to have had a theme when it comes to fics that I’ve liked and it seems to boil down to: people who are bad for each other have sex and catch feelings. Mark/Damien is not the healthiest ship. But it also hurts in this stupidly tragic way and hell if I didn’t fall head over heels for it.

17. tell me, get my shit together by paperclipbitch | Star Wars | Han/Lando | 5k

“I thought we were actively avoiding each other after the Trandosha Shitshow,” Han says.

“We’re actively avoiding each other after the Iridonia Shitshow,” Lando corrects him, “the Trandosha Shitshow is That Which We Do Not Speak Of.”

Heather Says: So, guess what I did in the two to three hours after seeing Solo? If you guessed: ‘combed through ao3 until you ran out of fic’ ding ding ding, you are 100% correct. This one was very, very good, which makes sense, because paperclipbitch has some good shit.

18. chases, escapes, true love, miracles by pepperfield | The Flash | Cisco/Harry 55k

Just because the timeline has been restored, doesn't mean things are back to normal. Cisco's got 99 problems, and Harry Wells is approximately 38 of them.

In which Cisco makes a bunch of plans, fails most of them, narrowly avoids being disintegrated, receives a hug or two, finds his groove, and gets his man. More or less in that order.

Heather Says: This one was long and wibbly wobbly, because it was basically what season 3 should have been. But it was also really great, and had some super quality Harrisco interactions.

19. Your Pretty Little Heart by Ever-so-reylo | Star Wars | Reylo | 64k

Modern day AU in which Ben is an Alpha, Rey is an Omega, and they are way better at having sex than at communicating with each other.

Heather Says: Speaking of people who are probably a little bit bad for each other... This particular fic was new to me, not because of the um, extensive sexual content, but because I’m usually not a fan of A/B/O. But this one was extremely good, enough that I actually liked it for a/b/o aspect rather than in spite of it.

20. Draconia by perceived_nobility | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 4k

"So I was driving. One ex wife and one ex husband later, stopping at the same fucking gas stations you and I stopped at."

Heather Says: This fic actually prompted a 3 hour long conversation on the ‘adult’ Mark/Damien discord where we basically outlined an entire fic that I never got around to writing where Damien is raising a child, has a farm, and runs into Mark ten years down the ride. One day, I might write it, because vaguely domestic, meet-again-ten-years-down-the-road fics always bowl me right the fuck over and just. There needs to be more fic like this one in the world. But until then, the world can marvel at the beauty that is this one.

21. Artifice by buttpatrol | Wolf 359 | Hera/Eiffel | 23k

A story told in parts about colour palettes, identity, robot uprisings, sensational trials, space, and messy love.

Heather Says: As I’ve recently finished relistening to Wolf 359 I have a fresh appreciation for this fic, which is one of the only longer fics on ao3 that just grips you by the heart and squeezes the same way that the series does. It might have been written before the end of the series, but it’s honestly just as perfect.

22. (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out by lipgallagher | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 93k

The most dangerous thing walking around Hawkins goes by the name Billy Hargrove.

And he fucking knows it.

Heather Says: I’m kind of cheating here, because this is a series rather than a single fic, but I’m not picking just one part. I read the first four or so parts of this fic when I was visiting my family in South Carolina and spent the next few days wandering around the place half-in Steve Harrington’s headspace. It was an incredibly surreal experience, which lead to a pretty strong combination of mania, depression, and an indescribable craving for ice cream. So like, maybe don’t read this fic if you’re in a bad head space? But also it’s very good and features one of the most fucked up and intriguing Steve’s that I’ve seen yet.

23. Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by Reiya | Yuri On Ice | Yuuri/Viktor | 197k

‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

Heather Says: I actually read this one on the plane ride down to South Carolina, and kind of didn’t like it at first? I’m not sure if it was just the act of putting Yuuri and Victor into the position of rivals that made me uncomfortable or the goddamn delays that turned half a day of travelling into a full one, but eventually I was able to get into and enjoyed it quite a bit. I really like the rivals to lovers trope, so I’d been looking forward to this one a lot.

24. Traveling Far by @astolat | Game of Thrones | Jaime/Brienne | 24k

Three weeks into their delightful slog across Westeros, during yet another charming day of shitting in the woods, eating half-raw squirrel, and trudging his feet bloody, the single most dour and uninteresting woman Jaime had ever met in all of Westeros stopped in the middle of a field, drew a deep breath, and said, “When I was seven, my aunt came to visit with her son. My father told me that as the daughter of the house, it was my duty to show hospitality to my guests and to be gracious to them. I wanted to make him proud. So for three weeks, I let my cousin follow me around and talk to me about spiders.”

Heather Says: I’ve become very fond of astolat’s Jaime/Brienne fics, and I think this one is my favorite yet. Featuring Starks, found family, and a whole lot of walking.

25. lilies of the valley (cover me with kisses, make my garden grow) by diasterisms | Star Wars | Reylo | 8k

Every girl is entitled to the mistake. That one colossal fuck-up that permanently alters the terrain of who you are. You'll either learn from it or you won't, so might as well have the time of your life.

Heather Says: I just. I really like flower shop AUs, and the idea of a Kylo Ren who owns a sleek flower shop being menaced by a tiny gremlin in a leather jacket just. Kills me. It was really sweet and all kinds of wonderful.

[sylphwriter]

Wilting of the Blessed Tree

Tales Whump Week

Day 6: Deprived I’m posting excerpts from my in progress work on rewriting my fic, Fairy Tales and Brave Vesperia. So anyone interested can enjoy a sneak peek at what to expect, but otherwise it should stand alone without familiarity with my work just fine.

“Halure…” Estelle breathed in quiet wonder. “The ‘City of Blossoms.’”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Karol nodded, although he sounded disheartened. No need to ask why.

There wasn’t much blossoming about this city. If anything, “withered” came to mind.

The famous landmark of Halure was the outrageously huge tree the entire city had been constructed around. As the source of the city’s barrier it was the exact center of everything, with the construction of buildings sprawling over its roots as naturally as if they were hills and slopes. Some houses were more deeply integrated, standing arches of the roots threaded through spaces made in walls to let them pass through, coming out from a different side. Those roots were so thick that they were probably making up entire sides of some buildings and even the thinnest were like support pillars. But as the name implied, usually the most striking thing was the mass of flowers that were said to outnumber the leaves on the tree, petals ever drifting down to blanket the farthest reaches of the town below.

But there were no flowers on the tree or even blowing around on a stray breeze. There were shriveled clumps covering the branches instead; dark and splotchy purple interspersed with dried browns. Whenever the wind blew and shook the tree this ugly foliage rattled and dropped dead leaves, dried to the point of curling up into little cones and tubes with their sides touching. Reminded Yuri of the husks insects would shed and leave behind.

“What happened to the barrier here?” Yuri asked.

“Yes, there should be one…” Estelle squinted against the morning light as she peered up into the tree.

“You guys haven’t been to Halure before, right?” Karol checked with them. Estelle turned her curious attention to him but Yuri only spared half a glance as they followed the well beaten path they’d come across. Most of the swordsman’s apparent focus was on the outskirts of the city as they were reaching it. Well, at least one of them was listening. “Haven’t you heard about the tree barrier?”

