#yuri!!! on ice!

[capsensislagamoprh]

Yuuri slept. It was a simple sleep, filled with the thoughts of cold and shink of skates. It danced in his head and let him breathe in gulps of wonderful things. He could sense a tune playing. In his dreams he chased the notes, dancing along the winter scene, laughing, reaching, playing a game of catch me with something that glimmers just out of reach.

He stopped as the world opened up from the ice of the rink to the ice of a lake, lumpy at the edges with sticks and bits of rock, a river flowing towards it feeding the mirror of its surface. The lake was huge, and in the distance someone twirled like a music box ballerina. It was graceful and elegant. He wanted to do that. Eyes wide, he beamed, clapping his hands. Yōsei! A beautiful yōsei was angling towards the ice, hand never touching as it teased the snow from its blades into a swirling arch about its body, twizzling into an arch that lead into a double… a backwards double. This was backwards. Yuuri was confused.

He tilted his head, trying to understand, only for the world to tilt with him. He slipped thrugh the ice, standing on the other side. Through it he could see the yōsei dancing forward now, but it was no longer beautiful. It terrified him. The face was carved ice, translucent without letting him see what lay beyond. Was there anything beyond? There must be, he could see it smile. The teeth were razors, pointed and fanged. It's every breath froze the air, the silver that was its hair made of frost. Even its clothes were mere frost feathers. Only the blades were real, and those were made of the purest cutting edge.

Looking around, Yuuri tried to figure out where he was, why he was thrugh the ice. It had to be a dream. This was the only thing that made sense. Slipping on the silver, Yuuri fixed his stance, careful not to use his toe pick to much, afraid to crack the mirror. As he slid into the shadows, his found the darkness full of nothing.

"Ahi!" he cried, waving his hands as he felt himself stumble. It would be good to have some light. Suddenly illumination began, steady and soft, radiating from his skin. Yuuri spent a good deal of time staring at his hands, trying to figure out what just happened before he remembered he was in a dream. Dreams were not limiting. Raising his head, he tried to see what had tripped him.

A claw was sticking out of the darkness that was the sky. A sky he was skating on. Turning to look from where he'd come, he saw that every strike of his blade had left a little trail of clouds. Trying to touch them, he pushed forward, only for small bursts of light to shine thrugh. Dawn breaking the night. Yuuri paused, something catching his eye. He looked up. The yōsei had stopped. It mirrored his movements now, head turned in his direction, arms twisting when his did, gliding as he pushed himself along.

Blinking, he looked away, looked at his feet. The light shinning from him showed him the thing beneath the ice. A great white dragon, curled, and waiting. It seemed stuck in time, but aware. Awake. Yuuri knelt, placing his hands on the sky. A gold ribbon, words etched in red shot from where he pressed. It arched about him, swirling towards the silver of the mirrored ice above. At the same time, a ribbon, properly mirrored, seemed to try to reach down to him.

Turning his attention back to the dragon, Yuuri saw its eyes move, taking him in. He knew this being. How could he not? Slapping his hands against the sky, he tried to free it. Predictably, it did not work. He tried again anyway, only to hear the hollow echo of the yōsei as it did the same over him. Yuuri paused. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Looking up at that freighting face, teeth shinning with permafrost, Yuuri swallowed hard.

"Okami?" Bright blue. It's eyes that opened to stair down at him were bright blue. Unlike the cold that chilled it's flesh, the yōsei's eyes were longing, sad, self contained as if anything more would risk greater death. Pain beyond understanding. It made his heart hurt.

“Sen-Yomi-Oni-Yomi,” the yōsei said, scales of ice slicking over its skin. It sounded… wrong. It was accented, and haunted. Like it was trying for the words, but wasn't sure.

"No one knows the future, Okami-sama. I will be careful with mine."

The yōsei seemed to reach, a red ribbon trailing from it's wrist. He could almost see the writing. Kanji. It was Kanji, and -

"YUURI!" Mari banged on his door. "GET UP! You'll be late!"

Yuuri jumped out of bed, still reaching for something he thought he should have. By the time he made it thrugh breakfast, he'd forgot about the dream. Somewhere in Russia, a long haired teen woke up unsure of why he was crying.

(The links are starting to pile up. Go to the oldest part to find previous links to the story's beginning!)

part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28, part 29, part 30, part 31, part 32, part 33, part 34

[capsensislagamoprh]

I would buy the shit out of this.

someone lost this at my work 🤨

[bullsfish]

Wizard Victor looking for his "Sophie"✨.

