the return of the elegant gentleman

After several decades as one of the most sought after figure skating coaches in the world, Yakov Feltsman decides to quietly retire. Most of his students have retired from professional figure skating as well, and the only one left is the most recent men’s Grand Prix winner, 20-year-old Yuri Plisetsky. There’s a great clamour as several coaches rush to offer him their services, each of them trying to outdo the others. He turns them all down, saying that he already has a new coach. He refuses to reveal who. 

The figure skating world is left to contemplate who this mysterious figure is for several months. Then, the Cup of China arrives, and Yuri Plisetsky shows up accompanied by an elegant older gentleman with long silvery hair in a loose braid down his back. He’s wearing an expensive black suit, and a simple gold wedding band glinting on his ring finger.

The figure skating world explodes with excitement as, after a three year absence where he essentially disappeared off the face of the Earth, Victor Nikiforov returns to his beloved sport.

An even bigger surprise comes the next day, when a petite Asian man watches Plisetsky’s short program alongside Nikiforov - Katsuki Yuuri, three-time Grand Prix gold medalist, who had retired three years prior.

Plisetsky, usually so gruff and unfriendly, greets him with a soft smile and a friendly embrace, addressing him as “onii-san”.

(When Katsuki later teasingly refers to him as “lapushka”, he gets a not-so-soft punch in the arm.)

pippinpie  asked:

Fic prompts.. let me see.... Jehanparnasse first meeting, Montparnasse tries to steal from smol Prouvaire, and Jehan is his charming self. Win for us all B)

Drizzle formed a curtain over the streets. The day was close and with the clouds and the streets both painted the color of mud it was difficult to tell where one ended and one began. Parisians jostled one another as they walked, divided awkwardly between those with business who strolled and those without it who rushed.

One young man walked among them with a smile. Young Prouvaire moved with the serenity of one surrounded by fields of flowers rather than muddy streets. In his eyes he was. Each person had their own story, their own burst of color, of life that was as easily lost as it was given. They were beautiful. He walked in that tranquil state, his feet knew the way, and in his mind he laced together words to make beauty of ugliness and ugliness of beauty.

Suddenly his balance was lost and he tumbled forward, jarred from his daydream by the impending pain of the street. He scrunched up his eyes in anticipation but felt only arms around him. He opened his eyes, large and green against the brown of the day, and looked up at his savior, the very man who had tripped him with his cane.  

“Spring.” Was the first word from Jehan’s mouth.
The gentleman blinked, his eyes were green too, but flicked with gold and light and all that Jehan could see in them filled his nose with a scent of fresh grass and seemed to warm his face like the sun.

“What? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Forgive me, I can be such a fool sometimes.” Montparnasse smiled gently, his beautiful face an elegant, if false, portrait of self deprication beneath the frame of his dark hair. 

Prouvaire carefully returned to his feet and dusted himself off as if nothing had happened, his face as serene as it had been only a moment ago. Drops of rain glistened against his hair.

“It is your eyes monsieur, they are like Spring. I can see a meadow in your eyes. They’re very beautiful.” He smiled brightly up at him, and when he did his face was a genuine portrait of warmth to match the falseness of Montparnasse.
The sheer sincerity of the compliment brought a faint blush to Montparnasse’s cheeks and in that moment he decided that he wanted, no he needed, so much more than this charming little thing’s wallet. 

I answered a couple of these OTP questions with short ficlets. I might do more later.

