#gifts19

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To @theunhappybunny From  @Zenphoenixa

My giftee requested not one, not two, but three little kiddlywinks... and your wish is my command! Enjoy Omegaverse Victuuri and their little family on an evening Winter walk. ^^ Ironically, I completed this while my own baby kept whinging instead of napping. ¬_¬;;

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To @mrscalculation​ From @kittleimp​

Might fuck around and give pairs skating a try during an exhibition ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk who else has done that before lol

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To @s3lene From @hotaruyuki

Hi, may you have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year <3

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To @youronelesbianfriend From @theunhappybunny

Hii! I hope you like your present, since you didn´t have anonymous asks enabled I had to guess what type of soulmate au do you like, so I chose a body swap au, so hope you like it! and Merry Christmas!!

Victor text messages can be translated as: -Yakov! -I found my soulmate! -And he's a cutie! -But I have a problem... -I don't know where I am  : (((

I used google translate since I only know the pronouns and numbers in Russian :'DD...

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To @asagi-s-garden From @s3lene

I present to you: A fanmix themed around a Yuri on Ice fantasy/horror Christmas! This gift goes out to @asagi-s-garden, Happy Holidays from @s3lene! When listening to this mix, consider the blurb below as the basis for the fanmix:

“It’s been snowing in the city for days, and it’s showing no signs of stopping.

On his way to and from rehearsal for the special Christmas program that Victor has been invited to skate in, he starts to see things out of the corner of his eyes in the swirling snow. Also, the program director’s image seems to shift when Victor looks away. But maybe he’s just tired…

But maybe they’re all tired from the demands of the Christmas program? There’s something off with Victor’s beloved Yuuri: his smiles are sharper than before and he acts guarded, like he has a secret. Victor has visions of them embracing in the snow even as Yuuri seems to slip further away each day.

Meanwhile Yurio has started to experience gaps in his memories, and Otabek skates day and night like a man possessed.

It’s been snowing in the city for days, and it’s showing no signs of stopping.”

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Bring Him Home

To  @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin From @kaleidodreams

Summary: During a snowstorm, Yuri worries when Otabek is late coming home from practice.

Rating: T/Teen and Up Audiences (Just for language, though, because Yurio.)

Message: I hope you enjoy gift, Rodinia! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

         "Where the hell is he?“

         Yuri pulls his coat tight around his torso as he looks over the fire escape railing, down at the parking lot three stories below. The space where Otabek usually parks his bike is still empty, covered with a light dusting of snow. Snowflakes continue to fall from the sky, clinging to Yuri’s hair and shoulders. The weather can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do. One minute it’ll be snowing, only for the snow to turn into sleet, then right back into snow again in seemingly the blink of an eye.

         Yuri hates Otabek driving his bike in this kind of weather. He’s a great driver, but the roads are icy, and it won’t be long until the sun sets, the sky already turning various shades of yellows, oranges, and blues behind the clouds. He should had waited around at the rink until Otabek finished his session with Viktor – the two of them were polishing up the choreography of Otabek’s free skate before Four Continents next week – instead of rushing back to the apartment to start on a dinner that was fast going cold. If he had, he would have convinced Otabek to leave the bike behind and take the subway back home with him instead.

         Home.

         Yeah, six months later, and that’s still a little weird.

         Yuri fiddles with the simple black band adorning his right hand, the ring twisting easily due to the cold shrinking his already-slender fingers. Otabek had given it to him the night they moved into the apartment together, shortly before the current skating season started. A sappy gift, one that made Yuri cry ugly embarrassing tears when Otabek slipped it on his middle finger, but it means so much to him that Otabek accepts who he is, that he still loves him despite the fact that Yuri doesn’t have the same desires as him. Their relationship is unconventional, occupying some nebulous area between best friends and lovers, yet it works for them.

         Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the clock for the third time since he came out on the fire escape. Shit, Otabek really is late; even with the bad weather, Yuri expected him to be home by now. He sighs, his breath visible in the freezing air. Should he call? He doesn’t want to distract Otabek from paying attention to the road if he’s driving, though.

         He settles for texting Viktor. It isn’t helpful, but at least he feels a little better after chewing Viktor out for allowing Otabek to leave on his own – never mind the fact that the snow didn’t start falling in earnest until after Otabek already texted Yuri to tell him he was about to leave the rink.

         If only he had been able to reply to the text faster…

         Yuri runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

         He’s half-tempted to start looking for Otabek on his own, but he doesn’t own a car. Doesn’t even have a license yet. He keeps meaning to sign up for lessons; it’s just difficult to find the time between training, competitions, tours, and sponsorship obligations. Besides, he usually gets around the city well enough without one.

         Maybe I should try calling the local hospitals?

If something bad has happened… With shaking fingers, Yuri finds the number of the nearest hospital online. The phone starts to ring in his ear just as he hears the familiar sound of Otabek’s bike pulling into the parking lot.

         “Fuckin’ finally,” he says, exhaling in relief. After ending the call and sliding his phone back in the back pocket of his jeans, he leans over the railing and yells down at Otabek. “You’re late. Get your ass up here!”

         He isn’t sure if Otabek can understand what he’s saying from so far away, but he looks up at Yuri after he takes off his helmet, holding his hand up in a “thumbs up” signal.