Estelle nodded with confidence and spoke as if by rote. “‘Some blastia fuse to plant life, gain organic qualities and evolve.’ The tree barrier of Halure is one prime example of this. I read that in a book,” she added by way of explanation to Karol.

“Well thank you, professor,” Yuri quipped, proving he was listening. He glanced back over at Karol again. “So what’s happened to this famous barrier?” He frowned as he took note now of the city people; almost everyone he could see out and about wore bandages and splints, some stained red or the dark brown of dried blood. And these injured people were rushing everywhere in a hurry, always carrying more bandages or shouting urgently ahead. Add this to the disturbing number of fresh dirt mounds they had passed not too long before… “Doesn’t look like it’s doing much right now.”

“Every year, just before the blossoms are in full bloom, the barrier weakens for a while,” Karol eagerly explained to him, although the sight of the injured dampened his spirits. It was worse than just a shame that the people here had the bad luck that this happened to them. But it was just the reality everyone knew and lived with, especially those in the towns and places that had no barriers. The people of Halure were always on guard during the times their barrier weakened. “It’s just that time of year right now, and the monsters took the opportunity to attack…”

Yuri pressed for the details. “Is that when the barrier went down?”

“Yeah,” Karol looked down as he scuffed the dirt with his boot as he remembered. He and Nan and the other Hunting Blades with them hadn’t been there for much of the fight. They arrived when most of the survivors had been chased off, while there were still loads of monster bodies piled up where they’d been dragged away. The trails of their bloodstains ran frighteningly far into the city streets. “The monsters were taken care of, but the tree is slowly starting to decay.”

From the corner of his eye he glimpsed a blur of dark brown clothes and hair sprinting past him, jostling his shoulder. His mind was a bit slow to process the instant before the realization clicked. That had been a girl only an inch or two taller than him, with a brighter colored shawl draped around her shoulders and yellow sash around her waist. “Hey!” he exclaimed, making Estelle jump without noticing. That had to be Nan! And if she was so mad she didn’t even take a moment to acknowledge him-

“W-what is it?” Estelle asked, pink hair swinging as she looked around anxiously, trying to see what had prompted his outburst.

Karol picked up the pace and kicked up clouds of dust with his feet, scrabbling not to trip and fall over himself. “Sorry, I’ve gotta run! Bye!” he shouted back to them as he ran down the side street he thought he’d seen Nan disappear into.

“Does that kid ever sit still?” Yuri wondered aloud. With all that stuff hanging off of him, you’d think he’d get tired out a lot faster.

Estelle gave a soft little gasp.

Yuri shrugged off Karol’s spontaneous antics. “So I guess you’ll be looking for Flynn now, huh,” he started turning to Estelle only to see her run the other way. “Estelle?” Her full skirts billowed like a white cloud and she dropped to her knees by an older man slumped against one of the large roots, a concerned woman looking up from where she knelt by his side at the noble’s arrival. Yuri could see her mouth moving as she answered some question and then Estelle was holding her hands out over the man’s legs, healing formula shining into being over them.

Does she not understand what keeping a low profile means? He shook his head. As long as we don’t get a full repeat of what happened in Deidon Hold.

Halure was an imperial city but he didn’t see any knights around. Maybe there was a regular outpost here and they all had their hands full dealing with the injured and planning defense to worry about traffic from strangers. That’s what Yuri hoped at least. If he found out there weren’t any stationed here, even just for this apparently regular period of danger, he’d be mighty tempted to take a detour to knock some heads.

“Hey, Repede,” he said to the dog. Repede turned his head to look at Yuri with his good eye, and Yuri just tipped his own head in the direction Estelle had gone in. “Do you mind? I’m gonna look for a store and ask around a bit.” Repede yawned, pipe teetering on his teeth and almost managing to fall free before his jaws snapped shut on it. With that he ambled off after their wayward noble, who was already hurrying off after another set of concerned looking citizens leading her somewhere.

That was fine, Yuri decided. Estelle might end up stumbling across Flynn by accident. Knowing that busybody, if he was still here he’d be in the thick of things, organizing something, maybe even the care for the wounded.

Another skill of Flynn’s that Yuri just wasn’t that great with. When the action was already over and done with, there wasn’t all that much left Yuri could do himself. Well, at least that meant it wasn’t hard to think of what he could do. On the way to Halure they had hardly used any of the gels, he could trade some of the spares for food. People here needed the medicine more than their own little group probably would.

[omgkatsudonplease]

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. 

[dotppelganger]

Roof plants 33-40

Did I succeed at making Marigold look more like an actual marigold? I'll let you be the judge of that.

[kasumi-chou]

My Family

Big thank you danerdyturtle for their suggestion for this chapter!

Victor smiled softly as he leant against the doorframe, just staring at the sight in front of him for a moment.

It was still early, a little after five in the morning. Yuuri was still fast asleep in their bed, curled up in the centre of their bed with their thick blankets pulled all the way up to his shoulders

Little Yuri was curled up into his father side, having invaded their bed during the night, mumbling something about it being too cold in his room.

He made a mental note to check the boys room when he got home later, he needed to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with it. He couldn’t have his baby getting sick because of a broken window or something.

Makkachin and Potya had also invaded the cuddle pile. Makkachin had curled up against Yuuri free side, taking over his spot in the bed. While Potya was curled up in a ball, close but not quite touching Yuri’s little feet.

He stepped into the room, carefully leaning over the bed to press a gentle kiss to his beautiful fiancé forehead.

“Have a lovely day, lyubimyy,” he mumbled while brushing some hair out of Yuuri’s face. He smiled to himself as Yuuri let out a small sigh in his sleep.

He leant back, staring at his little family for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh. He sometimes hated early mornings. Hated having to leave the comfort of his bed and his fiancé. And on rare occasions like this morning, his little family.

He moved back towards the door, only to pause and pull out his phone, snapping a picture of his beautiful little family.

His. He had a family. A gorgeous fiancé and a beautiful son.

Yuuri let out a groan as his phone started ringing on the bedside table.

He lifted his head up from his pillow, glancing over towards his phone.

“Papa,” Yuri whined from beside him, tugging on his shirt, “Quiet.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, reaching over to pick up his phone. He frowned at the name flashing on the screen. He carefully pushed the accept button while dropping back down into bed.

“Hello?” he mumbled in English.

“Yuuri!” Phichit excited voice shouted, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ear.

“Phichit, it’s not even seven here,” he mumbled, earning a gasp from the other end of the phone. He waited another moment before returning the phone to his ear.

“Sorry, sorry!” Phichit apologised, “Have you gone on Instagram yet?”

“Instragram?” he mumbled before covering his mouth to yawn.

“Yuuri, look, right now,” Phichit insisted. He pulled the phone away from his ear again, pushing the loud speaker button before unlocking his phone and clicking on Instagram.

“Have you looked yet?” Phichit asked.

“Uncle Chu?” Yuri mumbled, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Yura! Good morning!” Phichit greeted the boy, earning a sleepy smile in response. He leant over and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“It’s loading,” he told Phichit before pausing as a photo loaded up onto his screen. He squinted at it for a moment before pulling the phone closer to look at it.

“Oh god,” he mumbled.

“Papa?” Yuri mumbled, tugging on his shirt again.

