#does some silly stretches and warmups

[stedelovemail]

me: *goes bowling* me: *thinks about ed and stede bowling*

[knifeonmars]

Capsule Reviews, February 2021

Here's some things I've been reading.

The Curse of Brimstone 

DC's New Age of Heroes books, emerging from the beginning of Scott Snyder's creative-flameout-as-crossover-event Metal, mostly constituted riffs on Marvel heroes like the Fantastic Four (in The Terrifics) or the Hulk (in Damage). The Curse of Brimstone is a riff on Ghost Rider. It's... uneven. The first volume is generally pretty good, and when Phillip Tan is drawing it, as he does the first three and a half issues, it's gorgeous and unique, when he departs though, the quality takes a nose dive. None of the replacement artists, including the great Denis Cowan, can quite fill his shoes, and the story gets old fast. Guy makes a deal with the devil (or rather, a devil-like inhabitant of the "Dark Multiverse" as a not horribly handled tie-in to the conceits of Metal), realizes it's a raw deal, and rebels. The characters are flat, lots of time is spent with the main character's sister haranguing him to not use his powers (it is, in my humble opinion, something of a cardinal sin to have a character whose primary role is telling other characters to stop doing interesting things), too many potboiler "I know you're still in there!/I can feel this power consuming me!" exchanges, a couple of underwhelming guest spots (including a genuinely pointless appearance by the old, white, boring Doctor Fate) too many flashbacks, and not enough of the action. There's potential in the classic demonic hero rebelling plotline and its link to the liminal spaces of the DC universe, forgotten towns and economic depression, but the wheels come off this series pretty much as soon as Tan leaves. The really disappointing this is that the series is clearly built as an artistic showcase, so after Tan's shockingly early departure, the main appeal of the series is gone and there's nothing left but the playing out of an obviously threadbare story.

Star Wars - Boba Fett: Death, Lies, and Treachery

I don't care much about Star Wars these days, and I think that most of the old Expanded Universe was, as evidenced by Crimson Empire, pretty bad. Death, Lies, and Treachery, is that rare Star Wars EU comic which is actually good. John Wagner writes and he's in full-on 2000 AD mode, writing Boba Fett as a slightly more unpleasant Johnny Alpha (who is like a mercenary Judge Dredd, for those unfamiliar) right on down to the appearance of a funny alien sidekick for one of the characters. The main attraction is Cam Kennedy's art though, along with his inimitable colors: this might be the best looking Star Wars comic ever. The designs are all weird and chunky, with an almost kitbashed feeling that captures the lived in aesthetic of classic Star Wars, and the colors are one of a kind. Natural, neutral white light does not exist in this comic, everything is always bathed at all times in lurid greens or yellows, occasionally reds, and it looks incredible. In terms of "Expanded Universe" material for Star Wars, this hits the sweet spot of looking and feeling of a piece, but exploring the edges of the concept with a unique voice. It's great. I read this digitally, but I'd consider it a must-buy in print if I ever get the chance at a deal.

Zaroff

Zaroff is a French comic (novel? novella?). It's like 90 pages and it delivers exactly on its premise of "Die Hard starring the bad guy from The Most Dangerous Game." It's pretty good. Count Zaroff, he of the habitual hunting of humans, turns out to have killed a mafia don at some point, and after miraculously escaping his own seeming death at the end of the original story, finds himself hunted by the irate associates of this gangster, who have brought along Zaroff's sister and her kids to spice things up. Zaroff not only finds himself the hunt, but he also has to protect his estranged family as they struggle to survive. Nothing about this book or its twists and turns is likely to surprise you, but I don't think being surprised is always necessary for quality. Zaroff delivers on pulpy, early-20th century jungle action, is gorgeously rendered, and the fact that Zaroff himself is an unrepentant villain adds just enough of an unexpected element to the proceedings and character dynamics that it doesn't feel rote. There's a couple of points, ones typical of Eurocomics, which spark a slight sour note, such as some "period appropriate" racism and flashes of the male gaze, but for the most part these are relatively contained. It's good.

Batman: Gothic

Long before Grant Morrison did their Bat-epic, they wrote Batman: Gothic, an entirely different, but then again maybe not so different, kind of thing. It starts off with what must be called a riff on Fritz Lang's film, M, only where that story ends with a crew of gangsters deciding they cannot pass moral judgment on a deranged child-murderer, in Morrison's story they go ahead and kill him, only for the killer to return years later to rather horribly murder all of them as a warmup for a grandiose scheme involving unleashing a weaponized form of the bubonic plague on Gotham City as an offering to Satan. Along the way it turns out that said villain, one Mr. Whisper, is a former schoolmaster of Bruce Wayne's, who terrified the young Batman in the days before his parent's deaths. It's an earlier Morrison story and it shows. Certain elements presage their later Batman work; Mr. Whisper as a satanic enemy recalls the later Doctor Hurt, and the cathedral Mr. Whisper built to harvest souls recalls what writers like Morrison, Milligan, and Snyder would do concerning Gotham as a whole years later.The art, by Klaus Janson, is spectacular. If you're familiar at all with his work collaborating with Frank Miller you'll see him continuing in a similar vein and it's all quite good, even when he stretches beyond the street milieu which most readers might know him from. There's one particular sequence where Janson renders a needlessly complicated Rube Goldberg machine in motion that manages to work despite being static images. The writing by Morrison though, is not their finest. The M riff doesn't last as long as it could, and Mr. Whisper's turn in the latter half of the story from delicious creepy wraith to a cackling mass murderer who puts Batman in an easily escaped death trap feels like something of a letdown from the promise of the first half of the book. Gothic is good, but not, in my opinion, great. It's certainly worth checking out for Morrison fans however, and I imagine that someone well-versed in his latter Batman stuff might be able to find some real resonance between the two.

Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters

For a long, long time, Longbow Hunters was THE Green Arrow story. It is to Green Arrow as TDKR is to Batman, deliberately so. Mike Grell wrote and drew the reinvention of the character from his role as the Justice League's resident limousine liberal to a gritty urban vigilante operating in Seattle over the course of these three issues, which he'd follow up with a subsequent ongoing. Going back to it, it certainly merits its reputation, but its far from timeless. Grell's art is unimpeachable absolutely incredible, with great splashes and spreads, subtle colors, and really great figure work. The narrative is almost so 80's it hurts though, revolving around West Coast serial killers, cocaine, the CIA and the Iran-Contra scandal, and the Yakuza, and it's hard to look back at some of this stuff without smirking. The story begins with a teenager strung out on tainted coke sprinting through a window in a scene that's right out of Reefer Madness. In the cold light of a day 30+ years later, parts of it look more than a little silly. The 80's-ness of it all doesn't stop with that stuff though, even the superhero elements smack of it. Green Arrow realizes that he's lost a step and has be to be shown a way forward by an Asian woman skilled in the martial arts (recalling Vic Sage's reinvention in the pages of The Question), and Black Canary gets captured and torture off-panel for the sake of showing that this is real crime now, not the superhero silliness they've dealt with before. The treatment of Black Canary here is pretty markedly heinous, it's a classic fridging and Grell's claims that he didn't intentionally imply sexual assault in his depiction of her torture is probably true, but still feels more than a little weak considering how he chose to render it.The final analysis is that this book is good, but it exists strictly in the frame of the 1980's. If you're a fan of Green Arrow, there are worse books to pick up, or if you're interested in that era of DC Comics it's more than worth it, but as a matter of general interest I wouldn't recommend it very highly.

SHIELD by Steranko

Jim Steranko is sort of the prodigy of the early Marvel years, a young guy who came up through the system, blossomed into an incredible talent, and then left the company, and by and large the industry, behind. He would go on to dabble in publishing, work in other mediums, and generally kick around as the prodigal son of Marvel Comics. This collection, of both his Nick Fury shorts in the pages of Strange Tales and the four issues he drew of the original Nick Fury solo series, charts Steranko's growth as an artist. The book starts off with Steranko working from Jack Kirby's layouts with Stan Lee's dialogue and writing, and Steranko might be the one guy in history for whom working off of Kirby's blueprints is clearly holding him back. The first third or so of this collection really isn't much to write home about, as Steranko is obviously constrained by someone else's style, and at the end of the day those early stories still read as somewhat uninspired pulp compared to the highlights of early Marvel. There are flashes though, of techniques and ideas, which foreshadow what Steranko is capable of, and when he finally takes over as solo writer/artist it's like he's been unleashed. He immediately has Nick Fury tear off his shirt and start throwing guys around over psychedelic effects. He writes out most of Kirby and Lee's frankly uninspired boys' club supporting cast, he makes Fury visibly older, wearier, but also so much cooler. It's the birth of Nick Fury as a distinctly comic book super spy.By the time he finishes wrapping up the previous writers' plotline with Hydra and Baron von Strucker, Steranko is firing on all cylinders. By the time it gets to Steranko's Fury solo series, he's somehow surpassed himself, turning in effects, panel structures, and weird stories which make the earlier installment about a suit-wearing Man from UNCLE knockoff and its strict six-panel layouts look absolutely fossilized.I can't recommend this collection highly enough for any fan of the artform, even if the stories themselves might not be everyone's cup of tear. It's truly incredible to watch Steranko emerge as an artist over the course of this single collection. The book itself has a few problems, it's not the most elegantly designed in its supporting materials and index, but the content of it more than outweighs that. It's great stuff.

[satorutini]

Dance to This (m)

pairing: fuqboi!jhs x reader

genre: smut, dance majors!au

warnings: light bondage (?), thigh riding, self-gratification lmao

wc: 3k

notes: an old draft i found collecting dust in my wips from a year ago. i think it meant to have more plot and detail but I’m not entirely sure lol editing this was more as a mental break from my current stuff than anything else and i can't remember what my original idea for this was but enjoy lmao

synopsis: in lieu of your injured partner, you’re forced to work with one of the biggest mistakes you’ve made in your college career.

Some of the most important things came in pairs; shoes, lungs, chopsticks, dance partners.  Yet much to your inconvenience, you had managed to become the mismatched sock in an otherwise perfectly organized dresser drawer of neatly rolled - and paired - socks. Four weeks before one of the largest showcases in your college career, your dance partner Jimin, a sophomore prodigy, had badly twisted his ankle slipping on black ice that had frozen along the steps outside his dormitory in the aftermath of a winter storm. While the boy would still be able to dance in a few months' time, your instructor was quick to find someone to fill in the blank. Rather than your more preferable idea of turning your duet into a solo, you were haphazardly thrown to the whims of one irksome Jung Hoseok.

It wasn't that he was terrible. It was far from that - he was too good, and he knew it.

Flawless transitions, a body that moved with all the expression, ease, grace and passion you could only hope you portrayed. His performance pushed the limits of perfection and inspired awe to those who spectated, upper and underclassmen alike. And it just so happened he would be performing in the same show with you at the end of the semester, in an effort to attract the attention of big-name dance companies. To secure a future in the industry.

Yet the unbalanced dynamic caused by a long and awkward history between the two of you seemed to threaten all of that.

"Does it hurt?"

The question sounds silly the moment it leaves your mouth, and the odd look on Jimin's face most likely mirrors yours. Obviously, it hurt. But Jimin, the angel that he was, only smiles brightly and wiggles his toes in the cast. "Only a little."

Jimin, practically a contemporary dance prodigy, still had a year to go, hence, he avoided many repercussions of not being able to participate in the show. You, on the other hand, were grinding down to the last semester at your performing arts school. While it wouldn't be impossible to get a job teaching at a studio or even at another school, it wasn't what you were looking for - wasn't what you had dreamed of.

And now, with Jimin's eyes drowning you in that well-known look of pity, that dream felt very, extremely out of reach.

You shot up out of your seat, feeling your skin crawl and your ears burn under that familiar feeling of irritation. A hot feeling filled your head with all the pent-up frustration from the situation that had long gone out of your hands. You need to get out.  For a fleeting moment, you're tempted to step on Jimin's other ankle out of pure (unwarranted) pettiness. Damn you for leaving me in a position like this.

"I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing alright…" You hope your smile looks more amiable than it feels.

