#lppc

Requested by @omgkatsudonplease​, and lengthened with permission

“Ain’t it funny, ain’t it funny I made you laugh every time we spoke I locked my heart in hesitation But somehow, you cracked the code I tore down my walls And wrecked the ceiling Ready to bare it all, but

You’re looking at her, she’s looking at you I’m falling apart, what can I do To make you feel that way about me too?

And it’s getting hard, I’m not gonna lie To keep in the dark all I’m feeling inside When you walk in smelling like her perfume What was I thinking? I’m just the funny girl to you”

(YouTube) (Spotify)

“Good morning, Yuuri!”

It’s always said that way, with such carefree joy, the cadence of someone with no weight on his shoulders. You can almost imagine the words displayed on the bottom of a fuzzy CRT television, with a little bouncing red ball hovering over each syllable as it leaves his lips: Good morning, Yuuri!

And it is a good morning, every single time, because those words always precede the appearance of Victor’s silvery hair as he comes up the steps; his eyes come next, arrestingly blue and framed by stunning lashes, then his lips—and this is the point where Yuuri always forces his eyes away, because he’s staring again.

“Good morning, Victor,” he replies demurely, as he always does.

He drags his eyes back now, forcing himself to make eye contact, even though it breaks his heart every single time. His mouth opens automatically, programmed by hopeless desire, and Yuuri puts on a sly smile by sheer muscle memory alone as he asks the question he asks every single morning:

“Victor, will you marry me?”

Victor’s eyes light up, and his practiced smile cracks open slightly to reveal something wider—something truer.

“Alas, dearest Yuuri,” he sighs, with just the right blend of dramatics and emotion so that Yuuri can pretend, just for a second, that he’s serious, “I’m afraid that today I must decline. Ask me again tomorrow?”

Yuuri nods, his cheeks aching from holding his smile, and as Victor turns to head into his office the sunlight glints off the gold engagement ring on his finger.

Alone at last, Yuuri slumps into his chair, cradling his head in his hands.

I can’t keep doing this, he says to himself, just as he does every day. He used to keep count, but it became too depressing, as every day Yuuri asks Victor to marry him and every day Victor says no in the kindest way possible, the sting of rejection renewed over and over again in the worst sort of time loop imaginable.

Worse still, it’s a prison of his own making. Last Christmas, Yuuri drank sixteen glasses of champagne, and in a fit of liquid courage he had sauntered up to his goddamn boss who he’d been in love with for forever and had asked, loudly: Victor-will-you-marry-me. And when Victor had stopped—when the whole ballroom had stopped, it felt like—Yuuri had burst out laughing, because that’s what you do when your spontaneous declaration of love is met with a less than enthusiastic response.

Yuuri had assumed he was fired, but Victor had laughed too, and the next day he came up the steps of the office as usual and had stood in front of Yuuri’s desk.

“Do you need something?” Yuuri had asked, swallowing a wave of hangover nausea.

“Yeah,” Victor had replied softly. “I need you to ask me to marry you again.”

“I—what?”

Victor had smiled—a smaller smile, a shy one—and fiddled with the ring on his finger. “I liked it,” he confessed, and Yuuri swore he saw the hint of a blush creep across Victor’s cheeks. “It’s a very sweet joke. You should joke more often, Yuuri.”

And now here they are. And every morning, before he gets coffee or delivers the mail or collects paperwork, Yuuri Katsuki asks the man he loves to marry him, and every day he hears no. Every day Yuuri overhears Victor arguing with his fiance about wedding plans; every day he tries not to eavesdrop as Victor’s whole love life plays out behind the frosted glass door, the sounds of strife bleeding out from the gap under the door.    

Victor, will you marry me?

Yuuri sighs.

He should tell jokes more often. It’s just a shame that they’re always at his expense.

requested by @history-rover

“I knew I loved you then, but you’ll never know, ‘cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go...”

(YouTube) (Spotify)

It takes forty-three days, eighteen hours, and twenty-nine minutes before Victor Nikiforov has his lightbulb moment. In hindsight, it was burning for a long time, ever since the banquet, but the lights in Victor’s eyes were already so blinding that one more source failed to register—until it went supernova, obliterating everything else. That happens just about a month and a half into his stay in Hasetsu, shortly after he unpacks his last suitcase of underwear and shortly before the Geneva Convention hands down their blanket condemnation of his practice of torturing metaphors beyond recognition.

Yuuri spends the first twenty-one days in varying shades of terrified the whole time Victor’s been there, to the point where Victor has started cataloguing them. There’s Curious Yet Terrified Yuuri, there’s Moody and Terrified Yuuri, and there’s Disappearing To His Bedroom Which Victor Hasn’t Even Seen Yet And Whose Mystery Is Positively Destroying Him Oh Right He’s In There Because He’s Terrified Yuuri.

And yet, when you get him on the ice (which Victor assumed would be just as difficult as getting Yuuri to go literally anywhere with him), it’s a totally different story. Yuuri the skater is a different creature entirely, a being of power and energy and charisma. And at first Victor is convinced that this is just Yuuri’s standard operating procedure, but then, slowly, glacially, Yuuri begins to change. He elbows Victor in the ribs one night at dinner, smirking around a mouthful of rice at the admittedly terrible joke Victor told. He whizzes past Victor on the ice during warmup, and very nearly finishes a sentence teasing Victor about his stamina before he clams up. Yuuri even starts to teach Victor how to make katsudon.