“Yuuri?” Phichit called out. He stared at the photo in shock before groaning and grabbing his blanket, pulling it over his head.

“Uncle Chu? Papa is hiding?” Yuri mumbled, pulling on the blankets.

“He didn’t tell you then?” Phichit asked, he whined in response, “Well, if it helps. Most of the responses have been positive.”

“I’m never going to be able to show my face again,” he whined under the blankets.

“Papa?” Yuri whined before the air was suddenly knocked out of his lungs as a weight jumped onto his chest.

“So,” Phichit hummed, “Can I join in?”

“What?” he gasped, throwing the blanket away from his face and covering Yuri, who giggled in delight.

“Chris and I have been debating on whether or not to join in,” Phichit said, causing him to groan.

“Join in?” he questioned as Yuri uncovered him.

“We both have pictures of the happy family. We wanted to show our support,” Phichit told him, causing him to sigh.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

“Really?!” Phichit gasped, “Thank you!”

“I have to go and tell everyone that I’m dying now,” he mumbled, earning a chuckle from the skater on the phone.

“Bye Yuuri! Bye Yura! Be good!” Phichit called out.

“Bye, Uncle Chu!” Yuri replied back, smiling brightly at the phone.

“Bye,” he called out before hanging up the phone and turning to Yuri.

“Vicchan was naughty,” he told the boy, who turned to him with a frown.

“Why?” Yuri questioned.

“Because he did something without asking,” he told the boy before wrapping an arm around the boy and pulling him into a hug.

“Good morning, Yurochka,” he greeted the boy, who giggled in delight while hugging him back.

They were up earlier than normal, which meant they could have a little cuddle time before he dealt with his fiancé.

“Vitya!”

He glanced up at the sound of his name, skating towards his coach.

“Yes?” he questioned cheerfully.

“You have a visitor,” Yakov huffed, jabbing a finger towards the skater break room. He stared at his coach before arching an eyebrow.

“Who is it?” he questioned.

“Vitya. Visitor,” Yakov repeated. He pouted at his coach but moved towards the exit before his coach could yell at him.

He really hoped Yakov hadn’t grabbed one of the reports that had been outside since six o’clock, demanding to interview him about the photo he had uploaded earlier that morning.

He hadn’t been able to help himself earlier that morning, having loaded the beautiful photo of this family that he had taken that morning onto Instagram.

It had been such a perfect photo, with his two Yu(u)ri’s curled up so perfectly together. How could he have not uploaded the picture?

Sure, he knew that the media would explode with the picture, but he couldn’t hide it anymore. He was happy. Happy and engage.

He quickly changed out of his skates and into his runners before hurrying into the break room.

“VICCHAN!”

He blinked in surprise as a little body slammed into his legs as soon as he entered the room, causing him to stumble backwards, only managing to save himself by grabbing a hold of the doorframe.

“Yurochka,” he said in surprise, blinking down at the boy who smiling up at him. If Yuri was here, that meant…

He swallowed nervously as he glanced up, immediately locking eyes with the gorgeous man in front of him.

“Yurasha,” he cooed, forcing a smile.

“Victor Nikiforov!” Yuuri cut him off.

“Vicchan has been naughty,” Yuri spoke up, causing him to chuckle and ruffle the boy’s hair. It was rather obvious that Yuuri wasn’t happy with him.

He gently undid the boys gasp from around his legs before moving towards Yuuri.

“Yurasha,” he cooed again, grabbing a hold of his fiancé right hand and planting a kiss on top of the ring on the man’s fingers, “I love you.”

“Victor,” Yuuri sighed, “You should have asked.”

“I’m sorry,” he whined, squeezing Yuuri’s hand, “It was such a perfect picture of my little family.”

“Family?” Yuuri repeated slowly.

“Yes, my family,” he continued, smiling at his fiancé, “You and Yuri. My beautiful, perfect family.”

Yuuri stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before blushing bright red.

“Oh my god, you are so embarrassing,” Yuuri mumbled. He chuckled to himself while pulling the younger man into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Me too! Me too!” Yuri shouted, tugging on the bottom of his shirt, he chuckled as he broke the hug with Yuuri, to quickly scoop Yuri up into his arms so he can join in on the hug.

“Is Vicchan still in trouble, papa?” Yuri asked as stood there, hugging each other.

“No,” Yuuri sighed, causing him to smile brightly.

“Good! Have you seen the pictures Chris and Phichit shared too! They are so cute!” he gushed, pulling out his phone to show Yuuri the beautiful photos his two best friends had shared with the world after he had told the world about his little family.

Skater Next Door AU

AO3 Skater Next Door / Skater In Training

[n3rdlif343va]

32 "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" for ViktorxChris? Please? And thank you in advance!

I… don’t know if this is going to play out the way you expected, but I hope you find it amusing!! :) :) Who is to say this didn’t happen in the midst of the whole “overcome chihoko” thing lol

Minami had been the one to discover the stack of index cards, happily chasing down Mama Katsuki in his quest to obtain a roll of scotch tape. Together with Leo and Guang-Hong, they had scribbled the names of every skater currently partying in the Katsuki family onsen and then giggled through slapping a name onto each intoxicated forehead.

The rules were simple, pair off and try to guess the skater taped to each head. The person who guessed their card the fastest won, and the team who guessed both cards would get to watch all the losing teams streak across the Hasetsu beach. No one wanted to lose, but more than anything, no one wanted Phichit to win. Which is why Victor relinquished his hold on Yuuri and pushed him to pair off with his best friend while Victor teamed up with Chris. Drunk Yuuri was a silly Yuuri, and a silly Yuuri couldn’t give clues to save his life.

In theory, it should have been a quick game. Everyone had grown to know each other fairly well and there were certainly clues that would be a dead giveaway, especially for skaters like Yuuri and his infamous pole dance, and Yuri and his need to kick everyone. Unfortunately, everyone above drinking age was becoming increasingly more influenced and the clues were becoming more ridiculous with each passing moment.

“Am I pretty?” Yuuri slurred, bumping his shoulder against Phichit’s and giggling when Phichit bumped him back. Tapping a finger against Phichit’s head, Yuuri grinned, “cause you areeee pretttttyyy…” the words were an odd mix of singing and drunken slur, causing both of them to collapse into giggles. Yuuri forget his question and Phichit forgot his was supposed to give a response. “Who put this on my head anyway?” Yuuri pondered, flinging an arm over Phichit’s chest to poke his best friend’s cheek. “Oh you have one, too… how strangely strange.” More giggles took over the pair as they commenced poking each other in the forehead.

Next them to sat Yurio and Otabek, both concentrating hard on their cards, but firing off even worse clues than Phichit and Yuuri, who had completely forgotten they were supposed to be playing a game. “His face is weird,” Yurio said, scowling when Otabek threw his hands in the air. “It is, you’ll know what I mean when you see your card!!” Indignantly, Yurio kicked out at Otabek’s pillow.

Amidst the chaos in the room, Victor had settled himself knee-to-knee with Chris. Placing down his bottle of liquor, Victor’s competitive spirit flared, driving his desire to win the game. Zeroing in on Chris, Victor squinted his eyes at the white card on his best friend’s head. The English words were definitely blurry, and Victor leaned forward trying to get a better look at the name. Their knees pressed together in their cross-legged positions, making both of them hum displeasure in the unexpected pain.