The boy nods, extending his arms as if going for a hug, and then quickly retracting into a half wave as though he's thought better about it. Over the grueling hours and months you had spent practicing hard together, you and Jimin worked together like a well-oiled machine across the floor. You were good partners, even nearly friends, but close was something you were not. At the end of each day, you both went your separate ways. Still, it felt wrong for this to have happened and to not stop by the hospital, no matter little of value the relationship was to you.

As you reach the door Jimin calls out to you, "Are you heading to the studio?" He eyes your attire and the gym bag you shoulder as if that if not an obvious enough answer.

"Yeah."

"Is everything going okay with Hoseok?"

The fingers that rest of the doorknob curl around it in an iron grip. You glare hard at the scuffed tile floors, biting your tongue at the slight idolization you hear in Jimin's tone just at speaking the man's name. He had always been a bit of a fan.

"It's great," you lament, pushing through the doorway. "Fucking fantastic."

There is only one studio ever open past ten o'clock at night, and you are one of a handful that ever wanders in there so late at night after an already taxing day spent on these very floors. So when you arrive to find a sliver of light from the doorway and heavy bass of an R&B song trembling the walls of the corridor, the sense of frustration from earlier that evening only seems to balloon. Kicking the door open and fully intending on forcing the person out of the studio, you're stopped short by the sight before you.

Two closely intertwined half-dressed bodies, moving erratically and jammed up against a foggy wall length mirror jump apart at the sound of the door slamming into the wall behind it. You mentally wince, knowing that someone's instructor will spaz when they discover a door handle sized dent in the drywall.

Jung Hoseok stands in a sweat-sticky tee, hair tousled, slowly tucking himself back into the draws and basketball shorts that had fallen to his shins, looking a hell of a lot less perturbed than the girl he was just dick-deep inside. This - this was exactly why you refused to be partnered with him.

The girl (one you vaguely recognize from an Intro to Tap class you took on a whim) looks frazzled, struggling to simultaneously reach for her leggings and pull up her bra. She opens her mouth to exclaim in anger, but you beat her to the punch.

"What the fuck is this."

You stretch in silence. It's always like this now, as opposed to the pop music blasting over the stereo Jimin would play during warmups, the mild hellos and good mornings, the partner stretches or the comfortable small talk made between switching positions. Now, with Hoseok, the closest thing to a greeting is a nod or a grunt. Warming up is done in radio silence, save for the days like today when you remember to bring your earbuds and turn the volume too low for your new partner to hear, but loud enough to block out your thoughts and the awkward tension that's more deafening than the silence.

Today is more uncomfortable than others, for a multitude of reasons. You can hardly turn your head in Hoseok's direction, the image of him pinning your old classmate to the mirror by the arms and the flash of his bare ass forever printed to the backs of your eyelids. You say nothing to him though, having shared more than enough words when all he had replied to your outrage was with a shrugged off, "Practice."

You had cursed him and his accomplice out, reprimanding them for misuse of school facilities. A reprimanding that had, apparently, gone right over their heads, because while the girl had at first a little decency to appear sheepish, she had shoulder her way past you to the door hissing, "killjoy."

Despite the fact that the previous night's events had only amplified your cold attitude toward him, you could feel Hoseok's gaze burn hole between your shoulder blades. You had a three-hour practice together before a break for lunch, and although it had only just started, you were counting down the minutes.

Little was said for the first half, aside from "Let's try that again," and "One more time from the top,". Despite being thrown into it at a moment's notice, Hoseok is a fast learner and picks up the routine quickly. However, when it gets to the point where the instructor allows you to practice without him for the last hour and a half, Hoseok feels unnecessarily entitled to fill the void. Most days you don't mind a little constructive criticism. Yet today, when his hands unexpectedly go for your hips in the middle of a turn, you practically leap three feet in the air before stumbling out of his reach.

You whip around to face him, hands planted on your hips. "Can I help you?!"

Hoseok has known you've been on edge all day, yet the look on his face is one of genuine surprise at your outburst. He blinks. "You're moving your hips all wrong."

"Wha-?"

"Your hips," He falters when you move further away from him when he reaches for you again, sighing exasperatedly. "You look super stiff like you're trying to twist your way out of a tight pair of jeans. There's no fluidity."

Chin tilted in his direction, you keep your defensive stance, still mentally gathering your bearings. The image of bare thighs flash across your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to screw your face up at the memory. "Excuse me? Instructor Lee said that I was doing this perfectly fine-,"

Hoseok snorts, "Instructor Lee doesn't want to hurt your fragile little feelings."

"My feelings?!" Is he not the damn professor?

"Y/N, I know what happened yesterday was a little…unprecedented. But if you want to be taken seriously at this showcase, you have to focus and be able to handle constructive criticism."

"Taken seriously?!" At this point you're just parroting what he says, his condescending tone rendering you shocked into disbelief. You've quickly gone from defensive to full offense, advancing on Hoseok. "You, of all people, are the very last person to talk to me about being serious! Especially after that stint the other night. Can't you take your private business somewhere a little more, I dunno…private? How do you expect me to just unsee whatever the hell that was? I can't sleep, Hoseok. I have nightmares. Don't you know how much this sucks? How much more stress you've caused me?!" At this point you've got a single pointer finger digging into his pectoral with so much force he bats your hand away with a hiss.

"Look, I think you're exaggerating a little too much-,"

"And I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. This isn't a game, Jung. Don't you know how much I want this?!"

"You don't think I want this either?!" Hoseok barks back, appearing more than a little miffed.

"You certainly don't act like it."

He huffs again, shaking his head dismissively. "Look, I'm not ecstatic that we got paired together so last minute either, but we could work so well together if you would just stop being so tightly wound-,"

"-You're the reason I'm so wound up-!"

"Then let me undo it!"

The words hang in the distance between you, which Hoseok tries to close in a quick succession of steps that bring him far too close for comfort.

"Excuse me?" You lean away,  tilting your chin to glaring up at him incredulously over the bridge of your nose. Is he offering what you think he's offering?

"Let me help you relax," he reiterates. "If it means you'll be more compliant."

"You say that as if this whole mess is my fault.  And as if I'd ever get comfortable enough to let you put your hands on me again," you scoff.

"Y/N… You know I can do it. You know I can get you there. It's a matter of morals, really. Stop being so stiff." Your name rolls from the depth of throat in a low growl. His hands hover by your sides as though he's fighting the urge to initiate physical contact, fidgeting fingers curling into fists. Suddenly, you're reminded of every other hapless run in you've had with Jung Hoseok for the past four years, how they all started like this and ended the same. A long progression of tension, sly looks, flirting, wandering hands and an offer that you had never taken upon until your junior year because you never thought he really meant it. You had thought were better than that and had more self-respect than all of the other girls before you who had succumbed to such encouragement on his part. But that night, when you had caved in because he was so damn earnest and you had managed to convince yourself he really did care, was the night that had solidified the true nature of your relationship and revealed the real character behind one determined, dazzling Jung Hoseok. When he had left you alone, in a stranger's bed in the heated aftermath of a house party held by the friend of a friend, only to reappear into your life the next day with another girl on his arm. You had felt played. Hence began the year-long tirade against anything and everything Hoseok related - until now.

"Having a sense of self-respect and morality makes me stiff? What, so you wanna bang me against the mirror like you did to your other little friend?" you sneer. 'I didn't think you'd take me for someone so easily. "

His eyes flash, more than likely reliving that night too, the last time you had ever really talked to him outside of the studio. You grip the hoodie that's tied lowly around his hips and yank him an inch forward so that you can nose up to his ear.

"Fine. I'll let you help me, but we'll do it my way this time."

And then you're shoving him backward, towards the balancing bar, quickly untying the knot of his sweater sleeves as you go. Hoseok trips over his own feet, all of his usual elegance and grace lost as he struggles to comprehend your intentions. He grimaces when his back hits the wall. "What are you doing?"

Blatantly ignoring him, you place your free hand on his shoulder pressing down, the other still holding the sleeves of his hoodie together. "Kneel." His brow furrows at the command, but he complies none the less, slowly sinking to the floor.

A feeling of satisfaction thrums through your veins at the sight of him like this, knocked off his pedestal and quite literally a few feet beneath you. In a single motion, you ruck the hoodie up from his waist, pulling his arms up from under his biceps in the process. Stepping closer so that you stand over his knees, Hoseok awkwardly attempts to reach for your waist, yet you slip the hoodie around his wrists and tie them to the bar in a haphazard yet decently secured knot.

"I said you're not going to lay a hand on me." You hiss, wedging a foot between his knees, you direct him to slide his feet from under himself and prop his legs up. Much to your surprise, your toes brush up on his crotch, finding him already half hard.

You flash him a mocking smile. "Already?"

Hoseok only looks down at the floor in response, cheeks flushing red with shame.

"It's alright. You've always been one to take what you want." He watches you with wide eyes as you undo the strings of your sweatpants, gaze quickly flitting to the mirror, and then the door.  "Now it's my turn."

"What about the door?"

A bolt of panic runs down your spine. It's daytime, and despite it being so close to lunch hours, it is more than likely that anyone could walk right in and catch you in the act. However, you remember the light in the hall, the unlocked door, the unworried look, and nonchalant air that which Hoseok had carried himself when you had found him and that girl, and you realized that he didn't really care. He couldn't have. It makes you all the more determined, and a little bold.

You step out of your sweatpants and gradually lower yourself into his lap, pinching his chin to divert his attention back to you in a show of bravado. "Let them see, then."

Straddling his left leg, Hoseok's eyes become impossibly wide as you begin a steady gyration over his thigh. "You've always had such nice thighs Hobi. How about you put them to some good use."

Slowly but surely you move your hips along the ridge of muscle in his leg, one hand on the balancing bar and the other on his shoulder for support. The pressure on your core brings a thrill of pleasure down your spine, heat filling low in your abdomen. A breathless sigh escapes you, and Hoseok groans at the sight before him. You nearly laugh at the sight of his petulance.

"Didn't think it would turn out like this, would it?" Knees braced on either side of his legs, you grind down harder. When your kneecap brushes the bulge between his legs, Hoseok gasps, responding with an erratic buck of his hips. He tosses his head back, hiding his face in the crook of his right arm. The answer to that question would be yes, but he senses that you're not looking for an answer; you already have one. "Leaving the door open, not even the slightest bit surprised when I came through the door. You knew what you were doing last night." You seethe in his ear. "Think of how unfair you're being; fucking her while you're thinking of me."

Hoseok growls. "Who said I was thinking of you."

"Nobody had to." You roll your hips into his thigh faster, seeking that self-satisfaction, and Hoseok hates it. He wants you pinned to the floor, beneath him, his mouth on the alluring juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his hands on any bare skin he can possess. Instead, here you are, rendering him subdued while you use his body to get you off like some kind of toy.

"I-I didn't even know that girl was coming last night. I-I was waiting for you," Hoseok confesses, albeit reluctant. "Wanted to get your attention again."

"Well, now you've definitely got it." One particular motion results in the material of your panties to chafe directly at your clit, causing you to stutter. "Oh, f-fuck!"

You're ridiculously wet, evident in the dark streaks left in the fabric of his red shorts. Hoseok gathers the strength to look at you again, moaning at the sight of you working yourself on him. He flexes his leg and you falter again, whimpering. You're close, he can tell. For a moment Hoseok fidgets against his makeshift restraints.

"I could make you feel so much better if you would just let my hands go."

"Not happening," You admonish gripping his jaw with the hand not on the bar when Hoseok tries to toss his head back again in frustration. "Look at me - no, look at me."

Your partner's replacement is forced to watch as you whine and wriggle yourself to completion on his leg. The pressure of your knee on his crotch leaves little to no relief, and yet he bucks up in a last ditch effort anyways. When you finally hoist yourself up, shiny streaks stick to some places where the edge of his shorts meets his bare skin. Hoseok nearly gawks at the site. Meanwhile, you pull yourself together, hiking on your sweatpants and turning to gather your things.

"Hey!" He realizes your intentions and begins to panic.  You throw him a bored look over your shoulder, halfway out the door. In his stupor, he recognizes it to be one far too identical to his demeanor the other night. Except for this time, it's no bluff. "Untie me?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"Please?"

