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joshriku · 4 months

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What are your favorite fics you've read in the past year?

hi thank you for asking i love to talk about fics i read. im so sorry you didn't specify a fandom so i'm going to talk about everything i favorited this year so far lol. i am currently reading this cherik fic called exit wounds by lemonadegarden and i cannot stress enough how good it is. the worldbuilding, the politics, the characters, the storytelling, the emotions, just so so good. please read it if you are a cherik liker. i love it. i haven't finished it yet but omg. not in any particular order

the patch of sand where we buried the dog by shroomyystar: this fic is about luna and erik running into each other and getting ice cream. it should be normal but it's magneto family you know it's fucking insane. you don't even understand the luna and erik brainrot i gained from reading this i was like oh my god his granddaughter.. magnificent character work. to me the magneto family in comics have such a special specific dynamic and it's so well nailed here. it's crazy

make the fire rise by frozencinders: alright i don't go to baldur's gate 3 but i know enough about wyll and astarion and i really like this author so i might as well read their wyllstarion do you feel me. it's about yearning and romance novels and vampires and everything u could ever ask for. i loved it sm. one of my favorite things about this is the narration, like the way the thoughts flow so easily while keeping in beat with the character voice and making u feel so earnest..... gorgeous.......

what's the point in playin' a game you're gonna lose by shroomyystar: raven/irene in regard to the x-men blue origins revelation. raven being so fucking mad at irene but also so deeply in love with her to the point it's the same thing. when i say toxic yuri this is exactly what i mean it's exactly raven trying to kill her and thinking it's like having sex. that's EXACTLY what i mean.

gravity felled the apple (but the spiders stuck around) by maroonmusings: insomniac spider-man 2, peter gets to keep the teaching job and everyone thinks he has a favorite student (miles) which creates some drama until they figure it out a little too well. it's so fucking good. when i read peter parker, i want him to sound exactly like this. the character voices.. the non-canon characters perfectly fitting in this... the entire spider-man cast playing very well in this fic.. THE DIALOGUE! writing peter is such an art but this person GETS it.

taste the way that you bleed by maroonmusings: peter parker/astarion based on that one time they made a joke about it. again i don't go to bg3 but fantastic character work, it's literally so in character it totally sold me on this pairing - not that i need much convincing for crackships. that's just who i am brother.i fucking loved this so much.

Some Catching Up to Do by magicasen: jean/wanda! jean/wanda set in x-men first class. it's so fucking good and funny, it feels incredibly in character to the xmfc versions of them. it's such a feel-good fic about them in that period of time too, and pietro's cameos were too fucking funny. i love girls being girls and being in love :(

lech lecha by ferriswheelsdayoff: hosea matthews character analysis it will blow your tits off. i'm still floored by the amount of work into each line and how it's connected to real world teachings and how it manages to weave all of hosea's important relationships while analyzing him too. saur good

take what you give me by magentateam_bplot: storm/magneto. THIS is the sub erik type of shit i enjoy. magnificent characterization of both of them i could easily read 9k of it 1k was too little!!!

Girls' Nights by EmilyArmadillo: gabby bonding with vault laura!!!!!!! I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA like i wish we actually had gabby's reaction to talon? i mean ofc that's asking too much from duggan, or for duggan to care, but this person delivered so well. everything was so well implemented, even the bit where the other laura kinney sees her and leaves the room. ahhh so good

Graveside by NotesFromSarah: the aftermath of erik burying anya after the fire, and then him and the twins coming together to visit her burial place. i thought this was amazing and heartbreaking and also a very groundbreaking magneto fam style for me..... not a lot of fics focused on them during the 80s, which is a good place for them to be somewhat normal around each other, and this fic does such a good job of using tragedy to join them without disregarding their past. gorgeoussss

Last Chance by Lefaym: my notes on this says 'old man sex heart hands' and it's exactly that. doomed timeline cherik from dofp have such a special heart to me even if i don't go much to moviesparts as i did before and oh my god... it's about that longing that regret that they're running out of time and also your hip being sore so you can't really hold a sex position. i love it.

Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence by neverminetohold: x-men evolution pietro & erik. something goes wrong and pietro thinks he's going to be scolded, but erik doesn't scold him. 'His quickening stride screams of his wish to escape this moment that is as far removed from a lecture as it can get.

That defines their relationship in a nutshell. Will they never be able to move beyond this?' you don't even get it im insane. im insane. im insane

chatoyant by unsungillumination: this fic is the best use of the fake dating trope that's ever existed, probably because the main protagonists of this are light and L death note. L and Light get in a relationship for strategic reasons until light gives up the death note, forgetting it is strategic, and believes it's actually real. it's so fucking good. also devastating

Drive. by MissAmyShay: the bear fic. insane. carmy and richie reconciliation, nat and richie flashback to when mikey was first declared dead, nat richie bonding, nat giving birth, donna mentions. what else could i even ask for. it's amazing. i don't even need to read any other fics

telltale by unsungillumination: L haunts light after his death. it's literally ruining light's life. this is my favorite thing in the world i love a good fic about grief and about fucked up soulmates who are not soulmates in a traditional way. i recently finished death note after leaving it on standby for a decade and i'm thriving