“Focus!” Chris commanded, somehow more sober than Victor despite how much sake he had consumed. “You ready? We need to win!” Invoking Victor’s competitive drive, Chris grabbed his friend’s face and threw out his first cue. “You are the living embodiment of a rainbow!”

“Oh! My Yuuri!” Victor shouted, throwing an arm to point at Yuuri and frowning when he noticed the lump that was currently Yuuri’s and Phichit’s giggling bodies. Growling under his breath as Yuuri threw an arm over Phichit’s torso, Victor made to crawl across the room.

Huffing out his frustration, Chris grabbed Victor’s shoulders, pulling him back to their two man huddle and shaking him. “No, not Yuuri. Let me try another one.” Eyes focusing on the card, Chris scrunched his face and finally said, “you like small furry creatures.”

“MY YUURI!” Victor called happily, bouncing up and down and reaching for his card.

Chris smacked his hand making Victor pout. “No! Victor! Listen, your card is not Yuuri. Yuuri is not yours.” As soon as the last sentence was out of his mouth, Chris knew he had made a mistake. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands and waited for the fallout.

“WHAT?!?!” Victor yelled, scrambling to his knees and turning toward Yuuri. “YUURI! Look at me!” From the floor Yuuri lifted his head and blew Victor a kiss. “Are you mine?”

“Always!” Yuuri called, shoving Phichit for apparently no reason as Phichit continued to giggle on the floor. “What’s my card say, Vitya?”

“NO CHEATING!!” screamed almost every other voice in the room, making Yuuri stick out his tongue.

Before Victor could think to answer, Chris was hauling him back around so they were face-to-face. “Ok, if you won’t listen to my clues. Can you give me one?” Seeing Victor’s confused face, Chris shook his head in frustration. Across the room he could hear Guang-Hong and Leo rapidly firing off hints and he knew they were close to losing. There were threats about running naked at the beach for the losing teams, and while he wasn’t opposed to nudity, he would have much preferred to be the one taking the pictures. Shaking Victor again, Chris poked himself in the forehead. “Card, Victor, give me a clue about who is on my card.”

With only one eye open and an eyebrow comically raised, Victor crawled nearly into Chris’s lap to examine his card. “Ohhh…. I like your card…” Victor purred, slinging his arms over Chris’s shoulders. Planting a kiss to Chris’s card, Victor giggled, “I think I’m in love with you…” Fluttering his eyelashes, Victor once again kissed the card on Chris’s forehead.

“And I’m terrified,” Chris remarked, reaching up to grab the card from his head and flicking it onto the floor. “I’m Katsuki, right?”

“Awww my Yuuri,” Victor purred again, still cradled in Chris’s lap. “So then who is on my card? Must be me, since me and Yuuri are the only pair that makes sense!!” Resting his head on Chris’s shoulder, Victor sighed happily. “We won, Chris!”

“Your name is not on your forehead, Victor,” Chris let Victor continue to sit on his lap, amused by the way Yuuri’s eyes were narrowing in their direction. Feeling cheeky, Chris poked Victor’s card. “Maybe someone else is also a good match for Yuuri.” He heard Victor’s growl again and laughed as he threw his head back.

“If my card says Chris, you are getting the beating of a lifetime,” Victor nudged Chris’s chin with a single finger as he glared at Chris’s smug smile.

“Promise?” Chris teased, flipping Victor’s bangs backwards to expose his vast forehead. Yuuri had begun inching closer to them, and Chris was ready to end their little game before Yuuri decided to triple axel him into next week. “Who is Yuuri’s best friend?” Chris asked, warily eying Yuuri as he inched across the room.

“Me!” Victor yelled, throwing his hands up triumphantly and reaching for his card again. Before Chris could argue, Leo and Guang-Hong began to shout about their success. Admitting defeat, Chris yanked the card from Victor’s forehead and showed it to him. “PHICHIT?!” Snatching the card, Victor threw it across the room. When Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, Chris happily unfolded his legs to let Victor be dragged away.

“I’m going to run naked on a beach!” Phichit squealed, taking Victor’s place on Chris’s lap. “Wanna come?”

Snorting with the double-meaning in Phichit’s words, Chris happily accepted his fate of streaking with the living rainbow who was Phichit Chulanont.

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward: Chapter 2

(A birthday gift for @superhappybubbleslove .....two months late. Listen, at least I’m getting better)

Dear Obi,

Under no circumstances should you paint any part of your estate black...

Obi doesn’t hold much with higher powers, but when Yori wakes him for breakfast, he locates the first hour he’s ever thought of as ungodly.

“Mr Morel says we should keep regular hours, now that the mistress is coming,�� he explains, hovering just out of arm’s reach. Clever bastard.

“Breakfast is at ten.” Only Mitsuhide and the chickens should be up at this close to dawn. “This is not ten.”

Yori holds out his dressing gown. “Mr Morel says we should keep country hours, sir.”

Nothing about that sentence makes sense, save that Morel wants him to do something unpleasant. “I wasn’t aware time ran differently here.”

“It’s only that there’s no parties in the country,” Yori explains helpfully. “Unless someone does a house party, and then that’s --”

Obi sighs, snatching the robe from his valet’s hands and restlessly wrapping is around his shoulders. Gods, he’ll never be used to silk and velvet. “I know what a house party is.”

“Right.” His eyes flicker to the parquet, cheeks pinking. Ah, so it seems Morel let the boy in on that little secret as well. Perfect.

Joke’s on him. He’s been to plenty of house parties, just not as a guest.

Yori clears his throat, in the way people do when they wish they could be anywhere else. “Breakfast is at eight.”

Obi gives his succinct, four-letter opinion on that.

His eyes widen, big and brown like a cow’s. “Can’t talk like that with mistress coming, either.”

“It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.” And scolded him for. Obi’s gaze snaps to the boy, mouth crooking into a frown. “How did you hear about that anyway?”

“Around. People talk.” Yori ducks his head and shrugs, but Obi sees it -- a small, sly smile. “Don’t be late, sir. You know what Mr Morel will be like.”

Never has it been so impossible to put pen to page.

Dearest Mistress, Apple of my Eye, Goddess of my Heart,

In a fit of generosity, I have deigned to extend an invitation to my abode. No, no, there’s no need to thank me...

He’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he stumbles into the dining room, throwing himself into his chair to wait for breakfast.

A lord might call the room empty, but Obi sees the bustle of footman, trays hoisted up on shoulders to bring forth far too many dishes for him to enjoy himself. Cook assures him that they all get eaten back in the kitchens, and the scullery maids thank him for his largess. I could just arrange to have them fed properly, he’d told her, but she’d waved him off, laughing, It’s the way it’s always been, my lord.

Maybe, he wants to say, but doesn’t. It shouldn’t be.

A maid prods at the fire, mouth rumpled into a pout; she shuffles logs with focus that verges on zealous, flinching every time the flame gutters in the grate. That one must have peeved Mrs Carre something fierce to be stuck with the one fireplace that won’t stay lit.

And Morel is there, as always, sternly disapproving of the way he breathes. A freshly pressed paper appears next to his plate, though Obi would swear the man hadn’t moved.