         A grin tugs at Yuri’s lips despite himself. “Idiot.”

         He brushes off the snow as best he can, then climbs through the window to go back inside.

         Their apartment is in the loft of an old abandoned canning factory. Other than the bathroom, it’s completely open concept, with cement floors, exposed brick walls, and large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street view, letting in a ton of natural light when it isn’t so cloudy. It’s more Otabek’s style than Yuri’s, to be honest – Yuri likes silly things like drywall and ceilings that actually hide all the pipes and ductwork from sight – but his influence shines through in the pops of leopard print scattered around the room, from the throw pillows on the leather couch to the rug underneath their dining table to the duvet covering their king-sized bed.

         After shrugging off his coat, Yuri starts to sling it over the back of the couch when he thinks better of it, hanging it back on the coat rack where it belongs.

         Learning to live together has been a relatively smooth transition for the most part. He and Otabek enjoy a lot of the same things – the same foods, the same music, the same TV shows – and whatever differences between them tend to be complementary in nature. Yuri loves to cook; Otabek is a weirdo who actually likes doing dishes. Otabek’s better at keeping organized, so he makes sure the bills get paid on time and schedules most of their appointments. Yuri is an expert when it comes to bargain shopping thanks to his grandpa’s teachings, so he’s in charge of buying the groceries and other household necessities. They don’t argue about much, but Otabek’s annoyance with Yuri’s slovenly tendencies is their one red-button issue, a bad habit Yuri is trying his best to break.

         A couple of minutes later, Otabek walks through the front door. Yuri prepares to yell at him some more for worrying him so much, but the words die on his lips when he sees the long scratch along the side of Otabek’s cheek. It runs from just a little below his left eye to almost down to his jawline.

         “Oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?”

         Otabek flinches when Yuri gently presses a finger against the cut. “Oh, the cat got me,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

         “What cat?” He couldn’t be talking about Potya. Yuri would have noticed the scratch earlier if that was the case. Besides, Potya isn’t much of a scratcher; he’s more likely to ignore someone altogether if he’s angry, swishing his tail as if he’s a king dismissing one of his lowly subjects.

         Meow.

         Yuri arches an eyebrow. “Did your jacket just ‘meow’?”

         Otabek unzips his leather jacket half-way, an orange tabby hesitantly poking its head out. The poor thing is wet and shivering, large green eyes taking in its new surroundings, and Yuri’s heart immediately fills with pity. Despite his tough reputation, he’s always had a soft spot for animals – particularly cats of all persuasions.

         “Stay here. I’ll get a towel,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

         When he returns, Otabek has taken the cat fully out of his jacket, its increasingly loud meows as it squirms in Otabek’s arms catching Potya’s attention. Potya claws at Otabek’s legs, letting out a few meows of his own as he tries to see what is going on.

         “Potya, down.” Yuri unhooks Potya’s claws from Otabek’s jeans, then gathers the skittish cat in the leopard-print towel he had brought with him, carrying it over to the couch.

         Yuri frowns as he looks the cat over. It appears severely underfed; he can feel its bones with only the slightest touch. He judges it to be around three to four months old, bigger than a kitten, but not quite full-grown. No collar to be found. It’s most likely a stray, but they would need to take it to the vet to check if it had a microchip to be certain.

         “Hey, where did you come from, little one?” he coos, rubbing the towel over the cat’s wet fur. The meows begin to quiet down, the tabby no longer trying to break free as it allows Yuri to dry it off.

         “You know that old maple tree where I usually park my bike?” Otabek sits down beside Yuri, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I was just about to leave the rink when I heard it meowing from up in the branches. It was too scared to climb down on its own, so I rescued him.”

         Glancing up, Yuri’s eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you climbed up a tree, rescued a stray cat, then drove all the way here from the rink in the sleet and snow with it stuffed in your fucking jacket?” He doesn’t know whether he wants to hug Otabek or smack him upside the head. Maybe a little of both. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

         Between the two of them, Otabek is supposed to be the responsible one. A stunt like that is more Yuri’s style.

         “What other choice did I have?” Otabek asks, scratching behind the tabby’s left ear. “I couldn’t leave it there, not when it was so cold and wet.”

         “Yeah, but –” Yuri sighs, bringing his hand to Otabek’s injured cheek. “You should clean that up and put some ointment on it.”

         “It’s fine,” he insists, brushing the hand away.

         “Beka, go get the first aid kit. It could get infected.”

         “Okay, okay.” Otabek heads to the bathroom.

         While he’s gone, Potya jumps up to take his spot on the couch, watching in curiosity as Yuri continues drying off the stray. “Hey, be nice,” Yuri warns with a wag of his finger. Potya isn’t accustomed to being around other animals besides Viktor’s and Yuuri’s poodle, Makkachin, but after sniffing the newcomer for a few seconds and letting out a hiss, he loses interest, hopping down to the floor with a flounce of his fluffy tail before climbing to the very top of his cat tower.

         Well, that went surprisingly…okay, Yuri thinks. Ideally, he’d like to keep one of the cats in a separate room for the time being, but in an apartment devoid of proper rooms, that really isn’t an option.

         After checking to see if the stray is a boy or a girl – definitely male – Yuri sets him down on the floor and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Potya’s food from one of the upper cabinets. The stray follows after him, meowing at the top of his lungs as Yuri pulls back the tab on the can.