But it’s on the forty-third day, when Victor is watching Yuuri play tug of war with Makkachin, when he sits straight up like a shot and nearly whacks his head on a low beam, as the lightbulb flashes a bright neon message: I’m in love with Yuuri Katsuki.

Barr. Darlington Nnabuike Ozurumba has officially been shortlisted by the Legal Practitioners’ Privileges Committee (LPPC) for the conferment of the prestigious rank of Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN), one of the highest honors in the Nigerian legal profession. The development has been received with excitement within legal circles and among associates of the renowned legal practitioner, who is…

CJN inducts 72 SAN, reads riot act to security operatives

The Chief Justice of Nigeria (CJN), Ibrahim Tanko Muhammad, has conferred the rank of Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN) on 72  lawyers at the Supreme court in Abuja. The rank which is highly coveted in the legal profession is conferred by Legal Practitioners privileges Committee (LPPC) on lawyers who have been found worthy in character and practice. Speaking at the swearing-in ceremony which…

LPPC Releases Shortlist Of 130 Lawyers For SAN Rank

The Legal Practitioners’ Privileges Committee (LPPC) has released a shortlist of 130 lawyers qualified for the award of the highly coveted Senior Advocate of Nigeria (SAN) rank for 2021. Hajo Bello, the Acting Chief Registrar of the Supreme Court, who doubles as the secretary of the LPPC, issued the notice on Wednesday. She said the list comprising 95 lawyers in the advocate category and 35 in…

Just In: LPPC withdraws lawyer’s nomination for SAN four days to swearing-in

The Legal Practitioners’ Privileges Committee has withdrawn the nomination of a lawyer, Ikhide Ehighelua, for the coveted rank of the Senior Advocate of Nigeria and barred him from applying for the rank for the next five years starting from 2019.

The decision taken at the LPPC’s emergency meeting on Thursday came barely four days to his swearing-in along with 30 others already scheduled to take…

Requested by @spookyfoot

“We're only human Separated by our thoughts So hang on to them or you'll find you might get caught Caught up in the Hey Monkey See and Monkey Do Mustn’t get brainwashed by what's surrounding you Didn't you know that Every little thing's contagious Oh yes every little thing's contagious”

(YouTube) (Spotify)

The end of Victor Nikiforov’s life nearly comes in the wasteland, at the end of a Raider’s spinning blade.

It’s something he’s prepared for, of course, but he can’t say it doesn’t terrify him, in those last moments. The dust of the road has caked to his skin for so long, yet in that last flash of terror he sees his flesh as it once was—clean, pale, beautiful, flawless. He feels his eyes widen as the metal whizzes by his face, feels every inch of the skin of his throat, feels the air move over his very pores, as he wonders, wonders, wonders—is this it?

Victor hits the ground, the air knocked from his lungs, and closes his eyes. He waits for the obliterating dark to consume him.

It doesn’t.

After a moment he chances a squint, and he sees the unmistakable silhouette of a human being standing over him. Whoever it is hasn’t descended to rob or loot his body, a fact which frankly becomes more and more unsettling with every purposefully shallow breath. After a while Victor finds himself struggling to avoid gulping in huge lungfuls of air, his efforts to play dead threatening to become his actual undoing.

“Victor?”

His eyes fly open and he gasps.

“Yuuri?”

The sun is blazing hot and too bright; Victor is still disoriented from his near miss, but once his vision begins to stabilize, there’s no doubt: he’s lying in front of the man he once planned to marry, back before everything went to hell.

Yuuri has a look on his face that Victor has never seen before—a wild-eyed manic grin, a combination of bloodlust and glee. He goes to kneel down in front of Victor, but a rage-filled shriek draws their attention to the raider who tried to kill Victor, gearing up for another strike. Two bodies are better than one, Victor knows; the raiders, more than anyone, have embraced this bad new world with gusto, their hunger to survive embodied in a very literal sense.

The raider is fast, his launcher’s motor roaring—it must have been scrapped from a chainsaw, reworked to launch spinning saw blades. He utters a gutteral shriek and moves to pull the cord, and Victor feels his mouth open in excruciating slow motion.

“Yuu—”

He’s cut off as Yuuri turns, pulling a fucking sword from his belt, and effortlessly slices the raider’s arm off before whipping the blade across his throat in a whoosh that sends hideous shudders up and down Victor’s whole body. The raider goes down hard, sending up a puff of dust when he lands; Yuuri watches him fall, watches the ground absorb the blood pouring from his throat, waits until the last shudder of life leaves him, before turning back to Victor and extending a hand, which Victor takes before he can stop himself.

“Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri grins, pulling Victor to his feet. “You’re alive.”

Victor exhales through pursed lips. “Apparently,” he replies, bewilderment clear in his voice. He takes a moment to look Yuuri up and down; he seems to be wearing an eyepatch, and scars crisscross the flesh of his upper arms. “And you—I thought you were—”

Yuuri winks with his good eye. “Dead? No. Not before I marry you, you dingus.”

~