“Breakfast will be out shortly, my lord,” he says in his usual grim tone, as if eggs and bacon were a sign of the end times.

“Mmph,” Obi replies nobly. He squints at the print next to his knife, but it swims in his vision. Ah, not awake for that sort of lordly duty yet.

“Would you like me to tell you the business of the day, my lord?” Morel offers.

Obi nods, reaching for the carafe of coffee, but one of the footmen sweeps in, quickly filling his cup. There’s not much he likes about being a lord, but this he could get used to.

Morel open his mouth, either to scold or bore him with business -- Obi puts them both at even odds – and –

The doors to the dining room fling open, revealing a particularly agitated housekeeper.

“Is it true then?” Mrs Carre asks. Obi gets the distinct impression that if he were any less than her lord, it would have been a demand. “The Mistress is coming to visit?”

His head swivels, staring wide-eyed at Morel.

The man sputters, the impregnable walls of his dignity breached. “Don’t look at me!”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Obi reminds him.

“I’m not your lord father,” Morel snaps waspishly, mouth rucked up in annoyance. “You don’t need my permission to invite who you wish into these halls.”

He might as well have been struck. It’s not Morel who is the authority at Cacciatore.

It’s him. This is his house. They are his people.

“I…” His shoulder twinges. His fingers wrap tightly around his silverware. “I haven’t asked yet.”

Mrs Carre throws her hands into the air. “Whyever not?”

Ah, there’s just…no good answer to that. None that will satisfy Mrs Carre, at least.

“I haven’t...had the time?” He winces. Ah, he’s spent far too much time with Suzu.

She fixes him with the sort of look that would make plants wither. “Well, I’m sure Mr Morel will see that he makes you some.”

Dearest Mistress,

It seems my servants have requested to invite you to the estate. Strange, I had been of the opinion I was lord of this particular house.

It will always amaze him how much he can achieve when he is avoiding something else.

“You want to remove the bookcases?” Only Morel could make an echo sound like censure. “They are original to the estate’s plans. The third marquis of Conti requested them installed after the first Cacciatore was raised by the tribes of Yuris, as a gift to his second wife --”

“As riveting as history is,” Obi drawls, affecting a casual lean against his desk. “Don’t you think they’re a little...dowdy?”

Morel’s eyes bulge. “They are Yurisian teak, hand-hewn and made bespoke for the house of Conti. Each one of them alone is worth nearly fifty-thousand dill --”

“Right,” Obi allows. “But are they load-bearing?”

The butler makes a noise closer to a cog flying loose than anything human. Obi bites back a grin.

“And this parquet,” he continues, “it can be pulled up too.”

The man is two breaths away from apoplexy. Or homicide. Obi’s excited to find out which.

“I will go check on Cook,” he says finally. “Dinner should be shortly. We can continue this...another day.”

Obi’s still muffling his laughter when he finds the false bottom in his drawer.

Dearest Miss,

I long to hear your voice. There is nothing I miss more than a friendly face. I want you to come, but I want you to take me away more.

The ledger stares at him with its metal grommets, snug in the secret compartment. A long, angry breath whistles out of his nose.

It’s been three months -- three months -- and he’s only just found this --

His hands fist on the wood. Now’s not the time for regrets.

He’s not foolish enough to try to remove it. Cacciatore is crawling with servants, and any one of them may still be loyal to Conti. It could just as easily be a decoy, placed so that they would know if he was searching for evidence of the former lord’s crimes. He’s probably already raised suspicion in dealing with the steward -- either he’s pushing too hard, or not hard enough, and adding a missing hidden ledger to the pile of hints would be...sloppy.

The last thing he needs is His Majesty drawling that the next time they meet, hands folded  over his knees and looking at him like he’s a fly he wants to pull the wings off of.

No, not that. Like he’s a puzzle yet to be solves.

Obi’s not sure which one is worse.

He gently places the book back in its home, slipping the false bottom back into its slot, arranging the items above it to look untouched. He can come back later to look at it, when he isn’t expecting Morel to appear at any time, summoning him for dinner.

After all, it’s not like being alone is hard in this place.

It’s not until he tries to get to the study alone that he realizes his plan was flawed at its inception -- the room is never empty.

It’s Yori today, leaning on an end table with his back to the door. He startles when Obi opens it with a firm application of his boot heel.

“My lord!” He’s gone pale against the black of his uniform. “I didn’t -- I was only --” He clears this throat. “I was just helping Lili with the dusting.”

It’s only then that the maid peers around his valet’s shoulder, smile bright. “Apologies, my lord, but it’s hard for me to move the furniture, and Mrs Carre says the place has to be clean peak to foothills if we’re going to have mistress here.”

Obi ducks his head, fighting to keep the smile off his face. Peak to foothills. The vowels are all wrong of course, so thickly Tanbarin that it’s almost too much to sound like his miss, but still, still. His chest aches, but it’s a good one; the pain of something well-missed.

“I --” Yori’s gaze darts between Obi and Lili. “I will just...go take care of my work, my lord.”

“If there’s anything Lili needs lifted, I’ll be sure to step in,” Obi assures him, grinning when a pretty blush breaks out over his valet’s cheeks.

“Oh, I couldn’t, my lord!” she squeaks. “It wouldn’t be right --”

“Please,” Obi laughs, pressing a hand to his chest. “I have to keep my physique somehow, or else my miss will think I’ve gone soft like a southern lord.”

“You are a southern lord, sir,” Yori reminds him.

Obi casts him a long look. “Don’t you have something to press? A shirt? Some pants? My undergarments?”

“You don’t wear --”

He stares. “Something?”

Yori swallows. “Ah, yes. O-of course, my lord.”

His valet hastens away, leaving Lili to stare at him with her eyebrows furrowed. Obi can only hope she won’t say something about his undergarments. Weeks ago he would have assumed the maids would pink up at the mention of unmentionables, but --

But, at least in Cacciatore, everyone thinks his affairs are their business. Including what does or does not reside beneath his pants.

No one had ever told him being a lord would cost him his privacy.

“They ruin the line of the trouser,” he says airily, leaning against the desk.

That would have sent Miss into a furious flush; she’s all but seen it, being his physician the last few years, but even still the mention of nakedness in a different context than clinical sends her hiding behind her hair.

But Lili is made of sterner stuff, just letting a corner of her mouth hook up as she says, “As you say, my lord.”

She turns back to her dusting, and Obi seats himself behind the desk, hands itching to pop open the drawer and scour the ledger. He restrains himself, instead pulling out the official ones, handed over to him by Morel when he first arrived months ago. The most recent are missing, of course -- those are carried by his wayward steward, who always manages to come to Cacciatore at the exact moment Obi has left to inspect his holdings, or been informed of some trouble on the property.

He’s gone over these before, numbers swimming through his vision, but he tries again now. He’s reported what he can to His Majesty, but these are clearly for if the Royal Assessors have come to audit. There are no entries for title forgers or black market assassins. Pity.

He’s tallying the prices for flour for the fourth time when he hears it, the gentle hum of a children’s song, a pretty, untrained voice coming in for the first line of the verse.

Hi! says the little mourning dove, I’ll tell you how to gain her love --

“The Bird Song.” It knocks the breath out of him, hearing something so familiar. His chest aches, and oh, oh how he longs to hear another voice trill that melody. “I haven’t heard that for...a while now.”

