#//jack at his core is an honorable gentle kind and good man. the gruff and sharp exterior was forged and is necessary

[bushido-jack]

//my favorite thing lately has been scrubbing the internet for decades old samurai jack edits and amvs and watching them. there’s so much love for samurai jack in them, faith that he would be back to finish his tale one day, and it fits perfectly with the time it came out lol. the edits aren’t as great as they would be with technology nowadays and the music is often linkin park but there’s always an open love for Jack and the series in there. and there’s something about seeing people love Jack even when it’s not at it’s most angsty, when it’s just seasons 1-4, without the novelty, without anything else to focus on but what makes Jack Jack.

[yoireverse]

rivalry

((hello everyone, and welcome back to the reverse au!! ♥♥♥ i’ve been savin’ this fic for a rainy day. this is dedicated to everyone who wanted to know what yuri plisetsky’s relationship was with victor + yuuri in the rev au. i hope you all enjoy this! ♥)) summary: “Is that what you think it takes to win, Yura?” The silver-haired man steps into his young rink-mate’s space, grinning ill-temperedly. “Attempting to bring honor to Russia?”

“Well,” Yuri steps further into Victor’s space, refusing to budge one bit at the twenty-three-year-old’s provocation. “It’s gotta be better than looking pretty and managing to do exactly jack shit at competitions.” Yuuri plays mediator to keep the two of them from getting into a fist fight.

word count: 3.7k rating: t ✮read on ao3 | ✮reverse au fics | ✮reverse au art →my tumblr | →em’s art blog

“It’s not that you’re out of shape, so much,” Yuuri says, humming while he runs his hands over Victor’s back. The younger man stands shock-still while tan hands run over his spine, color creeping over the bridge of his nose. “Still, your posture leaves a bit to be desired. Have you ever taken dance?”

Victor thinks back to the hellish days where Yakov had dragged him to a variety of dance studios, trying to find his niche. He’d been horrid at hip-hop, somewhat decent at tap and ballroom, and eventually, alright at ballet. Victor had been flexible enough, but Lilia had not liked him, hadn’t liked how Victor had refused to take instruction without asking questions. Besides, Yakov and Lilia had a bit of a falling out in his adolescence, so Victor had focused more on his technical elements and let the performance piece come second.

Thinking back, the lack of dedication to his PCS is probably why he hadn’t made it to the Grand Prix final until he was in his twenties. “Yeah, a couple, but it’s been a long time.” Victor thinks back to the last proper ballet lesson he’d taken. He’d been no older than fourteen, so it’s almost been ten years. Yuuri fixes him with a look, so Victor sighs in the middle of his stretches. “A very long time.”

“Anything you’re particularly comfortable with?” Yuuri’s hands burn on Victor’s shoulders, and the younger man feels slightly flustered. He tosses a glance over his shoulder at his coach, with his soft cheeks and his dark, windswept hair, casually combed back. “Victor?”

Mila snickers from afar, so Victor coughs and regains his composure. “I’m down to learn anything if it’ll take me to the podium.”

“Hmm.” Yuuri gives him a look up and down, then nods. “Alright. Let’s do some conditioning first. Yoga will help loosen you up, and then we’ll move through some core ballet movements, since that’s my dance background. Sound good?”

Victor’s heart races at the thought of Yuuri’s hands on his waist, his soft, steady voice lulling while the Japanese man steadies his pupil. He would faint on the spot, but his Russian rink-mates are all staring at him with various degrees of amusement and annoyance.

“Yep,” the twenty-three-year-old replies with a dry throat. They stay at the rink until everyone else has cleared out, Yakov leading his trail of all-stars out with a gruff clap. Once Yuuri feels like Victor has exhausted himself, they pack up and look things up online.

“How about this studio?” Yuuri flicks through the listings while Victor yawns, blue eyes squinting at the low glow of his coach’s phone. “It seems like it’ll be pretty affordable, and we’d be able to have some time to ourselves.”

The silver-haired skater gulps. He’s not entirely sure how well he’ll fare with the beautiful Japanese man being the only other person in the ballet room, surrounded by mirrors and Yuuri’s soft, crisp needling. He flushes hot and murmurs, “Yeah, we could check it out,” turning his face a bit so the five-time gold medalist doesn’t see that he’s losing his mind.