Instead of granting his wish, you slowly stride over to him, pulling out your phone to snap a quick photo of him. The fantastic, Jung Hoseok, God's gift to the world of performance arts, looking disheveled, distraught and tied up to a balancing bar. It was too good to pass up.

"Okay. I've had my fun." With one good yank, you release the man from his confines and stalk out of the practice room. "But don't think it'll be happening again."

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 13)

After sifting through another day’s worth of school assignments, Azula stands up to stretch her arms and legs. She still feels faintly woozy. She hopes that the feeling will subside entirely by monday so that she can go back to school. She is growing tired of lazing around the house; the extra leisure time as her antsy and moody. 

Despite the stack of filled out worksheets and finished lit papers, she feels dreadfully unproductive. 

She opens her housecoat and pulls it around herself with more tightness before tying it up again. Once it is adjusted to her comfort, Azula makes her way onto the roof. It has been too long since she had looked at the stars, no wonder she is an agitated mess. 

She runs her fingers over the cool metal. The telescope is made of a lavish silver and along the edge, by the lenses, are intricate depictions of stars and planets etched in and filled with gold. Down the body of the telescope are more engravings, though unfilled with gold, they are just as striking to behold. They depict various constellations; Azula picks out Orion, Cassiopeia, Delphinius, and Aries. Her gaze lingers upon Ursa Major. 

For a moment, she wonders what her mother would have to say about the surgeries. She has a feeling that her face wouldn’t have been altered at all, not even the simple lip injections, were her mother still around. 

She wonders if her mother still works in the fashion industry. It puts an unexpected pang in her heart to recall that her mother had been the one to inspire TyLee to begin designing. Azula grasps the golden pendant that hangs around her neck and lets herself fall into the chair nearest to the telescope. 

She lets go of the pendant and the small golden tiger falls against her neck. She pulls her chair closer to the telescope. She doesn’t want to think about it; she is dreary enough without recalling the last time she’d seen her mother. The day at the airport when the woman gave her the necklace and wished her luck. 

She had been more affectionate and doting with Zuko. Her farewell much more tearful and with many more hugs. 

Azula supposes that she had always been distant with her mother anyhow. 

She gives her head a slight shake, trying to chase that train of thought away and tries to find Saturn. At last, its rings come into view. She observes the planet until her eyes water and she needs to draw back and wipe them. 

She wipes at them several times before realizing that her eyes aren’t watering because she’d been staring for too long. 

Her eyes are watery with repressed emotions. 

.oOo.

Azula doesn’t understand why she is so hesitant to look in the mirror, she knows that her face has only seen improvement. Even still, it is daunting. She shoves her hesitance to the side and inspects her face. It suddenly seems silly to have feared at all when her face comes into view. Residual swelling aside, she looks much better. Her face looks more balanced in a way, and she understands why the rhinoplasty and mentoplasy are recommended together. Somehow she feels more complete. She looks older, flatteringly so. Almost anyhow, she lightly brushes her cheek. She is one operation away from the perfection she craves and has been fighting for. 

She steps away from the mirror and finishes her morning rituals. Breakfast, shower, uniform, it is second nature. She drapes the strap of her shoulder bag across her chest and slides into the family limo. 

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Zuko throws his phone to the floor and runs his hands through his hair looking entirely exasperated. His head snaps towards Azula, “when you see Yue, tell her that she’s a real bitch…”

“I’ll be sure to deliver the message.” Azula replies. 

“She’s unbearable, she’s…” Zuko falls short. He stares at her with his mouth slightly agape. 

“What? Do you want me to make that face too?” 

“N-nothing, nevermind.” 

.oOo.

Azula pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and scribbles down a few notes. She can hear the whispers and she has a feeling that they speak of her. They are too hushed for her to gauge the opinions nestled within.

“By now you should have finished our first reading assignment. I would like someone to summarize the last chapter.” Kyoshi says. “Did anyone actually finish the reading?” Azula can see her scoping out the person who is trying harder than anyone else to meet her stern stare. 

Azula raises her hand. 

“Yes, Azula.”

To the best of her ability, Azula details the happenings of the last few chapters of the assigned reading. She has to let the woman know that her week off hasn’t set her back any. The woman’s scowl only deepens, “Azula has missed an entire week of class, why is it that she knows what we’ve talked about better than the rest of you?”

Azula’s stomach lurches at the glares sent in her direction. She looks to the only person who doesn’t seem to be angry with her. Mai stares straight ahead with her arms folded over her chest. TyLee looks as though Kyoshi has attacked her personally and Azula feels a jab of guilt. 

When the bell rings, she hustles to put away her textbook and notebooks and catch up with the two of them. 

“Tylee?”

The girl turns her head. 

“I don’t think so.” Mai hisses, she pushes TyLee along. As she sweeps the girl into the crowd, Azula catches, “she hasn’t even apologized to you, TyLee.” 

Azula props herself up against her locker, lacking the energy to actually open it. She gives a resigned sigh and stares blankly at the herd of students shuffling to their next classes. “Hey.” She jolts at the voice. Forcing herself to open her locker, she mutters, “good morning, Jet.” 

“The surgeries are going well, I see.” 

“I’m not in the mood, Jet.”

“I’m serious!” Jet declares. “I think the new look works well for you.” 

She allows herself a small smile. “Thank you, that is the goal.” 

“Did it hurt?”

“It was more uncomfortable than anything.” Azula shrugs. She motions for him to follow her to her next class. 

“How many operations do you have left?” 

“Just one.” Azula replies. “But I might go in for a couple more if I find anything else that needs...adjusting.” They reach the gym and Jet nods. “It is a little aggravating to have to sit on the sidelines though.” Jet cocks his head. “I’m not supposed to overexert myself for another week or so.” She shrugs. 

“That’s alright, you can just watch me. I’m sure that I can make the sidelines worthwhile.” He winks and flexes his biceps. 

Azula gives a humored sniff. “I’m sure that you can.” He gives her a thumbs up and retreats into the locker room. She makes her way into the gym and hands Kyoshi her doctor’s note. Weeks into the semester and it is still mind-boggling to have Kyoshi for two classes in a row. Heaven knows that she doesn’t hear enough, “if I can make it here on time, so can all of you” whenever TyLee waltzes in late. 

“Sit with the rest of your classmates for the warmup stretches. If those are also too much for you, you can sit those out as well.”

Intended or not, Azula hates how weak it makes her sound. At least she has some drive to make it through the stretches. At least she has something to do aside from sitting off to the side, wasting time.

“I know that I shouldn’t be talking to you. Chan will whine like a bitch if he catches me.” Ruon declares, plopping down next to her. “But I’m a curious man.” 

Azula quirks a brow.

“Jet said that the surgery went well.” He elaborates. 

“I would say so.” Azula agrees. 

“Come on, turn your head.”

Azula rolls her eyes and tilts her head back and to the side so that he can observe her face. Ruon rubs his chin. “Yeah, that is pretty hot.” He muses. “Shit, if Chan wasn’t gonna be such a dick about it, I’d ask you out.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” Azula replies. 

“I don’t know how he could deny a face like that.”

Azula laughs, thankful for the small confidence boost. “True.” She watches Ruon wander off to join Chan. She decides that she will approach him after she finishes her stretches. But as soon as she does, Kyoshi calls for them to begin picking teams. She makes her way to the bleachers, deciding that it will be ultimately better to approach him at lunch. She will have an hour of math to prepare dialogue and work away her nervousness.

.oOo.

Unpacking her lunch, she is well aware that the jitters have not subsided. If anything, she only feels that much more queasy. She feels the table shift and looks up. “Yue.” She greets nonchalantly.

“Tell your brother that he’s such a big ass that mine looks small in comparison.” 

Azula sniggers. “I’ll be sure to tell him…” She pauses. “I’m pretty sure that he asked me to tell you…”

“Whatever it is, just give him one of these for me.” She lifts her middle finger. 

“So…” Azula starts, “what do you think?”

“Of what?” 

Azula makes a waving gesture at her face. 

“It’s fake as hell.” Yue replies all too quickly and with a shrug. “But all of that work definitely looks nice.”

Azula rolls her eyes, she suppose that, that is as close as it gets to a compliment with Yue. 

“It suits you.” Chan says as he takes a seat. She begins to thank him, but he speaks over her, “your face is as fake as the rest of you.” 

“Everything else is natural.” 

“I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about your personality and every friendship that you’ve ever formed.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It isn’t?” Mai asks. “What pricy apology gift were you planning on buying for TyLee?” Azula draws in a sharp breath and peers at TyLee. The girl averts her gaze and stares glumly at her sandwich.  “You were much more pleasant before you got those surgeries…” 

“At least there was a time when I was pleasant, that’s more than you can say.” Azula mutters.

She catches a flicker of a sneer, a fleeting flash of anger in Mai’s eyes. It only lasts a second before her face goes wholly impassive once more. “It doesn’t even look that good.” 

The whole table falls silent. Conversation doesn’t resume for the rest of the hour, not with her and not with each other. She supposes that she will have to find someone else to sit with. Zuko and Ruon are her go to choices but they don’t share the same lunch hour as she. The bell rings and she watches everyone else leave. She lingers behind, even after everyone else has left. Mostly everyone; Katara and Suki finish off their conversation and then depart. 

She swears that Katara has looked at her once or twice. But then again, she might just be over-thinking things. 

“Can I talk to you?” Katara asks. 

But she isn’t in the mood to speak with anyone. Much less Sokka’s sister.

Sokka’s sister. 

Sokka.

The elections. 

Azula tenses up and hurries to her locker. She tosses her textbooks into it haphazardly--relative to her usual tidiness--and rushes to the auditorium. She takes a moment to catch her breath and run her fingers through her hairline. How the hell had she forgotten about the elections? She hasn’t even prepared a speech. She rubs her face with her hands as Sokka steps up to the podium. 

“You’re late.” Long Feng remarks. 

“I’m perfectly on time.”

“You were supposed to speak first.” Long Feng counters. “You are late.” 

Thoroughly exhausted, she concedes, “fine, I’m late. Whatever. I’m here now.” She has a sneaking suspicion that it doesn’t matter anyways. His promises of new sporting equipment and ‘actually exciting’ field trips had been winning over the student body from the start. Truth be told, she never had a clue what to promise her classmates, there has always been a disconnect between she and them. She can spin all of the pretty political jargon that she wants, they don’t respond to logos. And Sokka has her heavily beat as far as pathos goes. Even her ethos had declined rapidly.

Truth be told, deep down, she knew all along that the election was a waste of her time. 

Still, she hadn’t expected a unanimous decision. 

Not even TyLee had voted in her favor. Yue, refusing to vote for the “class dumbass”, opted to leave her ballot blank and boasted as much. Much too late, it dawns upon her that Chan had been right all along. Her social decline had, and still has, nothing to do with her face and everything to do with her mess of a personality.  

The crowd cheers and claps for their new president, but all Azula can hear is her father berating her. 

She doesn’t go home that night. 

She sits in the outdoor bleachers and watches Chan and his team toss a football around. She is a silent and unnoticed spectator. When the sky beings to blacken, she wanders across the lawn to where the astronomy club is setting up. 

“You’re here early.” Pathik remarks.

“Yeah.” Azula shrugs. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Just disappointed about the class elections.” She half lies. 

“You’ve missed a week of school.” He notes. “Oh, oh dear.” He fumbles with the telescope. “Can you help me with this?” 

“Maybe you should put some of that stuff down.” She replies as she helps him position the telescope. 

“Right, yes.” He sets down an armful of star maps and science books.

“I’ve been in the hospital. It isn’t a big deal.” She stares into the telescope and makes some adjustments. “There. It’s all set.” 

Pathik gives it a look for himself. “Perfect! Thanks to you we’ll have some extra time today!”

His enthusiasm is almost comforting. At least she is still good for something. She finds herself a seat in the grass, she wraps her arms around her knees and stares upwards. Katara is the second person to arrive, followed by Yue. Azula rolls her eyes, the girl is really going out of her way to pester her rival this year. 

“Yo, Principal P! When do I get to look at the moon?”

“Whenever you learn to work a telescope.” She hears Katara mutter. 