This Is How I Disappear by TzviaAriella: kira gets found out. he gets sentenced to death row. he asks the task force to shoot him. it's literally the most haunting fic in the world and i'm so so so so obsessed with it i kinda wanna reread it but it's like devastating and most of all GOOD

they both die at the end by unsungillumination: when i say i love fics that make me feel at odds with my own mortality and how i am spending my life and also grief for the future and grief for things past and grief, in the actual sense of death, ohhh. oh my god. what kills me is that this fic is just so grounded as well. you know the ending is coming. you just hang onto the little moments hoping MAYBE it won't happen, but you know. i loved it so bad. also this is a death note fic again

Connect the Dots by GrayJay: SCOTT SUMMERS ASKS MATT MURDOCK OF DAREDEVIL FAME TO BE A TEACHER AT THE SCHOOL AND THEY BOND OVER HOW SIMILAR THEIR DISABILITIES ARE it's ltierally so godo it's insane i love my favorite characters talking so much :(

the thirty-second hour by unsungillumination: this fic is about light yagami not being able to lie for 4 hours in each day, but it happens at random times, as a consequence of regaining his memories of the death note. it's inspired by i found you in the fire by yosgay which is ALSO one of my favorite fics even if it's not from my current 2024 reads but it IS TO ME. anyway. point is a character like light being forced to tell the truth is amazing. the layers of performance and what truth even means being analyzed through light's own eyes... mmmwah..

Tough Love by UmbrellaMartialGod: haikyuu fic. suga/tsukki. i was like no one in this world understands my fucked up haikyuu dynamic ship in which tsukki has a life-ruining unrequited crush on suga that no one else knows about except yamaguchi EXCEPT THIS PERSON!!!!!!!! THIS PERSON WROTE IT!!!!!!! IMAGINE THAT. HAVING A FIC ABOUT A RAREPAIR THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU NEEDED. THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE. I GENUINELY DONT KNOW HOW TO ACT

anyway, thank you for asking. i love fanfic and i love talking about it. hope you enjoy either of these

#asks #i should have a tag for fic recs atp i think..#anyway. thank u sm for this ask i had a long day and talking abt shit i like made me feel better #long post

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charles195 · 8 years

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This Body Is Yours Ch. 2

Fandom: Yuuri!!! On Ice

Summary: Destiny? Fate? Soulmates? Reincarnation Without the Death? Otabek mostly thought it was troublesome. They were individuals that had their own aspirations and goals to achieve, and having their souls intertwined by some unexplored metaphysical bond was taking a toll on the both of them.

Pairing: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

Characters: Otabek Altin, Mila Babichieva, Yakov Feltsman, Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky, Georgi Popovich, (Later) Unimportant OCs

Warnings: Body-swap, Body Insecurities

Words: 7k+

Chapter 1

Yuri was having that wonderful dream, again. It was the one where his windows had curtains instead of noisy blinds that clattered at the slightest breeze and he woke up when the sun wasn’t dawdling in the horizon instead of when his phone alarm shattered his fantasies. He stayed in bed for much longer than the ten blissful minutes that came before his next alarm told him to get ready for the day. Naturally being tugged out of sleep by the gentle rays of light was calming. It would waste what little time he had with this dream if he stayed in bed forever, though, so he got out of bed.

He felt heavy. His perspective, too, was a lot higher than it usually was. The room, too, was clean like it was when he last woke up. He curiously checked the dressers and they were organized in the same fashion, but with different clothes. He figured that he might as well set things to its natural order since it was his dream, so he flung the clothes in the general direction of where he remembered they last were. Once the drawers were empty, he searched for his practice outfit.

He kicked a pair of boxers. Everything was the wrong size. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Once, when he and Victor went shopping together, he was frustrated about the men’s sizes being too big for him. Victor said that in Soviet Russia, the sizes weren’t wrong. Rather, the body was wrong for not fitting into the sizes. He wasn’t joking. Their discussion at the time was about the media’s different manifestations of discrimination. It was intellectually stimulating, actually.

“Maybe I’m self-aware enough to lucid dream?” Yuri wondered aloud. He cleared his throat. His voice was never that deep. “Would I be able to--wait, if this is my voice and these are my clothes…” He scanned the room for his cellphone, because if this was his dream then he had to have his phone somewhere in his immediate vicinity, which was on the nightstand. Thank goodness it was still an iPhone. He opened up the camera and flipped the view so he could see himself.

Yuri wasn’t too surprised that he was in the body of a tall, masculine guy with an undercut. It seemed ideal enough for a utopian concoction in his own dream subconscious. It was just so detailed. He could even feel the bulges of muscle when he flexed his arms. Maybe he was suppressing his issues about his real body too much. All he wanted was for this fantasy to not distort into something that resembled a Charles Dickens-Ray Bradbury-Stephen King-Rod Serling nightmare.

He went into what he assumed was his bathroom--nope, that’s a closet. A tiny one, at that. He went into the actual bathroom to study his face in the mirror more closely. He mentally patted his brain on its metaphorical back for the undercut. It was a nice touch. The sharp jawline, too, was incredibly handsome. “I had this dream last time, too, didn’t I?”

His next actions were obvious. He left to practice at the ice rink as soon as he was ready.