         “Hold on, just a minute,” he laughs, dumping the food into an old bowl of Potya’s and placing it down on the floor. “There. Hope you like chicken and tuna.”

         He does, if the way he chows down on the food is any indication, practically inhaling it. Yuri smirks, reminded of the way Yuuri always shovels bowls of katsudon in his mouth, and squats down to pet the tabby. It had probably been days since he had a decent meal. If Otabek hadn’t found and rescued him… “Man, you’re a lucky kitty,” Yuri murmurs.

         The tabby takes a break from eating, a loud purr vibrating through his emaciated body as he rubs his head against Yuri’s hand. Yuri practically dies from the cute, glad that Otabek’s not in earshot as he babbles high-pitched nonsense. Not that Otabek isn’t fully aware what being in the vicinity of an adorable kitty will do to him, but he likes to think he has some pride left.

         “Oh, gotta take a pic!”

         He pulls his phone back out and takes a few snapshots, choosing the cutest one to post on his Instagram. He captions it: Beka rescued this tabby from a tree near the rink. Nobody claims him? HE’S MINE!

         There, he’s done his duty to try to find the owner, although Yuri doubts he has one. If he does, then they’re obviously not a very good one.

         Leaving the tabby to continue eating his food, Yuri stands back up and sets his phone on the counter. Otabek still hasn’t returned to the living area, causing Yuri to frown. It shouldn’t take so long just to clean and bandage a scratch, should it?

         He knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Beka, do you need some help in there?”

         “No, I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.”

         Yuri opens the door anyway. Otabek is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, applying topical ointment to the before-unseen scratches on his chest and abdomen. A gauze bandage already covers the one on his face.

         “Wow, Salchow really did a number on you,” Yuri says, leaning against the doorframe.

         Otabek meets his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Salchow?”

         “That’s what I decided to name him. It is a him, by the way. I checked.”

         “Good name,” Otabek says, smiling as he turns around, bracing himself against the vanity. “I guess that means we’re keeping him?”

         Oh, right, it isn’t just his decision anymore. Yuri forgot. Probably should’ve waited to post that picture until after they had discussed it…

         “I mean, do you mind? I don’t think he has an owner, and we can’t just let him loose again…”

         “It’s fine, but will he and Potya get along? You know how Potya gets around strangers…”

         Potya does tend to be wary when unknown people visit the apartment, although strangely enough, he had accepted Otabek almost right away. Sometimes Yuri suspects Potya even likes Otabek better than him.

         He pokes his head back into the living area, checking on them. So far, so good. Salchow is still chowing down on his food, and Potya has begun cleaning himself on top of the cat tower, completely ignoring the newcomer as he licks his paws. “I…think it’ll be okay?” he says, turning back around. “They haven’t killed each other yet, at least.”

         “That’s a low bar you’ve set for feline friendship.”

         Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever.  Here, give me that. You missed some.”

         Coming further into the bathroom, he takes the tube of antibiotic ointment from Otabek’s hand, squeezing a small amount on the tip of his finger and spreading it over a scratch located just above the waistband of his jeans.

         At his touch, Otabek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat.

         Yuri glances up. “Does it hurt?”

         “No.” He presses his lips together, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and Yuri notices his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, um, I’m just…sensitive…there…”

         It takes Yuri a moment to realize what exactly Otabek means by that. When he does, he jerks his finger away as if he had touched a steaming hot kettle. “Oh. Crap! Sorry.”

         Otabek chuckles. “It’s not like I mind, you know.”

         “Yeah, but…”

         Not for the first time, Yuri wonders if Otabek is really satisfied with their relationship in its current state. Whenever he asks, Otabek always assures him that he is, that he loves just being with him even if they never do anything beyond cuddling and the occasional chaste kiss, but sometimes it’s hard for Yuri to believe.   

         “It really was stupid of you to bring Salchow home with you on your bike, though,” Yuri says, changing the subject. He turns his attention to another scratch underneath Otabek’s ribcage. “If he had tried to escape out of your jacket and you lost control…”

         Yuri shakes his head, trying to force the image of Otabek’s bloodied body laying lifeless in the snow beside the crumpled metal of his motorcycle out of his mind. It doesn’t work. His eyes well up anyway against his will, and he sniffles, swearing as he swipes his hand over his face.

         This isn’t him. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia – tough and fierce. But he can’t help it when it comes to Otabek. He loves him too much, even if it’s not the same kind of “love” that most people expect. Yuri doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if such a thing really existed, he has no doubt Otabek would be his.

         “Yura…” Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Yuri’s.

         “You should be.” Yuri tries to glare at him through his tears, but it’s half-hearted at best, his anger swallowed by the overwhelming relief he feels that Otabek made it home safe and in one piece, minus a few scratches.

         Sighing, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and buries his head in his shoulder. “You really did scare me,” he admits in a muffled voice as Otabek returns the embrace. “It was getting so late, and the snow kept falling, and…and… Well, you should have called me!”

         “I know. I’m sorry.” Otabek kisses the top of his head, hugging him even tighter. The front of his favorite sweatshirt is no doubt covered in smears of ointment, but Yuri doesn’t care, taking comfort in the warmth of his body heat. “My phone died right after I sent that last text to you. I forgot to charge it.”