Miss would sing it to Ryuu to make him smile, complete with funny faces and dramatic gestures. He’d learned the verses to since counterpoint, but the words were ever-changing, a blue jay one time and a bobwhite the next.

“Ah, really now.” Lili’s smile crooks with mystery.

That’s the thing of it, his miss would giggle, tucking close as they walked to their rooms. It’s tradition. It’s --

“It’s never that same song twice.”

His lips twitch. “So I’ve heard.”

“Ah, from the Mistress!” Lili’s mouth parts in a bright smile. “I’ll have to see if she’ll trade me verses! I’ve run out of new ones.”

“She’s the daughter of a bar,” he warns her, “some of hers are impolite.”

“Even better.” She hesitates. “You don’t mind my singing, my lord?”

He blinks. “No. Should I?”

“No, it’s only...” She shakes her head. “Never mind, my lord. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s nice,” he admits. “I’m used to having people around. The silence is a little loud, sometimes.”

She smiles at that. “Then I’ll be happy to keep your ears occupied, sir.”

My Heart,

I want you. I want you.

“How long has it been?”

Obi grunts, dragging his gaze away from the cavalcade of numbers pounding through his vision. He’s disoriented by decimals, trying to figure out whether he should say six years or four months.

“Since you’ve been separated from her,” Lili clarifies. “You said you were a knight, my lord. Surely you’ve had to part before.”

“Three years ago.” There’s no scar there, only a small silver line, but his side still stings when he talks about it. “For a month.”

“Not so long.”

He sees her running in his memory, breath clouding in the air, obscuring her expression until she grips his arms. The terror is plain in her eyes, as is relief, and her mouth forms his name on a breath --

Welcome home, Obi.

He swallows hard. “Long enough.”

My Love

A storm rolls off the sea to the south, darkening the skies over Cacciatore. The wind buffets his cheeks, whipping them raw, but still he does not turn away. His hand wraps around a spike, dulled metal blade biting into his palm, but he keeps steady, feet planted on tiles.

The south wind brings secrets, they say in Sama, but it is silent now, now when he most needs it to whispers in his ear. He wants warm, sweet words to pen his miss, but instead the clouds spit from their lofty heavens. Obi feels it on his face and sighs.

It’s better than he deserves.

The sky rumbles in the distance; he feels it in his bones, wishes the lightning might strike him with inspiration –

“Ah, my lord?”

Obi leans over a gargoyle, catching sight of Yori on the balcony below. He’s soaked to the bone, his dark hair curling into a slick cap against his skull, fine clothes hanging off him like a sodden curtain. Obi glances down at his own shirt, finding the fabric far wetter than he remembered.

Oh, it’s raining. He hadn’t noticed.

He adjusts his feet on the tiles beneath his boots. The peak is steep and slick now, but it takes more than that to –

“Ah, no!” Yori’s eyes go white all around, his skin going ashen. “Don’t – you don’t need to move, my lord! I can – I’m able to hear you just fine. No need to – do whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

He lets out a huff. “I’m not going to fall, Yori.”

“Of course not, my lord,” comes the reply, not at all confident.

Obi rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the slope. Miss would just order him down, smothering him with blankets and scolding him as she drew a bath, if I see you shiver once, I’m tucking you in my own bed, and that’s that.

“Ah,” he groans, hand tugging at his shoulder. Relief floods him, and it had nothing to do with a physical ache. He’d be disappointed in himself, if he wasn’t so desperate for it, for anything approaching familiar.

He rolls his gaze to the edge of the roof.

“Do you have these sorts of problems?” he asks the gargoyle. From this angle it’s not so imposing; less like an intimidating beast and more like a lion particularly upset about a thorn in its paw.

He gives it a pass; there’s few things in life that can be viewed from under its ass and maintain dignity.

“Of course you don’t,” he decides. “You’re the strong, silent type, I can tell. Just like Miss Kiki.”

“Did you say something, my lord?” Yori ventures from below.

He rolls to the edge of the roof now, arm slung over the gargoyle’s shoulder. “Nah, just was having a chat here with Kiko.”

“Kiko?” the valet echoes, brows drawing together. “Wouldn’t it be male, sir, what with the--”

“A lioness can have a mane,” he calls down, clucking in disappointment. “Got to be worldlier if you want to impress the chambermaids, Yori.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t think that’s right, sir.”

His blood rushes at the challenge, grin tilting his mouth. “Saw one up at Lyrias, once. All their zoologists were in a tizzy.”

Yori’s mouth sets, folded into a thing line, and every part of Obi focuses down to a point.

Yes, yes. His breath catches in his teeth. Challenge me.

Between one blink and the next, Yori deflates. “If you say so, my lord.”

The disappointment is worse than a blade to the kidney, and more prone to fester. Obi’s fingers twitch over Kiko’s mane.

“If I might, my lord,” Yori ventures, gaze firmly affixed to the stone. “Is there something bothering you?”

Obi blinks. “What would make you say that?”

“You’re on the roof talking with a gargoyle that should really be a manticore and it’s raining frogs out here.” He holds out his free hand and shrugs. “I thought it obvious.”

“You’re taking exception to Kiko?” He covers her ears. “Don’t listen to him. You’re very fearsome.”

“I can’t say I’m fond of the rest of it either, sir.” He clears his throat, and says, almost wry, “What if the next lord already has a valet?”

“I can tell you’re very concerned with the sanctity of my esteemed person.”

“I’m definitely concerned about the wholeness of your body, sir.” He tilts his head up, blinking as the rain pours into his eyes. His mouth twitches at a corner. “Did you know a valet makes twice as much as a footman?”

A laugh burst out of him, unbidden. “No,” Obi drawls, “I didn’t.”

Yori flushes, flustered. He apparently didn’t expect his lord to find the joke funny. Still, he seems...pleased.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord,” Yori ventures, tremor in his voice. “Is this about the mistress?”

Obi stiffens.

“Mm.” His valet nods. “I know it’s not my place, my lord --”

“It’s never stopped Morel.”

Yori coughs. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Of course, sir. I only mean to say…” He struggles for a moment. “You and the mistress write so often.”

“A stunning observation, Yori.”

The boy flushes. “It’s only that…you wouldn’t write so much, if you didn’t want her near. And she…” His hands make small, aborted gestures. “She writes just as often, sir.”

“Ah,” is all he can think to say.

“It seems a little silly to me, sir,” Yori continues, clearly warming to the topic, “that there’s so much of a to-do, when it’s something you both want.”

Obi slips down the roof, landing on the banister. His valet yelps, scrambling to put the umbrella over his own head, but he brushes him off, breath strangely heavy.

He’s light-headed, almost dizzy. There must not be enough air up that high.

“I wonder…”

Dear Mistress,

I don’t think I could sneak the paint past Mrs Carre if I tried. She hardly lets me make a decision now, not unless I have written proof of your hand in it as well. Morel tattled about the bookcases --ah, I haven’t yet told you that story, I promise I have no intention of going through with it…

Speaking of the old badger, I’ve been recently informed by Mr Morel that he thinks I’ve ‘settled in’ to my position. He’s also informed me that I am lord of this estate, and may do as I wish, and so – I know you have languished without my presence (and my high body temperature), and so I thought you might appreciate a chance to once again witness your specter in the flesh. If it would please you, of course, Miss...