He expected St. Petersburg when he stepped out of the apartment, or at least some part of Russia he was already familiar with. He honestly had no idea where he was, anymore, or what any of the signs around him said. Unfortunately, it seemed that his lucid dreaming skills weren’t strong enough to magically skip to the part where he was at the ice rink. “What the hell is this bullshit?”

According to Google Maps, he was in… a place that used some Turkic language because he couldn’t read shit. He changed the language settings. Much better. According to Google Maps, he was in Almaty, Kazakhstan. The surrounding mountains were nice and all, but Yuri didn’t sign up to be a different country along with his different body and life. Russia was already so big; it really wasn’t necessary to live in Kazakhstan in this very inconvenient dream. At least the ice rink was close.

Yuri had no idea what the friendly old man was saying to him, but apparently he was supposed to go by Otabek. Silently nodding was enough to get that man (his coach?) off his back. He had no idea where the dance studios were, if there were any at all at this particular ice rink, so he just stretched in the locker room.

He nearly pulled a muscle just from attempting to get into his usual position for the butterfly stretch. His thighs hurt like he had never stretched them at all, before. He was usually able to lay forward on his chest during the butterfly stretch, but now he couldn’t even bring his feet in any less than six inches without cursing. He was smart enough to take the stretch slowly after the initial shock, hoping that it would get a lot more easier as he warmed up, but it was hopeless. All of the years of stretching he worked on in his original body was useless here. (But in the first place, he shouldn’t have been able to feel such searing pain without waking up.)

He grunted stubbornly as he tried to push his knees down. “This body is terrible!” Lesson learned: Yuri can’t be a handsome, masculine skater that is also flexible and graceful like a ballerina. This was the part where he woke up, called Victor at 3 a.m., and suffered the I told you so lecture from the senior skater. Yes, he should cherish what he had instead of focusing on his insecurities. If he ever found a genie lamp, he would definitely not wish that he complied with gender roles or submitted to toxic masculinity. He’d buy a pink tutu as soon as he woke up to emphasize just how learned this valuable lesson was.

But just like real life, there was no waking up. He pinched himself and bit his tongue, yet he was still stuck. “I’m a really deep sleeper, aren’t I? Well, if this really is the ‘reality’ of my desires, then I’ll just make myself flexible again. It’s not like that was never an option.”

It was frustrating to have his muscles scream at the simplest positions, like touching his toes, but it wasn’t that bad. It only made sense that a body with longer limbs and fuller muscles was severely less flexible than his original body, especially given that “Otabek” didn’t seem to do ballet for off-ice training. Rather, starting all over again from the beginning was refreshing. He was on a new adventure to regain everything he lost, but with a new background and new environment. His old restrictions were gone, replaced by new obstacles that he knew exactly how to overcome.

Yuri’s body may change, but his mindset won’t.

Yuri checked his (Otabek’s) phone while he straightened his back in the straddle stretch. Truly, the best way to get to know someone was to look at their browsing history. There were a lot of videos of his past performances there, as in, Yuri Plisetsky’s previous programs, all from various years and competitions. That didn’t help answer the question of who Otabek Altin was, except maybe that he happened to be one of Yuri’s Angels.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he kept scrolling down: motorcycle chain lube reviews, weather in Almaty, Beethoven Violin Concerto, damdy-nan recipe, define insanity, out of body experience, Freaky Friday, how to start a fire with water… He felt like he knew Otabek a little better, but it wasn’t enough. He kept digging through the apps (no games, no social media, three graphing calculators?) until he found a diary. He thanked Apple for automatically translating all the entries to Russian.

He leaned over to his left leg and reached for his foot with one hand. He hated how far it was. Once he managed to hold onto his foot, he kept breathing deeply and focused on the diary to distract himself from how much he wanted to stop. The stretch one avoided the most was the one that one needed the most. Otabek was avoiding all the stretches and that was a crime Yuri had to atone for if he was going to occupy Otabek’s body in his dreams.

Tuesday’s entry was boring. “3 mile run. 100 jumping jacks. 50 pushups. 50 sit-ups. 75 crunches. 1 minute plank. Two hours at gym. Triple axel is cleaner, so is quadruple toe loop, but quadruple Salchow is still a struggle,” he read aloud. Yuri rolled his eyes. He thought diaries were supposed to be more scandalous than recording a workout routine. He scanned through the rest of that day’s entry because he understood already, Otabek works out and stunning bodies don’t bloom overnight. The very bottom caught his eye. “Even though I kept myself busy all day, the uneasiness from yesterday will not subside. I can only hope that such a phenomenon is not recurring.”

He swung over to his right leg, passing through the middle, and rested his cheek on his right knee despite how much his legs protested. It was something he did out of habit and it would pay off later as long as Yuri didn’t pull anything.

There was no entry for Monday. How conveniently vague. Yuri supposed Otabek was smart to write in such a manner, in case someone (Yuri) happened to read the diary. If he cared so much about privacy, he should’ve had a password on his phone.

At least they both agreed that something strange happened on Monday that neither of them could describe.

Yuri still had no clue what Otabek’s coach was saying and judging from the coach’s tone and body language, a simple nod wasn’t going to cut it forever. He had just finished stretching and the coach started saying words to him. There were so many words. “Can you speak Russian?” he finally asked. Yuri had a plan, kind of. He knew that Russian was a co-official language in Kazakhstan and he was just going to wing it from there.