         “Not an excuse.”

         Otabek laughs softly, but Yuri’s one hundred percent serious. He doesn’t ever want to worry about him like that ever again. “No more driving your bike in bad weather, okay?”

         “Okay,” Otabek says, not even putting up the pretense of an argument.

         “And keep your stupid phone charged, too. You’re usually better about that.”

         “Okay.”

         “And –”

         “Okay.”

         Yuri finally pulls away, looking back up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

         “'And don’t ever leave me alone in the world'…right?”

         Dammit, it annoys him when Otabek reads his mind like that. Is he really so predictable? “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that…” Shifting his eyes downward to stare at the tile floor, Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “…but, um, yeah, that was the general gist of it, I guess.”

         Otabek brushes back Yuri’s bangs and kisses him on his forehead. “Okay, I promise I won’t die,” he says in a soft voice.

         If only it was possible to keep such a promise… Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, allowing him to hug him once again. “Just… try not to get yourself killed,” he amends. “That’s good enough for me.”

         “Deal.”

         The two of them stay like that for a long moment, embracing each other  until a crashing sound followed by a stampede of tiny paws breaks the mood. Groaning, Yuri releases his hold.

         “I knew the peace was too good to last,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, Beka. Let’s round up the kids before they really do kill each other.”

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To @vilchen From  @youronelesbianfriend 

I read @vilchen 's work "Sweeetie pie, you will die" and I loved every line but I just loved the image of Yuri angrily eating a muffin and being annoyed at Victor for gushing about Yurri (phichit talking about Yurri's thighs was a very close second). I hope you enjoy the fanart of your story, vilchen! 

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To  @cruria  From  @cadencekismet

let me count the ways – / or shrink to a phrase like an epitaph

title from “The Love Poem” by Carol Ann Duffy

 Yuuri couldn’t take his eyes off of the ghost hound. She had appeared nearly a week ago, lurking around his family’s inn. Vicchan had been one thing. He had been so small. Yuuri used to carry him in his arms. This one looked almost as big as Makkachin.

 Even now he couldn’t take his eyes off of her where she sat beside him.

 Christophe answered his call. “Yuuri.” As always, the man purred his name like he was trying to lure Yuuri to bed.

 Yuuri smiled. “Christophe. I- I thought maybe you might know something about ghost hounds? Mine got-” It was still difficult to talk about Vicchan. “He was run over by a carriage near midwinter last year” – during their competition – “but there’s a new ghost hound here who’s been following me around since I came home. I’ve never had a strange hound be so friendly.” Yuuri tilted the flat disc of magic he held between his palms so Chris could see the spectral beast beside him.

 “I- Yuuri, that’s Makkachin.” Chris slumped. “Thank goodness. Viktor’s with you?”

 Yuuri snorted. “Don’t be absurd, Chris. Why would Viktor be here? And Makkachin never leaves Viktor’s side. She’s famous for it.” The hound bounced up and placed her paws on the roll of fat just above Yuuri’s hips when he said the name. She was heavier than Vicchan, even like this.

 Yuuri looked back at Christophe. “Viktor is missing?”

 Now that he was looking, he could see the stress lines on the other man’s forehead and around his mouth.

 “People are looking for him, right?”

 Chris pressed his lips together. “He’s Viktor.” And then, “He disappeared last week. I’m staying in his apartment and watching Yuri while Yakov and Lilia look for him, but. They haven’t gotten much.” There were always jealousies directed towards those on top. If someone didn’t find him soon, Viktor could slide away forever.

 Yuuri nodded to himself. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Where’s the nearest materialization point? Makkachin will track him better from there. I assume there are relics of him in the apartment?”

 Lilia was a strong witch. If she didn’t have a trail after a week, Viktor couldn’t want to be found. He’d sent his ghost hound away. He hadn’t told anyone that he was leaving.

  Outside, snow began to cover the pink blossoms on the trees. Yuuri packed his bags quickly. He would borrow a horse in Petersburg, if he and Makkachin picked up a trail. (They had to pick up a trail.)  Yuuri’s magic was inconsistent – anxiety made him doubt himself, and that weakened the spells – but he was better at finding magics than the fiddly artsy spells they used in competition, and he had the stamina to keep the pointing spells up even while he was asleep. He never wasted time travelling in the wrong direction after something.

 He had been thinking of retirement since Midwinter. He could become a guide for the guests at his parents’ inn, and he could quietly fade out of sight. The final few moons of his apprenticeship hadn’t suggested anything different, but he’d been planning to press on anyway. He hated to fail in front of the crowd, but he loved to prove his mastery in front of them. It was ironic that this was how he didn’t go back.

  All the Masters looking for apprentices would be booked after next week’s fair. But Viktor had inspired years of magic in Yuuri. It was only fair that Yuuri seize this chance to pay him back while he could.

 Painting competitions were beautiful. Yuuri was nine when he fell in love. He loved to observe the ways different Painters worked with their elements in different ways. His friend Phichit was a water witch like Viktor. Phichit’s Painting burbled in waves and waterfalls in the air. Yuuri worked in earth. He Painted dreamy pictures in earthy tones out of the dust and mud and rock dust in the area. On the other hand, Otabek, new to the senior division, had eschewed the traditional subtlety of earth witches and opted for bolder strokes. Yuuri could cover the entrance to the arena with unbroken wall and no one would know that it was there. Otabek could erase himself, or the ground you stood on. He could Paint something deep underground and Paint a hole so you could see it.