Her gaze follows Pathik as he paces about. “Now where did I put my pen…”

“Did you check your beard, that’s where it was the last time.” She recognizes his voice from the first club meeting. If she remembers right, he calls himself Sneers. 

“Ah! Yes!” Pathik digs into is absurdly fluffy beard and pulls out his pen. “First things first, I’d like to remind everyone to apply for their chance to for the trip to the NIR&Ex, it could be a once in a lifetime opportunity. And don’t forget about the Lake Laogai University scholarship opportunity. If you show promise in this club and in Agni High’s astronomy classes, you can earn a full ride.” He gives a few giddy claps. “I can think of two contenders already.” His gaze shifts between she and Katara. “Before we get to the telescopes, I’d like to announce that the town of Agni is hosting its annual comet viewing festival. If you have all been paying attention in class, you already know that you all are alive during a very special time. Would someone like to let the rest of the club know why that is?”

He scans the lot of them. “Ah, yes, Katara.” He points his pen at her. “Please explain.” 

“We have the chance to watch Sozin’s Comet as it passes.” 

“Correct!” He claps his hands once more. He turns to Azula, “it must be particularly exciting to know that you will see the comet that your great grandfather is named for.” 

Azula nods, “quite.” 

“The Kasai family has helped the astronomy community profoundly and, with luck and determination, I believe that the family will continue to make contributions. Am I correct.” He gives Azula a wink. 

“I do hope so.” She replies. 

“Yes, yes. Where was I? Oh, right, the festival. The festival will take place in mid December, instead of our regular meeting, we will be attending it. If you’d like to bring a guest, please fill out this form,” he holds up a stack of papers, “before you leave.” 

“Ugg, if I hear one more thing about this comet…” Yue rolls her eyes. “Who cares about the comet, the moon is what really matters.”

“Of course the moon is what really matters.” Katara agrees. “But don’t you realize what the comet means?”

“That Azula gets to brag about her family’s legacy more than usual?”

“Ha. Ha.” Azula folds her arms. 

“Oh! I know! It means that you get to geek out more than usual.” Yue guesses. “I guess making a fool of yourself at homecoming wasn’t enough humiliation for you.” 

Katara’s face flushes. “Y-you know what. I don’t even know why I try with you. You’re so...so…” She storms over to one of the available telescopes as Yue collapses into a round of girlish giggles. The sound is grating to Azula’s ears. 

Azula finds a telescope of her own, but for the first time she can’t seem to focus on the sky. She was going to take Chan to the festival as a first date. Or at the very least, bring Mai and TyLee along for a girl’s day. 

Now.

Now she isn’t sure that she is up for attending at all. 

It isn’t like she hasn’t wasted an opportunity before.

She helps Pathik and the rest of the club pack their equipment away for the week. “Hey.” Azula turns around. 

“Are you okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because, you don’t seem happy.”

“Whether or not I am is none of your business.” 

Katara lifts her hands, “just trying to help.” She begins to walk away.

“Wait.” Azula mumbles, it is just like the first time. Katara turns around again but she doesn’t know what to say. “Nevermind.” 

Katara sighs. “Why are you doing it if it makes you miserable?”

Her brows crease, “doing what?”

“Getting the surgeries?”

“That’s not why I’m unhappy.” But it is, isn’t it? At the very least it is a critical part of it. All at once, the surgeries are the only thing keeping her uplifted. She is wholly conflicted, trapped in a sort of paradox. In some regards she feels more confident. For once, despite her utter loneliness, she feels beautiful. Like she has a chance to make friends. But the very thing that grants her this confidence, takes it away. She feels fake.

Fake and shallow. 

She realizes that Katara is waiting for her to elaborate. She doesn’t know how.

“You don’t have to keep getting them, you know.” She waits for a reaction that doesn’t come. “You look fine. You looked fine before.” 

Azula bites the inside of her cheek. 

“I tried to bleach my skin once.” Katara confesses. “I thought that Jet would leave me alone if I were lighter. I’m glad that I had Sokka and Suki and Toph...and so many people to tell me that I didn’t have to do it.” 

“Jet will find any reason to go after you.”

Katara nods, “I figured that out.” She crosses her arms. “You don’t need to have any more work done. I guess that I just wanted you to know that, even if you don’t like me very much.”

Azula opens her mouth as a car pulls up.

“That’s my ride. I’ll see you in gym class.” 

Azula wanders away from the parking lot as her family’s limo pulls up. She knows that she is only making things worse by avoiding him. All the same, she doesn’t think that she can handle her father tonight. 

She spends her night laying on the park bench, staring up at the stars.

[jorvikmystic]

My daily weekly ok, once a month workout routine Typically I ty to aim to workout minimum two times a week but with my busy schedule sometimes it just does not fit..I still do train my horses and that still counts…so I, you know make it effort to not go too low and at least have a full workout once a month. Heh *hides bag of candy away* Anywhoooooooo, I will start off my routine by getting in the mood to workout and stop stuffing my face with waffles (and loads of maple syrup, yas). I will begin listening to my warmup playlist on spotify, fun fact it is the same playlist I listen to before going into a competition or an intensive training day. I will get ready for the day picking a good gym outfit that will allow me to move around. I will grab my gym bag that totally does not have junk food in it.. shh. My water bottle and away we go to Aideen’s plaza.  Here is one of my favourite places to workout, since I never was a fan to work inside a building and preferred to do my leg exercises and cardio in the great outdoors. Sure enough the plaza is always empty enough with only the regular people I have come to know as wonderful, majority of the time silly, individuals.  Before I do anything I will make sure I give myself a good stretch. I’ll do some laps around the plaza get my legs working. Majority of this workout is my cardio and lots of leg exercises to continue strengthening my legs because the last thing I need is my dad screeching “MOOOORE LEEEEG.” I have not heard those words in a while and I plan to keep it that way, hehe. Squats, wall sitting, and lunges are other techniques I swear by, you may see me casually doing them in the barn since you can be anywhere to do them.  I will always try to get into the dancing/ Zumba thing the girls are always doing. They let me join whenever I want but I never know what is going on because everyone seems to just be doing whatever they want. They also always talk about new tack or clothing items from different places or the latest gossip that I ALWAYS get distracted and end up in governor’s fall entering my favourite stores and leaving with bags. I am living with no regrets, this is what I am going to tell myself every time I do something that my father might shake his head at.  Hat + Tank Top + Pants -> Jorvik City Mall  Shoes -> Fort Pinta 

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/how-to-boost-your-push-up-capacity-and-why-you-should/

How to Boost Your Push-up Capacity and Why You Should

RCL Exclusive

RealClearLife has partnered with InsideHook, the essential lifestyle guide for adventurous and established men. Sign up to get the best of InsideHook’s recommendations and advice delivered to your inbox every weekday.

Middle-school gym teachers can rest their case: knocking out 40 push-ups is good for your health, and it’s especially beneficial for those who’ve reached age 40.

This according to a team from Harvard’s School of Public Health, which recently published its findings on the association between an active adult man’s “push-up capacity” and his cardiovascular health. As part of the study, 1,104 men (all firefighters) took a baseline push-up test and were monitored over the course of 10 years. Those who completed 40 or more push-ups at the outset (compared to those who completed fewer than 10), displayed a diminished risk of cardiovascular disease by an astonishing 96%. And of the 37 CDV-related cases reported over the following decade, all but one came from a participant who’d performed less than 40 push-ups.

So, what does all that mean? Increased push-up capacity is a sign of longterm health in your heart. That might not sound particularly illuminating, but as the Harvard team deduced, you should be able to stage your own CDV-risk “test” just by getting on the floor. Don’t beat yourself up if you don’t reach 40 (remember, the control group for this experiment was firefighters, with a mean age of 39.6), but if you’re really struggling to reach 10 or 15, you should consider devoting some time to the exercise. Upping your push-up capacity won’t singlehandely fix your cardiovascular health — better sleep and less alcohol/sodium/stress are also crazy important — but it’s a step in the right direction, and might spur healthier habits elsewhere in your life.

For more information on the study, head here, and for our tips on getting back into push-ups shape, see below.

Stretch For a long time, men just showed up to the gym and immediately started throwing around iron. Stretching, tissue work and dynamic warm-ups were either not considered or seen as unnecessary additions to a workout already under time constraints. That’s silly. Attempting a workout without stretching is like trying to telecommute using coffee-shop wifi. You will be more efficient, less stressed and more confident when everything’s running smoothly. We suggest loosening up the arms pre-push-ups with stretches of the pectorals, biceps, delts and lower back.

No shame in using the knees Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. Using a mat with each knee down behind you is an excellent way to reintroduce the motion to your arms and chest. You can also do semi-standing push-ups against a bench or incline. Just remember: don’t get complacent. Eventually you’ll have to try the exercise the traditional way, in order to make real progress.

Master the “perfect push-up” Nah, we’re not talking about the As Seen on TV sensation. A perfect push-up is a clean, slow down-and-up. Pumping the ground like you’re giving CPR — without much bend in the elbows — doesn’t count. It’s more than OK to sacrifice reps on push-ups if you’re doing them right. One old trick? Find your number for perfect push-ups … let’s say it’s 20. Halve it. Do five sets of that half-figure, each with a minute of rest in between. It’ll offer you volume without overwhelming.

Mix ’em up Flip over a BOSU ball and log push-ups while holding onto either end, balancing all the while. Grab a set of dumbbells and do five push-ups holding onto each, before doing some Renegades. (Alternating pulling each dumbbell up to your chest … neither easy nor fun.) Attempt some tricep push-ups on an exercise ball. The more methods you try, the more trivial plain old push-ups will seem. You’ll be cranking out 75 in no time.

Steal them during the day Not necessarily during a staff meeting or your daughter’s dance recital, but there are points during your day where you can “steal” a couple sets of push-ups. I had a coach who famously did sets during commercial breaks while watching TV. Bang out 20 in the morning before your shower, just to get the blood pumping, or as an added jolt to your warmup before a run. These “surprise sets” shouldn’t be high-intensity (see “Stretch” above) but can be a great way to make push-ups familiar and friendly.

If you enjoyed this article from InsideHook, they also have an excellent daily email with similar articles that spans the wide world of men’s lifestyle. You can sign up here.

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[smartgirlsaremean]

The Question Falls - Chapter 4

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: M (eventually)

Summary: Divorce attorney Gold knows better than to fall in love with a client. Really he does.

AO3

Chapter 4

Gold stared at his ringing phone, his brain whirling. He recognized the name and number, but why on Earth was she calling at seven o’clock on a Friday evening? Surely she had better things to do, better people to talk to? What could she want or need that wouldn’t wait until Monday?

The call went to voicemail and Gold breathed a little more easily. She’d had his personal number since early days in the case, when he’d needed to reach her one night and couldn’t be bothered to dig his business phone out of his briefcase. He waited for the notification of a voice message and then listened to it, feeling like a stupid teenager screening calls, hoping to hear from his crush.

“Hey, Gold, it’s Belle. I was just...calling to check in, I guess. See how you felt about getting that coffee we talked about?” There was a pause, and Gold took a moment to wonder if she really did sound as nervous as he thought she did, or if that was his besotted brain playing tricks on him. “Anyway, call me if you get a chance.”

He shook his head and tapped the screen to play the message again. Calling to check in ...check in about what? What business did they have that she would need to check on? She couldn’t mean to check on him personally, could she? how you felt about getting that coffee ...Had they actually talked about getting coffee? He remembered her saying something about it but he didn’t think any decisions had been made and he certainly didn’t remember agreeing. call me if you get a chance ...Well, he had a chance now, but it didn’t sound urgent, and if he called now she would know he’d screened her call. She’d want to know why he hadn’t answered immediately and even if she didn’t ask she would definitely wonder. But how long should he wait, then? An hour? Or perhaps a day? That would make more sense, wouldn’t it? But this wasn’t 2003, and no one really waited until the end of the day to listen to voicemails, did they? No, she’d certainly expect him to return her call sometime tonight.

And now he was breaking out in a cold sweat as he imagined her waiting for his call, and ye gods, what was he going to say?