“Of course, why?”

The clouds opened up and a choir of angels sang a heavenly chord.

“Speak only Russian to me, from now on. I want to practice that language.”

The coach was impressed by that. “Of course. As I was saying, your jumps are strong, but you still lack the proper grace to make your choreography flow well…”

Yuri was also impressed by himself. He couldn’t believe he managed to pull that off. “I will be more graceful, from now on.”

“That will be the focus of today’s session. I understand that you’re not a typical figure skater. You started late, you lack the ballet fundamentals that every skater practices every day, and you struggle every day… Otabek, you are severely disadvantaged, but I ask you, what is a hero without weakness?”

Yuri withheld a smirk. The thought of him, an addict of winning, being disadvantaged in the skating world was too laughable. He wanted to look around and ask who the hell was being described because Yuri Plisetsky did not struggle, had no disadvantages, and wasn’t in the mood for lame rhetorical questions. “A hero without weakness? That’s the goal.” He walked away and glided onto the ice.

The coach watched from the side. “Show me the most natural skating you know, and we’ll go from there.”

Yuri stared at the coach blankly. They were speaking the same language now, but he still couldn’t understand what the hell the coach meant by his “most natural” skating. Maybe everyone was vague in Kazakh. No wonder Otabek struggled so much. He turned to face the coach with his hands on his hips, skating backwards. “Is my current skating unnatural?”

“When you perform, you have less than ten minutes to leave an impression on the judges. They’re eager to see you. Your natural skating is more than what your choreography wants you to do. It is the movements you resort to when you need something expressed.”

Very profound. Also, very extraneous. Even the melodramatic Victor could have said the same thing without the speech. Skate for me, Victor would have pleaded as he trailed his feather-light fingers along Yuri’s jaw before tilting his chin up so he could see the same three words reflected in those eyes of Victor, which were as clear of a blue as the swatches of sky that peeked behind the cloudy skies of St. Petersburg in winter and gazed down at him like--

Yuri chose to skate Georgi’s 2015 short program as an inside joke. Georgi’s theme that year was “Said, But Not Spoken.” His inner monologue while he skated that program was probably about not being able to express his love for his girlfriend Anya properly, or something equally repulsive. In Yuri’s case, he would be thinking about how little sense there was in the new world he woke up in.

He forgot the song Georgi skated to. Yuri only paid attention to the story Georgi unfolded when he practiced his program. Georgi had a way of skating his love for Anya so blatantly that it made him uncomfortable. There was no other interpretation to read other than the one Georgi performed for the audience. Yuri could hear the exact thoughts running through his rinkmate’s mind with every sharp movement and intense facial expression. He felt like he was at a theater whenever Georgi skated. He always told Georgi that it wasn’t a good idea to base his themes around his girlfriend or he might retire when they broke up because his muse would be gone. Unfortunately, Georgi was a fool that believed in Happily Forever After.

Triple axel. Yuri was surprised he was able to nail the landing in an unfamiliar body. The body must know how to perform triple axels, too.

The coach clapped furiously. Yuri stopped skating. In less than two minutes, Yuri’s grace was proven. He was hoping that their session was done now so he could see test what good Otabek’s muscles really were on the ice.

“I am impressed…”

That was a relief. Yuri didn’t want to explain that he only knew the chunks of the program that he liked the most and wouldn’t have been able to skate an entire cohesive performance. Yakov wouldn’t have even let him past the entrance into the opening pose. Georgi would have tackled him and stolen the show to show Yuri how it was “really” done.

“Now, show me your most natural skating, and we’ll go from there, Otabek.” There was a slight emphasis in the name that hinted, perhaps, this wasn’t a silly dream about a silly life. “That kind of grace does not belong to you. It’s what may seep into your bones after years of experience and sustains the image I saw like lifeblood. You may be afflicted with it right now, like a curse, but it is not yours.”

Yuri tried to tuck hair behind his ear that wasn’t there. He didn’t like this coach at all. Good was good, no matter who skated it or how, and there was no way his gracefulness could have been logically misinterpreted as a mere fluke. If that was the way this coach wanted to play, then so be it. “What is my natural skating? I have forgotten it to pursue grace.”

The coach’s expression did not betray disappointment. Yuri had no reason to feel a pang in his heart for asking. He didn’t care about sticking to a certain style like it was set in stone. Versatility was essential in the skating world. Identity was just a name and a reputation.

“It is valiance when you’re the only one fighting.”

Yuri wondered how close he could get to imitating that on the ice; he wasn’t sure what a hero without weaknesses was supposed to be, anymore.

Otabek had no idea how he was supposed to get anything done with so little time, but he wasn’t really Otabek anymore because he was in Yuri’s body trying to follow Yuri’s schedules and trying so hard to live up to Yuri’s expectations. He was familiar with the old adage about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. It was why he looked at whoever addressed him in the eyes and politely responded back. Life was hard. The whips and scorns of time turned a blind eye to no one. The only new thing he was learning was that Yuri Plisetsky’s life was especially hard.

Cleaning Yuri’s room helped a lot, even if it was a little bit messier than when he left it. Being able to see with both eyes was also a great advantage. Yuri’s hair (Otabek’s, for now) was up in a tiny ponytail while he, Otabek in Yuri’s body trying to do things the way Yuri would have done them, rushed out of the house.

