Had some time last night so I decided to test out some of those Kyle brushes on a little drawing from my pocket sketchbook. And man I gotta say I am in love with these watercolor brushes! I think this is the first time I’ve found ones that actually do a good job of mimicking the real thing, and it’s making me super nostalgic for my painting classes! Definitely adding this one to my regular roster of brushes!
Yuri is fourteen and out on the ice he is a prodigy, a rising star. He skates and he knows: there is no one here now who comes close, who can touch him. And he wants more, he wants better but the people around him laugh and pat his head and say, not now, little boy. They tell him he can’t do these things yet; he’s too young; he’s not yet enough. The spotlights flash off the ice. The person Yuri wants to be (and to beat) says: all right, I’ll give you more, I’ll make you better.
Yuri is fifteen and his senior debut hurtles at him like a freight train. There is no time to wait, to train and be more and be better, it has to be now. (He thinks of his grandfather, ageing and ailing; he thinks of a mother who is always never there; he thinks of what little he can give as he is and he thinks, it has to be now.) He returns to a city that is not home and he looks for silver hair, for a promise. But it’s not there, it’s left him alone and desperate; he’s been left behind again.
Yuri is fifteen and flying across continents by himself, chasing after a hope and a promise. He does the only things he knows how to do, he shouts and he begs with his anger to let it be him, he needs this, he needs this. He tries and he’s not enough. He leaves before anyone else tells him that. He leaves and he returns to the city that is not home and he thinks, I will make myself enough. Somehow, he will.
Yuri is fifteen and all people tell him is they need him not to be him. They need him to be all other things: their prima ballerina, their next protégé, their angel. Yuri looks at his skating and wonders where he is in all this, where he will be allowed to be. He looks at his skating and feels the shadow that drowns it, a legacy that traps him in a box, whispers in the kiss of his skates on the ice. He looks at his skating and he thinks, it has to be more, it has to be better.
When will he ever be enough?
And Yuri is fifteen and he loses; he skates personal bests, bleeds desperation on ice, and he still loses, once and again. He pushes himself to his edges and it is not enough, it isn’t, why isn’t it? He needs to win, he has to win, why can’t he win? He stands at the rink’s edge and looks for his grandfather and waits, waits like he’s looked for and waited for people his whole life, why is he always the one left waiting? He’s already given everything he can.
What more does he have to do?
And then, in a back alley: quiet words and sincerity. Someone looks at him and sees him, sees everything that he is, this insecure, desperate, determined boy with eyes like the shallow ocean (like a soldier). Someone has also been looking, been waiting; someone echoes the pain of wondering if he will be enough.
After everything, when Otabek says: that’s the Yuri Plisetsky I want to see, and Yuri feels the breath stutter in his lungs because no one has ever acknowledged him like this–
(when will you be enough? what more do you have to do?)
In Otabek’s eyes Yuri has always been more than enough, and Yuri knows that all he has to do is be himself.
Ojamajo Doremi anyone…? N-no…? Heh.. I just…. I had to. Those cross-fusion boys need some real magical girl transformations…! I wonder if I’ll ever finish this completely. But right now I’m already happy I’m done with the sketches. also I wish the girls wouldn’t say their names while transforming. Your name is Dingo, not Doremi, little boy. Also you’re not a witch.