We all like to think danse is tall, but what If he just wasn't. He steps out of that armor and it turns out he's 5'2 but with enough muscle for two of him, and he's been hiding in his power armor all the time so no one notices.
on a normal day i would go off on a whole other side tangent about my danse height headcanons but all i can think of is this
Despite ao3′s best efforts, I’ve answered the call of the “waltzing together” prompt for day two of @nutsandvoltsweek. This wasn't the original idea for this fic, but what I wanted was far more aesthetic and action-oriented than I thought I could do in twenty-four hours. I’m still happy with this, though.
crossposted on ao3, despite the archive’s efforts to the contrary. Please forgive my horrifically cliche title.
Atlesian socialites just adore their dramatic choices in themes for gatherings, and their tastes undoubtedly had spread down to Mantle, as this display at a ballroom in a hotel that had existed since long before the city floating above them quite clearly proves. Citizens of all classes, mingling together in the cavernous room, the event held by the representative from Mantle to the Atlas council: as a way to “ease tensions” stemming from the closure of the kingdom’s borders and the embargo on dust putting pressure on Schnee, pressure that trickled down to its workers.
The idea had been simple: all were welcome, regardless of class, race, occupation. Wear your finest. Conceal your identity with a mask, there is to be no identification at a glance, so there will be no pressure to or not to speak to someone. The idea, of course, is on the surface not terrible, in fact some might even call it a good one. But those people would be sadly mistaken.
It’s laughable, really, that someone could think that a few hours of drinking and dancing could ever be enough to make these pitiful creatures forget the drudgery and depression of their daily lives. And the masks . It would have been comical if it wasn’t so, so painfully cliche.
Though, really, those just made their job here so much easier.
The good doctor leans rather heavily on the wrought-iron railing, green eyes tracing over the truly voluptuous scene of the gathering below, exposed by holes in his mask doubling as eye sockets in the skull of a vulture. Appropriate, considering his current position: perched above the masses and peering down. The base of the mask is bone white, fading into a short, realistic beak, though the intricate gold overlay looks more like a human skull than that of a bird. But it had been the duality that had drawn him to it. Granted, the long black and hood are sorely lacking in originality, but he isn’t exactly here to show off.
“Now, where did you get off to?” he sighs, scanning the ballroom below from his vantage point on the balcony, before he spots Tyrian lurking at the bottom of the stairs. His partner has always looked ravishing in red, whatever form the color’s presence has taken on his body, and while the doctor didn’t exactly question the very long, very red coat’s practicality for hiding stains, he had worried that it would be a tad too flashy for their purposes. Though, it does make him easy to find. “There you are.”
Oh, doctor … Tyrian giggles in his earpiece, and Arthur nods when he sees him glancing around. The councilman’s on the dance floor. Perhaps you should come down here so that we can… go say hello .
Arthur hums, but straightens from where he’s been leaned over the railing and smooths down his clothing before making his way down the staircase. He catches Tyrian around the waist as he passes him, pulling him around and in front of him, settling one hand on Tyrian’s waist and seizing his hand with the other. “If you insist.”
“ Dramatic ,” Tyrian coos, following the other’s lead and resting his free hand on the doctor’s shoulder. His eyes glitter dangerously purple in the sockets of his own skull mask, intricate gold filigree-inspired design over burgundy, dotted all over with tiny red dust crystals -- almost like blood oozing up from the pores of a face -- and edged around the pointed teeth and eye sockets with delicate red trim, still like blood. Part of the gold filigree is actually rose gold, and the rose gold patch takes the shape of a scorpion spreading along his right cheek, with its tail curling up around the eye socket. “You know, doctor, I never did learn to waltz .”
“You’re a quick learner,” Arthur replies easily. “You’ll figure it out.”
Despite his insistence that he didn’t know how to waltz, Tyrian is nothing short of graceful as they sweep into the fray, the pair of them turning around and around with the rest of the dancers as they make their way closer to their target. Every so often, when they brush too close to another pair, he feels a shift against his torso as the end of Tyrian’s tail flexes and flicks, catching hands and wrists and any expanse of skin that he can find. Nicks in the skin just innocuous enough not to betray the poison coursing through their bloodstream.
They keep it up, Tyrian striking at random before they twist away from their unknowing victims, for longer than the hunter thought he’d be allowed to before Arthur’s nails digging into his hand stops him.
“The councilman is behind you on the right side,” the doctor murmurs. Tyrian’s tail may be well-hidden, the majority of the length wrapped around his waist, but there’s not much hiding it when he strikes. “We can’t be striking at random and risk him noticing.”
Tyrian hums. “Can you get me in front of him?”
“Not yet. But…” He spins them a little more aggressively than probably necessary, and gives Tyrian a look at their target over his shoulder. “We’ll only have one shot. Do you see a target?”
“He’s kept his whole neck exposed. I could just…” Arthur turns them again, and Tyrian actually growls. “Excuse me!”