 Chris and Yuri’s fellow apprentice Mila were fire witches, but while you could warm yourself at Mila’s Painting, Chris’s was designed to draw viewers in like moths. Young Yuri Plisetsky created amazing fire illusions, the sort that would scorch anyone who tried to get too close. Air witches were the rarest. Well done, Painting with air magic was unparalleled, but many air witches were unimaginative. Sara and Mickey, twins on the circuit, were both air witches, but while Sara could spin delicate mirages and even Paint scents into her Paintings, Mickey’s Paintings were all vortexes designed to “chase off the boys. They’re like hyenas going after Sara.”

 Viktor worked in the most delicate of ice crystals. The first time Yuuri had huddled around the viewing ball and watched Viktor Paint the arena, he’d known that this was the only thing he wanted to do. Viktor had been breathtaking. Yuuri had spent years hoping to someday meet the other man as his equal. Instead, of course, he had gotten the news about Vicchan in the middle of the competition and crashed and burned so shamefully he thought he might never get over it.

  There was a squawk from Yuuri’s left as he stepped through the portal from the materialization point into Viktor’s home. Makkachin bounded in beside him. He turned, already panicking. He didn’t know why he’d thought any of this would be easy. Sure enough, there stood the Russian Yuri, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. A pale, semi-translucent dragon slumped on his shoulders, half hidden behind the curtain of hair. The boy turned to Christophe and snarled.

 “This is who you thought could help?” He flapped a hand at Yuuri dismissively. “He can’t even Paint a simple picture without fading half of it so you can barely see it. He can’t even do the top of his Painting without falling out of the air and smudging it.”

  Yuri Plisetsky was an autodidact. He’d been discovered in some backwater of Moscow, Painting graffiti over building facades. His grandfather was friends with Yakov, so rumor went, and got him an audience, but everyone who saw the boy Paint knew he’d earned the apprenticeship himself. He’d started young, too. People called him The Punk, although his signature on pieces was always Dragon. He had found Yuuri trying to hide by the latrines after the Midwinter games. Had snarled at him to retire and become a hedgewitch, since that was clearly all he was good for. One Yuri was enough, and Yuuri needn’t stick around any longer to sully their name.

 Yuri ought to be glad that Yuuri would have no choice but to retire now.

  Yuuri sighed and answered for Chris. “Makkachin came to me. And I may sometimes miss the technical points in Painting, but I grew up Tracking. If anyone can find him, I can.”

 Yuri sized him up. “Take me with you. You might need… I know him. You need me or Chris.”

 Yuuri glanced at Chris, who smiled and shook his head ever so slightly. “You’d kill to blend your colors half as well as Yuuri, or place the accents as skillfully. And Lilia said to keep you here. If she comes back and you and I aren’t both here she’ll eat me alive. We’re staying. I don’t think Yuuri will have any trouble bringing Viktor back if he finds him.”

 Yuuri glanced at Makkachin. He wished he had half of Chris’s confidence.

 Yuri was still watching him, his green eyes sharp. He stepped into Yuuri’s personal space. In spite of that, his voice was loud when he spoke. “Look, if you’re going alone, there are things you need to know. He left you the dumb mutt, so he wasn’t planning to come back.” He glanced around the room. “I don’t think anyone kidnapped him. I think the idiot kidnapped himself.” Yuuri hadn’t even considered a kidnapping. It was just possible that someone might get the jump on Viktor so thoroughly that he couldn’t Paint himself an escape route in a week or that someone might manage to separate him from Makkachin. Not both.

  He trudged through the dark and the grey. He had let his horse loose outside the city, to help throw Yakov off his trail. For the rest, he used mirrored ice crystals. They would hide him from anyone looking. The snow smoothed over behind him. He didn’t know where he was going except away. (After- but after it wouldn’t matter who found him.) Already, the ice crystals were sinking into his skin. It glittered when he moved his hand, the only way he could tell it was there. After he turned to ice he would thaw. Uncontrolled, he would melt away. The only trace left to find would be his coat and scarf on the snow.

 When he was young, Viktor had met a hedgewitch and he had bartered away his happiness for glory. He’d thought the trade a bargain. With glory would come triumph, and what was triumph but joy? It turned out that glory was nothing but grey without his happiness. Since Midwinter, even the grey was leaching out of his world, until Viktor had decided that if the world was going to fade snow-white, he would fade with it. (There were cursebreakers who could help. They would teach you how to fool the curse and to Paint the world for yourself. Viktor was too tired to fight. Fading seemed easier.)

  Yuuri left early the following morning on a shaggy bay pony. A rangy chestnut trailed along behind for Viktor when they found him. Makkachin bounced ahead. Yuuri dismounted at the city limits and dug in his pocket for the relic he and Chris had chosen.

 He was just tying Viktor’s hair back to the comb, now tightly braided in its single strands, when there was noise behind them. Makkachin bounded over to the newcomers.

 Yuuri pretended not to notice them until he finished tying it off and tapped the comb to the earth. There Viktor was, half a week’s ride ahead. He kept that connection as he turned to the teenagers.