“My lord?”

“What is it?” Obi grunts, hunched over a bowl of porridge, fresh peaches strewn on top. Morel sighs, long suffering.”

“Nothing, my lord,” he says, in a tone that says everything. “Only…”

Ah, here it comes.

“I was only wondering if you were planning to be snappish all day,” Morel continues blithely. “As you have the other six.”

“I’m not snappish,” Obi snaps.

“Of course not, sir,” Morel agrees, while clearly disagreeing. “It is only that you’ve startled Lili twice as she attends the study, and Yori informed me you suggested the tailor to make himself a short noose with his tape when measuring your inseam --”

“He asked me if I needed less allowance on my thigh --”

“Of course, sir,” Morel says, “I just mean to remind you it’s only been a week.”

Obi is not enough of a fool to ask since what.

“And also.” Morel bends down, dropping a square of parchment from his coat onto the table. His heart races at the familiar scrawl. “The mail has arrived.”

Dear Obi,

If you have done anything to those books, Obi, I will write to Mrs Carre and tell her you love banana. How could you even pretend you might destroy any parts of a library...

Obi lets out a huff, flipping to the next page. He’ll pore over this later, savoring every scolding word, but he can’t enjoy any of it, can’t overlay Miss’s voice onto the words until his heart eases, until he knows –

Halfway down the third, his breath catches.

Languishing is a strong word, she writes, her lilting, teasing tone alive in every stroke of her pen. But of course I will come. I had hoped you might ask. I’m eager to meet your illustrious Mr Morel, and Mrs Carre. And to see you, of course...

“I thought this was a good thing, my lord,” Yori grouses, wrapping his coat more firmly about his shoulders. “The mistress is coming.”

“It is.” The scrollwork of the gable digs into his hands, and it cuts through his elation, keeping him grounded. “We’re celebrating.”

Yori puffs out his cheeks, like one of those thorny fish Cacciatore has along its coastline. “Some bloody celebration.”

“Come on,” Obi laughs, giddy. He’s being incautious, being obvious, but -- if Mrs Carre knows his feelings, there’s little point in pretending the rest of them don’t as well. “Haven’t you ever longed for someone.”

His valet is silent, much longer than he expects, and he turns to -- apologize, maybe. He’s heard of lords that don’t allow their staff to marry, but he never thought to ask if Conti was one --

Yori isn’t even looking at him, his gaze hooked over the balcony, down to the lawns where the maids took their luncheon, and oh, oh --

“Yes,” Yori breathes, hand white round the balustrade. “I have.”

Obi grins. Now wasn’t that interesting?

[ellipsesarefun]

Emil Nekola & Otabek Altin

Implied Character Death

“They would not listen, they’re not listening still… Perhaps they never will..”

The pasture is clear tonight, with the breeze blowing in soft whispers, sharing secrets with the dancing grass. Emil sees nothing beyond the horizon but twinkling dots from above. The lilt conversation of nature reaches him, and his skin tingles from the chilly air as his footfalls crunch against the verdant ground below him. From his periphery, Otabek walks with a guitar strapped on his shoulder, pace more languid and face seemingly blending with evening landscape. 

They both sit at the center, watching the still life picture with wordless thoughts jumping around their minds and out to the twinkling canvas above. Otabek plants his guitar on his lap and plucks a chord, a familiar tune that matches nature’s whispers. Emil follows, voice reverberating with the strum and the wind in melancholic symphony.

“Did you know that the stars we’re looking right now were the stars that once lived billions and billions of years ago?” Emil asked once, a few years back on a night like this. He remembers a sigh beside him and the crickets chirping back yet never understanding human language.

“Sometimes, when I look at the sky, maybe if I could just squint, I could maybe find something from the past.” He continued, “If I reach far enough, if I just stretch my hand as far as I could, maybe.. maybe…”

Nothing comes after but another sigh from Otabek. Emil now recalls his friend’s question in that contemplative frown and realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, hasn’t provided any answer to his wandering thoughts.

A moment after, he asked,

“Do you think, if people saw each others past, or maybe the present or their future, or maybe themselves as a whole, would they have understood other people a lot more? Would they have respected each other more or less? Would they have gone their way to be more nicer, more empathic for everyone else?”

The creases in Otabek’s eyebrows grew. Emil did not know if he had upset him then, but the thought dies when the dark glaze in his eyes mirrored his own. Their gazes lingered on each other for another intermission of cricket chirps before Otabek set his vision back at the sky. Emil’s eyes followed.

“…I don’t know.” Otabek finally replied. It was an answer that still dissatisfies his pondering thoughts even to this day, but an answer nonetheless, “Maybe they would.. but sometimes maybe they don’t.. but we can never force empathy on anyone.. That, I know.”

Now as the music reaches the chorus, Emil reaches up and he swears he sees his mother’s smile and he fists his hand, as if he could grasp those honey sweet memories, but there was only air, her blood in his hands and her head on crumpled paper stained in crimson. His vision blurs and liquid trails down his cheeks, dripping on his shirt.

“Now I think I know, what you tried to say to me,” He sang, words crooked from his waterworks, “And how you suffered for your sanity… And how you tried to set them free..” The wind howled. It kissed his face, just as his mother kissed him after she tucked him to bed.

He closed his eyes, the image in his head a visage of his mothers cerulean irises, her soft, flowing ash blonde hair, and that endearing smile that shined his worries away. She had him engulfed in her warmth, softly mumbling the highlights of her day. His mind replays her favorite tunes, her excitement over her next novel to be published, and that little chest filled of post-it notes she stuck to his bed post before she left for work. The last image stops on the day they sat gazing at the stars, pointing at made-up constellations and telling tales of the old.

“They would not listen, they’re not listening still… Perhaps they never will..” Emil finished, leaving only the last quiet strum from the guitar. The wind softened its whispers, and the crickets chirped louder as the image in his mind bleeds as bright as the stars above.

[alisayamin]

I'd like modern magic au with a little of your yurio yuuri platonic-ness? Your post about them still haunts me sometimes

I LOVE MAGIC AU AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

So here you go anon, a bit of Yurio-Yuuri broship cuz I love them and they’re awesome + Victor cameo and just lots of fluff and a bit of Yurio-Otabek if you squint really really hard wwww

Yuuri pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It told a lot about his extended hours of being in a hunched sitting position over the mixture in the cauldron in front of him. Fairies in the north were being paranoid about werewolves and the barrier of aconitum just weren’t cutting it anymore since packs often recruited their own humans and emissaries. Thus, new (urgent) orders for infused wolfsbane were piling up. 

With the amount of ingredients he was touching and summoning, it really wasn’t a good time to meet with any clients and the shop was closed. Usually the shop was out of sight anyway. Only those with pure enough hearts could see it and only those with purpose could enter. 

Yuuri didn’t often get walk-in customers (probably less than 5 in a month) so while he was busy adding grains and plants to his concoction, an impatient customer called out to him. 

“Oi. I’ve been standing here for 10 minutes!”

Yuuri was caught so off guard that he almost fell back.

“S-Sorry!” Yuuri hastily wiped his hands on his coat and stood up to greet the customer over the counter. 