He put the phone down and rubbed at his eyes, willing his anxiety to calm. Even if she was waiting for him to call, she could wait a little while longer while he corralled his thoughts. He would ask what she needed, talk her through whatever the problem was, and hang up. If she mentioned coffee, which he doubted, he would have to play it by ear. Name a day just so she could lament that she was busy, but some other time? Right.

He called her before he could second guess himself, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t expecting to get her voicemail.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hey!”

“Hello...Belle.” That part was still a little strange for him. “I got your message. What can I do for you?”

For several seconds she said nothing. “Um...I don’t really...I mean, I don’t need anything. I just wanted to…”

In all the months of their acquaintance he’d never heard her sound so uncertain. Oddly he found himself relaxing in response.

“How’ve you been?” he asked when her voice trailed off.

“Good! Busy, mostly, there’s a show at the gallery next week and we’ve had to do a bit of rearranging. The artist’s fairly picky about how his sculptures are displayed, so we’ve had to get creative with lighting and pedestals and all that. How about you?”

“The usual. Alimony, custody battles, division of assets. Sometimes I even get to practice a little law.” He smiled when she laughed.

“I hadn’t heard from you since you were over, and I realized we never did set a date for that coffee we talked about. What’s your day look like tomorrow?”

“Ah...lunch with a client and then dinner at a friend’s. Bit busy.” Perhaps whatever she wanted or needed was too delicate to discuss over the phone. That was the only explanation he had for her fixation on this coffee get-together.

“Okay. What about Sunday, then?”

Gold pretended to think about it while his mind was racing again. “That works for me.”

“Great! How about one o’clock? I’ll text you the name of the place.”

He agreed and they both hung up, his phone chiming a few seconds later with the name of a diner near her apartment. He was really rather proud of how well he’d handled the conversation. Face-to-face interaction might be a little more challenging, but Regina’s party on Saturday would give his interpersonal  skills just the warmup they needed.

Gold knew something was wrong the moment Regina opened her door. Her expressive face was a picture of angry apology.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, gripping his sleeve with her perfectly polished fingernails and hauling him inside. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he demanded, wrenching out of her grasp.

“Darling!”

The crooning voice froze him in place. A red-haired woman was bearing down on him, her green eyes glittering and her smile stretched wide. In her heels she was two inches taller than him. Wrapping herself around his arm she smiled into his eyes.

“Zelena,” he growled, leaning away from her touch. “This is a surprise. Regina didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Oh, she didn’t know! I was in town for a conference and thought I’d just drop in,” Zelena laughed. “You should have seen her face!”

“Yes, you could have knocked me over with a feather,” Regina clipped.

Gold tugged experimentally at his arm, but Zelena gripped him more tightly. “Regina, tell me you have a full bottle of Johnnie Walker with my name on it.”

“Of course.”

“Oh! I’ll get it for you,” Zelena said eagerly. “Don’t budge!”

She swept away and Gold turned to Regina, who was red with embarrassment. “God, I’m so sorry,” she moaned, rubbing at her forehead. “She just showed up and you know how she gets...there was no getting rid of her, especially when she found out about the party.”

“I will not play nice with her, Regina, even for you.”

“I don’t expect you to. Maybe you’ll be rude enough to finally get rid of her.”

Gold raised his eyebrows. “The last time I saw her I threatened to toss water on her so she would melt. She giggled and said all I needed to do to make her melt was say her name. What exactly do you expect me to do, slap her?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“You owe me,” he sighed.

“Big time.”

“Here we are!” Zelena had reappeared with a generously filled tumbler in her hand. Gold nodded in acknowledgement, took a sip, and made a face.

“What is this?”

“Johnnie Walker, just like you asked for!”

“What label?”

“Red, I think.”

“I did say ‘with my name on it,’ didn’t I?” Gold snarled.

“I don’t...Oh! that’s so clever! You meant the Gold label of course! I’m so silly, why didn’t I think of that?”

“I believe you just answered your own question.” With a huff Gold stalked to the bar to pour his own drink. Of course she wouldn’t have understood his obscure hint; how irrational and ridiculous would he have to be before she would leave him the hell alone?

It was a very long night. Regina had enlisted David and his wife Mary Margaret into a line of defense, of sorts, and they did their best to keep him occupied, but Zelena was like a bad stench - ever-present and impossible to ignore. She hovered at his elbow, whispered in his ear, giggled at his surliest remarks, and even “accidentally” brushed her hand across his backside once. Regina forced her sister to sit across the table and two places down from him, or he would probably have had to endure even worse indignities.

When the night was winding down he had to shut down three attempts to share a cab, and when he finally admitted he was driving his own car it seemed as if he would actually be forced to take her to her hotel.

“You’re leaving?” Regina exclaimed when she realized Gold was cornered. “But Zee, I’ve barely talked to you! You said you were flying back to London tomorrow; I was sure you’d spend the night here.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose, Gina, dear.”

“Impose? Don’t be silly. It’s been so long since we had a real visit. I insist, Zee.”

Zelena glanced around at the very interested party guests and smiled brightly. “Well...of course, sis. That would be marvelous.��

“Wonderful. Lovely to see you, Gold!” Regina practically shoved him out the door with a wink and a smile, and he was free.

The night air was crisp and clear, and if he lived closer and had two working feet he’d have walked home and returned for his car in the morning. Unfortunately, his apartment was nowhere near Park Avenue, and he would have to settle for driving with the window down. It hadn’t exactly been the relaxing evening talking with people he didn’t loathe he’d expected, but at least he’d reminded himself that he could in fact hold up his end of a casual conversation. After a night fending off Zelena’s advances, the next day’s meeting with Belle would be a welcome reprieve.

Gold didn’t want to think about how long he’d stood in front of his bathroom mirror trying to convince himself that he didn’t look as old as he knew he did. He’d never thought much of his own looks, but meeting a lovely young woman for coffee had awakened old insecurities that he wished had remained buried.

He saw Belle before she saw him, seated near a window and reading a thick book. She kept looking up, however, her fingers drumming on the pages of the book. As he drew closer, he saw that she was biting her lower lip.

Was she nervous?

When Gold was just outside the window, she finally saw him and the brilliance of her smile nearly took his breath away. She waved him in and leapt to her feet when he approached her table.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Long time no see!”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s only been three days.”

“Well it seems longer.” She poked his arm with her finger. “I did talk to you pretty much every day for a month, y’know.”

“Hm.”

They were interrupted by a gum-popping waiter who took their orders with studied nonchalance, and then Gold was left to wonder what the hell he was doing here. She had no files or envelopes with her, and there was absolutely nothing in her eyes or smile to suggest that she was in any sort of trouble. In fact, she looked positively cheerful, leaning back in her chair so that the sun gleamed in her auburn hair.

“You said you were at a dinner last night? Somewhere special?”

“An old friend’s - I’ve known her a long time.”

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Oh. Was it just the two of you?”

“David and his wife were there - you remember David Nolan - and a few more of her friends. And her sister.” He couldn’t quite keep the growl out of his voice.

“I take it you’re not a fan of her sister.”

Gold grimaced and shook his head. “Insufferable woman.”

“I hope you enjoyed yourself anyway.”

Shrugging, Gold reached for his drink and wondered what that searching look in her eyes meant. “It was alright. I’ve known Regina since she was a little girl and she’s pleasant company, and she’s always known how to entertain guests.”

Belle let out a little breath and sipped her own coffee.

“How was your weekend?” Gold wasn’t sure what had caused the uncomfortable silence that had fallen, but his question appeared to be the right one.

“Work stuff, mostly. When we have a show coming up I spend a lot of time at the gallery. And that’s fine, because it’s just me at home. Maybe I should’ve had a dinner party too; that apartment gets pretty lonely.” She ran her finger around the brim of her coffee cup and glanced up at him. “I’m, uh...actually thinking of selling it.”

“What?” Gold froze with his cup in the air. “After everything you went through to keep it?”

“It’s just such a big apartment, y’know?” Belle fidgeted a little in her seat. “I never really envisioned living in it alone, and I’m such a shrimp. I feel like I’m rattling around in all that empty space and...well, I think I could do with a change.”

“You won’t always be alone,” he said before he could think it through.

“You think so?” Her eyes were glowing suddenly and she smiled brilliantly.

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“You’re…” How had he got roped into this conversation? “Well, I mean you’re…”

She propped her chin on her hands and grinned even more widely. “I’m?”

Gorgeous. Incredible. Breathtaking. Perfect.

“Nice.”

For a moment she looked taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “Really? Nice?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes bore into his for a moment more. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because she leaned back in her chair again and smirked at him. “Hm. Well, for the record, I think you’re... nice ...too.”

“Um. Thank you.”

Belle tilted her head. “You wouldn’t mind doing me a favor, would you? Since I’m thinking of selling, I’m kind of looking for a new apartment. Not, like, actively searching, but I have a few feelers out. If I go see a place, would you mind coming with me?”

“I...Well, I suppose not. Don’t you have someone else you’d rather take?”

She hummed and scrunched her face up in thought. “Nope.” Her eyes swept over him in a way that made him feel a little overwarm. “I’ve been in your office and you obviously have very good taste, and I trust your judgment.” When he didn’t answer, some of the light went out of her eyes. “Of course, if it’s too much trouble…”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “I’d need a day’s notice in case I need to reschedule something, but…”

“Great!” She snatched up the check the waiter had brought over before he could reach it and winked at him. “You can buy next time.”

Next time? Next time?

Before he could formulate a response, her phone rang. Belle cursed, fishing it out of her bag. “Sorry, I’ll just...Hello? What?” Her voice lowered in pitch. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought...no, no of course you’re right, there’s no way...we’ll make it right, I pro-- yes, I’ll make it right. I’m on my way right now.” She stuck her tongue out at the phone and dropped it back in her purse. “I’m so sorry, Gold, that was Jeff Bucket, the artist for the show I told you about. He’s a little unhhppy with our setup and we open tomorrow, so…”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m really sorry. Things should calm down after this show, though. I’ll talk to you later?”

He nodded and rose, scarcely surprised when she pressed yet another kiss to his cheek. He even briefly considered returning the gesture, but she was out the door before he’d decided.

Just as well.

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

love at second sight

For @mypoorlittlephanshipperheart from Edgedancer (@radiantmists). Happy Valentine’s Day!

***

Victor lay on his back and listened to the indistinct murmur of voices below him. Slowly, as it always did, his mind drifted to the ice, to the feel of skimming on a knife-edge and the freedom of taking flight. From those well-worn paths he was drawn to the sound of a crowd screaming his name, of voices in his own tongue declaring him a hero.

Downstairs in the onsen’s main room, Victor knew, Yuuri would be saying the words leaving and Russia and nationals and Victor in a voice too small for him, trembling with the conflict between hope and sorrow. He would be looking at the ground or his shoes or his hands, and so would be surprised to feel his mother’s arms close around him. When his father tells him they’re happy for him, mostly telling the truth, Yuuri would smile, tears in his eyes, and mostly believe it.

Victor could barely believe it himself, could scarcely fathom how these wonderful, kind people had let a perfect stranger drift into their home like a stray dog and had somehow turned him into a part of the family. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that Yuuri was at that moment giving all of it up, in a way, so that Victor could keep skating.

Ten days wasn’t a long time to uproot your whole life, wasn’t really long enough to say goodbye to the family you only just found again.

It wasn’t really long enough to come out of retirement, either, so Victor pushes himself upright and starts packing.

***

They headed to the rink early the next morning; Victor had called Yuuko while they were in the Barcelona airport, had made sure that Ice Castle Hasetsu would be theirs alone until the nineteenth. She had said she was happy to do it, had congratulated him on his decision to return and for proposing to Yuuri, had somehow managed to sound sweet and cheerful while declaring that if Victor let the first interfere with the second he would find his ice skates shoved, blade-first, in very unfortunate places.

It was almost like her blessing. Victor hadn’t been able to explain to a mortified Yuuri, listening on speaker, exactly why he had been smiling.

Now, Viktor set up the camera at the edge of the rink and video called Yakov. He was willing to swallow his pride and admit he needed all the help he could get to make it back in time for Russian Nationals on the twentieth.

He glided onto the ice, cued Yuuri to start the music, and began.