“I’ll give them a call in the morning, then,” Yuuri says, his tongue poking cutely out of his mouth while he jabs the touch screen and saves the location. Victor keeps stealing glances, because his idol is adorable, but he’s not fully comfortable with how much he wants to make a move on the older man just yet.

Yuuri’s only been coaching him for a month or so. Victor may have low impulse control, but even he’s not that bad. The two of them wander back to Victor’s apartment, where Yuuri sleeps on the roll-out futon despite Victor’s insistence that the older man take the bed.

Both of them eat a quiet dinner, Yuuri taking charge of the shopping and cooking while he stays with Victor. The younger man watches him move, as fluid in domesticity as he is on the ice. Victor blows hair out of his face.

Their plates are full of lean meat and green vegetables. Yuuri clasps his hands together, bows his head over the plate, and picks up a fork. Victor watches the Japanese man in awe, trying to shake the idealistic fog out of his mind. “So,” Yuuri starts speaking softly, patiently chewing his dinner before smiling at his new student. “Have you been thinking about your short program?”

Just like that, the happy bubble around Victor bursts. He pouts and stabs the chicken breast, feeling a little annoyed. “I mean, I guess so? Just, um…” Yuuri keeps cutting his food neatly and Victor huffs. “I wanted it to be sort of...unexpected. I really wanted to focus on being more fluid, like you.”

“The ballet lessons will help a lot, Victor.” Yuuri puts on his teaching voice and the younger man groans again. “Any ideas for your theme?”

Yuuri Katsuki is My Coach and I’m Kind of Dying, Please Send Help - that’s what he really wants to say, but that’s long-winded and awkward. “I’m thinking something about...renewed vigor for life. Something moving, like passion! I would say that my work thus far has been very cold, and I want to avoid that.”

“That’s a great start,” Yuuri says with a gentle smile, taking a long sip from his glass of water. “If you’re not up for brainstorming right now, we can put it off for later. I’ll work on the coordination of your short program; you’ll work on your flexibility. How’s that sound?”

Victor sighs airily, grinning back at his coach. “Sounds great.”

//

Yuuri-the-ice-skating-coach is a bit of a taskmaster, but he still balances their time well, skating just as much as Victor does and running him through the proper motions as they stand side by side on the ice.

Yuuri-the-ballet-instructor is relentless. “We’re going to run through the basic positions again, and watch your arms. Fully pointed toes, Victor!”

Victor is sweaty and frustrated and it is excessively difficult to bend his legs as far as Yuuri would like him to. “Yes!” He snaps back eagerly, trying to maintain his pace and force his legs to obey. They sweat out the hours on the balance beam after his conditioning is done, then they figure out how the moves will translate to his performance on the ice.

Eventually, Victor figures out a dance that makes him feel like he’s passing through water. His arms hurt, his feet hurt - everything is in pain, but the dance is graceful. Yuuri’s limbs steady him when he falters those first few days, just like Yuuri had kept Victor aligned with the balance beam. “You’ve done this your whole life,” the olive-skin man reminds him, taking a moment to skate off and push his flyaway hairs away from his face. “You’re just adding something new to the routine. Yeah?”

Victor huffs, putting his hands on his knees and drinking in the proud look of Yuuri’s attentive eyes. “Yeah.” Victor pulls himself up and puffs out his chest.

The two of them aren’t the last ones in the rink this time.

Yuri Plisetsky is waiting for them, tugging his skate guards on with a scowl. “Oy,” the teenager sidles over with his hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you assholes supposed to flirt and do all that gross stuff after you leave?”

Yuuri gives him a blank stare, not sure whether he should be laughing or gaping at the young man. “Uhh?”

Victor scowls at his rink-mate. “Yura. We’re not flirting.” As much as I wish that we were, Victor mentally laments, but for the time being, he narrows his eyes. “If you pay attention, you’ll see that much like you, Georgi, and Mila are practicing routines with Yakov, Yuuri and I are working on a short program for the season. Stop acting like a child.”

“I am a child,” Yuri snarls back, unafraid to step into Victor’s face while he crosses his arms over his black turtleneck. “You and your superstar sweetheart are getting all cozy and it’s distracting. Yakov lets you go because he favors you, but I’m going to bring glory back to our country.”