nicknames for each other?:
((I suppose these events are what this fic leads to.))
“Ah, Champion! You grace us with your presence,” Comtess Dulci de Launcet greeted her guests with a curtsey and elegant wave of the wrist befitting her Orlesian heritage.
    "The pleasure is all mine, Comtess,“ Hawke bowed in return. He had arrived at the banquet with Anders, both dressed in their finery.
    "Such a gentleman you are!” the Comtess smiled in delight. “It must be jealousy that inspires the foul gossip about you. They are now saying that you frequent the Hanged Man. Can you believe the nerve?”
    "I would never!“ Hawke exaggerated a gasp, beckoning at his chest in a dramatic motion.
    "But where are my manners! Please introduce me to your companion, Champion.” The Comtess now turned to Anders, who looked rather fetching in his a fitted brocade vest, his hair thoroughly combed and slicked back with great care in deviation from his usual haphazard, if practical, ensemble.
    "Comtess de Launcet,“ Hawke announced, wrapping one arm around Anders while gesturing with the other, "this springtime embrium, this enchanted rose diamond which has me so bewitched, is my fearsome nug prince, Anders.”
    "Ah!“ A bemused look accompanied the practised gleam on her visage, but the noble poise of the Comtess never faltered. "Quite the poet you are, Champion.”
    "He brings it out in me,“ Hawke let out an enamoured sigh, raising Anders’ knuckles to his lips for a quick peck.
    "Serah Anders. You must feel quite lucky having won over the heart of the Champion.”
    "Like a fierce, battle-hardened alpha bronto he charged at my heart and knocked me over. As I lay on the ground, my pitiful gaze met the volcanic aurum gleaming behind those bold, mysterious brows. I have since been paralysed at his feet, held in place by the magical glyph of his animal magnetism,“ Anders beamed, his attention fixed on his bearded beau.
    "I… see.” The Comtess held a graceful demeanour remarkably well. “Such romantics, the both of you!” The sentiment seemed surprisingly sincere, if perhaps coloured by sympathy. “If you would excuse me, I must see to the servants. The appetizers should be ready by now.”
    The Comtess hurried for the kitchen, leaving the two men to their own devices.
    "Wow, Anders, I believe you win this one,“ Hawke laughed, handing his boyfriend a silver. "You truly have mastered the art of terrible sweet talk.”
    "I have an excellent muse,“ Anders sneered as he slipped the coin in his vest pocket.
    "However, I do believe you have me slightly miscast.” Hawke looked rather pensive now, his lips folded inwards and eyes unfocused.
    "How so? I will not take back the bit about animal magnetism.“
    Hawke stroked his jaw, leering at the blond. "Surely I’m more dragon than bronto.”

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Class Comes to Town (closed RP with melaniedragon)

It was another average day in Eden Prairie, Minnesota when Casias sauntered into town, his rich mahogany hair glistening in the light of a peaceful November day, his clean-pressed suit’s black outer-coat accented in golden threads, the grey shirt underneath standing out despite being mostly covered by the crimson necktie over top of it, the ivory crook of the cane in his right hand engraved with the Latin saying “Aeternus Amor, Moribus Perpetuuni” in silver, the gold cap on its bottom clean polished.

Soon, however, his pleasant stroll was interrupted as, while he approached the outside of a small bar, the sight of a woman being aggressively sot after by her date came into his peripheral vision ~I believe it is time I intervene~ he thought with a dutiful grin before heading into the establishment, approaching the troubled pair without so much as a word “what seems to be the issue here, is your drink somehow filled with indecency?” he questioned wryly as he stood beside the man, leaning over his shoulder.

“this is none of your business, asshole!” the man belted, shoving him away with his shoulder before standing up, his date looking more nervous by the moment

“by the expression on this quite lovely lady’s immaculate face, I would say ‘tis indeed my business”, Casias replied calmly, “as any man worthy of the title would step in when a woman is in need.”

“yeah, well, piss off you IRS lookalike”, the taller man demanded, “she’s only in need of my dick tonight.”

“now see here, no woman, man, or, as seems to be the case with your nights more often than not, hole in a watermelon, ever needs that part of a man, they may want it, as is obviously not the case here, but they never need it”, he replied tauntingly, “should you decide to either strike at me or force her, it is a relatively safe wager there will be an unfortunate accident befalling you, should you wish to avoid such an outcome, it would be best were you to simply depart this establishment and never speak to this innocent angel ever again.”

“oh that’s fuckin IT”. the man snarled before punching at Casias with all his weight

“I believe you are correct”, Cas smirked, dodging the blow effortlessly, entangling the bully’s arm with his cane before snapping the limb with a quick twist, tripping the oaf in the same motion, causing him to stumble out the door and face-first onto the concrete outside, “have you had enough, or would you prefer amputation to fracture?” Casias asked as he came toward the fallen aggressor, placing the crook of his cane around the man’s neck as he attempted to rise

“yeah, whatever…” the pained lamebrain responded chocking “let me go and i won’t come back.”

“then we have a deal.” came the reply, the cane removed from his neck and a harsh knee applied to his back, sending him out into the street, the gentleman returning to the woman inside and offering her the bottle of wine in his jacket “I am sorry for that unpleasantness, my dear, but I could not simply let such a ner-do-well ply his trade with an elegant woman such as yourself.”