“Can’t risk him seeing you.”
“I think you just like throwing me around.”
“I think you’re projecting.” Another spin, with far more flourish. “He’s just behind you. Take your shot.”
Tyrian beams brightly, and his tail whips out behind him. The councilman’s partner screeches loudly, and the pair scatters as the crowd does, recoiling back away from the scene. They’ve separated and successfully gotten lost in the horrified crowd before the councilman’s body even hits the floor. They make their runs for an exit as the crowd starts to, and their paths cross again at a staff entrance in the far corner of the room, ignored by panicking attendees making their own desperate runs for main doors. Arthur shoulders the door open and yanks Tyrian rather roughly through it behind him, slamming it shut and latching it with the bar meant to prevent guests from wandering into a staff stairwell as the hunter pulls open the door to what used to be an electrical access panel, but was now just a small door to a very convenient void in the wall where they’d stashed changes of clothes.
“The others should start dropping soon,” Tyrian giggles, pulling his red coat off and letting it fall to the floor, exposing his too-open yellow dress shirt and less-than-perfectly tailored black pants before he pulls his usual brown coat on. “With all that adrenaline , I think most of them won’t make it out of the room.”
“Good.” Arthur drops his own coat on top of Tyrian’s discarded one, and rolls up the sleeves of his fittingly-sanguine purple dress shirt. He shrugs off his charcoal vest with its black paisley print and flips it inside out to the solid black of the other wearable side, fastening the second set of gold buttons very quickly before withdrawing his own black jacket from the void in the wall. “None of them are going to last more than a few days anyway.”
“Mmm!” Tyrian laughs as he wraps his tail around Arthur’s waist and yanks him closer in order to better reach his face. He pushes the doctor’s mask up a little, just enough to be out of the way, and crushes their lips together, digging his nails into Arthur’s neck as he does. When the hunter pulls away, he catches Arthur’s lower lip in his teeth for a moment before he lets go. “I think we’d better hurry back home. I don’t know how much longer I can stand looking at you dressed so nicely~ I might just ravish you in the alley outside, instead of waiting for you to get it up enough to have your way with me .”
“Your preferences would disturb any other man,” the doctor points out, reaching up to pull his mask entirely off of his face now that Tyrian’s tongue is no longer down his throat. He doesn’t add that he knows Tyrian isn’t that stupid: it’d be pointless to keep talking when their clock is ticking like this.
“Oh I know !” The snickering that escapes Tyrian is wonderfully chaotic, as if he’s just had the most wicked of ideas, and he licks his lips as he removes his own mask to reveal his gold eyes dangerously dark, with his pupils blown wide. “I suppose I’m just lucky that I’m stuck with you ~”
“Those are your words, not mine.” Arthur hears the door behind them rattling, someone’s trying to get in. “Take the rooftops, I’ll make my way through the kitchens.”
“I’ll try not to have too much fun without you.” Tyrian grins, vaulting up over a slightly higher railing and out of sight, leaving the doctor to withdraw a vial of burn dust and tip it over their discarded coats, a flex of his aura igniting the clothing into a blaze too large to be jumped through before he takes off down the stairs.
Yuuri Week 2017, Day 3: Gold
Title: Ride on a Shooting Star
Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Katsuki Mari, Okukawa Minako.
Pairing: Gen.
Genres/Tags: Family, Fluff, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant.
Rating/Warnings: G/None.
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri would one day grow up to be a world champion figure skater with an Olympic gold medal. Before that he'd been Minako's prize student.
Mari thinks one of Yuuri’s biggest influences to dream bigger had been the year of the Nagano 1998 Winter Olympics. Especially since they were held in their home country.
He loved watching all the different sports, but not surprisingly he was glued to the skating events. The ice dancing, the pairs, the men and women all held his undivided attention. It was a chore to pull him away long enough to take meals. Which said a lot, Yuuri had always had a healthy appetite. Their mom ended up making katsudon almost everyday just to entice him away.
Yuuri had gained quite the belly after those two weeks and Minako had huffed in slight irritation. She then made it her mission to help him get trimmed back down quickly.
His friend Yuuko had come over daily and they’d watch the live coverage, then the recap for hours on end until Yuuko’s parents came to take her home. Often times they’d fall asleep leaned up against each other as the television buzzed quietly in the background. They would chatter excitedly about the different routines, the combinations, the scores. Then they’d speak of their own dreams. How they wanted to one day represent Japan at the Olympics like those older skaters.
Olympic times were special. There was a mystique about them, a magic in the air surrounding the festivities. Athletes from all over the world convened in one place to represent their countries while people watched from home. The moment the Olympic cauldron was set ablaze it was an exciting two weeks. Mari could imagine that to two little kids whose hopes and dreams were far bigger than a world contained in a tiny color box, it was unfathomable.