He bumped into four-time gold medalist of the World Championships and Grand Prix Finals Victor Nikiforov on his front step. Otabek was in a dream, he swore, but the arms squeezing his tiny body were too real to deny. They (Yuri and Victor, certainly not Otabek and Victor) followed each other on every social media they had, had nicknames for each other, and were even on a regular hugging basis. He awkwardly let himself be squeezed by the man he envied deeply.

“Dobroye utro, kotyonok!” Victor greeted.

That meant “Good morning, kitten” in Russian. Otabek felt accomplished for knowing that much. His Russian was rusty. “Dobroye utro, Vict--Vitya.” He buried his blush in Victor’s chest. He wasn’t used to being called a kitten and definitely not used to addressing the older man in such a cutesy manner.

Victor actually squealed. “Toooo cute!” He released Otabek from the hug and pinched Yuri’s cheeks.

Otabek agreed. Yuri is absolutely adorable. He tried hard not to imagine what Yuri’s voice would sound like if he said “Qayırlı tañ, Beka” like his little sister did. He didn’t even have to, since he could easily say it to himself when he was alone, but he was a good person that didn’t take advantage of other people’s bodies for self-indulgent purposes. Walking a mile in someone else’s shoes didn’t entail kissing the heels and wishing to be stepped on with those shoes.

“Hey, why don’t I teach you how to drive?”

Otabek blinked. He really did not want to squeeze that into Yuri’s schedule. “When?”

“No better time than the present!”

Otabek had no clue how in the world Yuri handled Victor. “You mean, right now? We have to go to the ice rink right now, don’t we?”

“Yeah! You can drive! It’ll kill two stones with one bird.”

“Wait a second, isn’t it…” That imagery was horrifying. He was glad he already knew how to drive because Victor was the last person that should be teaching it. Victor would have been killing two skaters with one bad lesson.

Getting into Victor’s car was a mistake. Otabek only realized that as soon as it was too late to get out; he needed to start the car as soon as possible or they would be late to practice. Victor wasted too much time insisting that it was only logical that the phrase was killing two stones with one bird because killing birds was bad and difficult to do with one stone. Otabek didn’t know why he bothered arguing that animal abuse was the theme either way and that stones were impossible to kill because they weren’t sentient in the first place. The clock was ticking.

Otabek had to scoot the seat very far forward for comfort and bring the rearview mirror way farther down than it was originally. He buckled in his seatbelt. Victor’s phone camera was audibly snapping pictures of him as he adjusted the side mirrors.

“So, you start the car by pushing the key in and turning it--”

Clockwise, yeah. Otabek would have put more effort in his act of a naive teenager that knew squat about cars, but they had twenty minutes, the ice rink was fifteen minutes away if there was no traffic, and he was going to pretend that Yuri’s prodigal skills also extended to driving. “Seatbelt, Vitya.” He was starting to miss his motorcycle, which never had annoyingly clingy passengers.

Victor laughed. “No, I trust you, Yura! I’ll just give directions.”

Otabek was going to beg Yuri’s grandfather to give Yuri driving lessons instead of Victor. There was no way Yuri was going to be taught how to drive by such an irresponsible man.

“The speed limit is just a suggestion, by the way. Speed up 25 more kilometers per hour.”

“Vitya…” He chose his words carefully. “I’m too scared to go 100 kilometers per hour in a residential area.”

“I suppose I drove at the same speed as you when I first got behind the wheel, too…”

Dear God.

Otabek was barely on time. He had three minutes to get to the ballet class. His parking was crooked, but that was a detail that wouldn’t matter tomorrow, so he didn’t care enough to fix--okay, fine, he did care enough to fix it. It was counterproductive to not sympathize with the poor person that had to park next to him while was busy pitying Yuri and his exhausting life. He had two minutes to get to the ballet class. He could make it.

It was instinct to hold open the door for Victor, even if that meant shaving off more valuable seconds. Victor must have seen him shiver at the initial gust of air from inside the rink because he put his arm around his shoulder. Being so openly affectionate with a living legend was easily the most surreal part of the experience. He kept his eyes down and tried to casually walk past Yuri’s coach, Yakov. Even though it has been five years since he attended Yakov’s ballet camp, he was still intimidated by the coach.

Victor’s hand drifted down to his lower back. “Yuri.”

Otabek had no idea what that tone meant or what he was doing wrong. Maybe Victor just liked saying Yuri’s name. “Um…”

Yakov was more direct. “Yuri! Why is your posture so terrible today?”

Oh. That’s what Victor meant. “Sorry…” He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. Victor assisted by tilting his chin up so that he was no longer staring at the ground.

Yakov gave a stern nod of approval. He wasn’t quite impressed, but Otabek had passed for now. Otabek forgot how strictly disciplined Russian figure skaters were. He never thought about posture too much until his coach pointed it out. It added to the air of a person. Posture correction in itself was intimidating enough. A straight back could easily set you apart from the others. Yet, Otabek also had to wonder why Victor hadn’t gotten called out for his posture. The older skater was casually slouching all of his weight onto Yuri’s small body, which subtly pushed Otabek away from the dance studios and towards the ominously dark staircase.