[bethanythebogwitch]

[hinamie]

surprise it's yuri!!!in 2024

[madamemachikonew]

"Go to hell" is basic. "Hope your favourite anime movie sequel gets cancelled after seven years in production AND getting an animated teaser." is smart. It's possible. It's terrifying. It's happened.

[sophies-junkyard]

No you’re not hearing me. It’s the way that entire gala is referencing this panel. He’s canonically cosplaying Viktor Nikiforov. It’s all from the halloween party comic. Are you listening. Do you hear me. They healed them. This panel was the only gumlee moment for like 7 years. Do you understand.

[luguangs]

though the movie might be cancelled, yuri on ice will live forever in our hearts. thank you yoi fandom, it's been real ♡

[garfs-xd]

[operakings]

victuuri redraw they live on in my heart forever

[kkopimint]

when you're crying about the cancellation but remember how good YOI was to you

[capsensislagamoprh]

The real was heartless and cruel if you were too. The Hero could never be accused of such failings. When the Dream accepted the price, it knew what taking the Hero would mean, and so it favored. It took several generations to create the circumstances, it took the slow re-weaving of the threads, strings, and ribbons to make a form that would resit the real. It took power and strength, insight, and wisdom. It took purpose, endurance, and regal beauty. These it wove into a frame.

Then it added all the stuff of legend. Tall, dark and handsome. Well, taller than the intended. No sense is taking up space that could be used for more important things. Intelligent, kind, soulful. Loyal, just, unrelenting. Patient, quietly confident, gracious. Not cocky, not egotistical.

The Dream sprinkled in courtly manners, worldliness, and abilities that the Hero would tap when ever needed. They did not need to be the forefront. Then the Dream armored the Hero. Leather and a noble steed. Dark as shadow, black as night. A Hero always rides into the fray. So these too were tossed into the frame.

The last thing. The sacrificial dream. Music and dance. To make them proud. A love of animals. Freedom from rules... The dreaming considered. Freedom from consequence. That is what had been meant. This could be done with in a limitation of the real. Material things liked consequences, but consequences didn't apply on Samhain any more than they did on Beltaine. There was only the equal exchange of power. The bond. The need. One was life. One was death. Reflections of a whole, both needing and tempering each other.

The Dream wove this in. The Dream looked at the work and found a space where something else should be. It looked at that space, pulled it into focus, tuning things in the Hero as it did. Ah. The other half. The dream pulled from the modern. There was something that it could use. It had two of the most honest quotes of modern literature, lacking snark or terrible attempts at deeper meaning. They were simple truths. Had been since the belonging time.

Soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes.

It put that in the space where the other half should be, closed the frame work, then filled the brain. Languages, math, technical things. The Hero was unseelie. He was the stuff of dreams. He was the darkness of entropy. He was gentle and kind, until you worked your way under that thick layer of protocol to taste the sharp, sower candy beneath. Deadly, leaving you wanting more. And more it would give, until you were its.

The Hero was deception, but then again, so was the spring. What wonderful juxtaposition, thought the Dream as it tossed in the usual amount of weapon ability. Soft, gentle death. Wyld, impassioned life. The Dream looked over the form and considered. It would put it in a body kin to the blood. They had a good reason to keep the Hero alive, though he is everything opposed to it.

It sent the idea into the real, watching carefully as the girl who bound the dream grew, had children, and told of that fateful night. Ah, glamor. The body would need to feed. It would do so ambivalently. It would suck up the strange tales of its form and sustain the greater power needed. It would know the quiet places, the hidden gems. It would find whatever it needed, and when it did, it would gain more strength. Yes. This was good, thought the Dream.

The children married well. They got respectable, profitable jobs. They made differences, no matter how small. They fed the dream. Re-telling the tale became a honorable thing, to know they survived because someone made the sacrifice. The Dream approved. It granted.

The next generation grew, one of them so beauteous inside and out they drew the attention of power and money. They wed. It was happy. The pair had a small issue. They could not seem to conceive. The line had allowed the marriage, trying to bring in fresh blood to give their long linage an heir. To bolster the dwindling numbers. The dream considered. It would give them the child. It would give them two. One after the other.

The first it would give? The Hero. The second? It would return that little girl, she who dreamed. They would have no others. After all, the Hero was already soul bound. They could bolster their line thrugh the girl. If not, they could do what all spirits did. Consume the remains of another. After all, adoption was not so foreign a concept. Oh, why not..? The dream threw in something just to spice it up.

The Challenge. Then it sent the Hero into the world, mortal frame work done.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

[su-rodriguez]

im so fucking sad

[bullsfish]

And they were soulmates.

Happy secret santa for @probablytoooldforthis !

[rikichie]

The beginning and the ending.

This story is already full of everything I need.