 “Yuri, Otabek.”

 Yuri’s chin jutted out. “We’re coming. Otabek can hide us, and Potya will keep us warm at night.”

 The connection to Viktor wavered and Yuuri scowled and concentrated until it steadied again.

 Yuri waited impatiently. “Lilia has been teaching me to draw scents.” Only air witches could work in scent. Yuuri couldn’t think of a single reason why Yuri would pretend to be a fire witch when he wasn’t. Yuri sneered at him like he knew what Yuuri was thinking. Yuuri decided that he was just happy to have left fifteen far behind him.

 Yuuri would travel faster without them, but if he sent them back now there was no way Yuri would return. Maybe he would need Yuri to help convince Viktor to return. They clearly knew each other.

 Yuuri sighed. “Did you bring horses?”

 Otabek smiled. “They’re even our horses.”

 Yuri turned to his friend with a scowl and Yuuri laughed.

  Although Yuuri was the only one who knew where they were going he let Makkachin lead them and took up the rear. Otabek didn’t seem put off by Yuri’s antagonism. Instead, they rode in a companionable silence so practiced and comfortable that it expanded to include Yuuri. He was shocked to find out that they had just met.

 “Otabek’s Master has been helping me while Yakov is off looking for Viktor.” Yuri scowled and ducked his head so that his bangs curtained his eyes. Yuuri wondered if there was a reason so many of Yakov’s students used the trick.

 Potya spent most of the day perched on Yuri’s shoulders. She would huddle under his loose hair, more visible in the lump she created there than when she flew beside him like an ice crystal against the snow.

  All of them protested when Yuuri called a halt for the night, even Makkachin, who strained to look into the wind for a long minute before circling back around to sulk at the base of the cliff by the horses. Yuuri crossed his arms against Yuri and Potya’s matching belligerent stares and Otabek’s frown.

 “The horses need rest and so do we. This is the first point where we’ve had any real protection from the wind in hours.”

 Yuri’s fists clenched and unclenched. “And Viktor? What if he doesn’t have shelter?”

 Yuuri couldn’t think about that. “He’s a good three day ride away. Riding on wouldn’t get us there any sooner.”

  He moved slower as the ice sank in. His limbs creaked if he tried to step too far. His breath puffed out in little snow showers from his mouth. His stomach growled. The ice still hadn’t sunk very far. Maybe his lips were solid ice now but his teeth were cold and chattering from the ice in front of them. He just wanted to sleep.

  Yuuri noticed it near the beginning of the third day riding (he prayed to any gods listening that they would catch up to Viktor, if not tomorrow then the day after. The other Painter was moving much too slowly. Yuuri was worried sick about him) Otabek turned to ask Yuri a question and just caught him as he lurched half out of his saddle.

 Yuuri trotted up on his other side, even as Yuri batted his friend away. “I told you last night Otabek. I’m fine!”

 “So fine you nearly fell off your horse?” Otabek looked unimpressed.

 Yuuri frowned at their youngest companion. He looked exhausted. “What have you been doing?”

 Yuri snarled. There were tears in his eyes (he was clearly exhausted. Yuuri kicked himself inwardly for not noticing earlier). “I’m hiding our scent. Someone keeps trying to draw it. I’m fine.”

 Yuuri couldn’t think of any air witches with any business following them. “You’ve tied it away and they’re still drawing it?”

  It took nearly twenty minutes of Yuuri digging up half-forgotten descriptions Minako had given him of the method she used to stop people following her before Yuri managed it. Privately, Yuuri resolved to buy Minako some good vodka before he returned home.

 By nightfall Yuri had needed to retie their scent three times.

 Yuuri scowled back into the night. “Who would be following us? Lilia is a water witch, right?” Everyone knew Lilia Baranovskaya was a water witch. Yakov and Georgi were fire witches.

 Yuri shrugged sullenly. “The hag’s probably got her girlfriend trying to find us.” He sat against a tree and hid a yawn.

 Yuuri had a terrible thought. “Did you stay up all night last night Yuri?”

 Yuri didn’t bother answering.

 Otabek met Yuuri’s gaze and winced.

 Yuuri sighed. “And who’s the hag?”

 Otabek answered for his friend. “Mila Babicheva. Her girlfriend is Sara Crispino.”

 Yuuri hesitated. “And will they try to stop you from coming to bring Viktor home, Yuri?”

 The boy shrugged. “I don’t want to play probability with Viktor’s life if you don’t mind.”

 Yuuri sighed. “Well I’m not taking any risks with your life either. Either you sleep tonight or I’ll leave you here in the morning for them to find. I won’t have you falling off your horse.”

 He hoped it wasn’t obvious what an empty threat it was. Yuri scowled.

 “Stupid old man, dragging us all out here and making us worry. When we find him I’m going to tell him exactly what I think of him.”

 “He’s disappeared himself into a blizzard already. Don’t you think he’s been punished enough?”

 “No,” Yuri snapped, and turned over so his back was to Yuuri and Otabek. In minutes, he was asleep.

  Yuuri woke to a string of angry Russian curses. There was a portal closing on the ashes of their fire. Yuuri was on his feet and between the newcomers and Yuri and Otabek before he recognized them. He relaxed slightly.