The thing was, it would be inaccurate almost to the point of falsehood to call what Victor had been doing for the last eight months a break. On top of the time he had spent coaching Yuuri, Victor had passed hours listening to music, dancing in Minako’s studio, biking and running and stretching. And he had skated, of course, had after hours of watching Yuuri finally remembered the way that ice under his feet had always felt like breathing.

When he had skated the two pieces through, heart pounding with strain, Victor returned to the computer Yuuri held at the rink’s edge, where Yakov looked pensive.

“It’s not good enough,” he said. Victor’s heart skipped a beat even though he thought- hoped- he knew what Yakov would say next.

“Not yet.”

***

The next ten days were a mad rush of ice, food, baths, sleep; Victor and Yuuri ran to Ice Castle as the sun rose, wolfed down the lunches that Hiroko had made for them the previous night, ran home as the sun set and collapsed. Sometimes in the morning they would chase each other, laughing; a few nights one wandered into the other’s room and they had curled together, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

Their breaks were the time when the other was on the ice; Yuuri’s breaks were much longer than Victor’s, and Victor felt guilty though he knew he shouldn’t. Yuuri had months to perfect his routines; he took silver at the Grand Prix Final–barely missed gold– and there was no one at Japanese Nationals who was a serious threat to him. Victor, on the other hand…

Victor had never worked this hard before, and especially he had never done so knowing that despite it all, it wasn’t possible to win. As the week went on, he found himself developing the sort of empathy he’d never had for other, less talented skaters. Victor had always seen practice, competitions, advancement as simply reaching out to take what was his. If others couldn’t match him, it meant only that they didn’t want it badly enough. But suddenly, there was a wall between him and success, or perhaps a heavy door that he had to shove with all his strength just to keep from closing even further. Victor tried to imagine going through this struggle as a child, and couldn’t quite convince himself that he could have kept skating through it before he’d ever tasted the peace of a clean program.

Sometime during the mad week, he tried to tell Yuuri all this, asked him how he had kept on for so long without feeling what it was like to win.

Yuuri laughed. “Maybe I couldn’t feel it,” he said. “But I saw it, when I watched you.”

Victor stood, dumbstruck. He knew then and there that his skating, his loneliness at the top, his whole life had been worthwhile, if it had kept this beautiful creature on the ice.

***

For some horrendous, unknowable reason, the Russian and Japanese Nationals overlapped. To add insult to injury, they stretched through Victor’s birthday. Every year before, he hadn’t cared, but now…

Well, at least he and Yuuri had already exchanged gifts.

Yuri came to Victor after their warmup period. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he growled, “Don’t think I’ll go easy just because you’re an old man.”

Victor laughed, and it tasted like poison, like every night that he’d gone out to drink and flirt with beautiful strangers he’d known he couldn’t keep, because five gold medals or not, Katsuki Yuuri had never called him, and what more was he supposed to do?

Yuri would beat him here without trouble and they both knew it, but the thought rankled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The next day, Victor drew a slot right in the middle of the two dozen other men vying for a medal. Twenty-five dreamers; thanks to Victor and Georgi’s placement last year, Russia was allowed to send three of them to European Championships. Medalling here wasn’t just about being Russia’s best; it meant that the season could continue.

When his time came, Victor took to the ice confidently. He could hear the commentators gossiping about his costumes, reused from several years ago, and about his planned programs, much easier technically than in years past and notably missing his signature flip. They wondered if he really thought such a sudden comeback was possible, if he had any life left in him, why he had even bothered.

Victor arrived at his starting position, not listening. He wasn’t skating for them anymore. He kissed his ring, knew that somewhere, Yuuri was watching and doing the same.

The music began, and so did Victor. It felt like a beginning, the energy of the crowd and the music and the gold on his finger coursing through him. Every motion in this program was deliberate, filled with hope for the future. He thought back to the feeling when Yuuri had first tried his flip, when Victor had known that no matter what happened, if he could just somehow hold onto this boy the future would be bright. As the music built, Victor remembered the moment Yuuri had asked him to stay on his coach. He remembered the instant where he could see the future stretched out before him, and for the first time it had been filled with not just victory, but with their victory.

As he sank into his final spin, the music went silent for a moment. The whole stadium, the whole world seemed to hold its breath as he whirled, waiting to see what would happen next.

The final note rose along with him, and he stretched out his arm as though reaching for something, the other behind him holding an invisible hand.

There, he told the screaming crowd, and Yuuri somewhere far away, watching. There. Can you see it, too?

Yuri attacked him as soon as he left the rink.

“I can’t believe you!” he screeched, as he dragged Victor to the Kiss and Cry, then sat in the coach’s spot. “You can’t just skate for the katsudon forever!”

Victor only smiled and waved at the camera as the scores were posted. The presentation score was astronomical, record-breaking for a short program. The announcers and the crowd were hysterical; Yuri grumbled unrepeatable things.

Victor spotted the Japanese news logo on one of the cameras and blew Yuuri a kiss.

***

“After yesterday’s artistic triumph, Victor Nikiforov’s free program today doesn’t quite measure up, does it?”

“Only two quads, and he seems unable to truly connect with this music. Though Nikiforov edged him out in the short program, if we look back at Popovich’s characteristically… emotional free performance just moments ago, it seems uncertain which will take silver.”

“Well, we’ll be seeing both of them at Europeans in any case.”

***

Yuuri skipped the Japanese banquet and flew straight to Russia; he arrived at the rink just as the medal ceremony began. Afterward, Victor leapt straight from the ice into his arms and kissed him silly, then pulled back and smiled teasingly.

“You brought me a present, didn’t you? Besides your presence, I mean.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes but dutifully produced his gold medal from his coat pocket. Victor placed it gently around his fiance’s neck, then handed his own medal to Yuuri so that he could do the same.

He remembered his own joke, weeks that felt like years before: I won’t kiss it if it’s not gold. He’d told Yuuri, he’d known, that coming back would be challenging, that reaching this level was a triumph in its own right. But Victor was tired, and every self-deprecating smile tasted like ash in his mouth.

But the walled-up sadness in Yuuri’s eyes felt like a knife to the gut, so Victor put on a smile anyway. I’ll do better next time, he thought. I can do it for you.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “It matches my hair.”

***

“Do you have a theme?” the reporters asked at the winner’s panel.

“Yes,” he said, not quite lying, and gave them the sort of smile that everyone knew meant he had something up his sleeve.

He’d bought himself some time. Now he just had to look up his sleeves and find it.

***

The two of them went back to St. Petersburg, to Victor’s one-bedroom apartment just two blocks and a bridge away from Yakov’s ice rink.

Yuuri hung his clothes in the walk-in closet next to Victor’s, and within a week they were hopelessly mixed together. Yakov finally told Victor that the next time he showed up to the rink in a shirt three sizes too small, he’d be thrown out into the snow, because no one wants to see your stomach all the goddamn time, Vitya.

(Yuuri was not forbidden from wearing Victor’s clothes, mostly because he was smart enough not to do it with anything that would get in the way of practicing. Of Yuuri practicing, that is, because how was Victor supposed to concentrate on remastering the quad flip when Yuuri was wearing his sweatshirt?)

Victor was in awe of how quickly Yuuri got to know their neighbors, whose names Victor had never before learned in the six years he’d lived in this apartment. Like his rinkmates, they adored the combination of Yuuri’s sincere timidity and his moments of intense frankness.

Victor would have been jealous, but every day he discovered new reasons to love Yuuri that were all his own. He’d known that Yuuri loved food, but now Victor got to watch his own cooking make Yuuri’s eyes widen in delight.

They went out so Yuuri could teach him to dance properly, and it was even better than that first wild night, because the next morning and whenever else the urge struck them, they danced through the apartment to music only they could hear.

Every so often in Hasetsu, Victor would buy flowers for Yuuri on his way back from walks with Makkachin. Now, they settled young perennials in the window boxes Victor had forgotten existed, and he watched as Yuuri carefully coaxed the bulbs into blossom.

At the rink, they were somehow both Yakov’s biggest headache and the skaters who required the least maintenance; they distracted each other ridiculously, but the next moment Victor would offer some criticism that let Yuuri land his quads twice as often, or Yuuri would make an encouraging comment that changed Victor’s whole presentation.

One day, Victor talked Yuuri into skating each other’s programs just to drive Yakov crazy. It backfired, the older man using it as a lesson for both of them, making Victor spend time on Yuuri’s impossibly graceful spins and forcing Yuuri to repeat jumps until they matched Victor’s technical perfection.

Another time, Victor and Yakov came to the rink after lunch to find Yuuri running through Yurio’s step sequences with him. Soon, half the juniors at the rink were asking for time with the Japanese skater. Victor got pulled into it too, helping them with their jumps.

Yakov took Victor aside, in the middle of January, and told him seriously that he had a future in coaching when he retired for real, that they both did. I’m getting older, Vitya, he said. Someone’s going to have to take over this place. Victor looked at the fourteen-year-old girl listening to Yuuri explain how to fix her layback spin, and wondered when he became so… content.

For months, he had treasured the wonderful promise of spending his future with Yuuri. But more wonderful even than that was this: his life, now, with Yuuri.

***

Thankfully, Yuuri was able to come watch Victor at Europeans. Victor had hidden his costumes, when they had finally been delivered, and he skated his short program on the high of Yuuri’s delight, clothed in a Hasetsu sunrise.

They went out that night with Yuri, Chris, and Otabek; Georgi and Mila had tagged along, and they’d somehow managed to run into Emil and the Crispinos at the restaurant. (Victor suspected Chris, or possibly his quiet, extremely sneaky boyfriend.)

Victor was in second after the short program; he’d brought up his technical score significantly, but to his chagrin couldn’t surpass the perfection Yurio had achieved once again with Agape. Victor had created a monster, and he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or annoyed.

Chris, of course, started by teasing Victor about losing to a sixteen-year-old.

“Well, at least I’m in good company,” Victor winked. He had never done dinners like this before Yuuri, hadn’t been friends in the way the other skaters were. After all, Chris was the only one who was old enough to have entered Seniors before Victor’s gold streak had begun, and even he had seen Victor as some sort of constant, always a few steps ahead.

Now, they’ve all seen him waver. For the first time, Victor realized that his competitors were not as much sharks circling for weakness as they were people looking for some point of humanity. Stopping to coach Yuuri may have set him back in his skating, but it was the best decision he’d ever made for his personal life, for more than just the obvious reason.

Like his thoughts, the conversation circles back around to his relationship with Yuuri, and Victor has the pleasure of watching Europe’s best skaters argue over who’d shipped them first.

“I think Chris wins that one,” Victor said lightly. “He did introduce us at the banquet last year, after all.”

Chris grinned smugly, then jumped when his boyfriend elbowed him. “I don’t think he can take credit for that.”

Chris sighed. “Fine. No, I didn’t really believe it was serious until what Victor pulled at the Cup of China.”

“Ha! I win!” Sara Crispino crowed. When everyone stared at her, she added, “Mickey and I started researching competitors as soon as assignments came out. We saw Yuuri’s theme announcement, and…”

Yuuri groaned and smacked his head against the table as the other skaters laughed in recognition. Victor pulled him closer and rested his chin on top of Yuuri’s head, smiling. He’d watched the video of that incident perhaps even more than the one of Yuuri skating Stay Close to Me– at first trying to make sense of the rapid-fire Japanese as Yuuri had gone off script, and then during the long nights when he’d needed reassurance that despite Yuuri’s shyness, Victor wasn’t the only one who desperately wanted to hold onto this.

He hadn’t watched it recently; he hadn’t needed to with the real Yuuri sleeping beside him with a matching ring on his finger.

“Speaking of which, what’s your theme, Victor?”

The laughter quieted as everyone waited for his response to Emil’s question. Even Yuuri looked up, questioning.

Victor smirked. “You’ll find out tomorrow along with everyone else, at the winner’s panel.”

Under the ensuing chaos, Victor heard Yuri mutter to Otabek, “I’ll bet it’s something ridiculous like happiness or marriage.”

Victor smiled.

Close, Yura, he thought, but not quite.

***

Victor unzipped his jacket and handed it to Yuuri, then removed his skate guards. As Otabek’s score was posted, he circled quickly on the ice before returning to the barrier.