Victor waved happily at Yakov and Mila. “Dobroye utro, Yakov. I’m going to work with Yuri for off-ice training again.”

Again? Otabek didn’t realize there was variation in Yuri’s schedule that contradicted the exact words Yuri inputted into his phone. 6 A.M. to 7 A.M. was supposed to be off-ice training at Yakov’s ice rink with the female junior skaters’ ballet class in Dance Studio A. All of the events in Yuri’s schedule had precise wording like that, which Otabek assumed was set in stone. It made Otabek’s life in Yuri’s body a lot more convenient. Yuri’s phone was his map and compass. Really, it was only Victor that steered Otabek off-course.

Yakov didn’t let Victor’s casual greeting slip by. “Oy, who’s the coach here? You should be asking for permission, not informing me like you already have it.”

Victor laughed nervously. He was caught. “May I?”

Yakov gave Victor the evil eye.

Now that Otabek thought about it, just because Victor liked being affectionate with Yuri didn’t mean that was a normal occurrence. Victor did as he pleased. Then, that meant Otabek had been relinquishing control to Victor that he normally didn’t have this entire time… “Shouldn’t you be asking my permission?”

Yakov nodded.

Now that was a dream-wakening lesson. Too bad Otabek was just living in a very strange reality, where profound moments were like standalone stories that contributed to no bigger series. This was another isolated event that didn’t have to matter. Otabek wanted it to matter, though.

Victor rephrased himself. “Yuri, I’m going to--”

Yakov shook his head.

“We’re going to--”

Yakov cleared his throat.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Victor swore. “Nobody can control Yuri’s body except for Yuri, of course!”

Victor could have stabbed Otabek in the chest with a skating blade and it would’ve hurt less than that seemingly obvious statement. This body wasn’t Otabek’s.

“So, Yuri, do you want to train with me this morning?”

Otabek sunk into himself. This entire conversation was pointless because he actually did want to learn from Victor Nikiforov himself and the real Yuri had no say in this. Otabek had to resort to consequentialism for this moral fork in the road since Yuri wasn’t the one who had to experience this and it wouldn’t hurt Yuri either way. “... Yes.”

Victor laughed. “You were supposed to say no.”

Yakov looked ready to explode. “Stop deciding these things, Vitya! Dah isn’t dah without a dah!”

Otabek found the lightswitch at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the second floor of the rink. Before he could even get to the first step, Victor raced to the top and turned off the lights with the switch on top. Otabek tried turning them on again, only for Victor to submerge them in darkness again. He had a feeling this was some kind of riddle, so he switched the lights on, then off again quickly, expecting Victor to instinctively follow by flicking his switch, which would end up turning the lights back on. Victor didn’t. After Otabek accepted defeat and just relied on the railings to get up the stairs safely, the lights were back on.

“Why is it that I was able to anticipate every move you made, yet I’m still surprised?” Victor asked.

Otabek wanted to ask why Victor had to make everything so difficult. He didn’t. He just walked up the stairs like a normal person who wanted to transition between floors in peace.

Georgi looked him up and down. “Yuri, your posture looks terrible.”

Otabek didn’t get it. His back was straight, his shoulders were squared, his chin was parallel to the ground, and yet he was subjected to criticism as soon as he entered the dance studio.

He had met Georgi before… kind of. This was his first year being in the same division, since he had barely gotten out of the junior division, but he saw Georgi at some banquets he was forced to attend. He watched Georgi’s free skate for a couple of minutes at the previous Grand Prix Finals. They were probably in the same hotel at least--well, the point is that Otabek was surprised that Georgi thought his best posture was wretched. Every time they secretly acknowledged each other’s passing presence, Georgi was thinking that his posture was terrible. That is, if Otabek even stood out from the background enough to be noticed.

Russians are relentless.

“He doesn’t mean that,” the redhead female skater assured. “It’s just that the posture looks terrible on you.”

Shoot… What’s her name? Being the antisocial hermit Otabek was, he didn’t bother to learn the names of anyone that he wasn’t going to perform immediately after. Yakov’s coaching at the summer ballet camp he attended years ago was scary enough to leave its own imprint. Victor Nikiforov was, well, the Victor Nikiforov. So, he didn’t know the redhead’s name, but Yuri’s contact name for her on his phone was “Old Hag”, so sarcasm should be the appropriate response.

“Of course,” Otabek said. He mentally kicked himself. His response came out more like he had low standards for himself, not in the dry yet teasing manner that he was hoping for. It was hard to be rude on purpose to an older female skater. Respect for women was basically embedded into his DNA.

Georgi frowned. “Don’t take it so harshly,” he said apologetically.

Don’t say it so harshly, then.

“I’m just used to you being more…” Georgi trailed off. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but on the bottom of his mind.

“Pretty?” Victor provided.

“Feisty!” Mila suggested, with an added hiss and claw-swiping gesture for effect.

“No, no--rude, maybe?” Georgi guessed.

Victor clapped his hands together. “Oh, yes! Like a total bitch!”