 “Do you know how dangerous it is to walk through an unbraced portal?” He frowned at Mila and Sara. “I don’t suppose you at least had someone else open it at the other end?” The remains of their portal sparked at the edges as the fire caught it and burned it away. Yuuri suppressed a sigh. A balanced portal – even a one-sided one – wouldn’t burn like that.

 Sara flushed and reached to remove the oxygen from their fire before it burned through the portal and started a fire wherever they had been. Yuri tsked and closed a fist over their portal. It disappeared.

 He scowled at Yuuri. “If you hadn’t made me go to sleep this would never have happened.”

 Yuuri sighed. “Are you going to try to take him back?” He moved so he was still between Yuri and Mila. “I don’t really know Viktor. If he sent Makkachin away I might need someone else who knows him better than I do to get him back.”

 Mila shook her head. “Of course not. We’re coming too.” She frowned at Yuri. “He’s my fellow apprentice too.”

 Yuri had the grace to look ashamed.

 “What about horses?” Otabek spoke for the first time. “We didn’t bring spares.” He glanced at the chestnut Yuuri had brought for Viktor.

 Sara smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. Well, aside from drawing your scent for tracking.” She raised her hands and twisted. Two strands of wind detached themselves and knotted into horse shapes, visible only because of the powdery snow. One of them snorted, sounding like the wind whipping around the eaves of a house at night. Yuuri looked at the Russian boy. He had turned to saddle up his own horse. Yuuri shrugged and turned to his own horse.

  Having Mila and Sara along changed the dynamic of the day’s ride. While Yuri and Otabek had mostly ridden in silence or amused themselves, Mila and Sara liked to talk. They teased Yuri, who yelled at them without looking very angry. Otabek and Yuuri mostly stayed out of it.

 “It was very thoughtful of you to come help Yuuri find Viktor, Yuri.”

 “Shut up, Baba! Like I was going to wait months for Yakov to get tired of looking and come back. It just made sense to go with Katsuki and Makkachin.”

 “You care about Viktor.”

 “What?! That old geezer?” Yuri squawked.

 “I think it’s nice that you care for your fellow apprentices,” Otabek said mildly.

 Yuri’s wordless vocalizations died while he tried to figure out whether Otabek was making fun.

 Mila turned to Yuuri with a wicked grin. “And what about you, lover boy?”

 Yuuri flushed. It wasn’t like it was any sort of guilty reaction. He just flushed easily. It was probably being addressed by these two strange and self-assured witches. They were both excellent Painters, and…

 “It wasn’t very kind of you to drop off the face of the earth after last Midwinter. No one knew where you’d gone, you weren’t at any competitions…” She looked serious.

 “I wasn’t qualified for any competitions,” Yuuri snapped. “I don’t suppose you’d have noticed, but I sort of crashed and burned.”

 “Oh,” Sara smirked. “We noticed. You didn’t seem to mind at the Midwinter banquet though.” Sara hadn’t seemed the sort to be cruel on purpose.

 Yuuri sighed and buried his face in his hands. His bay horse plodded on. He lifted his head. “It’s not an excuse, but my hound had just died. I-”

 The trail to Viktor shivered and thinned. Yuuri broke off and fumbled in his saddlebag for the comb, dropping to the ground and tapping it against the ground three times. The connection steadied, but when he picked it up again two of the white blond hairs were nothing but frost. Yuuri felt a shiver run up his spine.

 He still thought that they would make it to Viktor by nightfall, but he’d never had a tracking trail threaten to disappear that way before. He considered the hairs. Two of the three braids were still fine. He careful untangled the third and turned to Mila.

 “I’m going to try to do a binding spell. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m not sure he’ll still be there when we get there otherwise. One of you hold Makkachin still so I can pluck some hairs?”

 “Don’t you think it would be stronger with hair from a person Viktor likes?” Yuri was frowning at him like Yuuri was doing something inexplicable.

 Yuuri hesitated. “I didn’t… You or Mila?”

 Mila and Sara giggled. Even steady Otabek was hiding a smirk. Yuri was exasperated. “I was talking about you, dummy.”

 “I…” Yuuri stared. “Viktor probably doesn’t even know my name.”

 Both of Yakov’s apprentices dropped their heads into their hands. Sara threw her hands in the air and nearly lost control of her wind horses.

 Otabek looked at Yuuri, his voice mild. “He sent Makkachin to you. Midwinter may have just been drowning your sorrow in the nearest pretty face for you, but I feel certain it was more than that for Viktor.”

 Yuuri stared at him.

 Sara got her horses under control. Mila let go of the mane of her horse.

 Yuuri swallowed. “Sorry. I think… I must be missing.” He took a slow breath. “What did I do while I was drunk last Midwinter?”

 Yuri lifted his face to stare at him accusingly. “You don’t remember? What are you even doing here if you don’t- tch!” He kicked his horse into a trot. “I’m going to find Viktor.”

 Yuuri glanced at the rest of them and then trotted after Yuri.

  Yuuri managed to tie the braid of his own hair around the frosty braid of Viktor’s. It wasn’t easy on a trotting horse, but he didn’t want to ask Yuri to slow down. The sooner they were there, the better. He wasn’t even sure that the charm he’d added would do anything. He spurred the horse faster.