It had been Russia’s year at the White Ring and Yuuko made it her mission to research more of their skaters, including the juniors and novices; promising Yuuri she would tell him everything. No one could have predicted the outcome of that, nor how it would become the catalyst that would one day shape Yuuri’s future in competitive skating.
The day of exhibition gala Mari had been on the sofa behind them, only half listening to their chatter as she leafed through her novel. What caught her attention was when Yuuri confessed quietly that one day he wanted to win gold at the Olympics.
“Oh really?” Mari closed her book with a decisive sound and decided to goad him. It was her prerogative as an older sibling after all. “Only the world’s best are allowed to be there, you know. Think you can take ‘em?”
Yuuri hadn’t answered her. Not with words anyway. He’d gone quiet, but she noted a familiar glint in his eyes as his attention turned back to the screen.
When Yuuri was a junior competitor Minako used to call him “Polaris,” an English word she’d learned while travelling abroad.
She could be rough around the edges. She never held back a sharp verbal correction to Yuuri’s posture or she would bodily move him into position herself. She was a strict teacher, but she loved her student like a son. If he was Japan’s gold, then he was Minako’s platinum.
Mari didn’t understand the meaning behind that name at the time, nor did she feel like asking. She’d rather be home in bed and sleep a couple more hours. What she does remember is a time she was waiting for Yuuri to finish up dance practice. Minako had stood next to her, arms crossed as she carefully watched his movements. She then instructed Yuuri to work on his développé.
“You know,” Minako said absently as they observed his fluid movements. “If I’d been a more selfish person I could’ve kept him here with me. He’s a natural at dancing. I could’ve groomed him to be a world class danseur, a primo ballerino. I could’ve taken him to the New York City Ballet, the Royal Ballet in London, the Bolshoi in Russia. I would have introduced him to dance masters from all over the world. He could’ve brought Japan home a statuette from the Benois de la Danse...”
Mari knew she wasn’t being addressed specifically, but overhearing what seemed like personal thoughts still made her feel awkward.
Minako hesitated then shook her head. “But I couldn’t do that. Being the only boy in dance... and oh—he already struggled to make friends. It would’ve been so much harder for him. Yes, he would’ve been the best, but he would’ve been so lonely. The few local kids were all into ice skating. I never regret taking him that first time...”
It was odd, Mari thought to herself, to consider all the branching pathways Yuuri could’ve taken if not for the influences in his life.
“And I’m glad I did,” Minako said with a soft smile. “He's as much an amazing skater as he is a ballet dancer. Right now he's the brightest star of a small constellation part of a much bigger and imposing spectrum. But one day he’ll be as bright as a shooting star. I know it.”
Some mornings when faint golden light of a barely rising sun hit her face she’d wake up on instinct. Yuuri would still be asleep and she needed to get him up. One thing the Katsuki siblings were known to share was their love for a comfortable bed and being sound sleepers.
With great reluctance she pushed herself up and threw her legs over the side of the bed, already lamenting the loss of her warm cocoon. She leaned down to slip on her shoes with only the thought that they couldn’t be late for practice and then—then she’d remember.
Yuuri wasn’t here anymore.
He’d had many influences in his life. Minako had introduced him to ice skating, Yuuko had cultivated his love for it, Victor made him want to aim higher and strive for more. Victor cemented his love for it. Now he was alone in Detroit. His childhood friends had pursued other interests, but he kept going. He was now on the other side of the world because in order to have a shot at chasing a tail of a dream he’d needed to uproot his life. Her little brother’s determination knew no bounds. His fortitude against adversity was admirable, even if he couldn’t see it himself yet.
Mari jumped as she felt a weight flop on her stomach. A tiny yip told her it was Vicchan, ready for his morning walk. She supposed she could take him at any time, but the crisp mornings were fresh and filled her with nostalgic memories. The feeling of a much smaller version of her brother slipping a hand in hers, who was too young to go to practices by himself, even in a small town.
Reaching out with one arm she pulled the small body close. She knew it wasn’t the same for the tiny poodle; hers weren’t the arms he was looking for, but she could offer the fluff ball some comfort.
“I know, Vicchan. I miss him too.”
Around twenty years since the day Yuuri dreamed of being an Olympic Champion, Yuuri took gold at the Pyeongchang 2018 Winter Olympics.
Mari stood alongside Minako with an embarrassing rush of proud tears running down her face, like many times before during Yuuri’s triumphs. She watched earnestly and euphorically from her spot in the arena as she held up one half of a banner during the medal ceremony. This was her brother—her baby brother and he was here, accomplishing his dreams and representing his beloved country; like he always wanted.
It was then she finally understood Minako’s analogy. Not only that but how accurate it had been.
Yuuri together with skating was brighter than a shooting star. He left a golden trail of magic in the lives he traveled by. Some people couldn’t help but follow him; wanting to be part of that light and see how far he would go, other people wanted to snuff him out. Either way, everyone was watching him.
Then they’d realize how monotonous that world had looked before him.