Otabek’s face fell. He knew why he was standing out so much despite trying his best to hide, now. He was trying to survive when Yuri always wanted to thrive. It was so obvious that Yuri’s friends could see the difference at a glance. He clenched his fists, then put a hand on his hip and leaned his weight to one side. Throw yourself away, Otabek. You’re Yuri Plisetsky right now. “W… What the hell does that mean?” He glared up at Victor and bared his teeth a little. I’m sorry, Vitya, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

Victor was happy to be spoken at so crudely. Otabek wondered if this was what it was like to have friends.

“You’re certainly not this stupid on a daily basis to not know what a ‘total bitch’ entails,” Victor snapped back with a calm smile. “I’ll volunteer to be your tutor in Russian, too, if that means I can help you understand exactly how much of a bitch you are.”

At this point, Otabek would have usually put on a cool mask and walked out without any further conflict. He imagined that Yuri would’ve said something like… “You don’t have to be superfluous just because I know exactly who’s below me.”

Georgi snapped his fingers. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice!”

A bead of sweat rolled down Yuri’s neck.

“Your hair is tied back! It looks nice.”

Otabek let out the breath he was holding.

Victor nodded in agreement. “Right? I like it better when I can see Yuri’s face.”

“Whatever,” Otabek spat out. “Just let me stretch in peace.”

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry!

Otabek would stretch for hours every day if he had Yuri’s body. (He does, actually, but that’s not the point.) Victor was watching him do a handstand while he slowly widened his legs into a left splits. Ironically, Otabek would have to stretch for hours every day if he wanted to be as flexible as Yuri. Perhaps he could pencil that into his schedule. If Yuri could when he barely had time to eat a full meal, then it would be a breeze for Otabek.

Yuri must be enjoying Otabek’s schedule. Otabek was glad that he didn’t have as many obligations as Yuri. No ballet classes, bi-weekly private lessons instead of every day, no piano lessons, no intensive homeschooling sessions, no Victor Nikiforov bothering him every second of the day, no rinkmates to criticize his every movement… Why, the only thing that could possibly give Yuri any trouble was the job as a waiter he recently took up at a Russian restaurant for extra money. His shift was only at 10 a.m. sharp…

Every day.

Victor’s quick reflexes caught Otabek when he lost balance and almost snapped his neck in half. “Careful, Yuri,” he chided softly.

Otabek scrambled out of Victor’s arms towards his bag. It was still barely past 7. He could call his phone (his actual phone) and tell Yuri that Otabek had to go to his job. He might also have to spill the beans that Yuri wasn’t dreaming and they really were switching bodies for what seemed like every other day, but there was no way Otabek could miss his entire shift at the four and a half star restaurant he barely got. The pay was amazing. He only had two sponsors, which were both his parents, and he desperately needed that job to afford another season in competition.

He would buy a plane ticket to Almaty right now if that meant keeping his job. As soon as he found his phone, he dialed his number and ran out into the hallway. He practiced what he was going to say.

“Yuri, this voice sounds familiar because it’s… No. Yuri, do you remember me? No, too lengthy. Yuri, I love your body--ah, that’s too suggestive.”

The phone rang only three times before it went to voicemail. Otabek glared at the phone screen. “You seriously declined a call from yourself?”

He didn’t realize that Russia was three hours behind Kazakh.

Yuri hated Otabek’s job. He was barely on time, only thanks to him snooping around in Otabek’s diary. The Medved Tavern and Restaurant was an overpriced poshfest where the waiters were quizzed on their knowledge of the menu every time they took an order and the wine experts turned their nose if you poured the unnecessarily expensive grape juice at an angle they weren’t pleased with. He cringed every time someone mispronounced a menu item and passive aggressively pointed out that it was also acceptable to simply state the number of the item because that’s exactly what those numbers were intended for.

Yuri was smart, though. He asked a coworker how to use a corkscrew before he was pushed out of the kitchen, and after that, he was out serving tables like the rent was overdue. He declined a call without even looking at the caller ID because as troublesome as having a shift during the freakin’ lunch rush was, the prices on the menu guaranteed that Otabek was paid decently. Yuri never could turn away an opportunity for making money, even it wasn’t his.

“Otabek!” a chef yelled at him. Yuri turned on his heel. Strangely, he was already used to being called by a different name. “Tezirek jıljıtıñız!”

Yuri put his hand on his hip and tucked a silver platter under his arm. “Speak Russian, mu’dak. You’ll make this place drop a star if you can’t make the atmosphere authentic.”

He barely blocked the knife thrown at him with the platter. The chef yelled at him in Russian, this time. “Mouth off one more time and you’ll be dead! Now move faster!”

Yuri picked up the knife and stabbed it into a cutting board on the counter. “Why don’t you--”

A coworker slapped a hand over his mouth, replaced the platter with a stack of menus, and pushed Yuri out into the kitchen before any more knives were thrown. Yuri was already handing out menus to another table of impatient pigs and taking orders before he could protest. Such was the norm when one’s shift was right at the lunch rush.

A woman way too old for Yuri, but maybe barely too old for Otabek was trying to undress him with her eyes while he mechanically described the dish of the day that the restaurant was desperately trying to promote. She batted her eyelashes at him and spoke in Russian. “Wow, your Russian is so good. Did you grow up there?” Her hand wrapped around his while he pointed to the item on her menu.