Yuuri looks at Victor, points to himself, and mouths “Superstar?” Victor groans, starting to get very annoyed with the blonde.

“Is that what you think it takes to win, Yura?” The silver-haired man steps into his young rink-mate’s space, grinning ill-temperedly. “Attempting to bring honor to Russia?”

“Well,” Yuri steps further into Victor’s space, refusing to budge one bit at the twenty-three-year-old’s provocation. “It’s gotta be better than looking pretty and managing to do exactly jack shit at competitions.”

Yuuri watches Victor’s thinly-veiled rage bubble to the surface before patting his and Yuri’s shoulders, nervously trying to calm them both down. Yuri snarls at the Japanese man, grabbing the arm of his sweater and almost forcing Yuuri to fall on the ice. Victor nearly snaps. “Oy! If you’re going to spend so much time on useless over here, why don’t you at least practice by yourself? All Victor’s going to do is fawn over you anyways, since he can’t figure out what he wants to do for a short program.”

Brown eyes study the hard edges of the Russian teenager’s green eyes. “Well, we are having problems finalizing a concept for the SP,” Yuuri quietly murmurs. “How about this? I could show both of you some routines I was playing with before my break, if you like.” When he says the words, Yuuri is careful to keep his expression even and keep his eyes locked with Yuri Plisetsky’s. After he watches the boy’s look soften, he turns to Victor, who reels back as if he’s been slapped. “It’ll be a good change. Who knows, Victor? If one of these programs speaks to you, you’re welcome to use it this season.”

“What about me?” Yuri snarls. “You’re just gonna make me watch you skate and hope I feel something?”

“Nope,” Yuuri softly replies, laughing slightly. “You can skate the other program. That way, you both get equal time in the rink, and nobody feels jilted. How’s that?”

Victor and Yuri share a dry look. After a moment, the silver-haired man mutters under his breath. “I’m good with that, but I think Yura here is looking for a challenge.” Victor draws himself to his full height, towering well above the blonde while his new coach stands there, scowling a bit at Victor’s theatrics. “Let’s take this one step further. I pick one of your short programs. Yura picks the other one, and then, we have a battle!” Mila, Georgi, and Yakov turn at his proclamation. Yuuri groans and rolls his eyes when Victor points at the teen. “I’ll only do it on those terms!”

“You’re on, asshole,” Yuri snarls back, putting his hands on his hips. “Oy, Yakov! The rink’s ours for the next hour, okay?”

Yakov yells profanities back in response, refusing adamantly. Yuuri is sheepish as he asks for permission more formally, and the older man grumbles and gives in.

Yuuri starts talking about the music as he skates to the center of the rink. His glasses are folded in their usual spot, and he asks Victor to press play.

The first song starts off slowly. It’s a melodic piece, an arrangement of Chopin’s Aeolian Harp, easy to imagine birds glancing over water as the piano keys are tickled. Yuuri’s body is a soft masterpiece, carved from years of effort in the sport, spine bowing gracefully as he dips low to the ice, pinkies glancing just over the surface of it. He pulls his whole body into a spin at the finale, arms crossed over his abdomen as he stops.

Victor and Yuri are both breathless as the older man gasps for air. Both of them clap absently while Yuuri gets a drink of water, and as soon as he’s ready to get back into things, he gestures for Victor to turn the music back on.

The second time, Yuuri begins by slowly lifting his face, spreading his fingers widely and dragging them away like they’re being pulled by someone unseen. This arrangement of Soleá de la Luna Coja is full of low heat; the performance is a flamenco at the core. His moves speak to the fluidity of his background in ballet, of how much subtle eroticism he can produce with all four of his limbs, his expression so far from Yuuri’s demure, homely voice and gentle liveliness that Victor can hardly focus.

“Hey,” Yuri snaps at Victor, who is flushing slightly while his young coach is knocking excess ice off of his blades. “Victor! Come back to earth.” Yuuri skates over, slicking his hair back and putting on his glasses, moving to adjust his gloves a bit while he steps off of the rink. Victor’s jaw drops a bit, realizing all over again that Yuuri is soft and real and here. In St. Petersburg. To teach him. “God, you’re hopeless. Focus! You have to pick one of those programs.”