  The ice was getting thicker. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to move at all. That was ok though. He was getting numb. It was getting harder to think. Soon, the ice would be so thick that he would freeze solid and then melt with the thaw and run off in rivulets into the river. He hoped it might be peaceful. The lazy stagnant summer river looked peaceful enough. Suddenly, the ice stopped thickening. He would have blinked if his eyelids hadn’t frozen days ago. It was almost more effort than he could contemplate to start the freezing again. The ice began again, more slowly than before.

  They almost rode right past him. Yuri was leading the group at a brisk trot and Yuuri was preoccupied with his galloping fears. Whatever he had done dead-drunk at Midwinter must have been embarrassing and awful, but that offered his panicked mind a wide range of possibilities. Anything seemed plausible. Had he offered to beat Chris at Painting the way he was rumored to Paint when alone – with a different limb in use as the brush – or latched onto Viktor Nikiforov and sobbed over Vicchan without exchanging a word with the near-stranger? Either seemed as likely as anything else.

 The thread leading to Viktor had not firmed as they approached. Instead, and contrary to any usual rules, it had continued to thin and flicker all day. The funk Yuuri was in hadn’t helped, and he blamed his emotional weakness (couldn’t even hold himself together to save Viktor! Pathetic) until the evening light bouced strangely through the ice in a snow drift, throwing a thin arc of a rainbow off an odd angle. Yuuri looked more carefully, then halted to stare.

 Yuri turned and opened his mouth to yell at Yuuri for stopping before he realized what they were seeing. He went white.

 “How do we- Can he be reversed?”

 Yuuri dismounted, dazed. He wished for another water witch. Phichit would have come if Yuuri had thought to ask. He hadn’t even considered that they might need to unravel whatever Viktor had done to avoid being found. Would a water witch have any more idea how to stop this or undo it? Was it even possible?

 Yuuri fisted his gloved hand around the reins until he could feel the edges of the cheap leather through the sturdy glove. Then he grabbed the fingers of the right hand glove in his mouth and pulled it off, letting it drop in the snow.

 Could they even figure out what Viktor had done?

 Yuuri could still feel the flickering connection to the ice sculpture that had been Viktor. He pulled his reins over the pony’s head to hold him where they dropped and stepped forward across the snow.

 Makkachin, whined and lurked near the wind horses Sara and Mila rode.

 Mila’s voice shook. “I’ll call Yakov. We can bring him home and thaw him out.”

 “Idiot.” Yuri was scathing but Yuuri could hear the fear in his voice. “He’s ice. Who’s to say that if you melt him he turns to anything but a puddle of water on Yakov’s carpet.”

 Mila’s voice was sharp, the way Mari’s had gone when Yuuri tracked a customer of their inn right into a blizzard, though Yuuri couldn’t say which fellow apprentice she was that close to. Maybe both.

 “And what would you recommend, if you’re so smart?”

 Yuuri took the last step towards Viktor. He unthreaded the hair from the comb – Viktor’s hair, Yuuri’s, the frost, all of it – and lifted his hand, following the pull of that invisible tracking thread.

  There had been a time he’d run into Viktor in the hallway of an inn at a Painting competition. Viktor was always kind to his competitors. He’d asked Yuuri about his technique and the dreamy way that his Painting that day had come out.

 Chris told stories sometimes – not to Yuuri, exactly, but near Yuuri, as if he knew Yuuri was interested and too shy to ask – about his friendship with Viktor. The way they dared each other to try new foods wherever they went, but Viktor had never let on if there were any he wasn’t delighted by, the impish pleasure he seemed to get out of teasing Chris and Yuri and Yakov.

 Yuuri had watched Viktor one day, bright and smiling and dangerous as he crushed JJ, a fellow water witch, with his flat cheerful disregard.

  Yuuri caught Viktor’s icy hand in his own bare one, linking their fingers and clasping the thin braids between them. Bodies were of the earth. He breathed gingerly, as if it could shatter Viktor to breathe with insufficient care, and thought of everything he knew of the man. The man, not the legend.

  Ice prince, they called him. He felt a hot line across his palm, and then someone took him by the hand, the way his mothers used to when he was small. They drew him back, and Viktor felt the hard shell of ice on him thin, then crack away.

  Yuuri didn’t dare to look at Viktor or the others, afraid. Instead, he concentrated on the little he knew of Viktor – his devotion to his hound, the flair of his early Paintings, the one he’d perfected last fall that spoke to Yuuri in his bones – until the hand in his pulled up and lips touched his knuckles.

 “Yuuri. You do care.”

 Yuuri blinked, and lifted his chin to stare at the silver-haired Painter. “Yuri?” He lifted his voice so that it would cut across the squabbling that continued between Viktor’s worried fellow apprentices. “I take it all back. Call him whatever names you like on the way home. He clearly hasn’t been paying any attention.”

 He glanced behind him in time to see Yuri turn and freeze. Otabek followed Yuri’s gaze and his shoulders slumped in relief.

 “Viktor! You ridiculous idiot.”

 Mila reached over and wrapped her arms around Sara, pulling her girlfriend to her until she could hide her face in the other girl’s shoulder.

 Makkachin interrupted whatever Yuri had been planning to screech at them next by running full tilt to knock them both over.