Yuri gingerly removed her hand. Lay off, old lady. This hot body is mine. “I’ll give you time to decide your order.” He walked away with a strong urge to wash his hands. Man, that was a weird thought. This body isn’t really mine, but since I have it right now…

Dress-up was Yuri’s favorite game as a child, to the disappointment of his parents. He never understood what they wanted from him. They were pleased with money, but not his career as a figure skater. They wanted a normal son, but sold his body to ballet and sent him to live with his grandpa. They expected him to grow up like a normal man, but trained him like a daughter. Yuri supposed what they wanted was Otabek.

He unbuttoned his crisp white shirt and let it fall off of him. His fingers trailed down defined muscles, chiseled in the gym and refined in the rink. He admired Otabek’s body. It was one that Yuri could train to be the perfect danseur, with enough time. It could follow his dreams and live up to his parent’s expectations. Yuri’s own body was stuck in its own path to success, long and treacherous and far from everyone else. He could scream without shame, glory, or response. It was his reward and consequence for taking the road less traveled by.

Otabek lived alone in an apartment that he worked hard at a four and a half star Russian-themed restaurant for to keep because it was near the ice rink. Yuri could get used to that. He collapsed in Otabek’s bed and hugged himself.

“So this is what it’s like to embrace a man’s body.”

Yuri had a lot of issues he had to deal with, but Otabek also had a lot of clothes to try on. He was certain that the waiter uniform wasn’t the only outfit Otabek looked good in.

Landing a quadruple Salchow was so much easier in Yuri’s body that his own. Otabek couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. He approached it the way he usually did. After he caught his breath, he went for a quadruple axel. Again, it was better than any attempt he made in his own body.

Victor whistled. “That’s the best I’ve ever seen from you.”

Green eyes widened. “Is it really?” He couldn’t brush it off as muscle memory, although that would’ve been an interesting concept to explore.

Victor nodded. “Yeah, although the height seems to be lacking.”

“Actually, it’s easier to not have too big of a step up so that the skater can pull into the rotation position more quickly… When the x and y velocity components are calculated independently, you can see that it’s more efficient--”

Victor ignored him and did a quadruple axel to see for himself. He used more height than Otabek’s calculations would have recommended. Of course, the landing was perfect because it was Victor who did it. “I don’t get it. More height is more beautiful, no?”

Otabek was suddenly homesick for his rink in Almaty, where he could focus on himself and not be shown up by figure skating legend Victor Nikiforov himself. Adding more height looked more pleasing, but wasn’t necessarily more efficient. Even the execution of jumps was something Victor did the opposite in what was expected. Otabek gasped. “I see! The height characterizes the style of your jumps!” He used to think that jumps were something anyone could do with the right amount of training, that as long as certain qualifications lined up, the jump would go well. He didn’t consider that the math of the jumps could be adjusted for aesthetic. He was focused more on efficiency and technique, while Victor was charming the world with extra difficulty. Victor really did make everything harder than it had to be. “But does your body make your technique possible or is your technique body-independent?” he wondered aloud.

Victor skated circles around him. “I am very independent.” He suddenly skidded to a stop and purposely sent slushy ice in Otabek’s face.

Otabek’s eyes were drawn to the golden blades. He forgot to account for different models of skates. It could be Yuri’s skates that made it easier to land quads. Or, Otabek could be used to expending more effort to perform quads because his body was bulkier and expending that same amount of effort in Yuri’s body, which was much lighter, could be making the quads easier. Meaning, Yuri’s body was ideal for the technique Otabek used.

This was too strange. Basically, Otabek was using muscle memory with entirely different muscles. He wished he could borrow Victor’s body, too, for more experiments.

Victor laughed at his serious expression. “Skate with me, Yuri.” He took off, dragging Otabek along with him. “Watch and follow.”

He raised one leg behind him and extended a hand in front of him while still holding onto Otabek’s hand. Otabek mirrored the same pose. He followed suit as Victor lowered his leg. Victor led them through a curve, leaning in towards Otabek, and twirled Otabek around before grabbing his hips and briefly lifting him into the air.

It was a simple and easy move, but Otabek wasn’t expecting it, so he clung to Victor as soon as he was safely on the ice. “V-V-Vitya! That was…” He couldn’t find a more mature way to phrase it in Russian. “... scary.”

Victor smiled. “Are you afraid of trying new things?”

“I’m scared of finding new ways to die.” Otabek was getting better at bluntly saying the first thing that came to mind, especially when it came to Victor’s antics.

Victor held Otabek, but continued to skate around the rink with him. “Would you like it if I was just ‘horny’?”

Yuri’s face was set ablaze. “W-Wh-Wha…”

Victor just smiled at him and gave no context whatsoever. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I know you want me to be more than that, when it comes to you.”

Otabek didn’t know how to interpret this, anymore. He wasn’t used to having rinkmates, much less one with an ambiguous relationship that could either be strictly platonic, strictly romantic, strictly sexual, or some secretive combination of those choices. “Um.” He hoped that hugging Victor was the right answer. Or, maybe he was accidentally leading Victor on.

If only he could just straight-up reject Victor on the spot.

If only Yuri’s body truly was his.

#this body is yours #chapter 2 #yoi #yuri!!! on ice #otayuri #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky #still need a beta #i was gonna post this yesterday but i got distracted #comment or dm me if you're interested in helping me edit lol

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