Victor doesn’t want to. He just wants to watch Yuuri dance on the ice some more. Sighing softly, he looks at Yuuri’s expectant expression and pulls himself together, toying with the ends of his ponytail. “The first one is very me, but I admit that I was more enchanted by the second program.”

“Let’s try it out, then.” Yuuri gives the blonde a look with his arms outstretched, his smile welcoming. “Yuri, we’ll practice together as soon as Victor starts learning his motions, okay?”

“Whatever,” Yuri mutters his response, leaving the two men alone to discuss movements and Victor’s growing capability to do all the things Yuuri had just showed him, even if his ballet posture isn’t perfect.

When Yuri spends time with the Japanese man, he is daunted by Yuuri’s seemingly boundless stamina. For all that Yuuri blusters and stammers, easily embarrassed and even easier to goad into a witty argument, he’s a good coach. His pointers help Yuri visualize the program in a way that is novel to him.

He refuses to admit this, but Yuri sometimes thinks that he’d like to fully switch from Yakov coaching him to Yuuri’s leadership.

Not only would Yuuri be good for his development as a skater, it would piss Victor off to high hell, so the thought alone makes the blonde snicker.

//

The next month is torturous. Yuuri works his two pupils to the bone most nights. His level voice and lilting comments scathe Victor and Yuri more than Yakov’s yelling ever had. The rink opens for a public display the evening that both of them will unveil their SP’s.

Yuuri sits and watches patiently from the sidelines. Victor itches to be close to him, so he closes his blue eyes and tries to remember all those nights he had fantasized about doing something as outlandish as skating with Yuuri Katsuki as his coach and choreographer.

His idol looks up at him and grips Victor’s hands. “Hey,” Yuuri reminds him, looking a bit close to panic himself since Victor appears as though he’s ready to fall over. “You’re going to do great, you know? Yuri’s excellent, of course, but he’s fifteen. Go show him what you can do.”

The blonde has just stunned an audience to silence with a performance graceful enough to be put into Swan Lake, but Victor gulps and nods his head.

As soon as he takes center stage on the ice, he remembers something that his Japanese coach has told him a hundred times since he’d flown to Russia to teach him.

Remember who’s watching you, Victor, Yuuri often says, long lashes framing his dark eyes. Don’t forget why you’re out there.

Victor is here to turn his body into a work of art that’s worth writing whimsical lyrics about.

He sucks in a deep breath. Victor knows he can do this. He’ll never be as incredible as his mentor, but he doesn’t have to be. Yuuri’s been teaching him how to move, been pouring into him, been cooking his meals, been sleeping on his couch, has been real and warm and everything Victor hadn’t known that he needed.

That night is a blur, but Mila shakes Victor immediately after he skates. She talks his ears off.

“That was incredible,” the redhead yells at Victor. Victor’s blue eyes are out of focus and he keeps searching for Yuuri, sad when he sees that his coach is too far away to touch. “I didn’t know you had it in you! You could absolutely win gold for that, Victor.”

His blonde rink-mate is absent as well, probably sulking, if the performance is as great as the deafening roars of the crowd would lead him to believe. Victor swallows dryly, searching for something to say, and then Yuuri sidles next to him like he had never left.

“Give him a minute to breathe,” Yuuri murmurs kindly, brushing shoulders with Victor. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” Victor mumbles back, barely resisting his natural urge to grab his coach’s hand and leech his warmth. They walk closely on the way back to the apartment, Yuuri noting parts of his program that need improvement. Victor rolls his eyes and unlocks the door, both of them tumbling onto the couch in a mess of limbs.

Yuuri laughs breathlessly, fingers tangling in Victor’s messy bun.

The Japanese man waits a beat, then he says, “You did it.”

Yuuri’s hands are incredibly calloused, even though Victor had been dreaming of how soft they could have been, being attached to someone as lovely and sweet as Yuuri. Then again, of course they are. Yuuri is a world-class athlete.

“Apparently so,” Victor mumbles back, snuggling further into Yuuri’s warmth while the other man allows him to be so close.

“You don’t remember?” Victor shakes his head and Yuuri laughs. The sound sticks in Victor’s chest and he gulps, cheeks flushing. The younger man buries his head in Yuuri’s lap to hide the tint of his face. “Well, it was amazing. One of your best performances, hands-down.”