“I’ll be here, watching,” Yuuri said, pulling Victor close. Victor rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and breathed him in.

As the stadium quieted, he pulled away. “I know.” He smiled, and it tasted like sunlight.

The cheers as Victor saluted the crowd were deafening, but as he took his position, eyes closed, he thought he’d be able to hear a pin drop. Even the announcers were silent. In second place, and with four difficult quads in his program to Yuri’s three, Victor was poised to make possibly the greatest comeback in the history of figure-skating.

Victor raised his hand to his lips, saw Yuuri doing the same. He felt light, birdlike.

The music began. Victor launched straight into a quick step sequence, but it felt as effortless as dancing through the kitchen with Yuuri and letting dinner burn. He leaned back into a spin as though falling into bed, and when he launched himself into his first quad he could have sworn he felt strong arms lifting him up.

As the violins entered, Victor let his motions become more fluid, allowing the music to carry him. He knew this routine better than the back of his hand, and he let his mind drift until he found himself back in their apartment.

A January blizzard had swept into St. Petersburg, filling the streets and rattling the shutters. Yuuri had brought in the Chinese jasmine they’d been growing in the window-boxes, and Victor had lit the fireplace. They’d curled up together with Makkachin, each other’s bony warmth more comfortable than the bed could ever be.

Yuuri had stared out the window and told Victor about how it rarely ever snowed in Hasetsu even in winter, how the flurry on the April day Victor had arrived had been nothing short of miraculous.

“Like you,” he’d said, suddenly frank in the way that always knocked Victor’s breath right out of his body. “All the time we were in Hasetsu, I was waiting for you to melt away.”

Victor had taken his hand, squeezed it as tightly as he could. “Well,” he’d said, and swallowed. “Here, the snow takes forever to melt.”

The music came down to near silence, and Victor could have sworn he heard Yuuri’s voice, as clear as it had been that day: “I’ll be here until then.”

Victor pushed his toe onto the ice and leapt with the piano, spinning two, three, four times. He landed back in the stadium; Yuuri was behind him, so Victor added a half loop and triple axel to face him.

Yuuri was crying, Victor saw for a moment before he had to return to his program. As the music picked up once again, Victor remembered the last time he’d seen Yuuri cry, when their jasmine had finally bloomed after weeks of Yuuri pulling it inside every time there was even a chance of frost.

Rising from his last spin, Victor traced the vines that wrapped around his legs and climbed his white shirt. He placed one hand over his chest, holding out the other, palm up as though to take someone’s hand, or perhaps to offer them the pale pink flower stitched into his glove.

***

“It’s official- in a free program that ended in a mirror image of Katsuki Yuuri’s, Victor Nikiforov takes back the record his student stole only months ago!”

“Katsuki doesn’t seem especially angry about this.”

“No, but look at Plisetsky! I know the Ice Tiger of Russia skates better when he’s angry, but I think apoplectic rage is going to be a little too much for the judges.”

***

Victor gave Yuuri his medal as the stadium emptied, and smiled while Yuuri looped it over his head.

Then he gasped as he was pulled down to meet Yuuri’s sparkling eyes.

“Set a date for the wedding,” Yuuri whispered. “I’m coming for this in April.”

***

“My theme,” Victor beamed, “is life.”

***

“Katsuki Yuuri takes Four Continents by a landslide, earning a personal best in both programs! He came within a few points of Nikiforov’s record combined score from years ago. Worlds is going to be interesting, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and– Are those rose petals coming from the ceiling?”

(“I can’t believe you thought I forgot Valentine’s Day,” Victor pouted.

“Well, you were a few days late,” Yuuri laughed.

Phichit tossed a few more rose petals over their heads, took a picture, and said, “Don’t be silly; if he’d forgotten I wouldn’t have let him live a few days.”

Yuuri’s friends were terrifying and Victor loved it.)

***

They had their medals off before they left the ice; their tradition was public enough knowledge at that point that it would no longer look like a snub.

Victor did Yuuri’s first. It felt different this time, knowing he’d be giving Yuuri something else gold in just a few weeks.

Yuuri’s hands shook a little, and Victor could see the tenderness in his eyes. He found himself remembering the last time he had won a bronze medal, when he was nineteen and in his second year of Seniors, full of the hope and ambition that would eventually take him to the top of the podium but still growing into too-long legs and too-short hair and too-heavy expectations.

He folded his hand and Yuuri’s hand over the medal, brought it up to kiss softly, and thought, I’m still growing into this, too.

“It’s perfect,” he declared softly. “It matches your eyes.”

End

***

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for the inspiration, both from the domestic Victuri stuff on your blog and more generally to make me actually finish something. :)

Victor’s short program is to the song Road to Victory. His free program, as well as the title of the fic, is from The Gambler by fun., though I imagine he skated to an instrumental version.

Coda:

“No, I will not be your flower bearer!”

“But you’d look so pretty, Yurio–”

“I’ve been there getting embarrassed by your stupid antics from the beginning. I’m getting you back in my best man’s speech and that’s final.”

[i-declare-a-kaggath]

Extremely random OC answers

Would your OC ever accessorize with a cape? Atrax: Possibly. Heavily depends on the cape. Fliis: No way! Capes are for amateurs. Mactans: Only if she could weaponize it. Rack: Hell yes. Gonna trip every organic in this place with it, too. Ruin: Only ironically to get under Fliis’s skin.

If they were to encounter a bear, what would they do? Atrax: Back away slowly. Fliis: Quietly freak, run away. Mactans: Go about her business. Kill it if it gets in her way. Rack: *panicked droid noises* Ruin: Punch it in the ass.

Your OC has the chance to either grab pepper spray, a baseball bat, a knife or a shoe, which one would they grab? Atrax: Baseball bat. Fliis: Knife. Mactans: Shoe. Rack: No hands :( Ruin: Pepper spray.

It’s a sunny day outside, what is their reaction? Atrax: Stretches. Fliis: Complains about not being made for this weather. Mactans: Prefers night time. Rack: Unaffected. Ruin: Teases Fliis.

Have they ever swam with sharks before? None have, but Mactans would.

Oh no, your oc is hungry and no money, what do they do? Atrax: Barter, steal, scavenge, hunt....whatever it takes. Fliis: Same as Atrax, but more likely to steal whereas he’s more likely to hunt. Mactans: Steal. Just steal. Brazenly. Rack: Droids don’t get hungry, but will pull some droid magic to help “relocate” some foodstuffs. Ruin: Laugh at the silly organics some more, boasting about how superior droids are.

If they had the chance to kill someone without being caught, would they? If so, who would it be? Atrax: Shuts down with that question. He won’t talk for a while. Fliis: Lies. Her true answer is the same as Atrax, but she’ll make up some story on the fly about somebody else. Mactans: She has before and will again. There’s only one being she’s ever felt remorse for killing. Rack: Doesn’t particularly want to kill. Probably would to prove he could. Ruin: “I’ll kill anybody! Point me to em! I’ll kill with reckless abandon! She programmed me to!”

What gif describes their life? Atrax: Ben Wyatt looking into the camera over and over. Fliis: Finger guns. Mactans: Anything with fire or wolves or blood and edgy quotes. Probably some anime. Rack: The one with the rc plane that looks like a lawnmower. Ruin: Sarcastic quotes in eyebleeding colors.

What would their username be on tumblr? Atrax: Atrax. Has a very straightforward blog. A little of everything. Fliis: holonetluvr41265. Reblogs holonet trash gifs and deep fried memes. Mactans: (S)Laughter. Gore blog, 100% dedication to aesthetic. Occasionally says unnerving things in the tags. Rack: 6-easy-steps. Run a how-to blog. Some posts are jokes, some aren’t. Nobody can tell which is which. Ruin: Fortune-Bot. Pretends to be a bot run blog. Leaves increasingly unsettling fortunes on popular posts.

What is their 3rd favourite colour? Atrax: Blue. Fliis: Green. Mactans: Black. Yes, the first two are also black. Rack: No preference. Ruin: Gaudy, eyebleedingly neon pink.

Would they much rather own a three headed dog or a two headed cat? Atrax, Ruin: Dog Fliis, Mactans, Rack: Cat

Can they do the splits? Atrax: With a warmup. Fliis: No. Mactans: All that and more. Rack: No leggies :( Ruin: Is capable of it, won’t.

If they knew the only way to get the chocolate cake was do murder the guard, guarding it, would they? Atrax: Is an obligate carnivore (Zabrak....) Fliis: Not for cake. She likes sweets, but she knows what hunger is like. That wouldn't be worth it. Mactans: Twice. Rack: Would sneak by the guard and hide it in his chassis. Ruin: “I’m always down for a good murder but cake isn’t a very good motivator....”

Do they know which way east is? Atrax: Could figure it out if he needed to. Fliis: Yes. Mactans: Doesn’t care. Rack and Ruin: Yes.

Have they ever been kicked in the knee caps before? Atrax, Mactans: Yes. Fliis: Generally wasn’t kicked. Rack: No knees!! Ruin: No, but has kicked in a few knee caps.

If they had the chance to go in a hot air balloon, would they? Atrax: A little freaked by heights, but wouldn't want to miss the opportunity. Fliis: Is in the balloon before the question is done. Mactans: Doesn’t care. Rack: Hell no! Ruin: Only to drop things from the balloon.

Would they much rather ride horse back or on a camel? Atrax, Fliis: Horse. Mactans: Camel. Rack: Can’t ride either. Ruin: “WAR CAMEL!”

How many different knots can they tie? Atrax: Quite a few. If he had to guess, some 15~ Fliis: Less than Atrax, more than your average being. Somewhere around 8 probably. Mactans: No more than 5. Rack: Doesn’t have the dexterity to, but can look up any. Ruin: Theoretically any that can be found on the holonet.

Would they stop to look at pretty flowers? Atrax, Fliis, Rack: Yes. Mactans, Ruin: No.

If they saw a zebra, what would their reaction be? Atrax: “I’ve only known of this animal for a minute and a half, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.” Fliis: Trying to wrangle Atrax into having a picture done with one. She keeps it with her wherever she flies. Mactans: “I don’t get it. It’s just a....striped horse thing.” Rack: Takes the picture for Fliis so she can be in it. Ruin: Tries to scare it away so Fliis can’t get the picture.

If they had to hike up a mountain, what would their attitude be going up? Atrax: Determination. Fliis: Dread. Mactans: Adversity. Rack: Ridiculousness. Ruin: Defiance.

Would they ever make a sock puppet? Atrax: It would be kind of lost on him because he’s deaf. Fliis: Maybe to entertain some kids. Mactans: No. And she would set all your socks on fire for suggesting it. Rack: *looks at lack of hands forlornly* Ruin: Doesn’t understand organics’ wacky entertainment.

Would they much rather banter back and forth with friends or talk about philosophy? Atrax, Fliis, Rack: Banter Mactans: ....Friends? Ruin: *raising hand* “Does vicious mockery count as banter?”

They have acquired a lion, a peanut butter sandwich and a purple rock, what is their next move? Atrax: Wonder where he went wrong in life. Fliis: Stress eat the sandwich and try to distract the lion with the rock. Mactans: “Lion? I think you mean battle mount.” Rack: *panicked droid beeping* Ruin: AbSoLuTe ChAoS

They see a magical wand, do they touch it? Atrax: Wearily. Fliis: BIBBITY BOBBITY BITCHIN’ Mactans: I don’t need a magical wand. Rack: Without a second thought. Ruin: Causes the universe to reset itself from the sheer chaos and destruction.

If a skeleton talked to them, would they be scared? Atrax: Is more concerned about just hearing in general. Fliis: Shitless. Mactans: Has probably seen worse. Rack: Currently running away with Fliis. Ruin: Starts insulting the skeleton.

If they entered a restaurant and saw a floating beach ball, what would they do? Atrax: Leave. He isn’t in the mood for this nonsense. Fliis: Party!! Mactans: Pop the beach ball. Rack: Play some beach music. Ruin: Steal the beach ball.

