This has nothing to do w/ anything and I know people have talked about it before BUT I want to as well. Usually my metas tend to be angsty af and then end on a hopeful note, and this will probably be no exception. But anyway, a delve into Victor’s love of fairytales!
I can recall on 2 occasions Victor specifically comparing Yuuri to a fairytale.
Which may not seem like a lot but we have 12 episodes and if something is pointed out twice in a story, it has some amount of significance. Anyway, I just think it’s so damn cute that Victor considers Yuuri prince-like. Even the visuals and story of On Love: Eros is like a fairytale!
We go on about how extra Victor is (and he 200% is…that 50s pink cadillac tho) but I wanna here more about how much of a true romantic Victor is.
This entire thing is like an hc-palooza courtesy of me. Here we go!
I like to think of a little Victor, watching all these fairytale movies–Disney or otherwise–and dreaming of one day finding a prince of his own.
A 12 year old Victor with his first real crush, staring at a pretty boy with darker hair and kind eyes in one of his classes or at the rink. Victor thought he had found his prince, until one day the affection faded and his mind focused on other things.
A teenage Victor, going through various relationships like others would go through clothing. He’s a busy young man after all, and no one seems to want to look beyond the Victor Nikiforov on screen, one the ice, and actually date him. Victor starts to wonder if there is a prince out there for him.
Victor as a young adult, still a romantic at heart, but has pretty much entirely lost hope on finding his true love. No one sticks around, and he hasn’t found anyone he cares deeply enough about to chase. Victor’s lonely, to put it simply. He sits up at night sometimes, and watches all those fairytales from when he was a child. Victor smiles sadly at the end of them all, and dreams of a prince of his own.
And Victor in his late 20s, as we see him pre-series. He’s frosted with depression and loneliness; the never-ending cold discs of metal, the isolation from other skaters, people kissing up to him left and right. Everything is predictable. He’s running out of motivation, out of ideas. Victor knows people only want him as what they see when he performs. It’s a saddening thought, that Victor is not lovable as himself. Some people were not meant to find a true love, he supposes.
Until one night, a night we all know well.
The Sochi GPF banquet. Victor is intrigued by this attractive man flitting through the room, clearly intoxicated, but with this charming energy no one can resist. Not even Yuri Plisestky, himself pulled into a dance with Japan’s Yuuri Katsuki.
Victor manages to escape from his sponsors to laugh and point and take pictures from the sidelines. Yuuri whirls past him and the way the light shines on his hair and eyes makes Victor’s breath catch and his heart skip.
Victor watches as Yuuri dances with Chris–and wow, is that a show and a half. Yuuri strides over to Victor and holds him in place, hips shaking and Victor can only stare on in wonder. This beautiful, energetic, charming young man is staring up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. Victor can’t understand Japanese, but that doesn’t matter–what matters is the warmth of Yuuri’s body, the sparkle of his eyes, and the earnestly fond tone he speaks with. Victor’s heart is beating out of his chest and he can’t imagine this moment getting better until-
Be my coach, Victor!
Victor’s face flushes with a little gasp and he can’t find it in himself to refuse the request or the next dance they share together.
As Victor laughs spins and smiles like he hasn’t since child, looking at Yuuri all the while, he can feel it in his chest.
A prince. A prince is with him!
And oh, when Yuuri dips him low, the lights above framing his face and hair like a halo, Victor knows that his prince has finally come for him.
Let’s not think
about his parents, sending their son off to the Garrison because he loves the
stars and he knows what he wants and he’s worked so hard to get there—let’s not
think about them being told their son is never coming home.
Let’s not think
about how his parents told the rest of the family. Let’s not think about trying
to explain to his younger siblings that I’m
sorry, sweetheart, but Lance won’t be coming home this summer. Let’s not think
about his siblings misunderstanding, and asking when he would be coming home. Let’s not think about his parents having to
explain what it really means that Lance is d—de—dead. Let’s not think about his siblings finally understanding and
crying and screaming at everything that goes wrong for the next few months,
because What does it matter, Mama? Why
does it matter if I’m good? Lance was good! Lance was good but he’s still gone!
I don’t want to be good if it means I’ll go away!
Let’s not think
about his parents trying to be strong for their children. Let’s not think about
them crying, alone, in the middle of the night, when nobody can interrupt them,
because dammit Lance was meant for better
things that this; he was meant to shine; he was meant to l i v e
Let’s not think
about Lance’s older siblings and extended family. Let’s not think about his
older siblings learning that their baby brother—the one who was trying to do so
much with his life, who had so many plans and dreams, who was kind of patient
and good and wonderful and insecure, yes, but who took that and used it to make
sure none of his siblings ever felt like he did—was gone because of some freak
accident that they never got a full answer for because It’s classified. Let’s not think about his older siblings trying to
understand why this would happen, how this could happen, how are any of them
supposed to just cope and move on now that Lance, the brother who was only sixteen, damn it, he was still a child,
was dead and would never call home again on Christmas and Easter and on
Let’s not think
about the younger ones—not the youngest, exactly, who still didn’t really
understand that dead meant never coming back and still asked when Lance would
come home, but the younger ones, the ones closest in age to Lance—developing separation
anxiety, and refusing to go to school because what if while they were gone
someone else left, too?
(Let’s not think
about Lance, in space, wishing he could go home and see his family and his
mother and his siblings and hug them and tell them all about the stars and the
wonderful things he had seen. Let’s not think about him, lonely, feeling like a
seventh wheel, not knowing where his place is, because at home he knew it was
his job to comfort and be his mother’s right hand man, but out here nobody
wants his comfort, and there is no mother for him to help. It’s just him,
teammates who don’t really seem to like him, and a neverending vastness of
stars and heartache.)
So I’m kinda just singing there, just chilling. And I can kinda like see everyone’s eyes turning to like look at me. And I’m like ‘this is a bit awkward and uncomfortable’. Anyway, Bebe’s been like sat there for the last 15 seconds trying to hold out respect. And I was like… Oh, come on, Tommo.
They were once Jedis, erratic and unconforming. They broke too many rules and strayed away, much preferring their own passions. Yet it was a dark lord of the Sith; known as Darth Sidious who turned them into the Dark Side. They gave into their cravings and vices and strived to become powerful, and to control the galaxy. The magic they learnt was dark and the ways of the Force became terrifying. However, to defeat their enemies they must succumb to the dark side.
That awkward moment when you draw something to celebrate 100+ followers, get impatient and decide to post it before you hit 100, then take so long to finish it you end up hitting 100 before you can post it anyway.
Anyways, holy crap, this blog hit 100+ followers! Hooray! :D Where did you all come from? Why are you here?? How the hell did you all manage to fit in my house??? There’s not even enough room for that many people in here wtf.