Yuuri’s nails dig into Victor’s scalp absently and the younger man sighs in happiness. “I’m glad, then.”

Bashfully, the older man hums and asks, “What were you thinking about out there?”

“You,” Victor answers, closing his eyes and trying not to let his heart leap out of his chest. Yuuri’s eyes; Yuuri’s words; Yuuri’s delightful addiction to royal blues - Victor’s had Yuuri on the brain since he was ten years old, and it’s a hard habit to break. “It’s always you.”

When Victor looks up, he finds that Yuuri seems surprised.

The olive-skinned man colors deeply, sputtering and tearing his hand out of Victor’s hair. “Oh!” Yuuri yelps and adjusts Victor’s head in his lap so that there’s a bit of space between them. Victor whines. “Uh. I guess. I guess I should’ve known that, huh?”

Yes, Victor thinks, deadpan, but on the surface, he’s deeply entertained by Yuuri’s embarrassment. They’ve been at press conferences for events in the past where Victor’s said more shameful things about his idol, and this is what strikes Yuuri? Unbelievable.

“Whatever you thought about,” Yuuri eventually says, clearing his throat. “You did an amazing job out there. We’re gonna polish that and work on your FS from now on, because if you keep that up, you’ll take gold at the GPF for sure.”

These are big words, certainly, but Victor’s head is filled with the heady taste of victory over the blonde teenager they share a rink with. With this elation, Victor quickly exclaims, “Let’s do it,” and Yuuri grins back at him.

It’s a promise.

//

Yuri slams his bag down on the bench where Victor is lacing up his boots. Yuuri is already at the rink side, chatting with Yakov, so there’s not a chance that anyone responsible is going to stop the little shit from mouthing off to Victor.

“This isn’t over,” Yuri mutters angrily, pointing at the silver-haired man. “You think you and your crush are going to one-up me, but the playing field is even. He choreographed a program for me too. I’m going to make my mark with my free skate, so watch out.”

When Victor reads between the lines, his blonde teammate is almost sort of cute. “I get it, Yura. I look forward to whatever you come up with, okay? Let’s both try our best.” Victor pads off to the rink with his guards on, waving to Yuuri as the teenager behind him sits down and scoffs.

“I like it better when you’re acting more like a confident asshole than a depressed one,” Yuri mutters quietly.

Victor laughs lowly, fidgeting with his bun. “Yeah. Me too, Yura.” Victor takes his blade covers off while chatting calmly with his coach, and Yuuri gives him a soft smile.

Yuri Plisetsky just watches them, wondering if they know how affectionate everything they do is, if their soft, private smiles and gently touching cheeks say more than they ever will in words.

Victor’s an idiot, but Yuuri is helping the Russian man step up his game, polishing his form with every touch.

From the sidelines, Georgi scoffs, Victor and Yuuri’s intimacy tugging at his heartstrings. “This year is going to be tough.”

“Yes, it is,” Yakov gruffly comments. “So get your head in the game, Georgi. You can’t just whine and preen - you have to compete with that, so focus.”

“Yeah, focus,” Mila says, snickering as she skates towards Yuri and sticks her tongue out at the dark-haired Russian skater. “Don’t want the lovebirds to totally ruin your heartbroken fairy tale SP.”

“It is an emotionally engaging and enrapturing piece, Mila!” Georgi cries.

Yakov groans, watching all the madness in his rink with a distraught expression.

Still.

When he lets his eyes wander, he finds Victor smiling far more openly than he’s seen the man smile in years, and privately, he’s satisfied.

Victor usually seeks validation and worth out on the ice, trying too hard and kicking himself when he doesn’t achieve the greatness he so desperately wants to display. The Katsuki boy is good for him; he shows Victor that there is no one way to make it to the podium, and if Victor must pine over the older man like a fool to realize that, then Yakov is happy.

At one point, Victor had been like a son to him, after all. Even if, as a coach, they are on opposing sides now, Yakov still hopes that Victor will stand tall and prove his worth as the phenomenal skater Yakov knows that he can be.

This season is going to be fun, Vitya, Yakov thinks to himself, hiding a smile behind his hand as Yuuri chides Victor’s step sequence for the third time that day.