It’s nighttime and the zombies are everywhere, your oc is on the corner of a crowded city block all alone, how do they get off the street? Atrax: Run. Fliis: Drive through them. Mactans: Zombie fantasy murder spree. With lightning. Rack: Has no fleshy bits, is not worried. Ruin: Has no fleshy bits, goes on a murder spree anyway.

An alligator jumps out of the water and starts to talk to your oc about the economy, what does your oc do? Atrax: Again with the hearing.... Fliis: Assume she got into some bad swill. Mactans: “You don’t look like a Muun....but I’ll kill you all the same.” Rack: “I don’t get paid enough for this.” Ruin: Starts insulting the alligator in Trandoshan.

Your oc is scuba diving and comes across a mermaid, what happens next? Atrax: Would die before he went scuba diving. Fliis: Rolls to seduce. Mactans: Not a fan of water, but not as bad as Atrax. Rack: Isn’t waterproof. Ruin: Helps the mermaid lure sailors to their deaths.

What is your OC’s go to dance move? Atrax: Could probably breakdance. Fliis: Will never dance. Mactans: Space capoeira. Rack: Astromech cha cha slide. Ruin: Chiss traditional ballroom dancing. Nobody knows how he got the data.

Your OC has access to a boat and 5 million dollars, now what? Atrax: Sells the boat. Fliis: Plots a course to nowhere and chases the horizon. Mactans: Burial at sea, anybody? Rack: Fulfils lifelong dream of hosting a partyboat for droids. Ruin: Takes on a pirate persona, never looks back.

Your OC accidentally dyed their hair purple, now what? They’re....all hairless....

What would your OC’s reaction be if there was a giant dog that came to them with a huge bone as the dog wags their tail in excitement? Atrax: Adopt puppy. Love puppy. Fliis: Play fetch. Mactans: “Ew. Slobber. Go away.....” Rack: Probably gets chased like a car. Ruin: Tries to convince everyone it’s a sentient’s femur. It might be....

A frog appears out of nowhere and starts to critize their life choices, what does your OC do? Atrax: Lives in blissful unawareness of this critical amphibian. Probably pokes it. Fliis: Start smack talking the frog. Mactans: *squish* Rack: *indignant beeping* Ruin: Feels no remorse. The frog will eventually give up. He’s insufferable, really.

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 75, October 2017

The past few days have been really difficult for me to say the least. I can already feel that I’m in a state of transition right now after walking away from my current personal trainer Luke Davey last Friday. It was an extremely tough decision for me as I was hoping that things would get better and that we could turn a corner somehow. But the reality is that I just wasn’t happy training there anymore. No amount of self-help books, positive affirmations and friendly exchanges could cover up how I was truly feeling inside...uncertain, depressed, frustrated, misunderstood, conflicted, upset and hurt. I needed to move on.

Does it make me a bad person to want to change personal trainers? Hell no! I don’t think so. My biggest problem has always been worrying what other people will think and how they will react to my decisions. Am I making the right choice? Am I being too sensitive? Am I giving up too easily? Nope. I’m simply doing what’s best for me. From my perspective, there’s no bad blood between myself and Luke at all and I really appreciate everything he has done for me. He has helped me achieve many of my fitness goals. He has challenged me physically, mentally and emotionally. I’ve learned lots of new skills, movements and techniques.

So no, I don’t regret any of it at all. I just hope that Luke can accept and respect my decision as well. I’m really proud of myself for being open and honest with Luke as well as ending this PT-client relationship on respectful and peaceful terms.

Here is a list of achievements I’ve made with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness:

Losing 20kg of body weight (from 105 to 85kg)

Building up lean muscle in my arms, legs, glutes, hamstrings, back, buttocks etc.

Learning the correct techniques, forms and movements for doing deadlifts, back squats, front squats, bench press and dumbbell bench press

Completing many AMRAPs (As Many Reps As Possible), EMOTM (Every Minute on the Minute), 3-4 rounds and time based workouts

Learning how to do stretches, box jumps, push ups, ring rows, using the balance board, kettle bell swings, single arm kettle bell lifts, squats, walking lunges and burpees

Improved my squat depth and weight lifting ability

Learning how to deal with anxiety, depression, fear, stress, overthinking, self-doubt, self confidence issues and believing in myself

On Monday morning, I went to my Yin yoga class with Kelly Wallis at Now, Yoga. in Narre Warren South. I kinda embarrassed myself this morning as I expected to see Kelly the moment I walked into the studio but instead saw another lady at the desk and instantly assumed that she was filling in. Whoops! But I let that moment go pretty quickly. It was moderately full class with about 10 students or so. I haven’t been to one of Kelly’s classes in a long time and I’ve missed her style of teaching.

Today there was a lot of focus on doing long holds and supported variations of poses including Standing Forward Bend, Yogic Squat, Sphinx pose, Puppy pose, Cow Face pose, Reclining Single Leg Spinal Twist and Child’s pose. And for the first time in the eight years I’ve been doing yoga, everyone had a literally chuck a temper tantrum. Normally, I hardly ever give myself permission to act silly or make lots of loud noises but today was the exception. And it felt great...releasing negative emotions like anger, frustration, guilt, shame, regret is so important and trust Kelly to come up with the idea. It was brilliant! http://nowyoga.net.au/ 

On Monday night, I revisited The Yard Strength & Fitness in Pakenham for the first time since August. It felt good being back here. In some ways, it was the ace up my sleeve if things went pear shaped at UFT. You can call it jumping ship but I have honourable intentions behind it. I truly believe that I deserve to train in a place where I feel supported and encouraged by everyone there. Part of me will miss being at UFT PLAYgrounds but I know in myself that I’ve made the right decision in leaving. I have to keep moving forward. https://www.facebook.com/TheYardStr... 

Tonight I did a Bootcamp class with two other girls, Eliza and Ebony, and it was run by Stacey Kett. We warmed up by doing some kettle bell swings and runs up and down the carpark. It honestly felt like I was doing the beep test back in high school PE class. Next we did a series of movements at 25 seconds each including KB squats, bar knee tucks, KB swings, squat bar jumps, KB high lifts, plank holds with KB touch and push ups. 

The final part involved an eight round TABATA doing plank holds. I was pretty much shaking and pouring with sweat at this point. My foam yoga mat was covered in it. But that meant that I really worked hard tonight. None of the tough emotional issues from last week were going to bring me down. I also feel like I’m improving heaps with my push ups, squats, running and plank holds.     

After the Bootcamp class, I had a brief chat with Abhishek Ashokkumar from Silverback Training Co. about the possibility of him becoming my next personal trainer. Honestly, I was a little nervous and weary as I normally am meeting new people but I felt comfortable enough to tell him about my goals, my mental health issues, what happened between me and Luke and why I want him to train me. I’m looking for someone who is compassionate, supportive, encouraging, patient and kind. Hopefully Abhi can deliver on those fronts. One step at a time. https://www.facebook.com/silverback... 

On Tuesday morning, I had my feedback session with Dr. Yasmin Baliz at CNS: Comprehensive Neuropsychological Services in Narre Warren. I was feeling a bit nervous waiting for Yasmin to arrive the reception area with my mum sitting across from me. Today was the day that I’ll find out either way whether I sit on the Autism Spectrum or not. We sat in the same room that we were in during the first appointment, with the same white plush leather sofas, black glass coffee table, fake palms and artificial cricket/tadpole noises from the Rainforest Room next door. 

So the moment of truth...I’ve been officially diagnosed with High Functioning Autism, which is essentially a mild form of Autism. Characteristics for diagnosis include difficulties with social interaction in groups, poor social skills, difficulties with verbal and non-verbal communication, prefers routine and predictable environments, prefers independent activities and finds sensory environments to be overwhelming. It was a lot of information to process in that session but thankfully there is lots of support and resources out there to understand it better. http://www.cnspsych.com.au/process.... 

Yasmin left me with the “The Autism Spectrum Information Booklet” and will be posting me out the report on my results from the assessment. I feel better knowing that there is an underlying cause for my thoughts, feelings, emotions and behaviour particularly in social situations that were often difficult to explain to others. There is a strong genetic component with a cousin on my Mother’s side also having Autism and there have been signs since childhood that I may be predisposed to it. But at least I know now so it’s like a veil’s been lifted. http://www.autism-help.org/autism-h... 

On Tuesday night, I attended the Mental Health & Wellbeing seminar at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. Sadly there wasn’t a big attendance at tonight’s event with most staff members taking up the semi-circle of folded chairs but I still felt like I got a lot out of the presentation. https://www.caseyarc.ymca.org.au/wh... 

The first presenter was a guy named James who is a personal trainer and an ambassador for Beyond Blue. He has suffered with depression and suicidal thoughts since the age of 13, going through periods of low self-esteem, self harm, substance abuse and denial. It took him many attempts to overcome his depression with several relapses and various psychologists but eventually he pulled through it. His strategies include finding a psychologist with similar values, being open about how you’re thinking and feeling and doing productive activities such as reading, going to the gym, hanging out with mates. https://www.beyondblue.org.au/conne... 

The second presenter was Dr. James Collard who is a clinical psychologist and representative from CBT Australia. His talk on mental health was more in depth and academic, exploring where emotions come from, the biological, social and psychological aspects, the effects of depression and anxiety, dealing with anger and problem behaviours and using self-care strategies to help cope with mental health issues. He provided quite a few examples from young clients and parents who he has worked with over the years which I found to be quite relatable. https://www.cbtaustralia.com.au/ 

On Thursday morning, I attended my Body Balance class with Wendy Lynne Perrow at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. It was a really great feeling to walk into that group fitness studio and be welcomed by Wendy as soon as I stepped onto the mat...”It’s lovely to see you again Michael. Welcome back.” Sometimes that’s all you need, that acknowledgement, to know that somebody else cares about you and it’s what I needed in that moment. Truthfully, I’ve missed Wendy’s classes as well. 

Today we did release number 69 which featured the following exercises: Tai-Chi Warmup (Overhead circles, Wide legged arm sweeps, Soft blocks), Sun Salutations (Forward fold, Downward Facing Dog, Plank, Baby Cobra), Standing Strength (Warrior 2, Sun Warrior), Balance (Aeroplane pose, Dancer’s pose), Pilates (Double arm and leg extensions, Double D, Threading the Needle), Twists (Seated open and closed twist, Butterfly pose) and Hamstring Stretches (Staff pose with legs crossed, Wide Legged Forward Fold) and Relaxation. https://grandnat.co.uk/what-already... 

The thing I really appreciate about Wendy’s classes is her patience and guidance, allowing us all to take different options if we need to and not worry if the poses or movements aren’t “perfect”. She always has a way of making the class enjoyable for everyone and when it comes to the Relaxation, she is the undisputed queen of Guided Meditations. Her voice is so gentle and calming. I could easily drift off to sleep if I wanted to! https://www.lesmills.com/workouts/f...                 On Friday morning, I had my Body Combat class with Cinamon Guerin at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. So today’s class was a little different than usual. Firstly, it’s a longer class at 55 minutes and there was many more people participating, probably around 30 or so. There was also a small group of women down the front who were loud, extroverted and singing along with the tracks. I made the choice to not let them bother me nor do I necessarily have to be like them or copy what they’re doing. Just focus on being myself and doing my own workout.

There were quite a few challenging sections in this morning’s class especially doing dynamic lunges and front kicks. It always messes with my balance and I find it difficult to keep up the pace. But otherwise I was doing fine. I put a lot of effort in and could feel a huge emotional release during the jab boxes. You just get to the point where you’ve had enough of dealing with negativity and people who bring you down. So it felt good getting all of that out of my system today. https://www.lesmills.com/workouts/f...

“I can't fake it, it's never enough. It's got a hold on me. Left behind here, I can't keep up. Come get a hold of me. I was thinking if I could be tough. You'd wanna hold onto me. I will be your home, keep you warm when it's cold. I will try to be what you need when you're low. I can only promise the girl that I am. I'll do anything that I can.”                              Broods - Recovery (2016)

“Something tipped me over. Someone knocked me down. Emptied out my inside. Poured it on the ground. A cavern for a body, The deeper darker kind. For all I hear are echoes, Repeat inside my mind. I thought the shade around me, was making me feel blind. I thought I was a hero, but I was just a child.” Broods - Worth The Fight (2016)