Blond semi-length hair, a scowl on a pretty face, average height, defensive demeanor, and a strong core of magic but the lack of good concealment. It was a boy. An apprentice perhaps. 

Yuuri smiled sheepishly, “Hi there! I’d offer you my hand but you probably wouldn’t want to touch me unless you’re trying to ward off werewolves.”

The kid did not look impressed.

“How can I help you?”

At the question of a purpose, the apprentice seemed to loosen up a bit, “Are you good with charms?”

“That depends on what charm you’re looking for.”

The apprentice looked away and tapped his foot vigorously, as though contemplating his answer, “It’s for a friend. He just moved to a new place. Wanted to get a housewarming gift.”

Yuuri smiled, “A dreamcatcher would be nice.”

The apprentice’s lips tugged a little in the corner, “Yeah.”

“Okay, give me a minute, we’ll make it together.”

And the scowl was back, “Wait, ‘make’? Don’t you just sell them over the counter or something?”

Yuuri was putting the cauldron away and withdrawing a magic cloth from one of drawers as he answered, “It’s for your friend isn’t it? A personal touch from the benefactor goes a long way.”

It silenced the apprentice long enough for Yuuri to clean himself up and gather ingredients. He walked to his shelves of tools and ingredients behind him and let his magic decide which was the best for his client. It was calming to be able to tell what was best for the customer. Soon, Yuuri had a beautiful medium-sized light beige willow hoop (pre-made personally by Yuuri), a spool of magic-infused purple nylon strings, and a few small protective stones for extra measure. 

Yuuri gathered the materials in his arms and joined the apprentice in front of the counter. He comfortably sat on the floor and the apprentice hesitantly followed suite. 

After the first knot was tied, Yuuri began weaving the string in a clockwise manner along the hoop. He glanced up a few times to catch the apprentice watching him with full interest. Yuuri would never qualify as an educator but he could share what he knew. 

“These strings are infused with calluna vulgaris. For protection.”

The apprentice made a sound of acknowledgement, “Why do you weave? Isn’t it a hassle? Just use magic or something.”

“It would fasten the process but also taint it.”

“Why?” 

“To use magic in this case would mean haste. Haste has a horrible scent in gifts.”

Another affirmative grunt. 

As Yuuri weaved the middle layer, he added the green charms one by one, “These are hedera stones.”

“For friendship” the apprentice supplied while still concentrating on the way Yuuri’s hand moved effortlessly with every weave. 

“Do you have a personal item or charm you’d like to attach to your gift?”

The apprentice gave away a shocked expression as realization dawned on him. He reached into his pocket to retrieve three feathers; white, black and brown. Yuuri could feel the energy from those three objects. Charms worked best when the owner of said items believed in the objects’ abilities. And this apprentice, truly wanted to protect his friend. 

The sentiment and sincerity of the apprentice made Yuuri smile, “Perfect.”

At the last weave, Yuuri urged the apprentice to tie the double knot and instructed him to cut off the end with his own magic. Then, Yuuri tied the three feathers together with the nylon string and again, instructed the apprentice to tie it to the bottom of the completed dreamcatcher.

Once it was done, Yuuri felt his ties to the dreamcatcher being cut off. And he watched with mild interest at the apprentice’s confused face from a sudden surge of magic flow inside him. 

The apprentice had a lot to learn. 

Yuuri cleared all the items and went back to his counter. The apprentice stood up and asked him, “How much?”

“Well, seeming that you made the dreamcatcher yourself, no payment is needed.”

“….huh?”

“I have no proof of participation in making the dreamcatcher. It is entirely your magic that surrounds it.”

The apprentice was silent for a long time, scowling and frowning again, trying to understand what Yuuri meant. 

“When you make a charm, the most definitive feature is the final seal. Those who ‘complete’ it will bear full ownership no matter how many participants there were in its process.”

The apprentice’s eyes widened, “You gave me full ownership.”

“That’s right.”

For once, the apprentice’s face softened and a real smile graced his face, “Thank you.”

At that moment, Yuuri seemed to realize there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect this pure soul. It was a great deal to thank without pretense or deceit. 

“But you’re an idiot.” the apprentice deadpanned with a bored look. Then he went rambling with another frown, “How can you go through all that trouble and NOT charge me? Do you know how many people will walk over your head? You can’t let people take advantage of you! You’re lucky I don’t walk on you. And what was with that mess earlier in the cauldron? Smelled like poop than infused wolfsbane if you ask me.”

Yuuri laughed self-consciously but he could read the kindness and care behind those insults. 

The apprentice huffed in annoyance as he carefully tucked away his gift. He turned towards the door but stopped midway, “Oi.”

“Mm?”

“Юрий Плисецкий”

Yuuri was stunned into silence. Those words carried strength in them. It was the apprentice’s name. 

“If you’re ever heading North, just.. y’know.”

The smile on Yuuri’s face almost hurt. They even shared the same first name it seemed, “勝生 利也” Yuuri answered back.

The apprentice whipped his head back with as much shock on his face as how Yuuri felt earlier. Name sharing was almost taboo for those in the magical circle. Giving someone full power of manipulation over your soul and body required great amount of trust. And if the apprentice, Yuri Plisetsky, a pure soul underneath an arrogant layer of skin, trusted Yuuri, he would gladly offer the same. 

“This shop doesn’t open its doors to just anyone but if you can’t see it, just call me up.”

The two stood in silence before Yuri smiled again and left the shop for good. 

“Yura! Where on earth did you go?!”

“Shut up old man! You’re never there in the forest when I wait for you anyway!”

Victor pouted at being called old. He wanted to get angry but… Something about Yuri smelled different. He smelled happy which was rare but he also smelled like…someone else. 

“Where did you go today?”

Yuri shrugged, “Found a shop when I was wondering town. Got a present for Beka. Why?”

“You smell like someone. Who is it?”

“Yeah the shop owner was weird. He didn’t even realize the door opened! I mean, his bell thingy was so loud when I came in! And he ignored me! For minutes!” Yuri seemed to go on a rampage but it slowly morphed into admiration and… affection perhaps?

“But… he helped me decide what to get and then he even helped me make Beka’s present and… we sat on the floor and he was really gentle with it…. he was a nice guy.” But then his rampage mood was back on, “He taught me more than you did in a month, Vitya.”

“Ouch, Yura, that hurts.” Victor dramatically clutched his chest.

“Whatever. Can we just practice already? You goofed off the whole time we’ve been in Japan.”

“You still haven't told me who that person is.”

Victor was surprise when Yuri’s stance imitated his own when he was being… difficult with Yakov. 

“I ain’t telling you shit, Victor. He’s not up for discussion.”

Oh. Now, wasn’t that interesting? Who was it that made Yuri so protective all of a sudden?

Yuuri was surprised to see his phone blink with an incoming message and then another. And another. The humans were amazing in their way to manipulate waves into electronic devices. Even the magical creatures had their fun with human technology. Of course, they tweaked most of it to their convenience. And Yuuri’s ‘number’ was only available to those who knew his name. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Yuri’s rant-filled messages and questions on how to destroy his master. But there were also curious messages on how to make ivy stones and how to kill magical bugs without hurting them. 

Yuuri smiled.