#'[sighs] yeah. i have a high degree of self-awareness. it CAN be a gift but most of the time it's a curse.'

[syekick-powers]

every time a medical professional of some sort tells me i have a high degree of self-awareness, it makes me have an external reaction of "thank you i try" and an internal reaction of "honestly i think having as high a level of self-awareness as i do is at least a quarter of why i'm so miserable. :')"

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Cornelia Street (5/9)

A/N: oh my god they were quarantined

yes. It’s one of those fics.

AU, obvs

I’m posting as I go and idk how many parts this is going to be, likely won’t be very long but I literally don’t know what I’m doing and should i be starting yet another WIP? definitely not but fuck it lets fucking go

Title is from T-swizzles Lover album, I’m OBSESSED

Summary: Three years ago, Kurt and Blaine went on a disaster of a date and never quite got off on the right foot. Now, just before they graduate from NYADA, there’s a national outbreak and they’re both self-quarantined in a mutual friend’s apartment.

Read On AO3

On Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

In the morning (which is really closer to noon because college), they decide to make breakfast together because according to Kurt, “It just makes logistical sense. Why use more dishes than necessary making two separate meals?”

Of course, Blaine readily agrees. Because logistics. And the best kind of logistics include getting to know Kurt better. The domesticity of it all is strangely… intimate, and Blaine can’t help but note how normal and natural it all feels, as if every morning was meant to start off this way and… Jesus, Sam would be having a field day if he could see in Blaine’s mind right now.

He’s whisking some pancake batter when he remembers his best friend’s promise of snooping. Yeah, he probably needs to do some damage control on that. 

“You uh, didn’t happen to get a text from Sam last night, did you?” he asks, keeping his gaze fixed on the batter to try and downplay his interest in Kurt’s response. 

Kurt shakes his head, shrugs nonchalantly, and  cracks an egg into the pan. “No.” Then he suddenly snaps his head up at Blaine, a little frantic. “Why, did Mercedes text you?”

“Nope,” Blaine says, aware that his response is too quick and voice too high. “I was just curious, that’s all.” He lets out a little sigh of relief and keeps stirring until the muscles in his arm and wrist are exhausted. “How much longer do I have to keep mixing this?” he asks.

“You should be about done, just let me catch up with the eggs.” He gives a little smirk in Blaine’s direction. “Watch this,” he says, and with a flick of his wrist, flips the egg in the pan without even using a spatula.

“Woah!” Blaine goads, visibly impressed. He sets aside the bowl, pulse quickening a little before he asks, “Can you show me?” 

Kurt lifts his head and Blaine is looking into his now vibrant blue eyes (they looked pale green in the dim lighting of the bedroom last night, Blaine remembers, irises wide pools of indigo). The paler boy’s eyebrows lift, just barely. The movement would have gone completely unnoticed if it were anyone else, but Blaine tends to notice everything about Kurt since last night. 

Like how the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window makes his hair a crown of light, dark in the center and almost red at the edges, or how the way his neck curves seems like it could be the perfect place for Blaine to rest his own head, or even trail his lips down.

“Yeah, sure,” Kurt says with a soft smile. He tilts his head to the left, beckining Blaine to come to his side. “Here, take the handle,” Kurt says. Blaine does, and Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s, sliding closer and closer until their sides are pressed up against each other, warm and solid.

Blaine’s breath hitches in his suddenly dry throat.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Kurt says, voice low and suddenly quiet. With a quick flick, the egg flips smoothly. He tilts his chin down to look at the slightly shorter boy, but Blaine’s already looking up at him. 

Heat crawls to Blaine’s face at being caught and he quickly turns away, clearing his throat, missing the way Kurt does the same.

“So, my young protégée,” Kurt says banteringly after a moment. “Do you think you're ready to do this on your own?”

“I was born ready.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, taking a step back while Blaine attempts the flip on his own. He hears Kurt stifle a laugh when the egg yolk explodes all over the pan.

“This is so sad…” Blaine begins sarcastically, staring with mock sadness at the mess. “Alexa, play Despacito.”

They both jolt in surprise when a robotic voice responds with, “Playing Despacito by Luis Fonsi from Spotify.”

The slow Spanish guitar intro comes in and Kurt sputters out a laugh, while Blaine practically squeals with delight at the ordeal.

“Oh my god, ha! I forgot they had one of those here,” Kurt manages through his cackling.

They bob their heads a long while the song plays, Kurt adding some sauteed mushrooms and tomatoes to the eggs while Blaine finishes up the pancakes. It must be on shuffle, because the next song that comes on is one Blaine loves, but certainly has different vibes than Despacito.

Smiles in the morning at me Apartment on the second story Strangers in a brand new city Both remembering last night Kitchen table and a bottle of wine The only thing on my mind is you

Blaine starts swaying his hips along to the music, feeling the pull of the strong beats in his chest. “Mmm,” he says, shutting his eyes. “Sara Bareilles is a gift. Her music sounds like waking up on a Sunday morning next to the person you love.”

“I love her, but I haven’t heard this one yet,” Kurt admits.

Blaine stacks the last of the pancakes on a plate, then turns to the other boy, extending his hand. “May I have this dance?” He asks with a playful glint in his eyes.

Kurt looks warily at the eggs in the pan. “Just a second, these will be ready in about two minutes.”

Blaine presses a few buttons on the stovetop. “There, timer is set. The rest of the song is only like two minutes anyways,” He wraps an arm around Kurt’s waist, feeling suddenly confident, and tugs him close. “Dance with me?”

“Oh… okay.”

The way the moonlight flickered in We were stars of some old classic film with

Miss Simone singing Pour some sugar in my bowl baby In the glow of the candlelight We danced all night On the rooftop thinking No one needs to know a thing But Miss Simone No one but Miss Simone

As they move along to the song, Kurt snakes his arms behind Blaine’s back, pulling them even closer.

Blaine reciprocates by leaning his head against Kurt’s cheek, right in the crook of his shoulder, and mumbling along to the words.

How she'd know What a heart sounds like In the glow of this candle on a rooftop in the moonlight

Someday when we're old and grey And sifting through our yesterdays We'll pull that memory from its sleeve Play that song of you and me and

“You have a really nice voice,” Kurt whispers.

“Thanks, I’ve always liked singing. This one time, I even got a whole degree in it.”

Kurt pulls his head back. “No way, me too!” He says teasingly.

They laugh for a second, before Blaine’s looking once again into Kurt’s magnetic gaze. He starts dipping his head in, closer and closer to Kurt as the song plays on.

Miss Simone singing Pour some sugar in my bowl baby In the glow of the candlelight We will dance all night On the rooftop thinking No one needs to know a thing But Miss Simone

The timer goes off just as the song winds down to a close, startling them both. 

In his surprise, Blaine drops his hands from around Kurt’s waist and pulls away.

No one but Miss Simone

“That, uh, that would be the timer,” Blaine mumbles, still staring at Kurt.

Kurt nods in agreement, still looking back as well. “I guess we should serve ourselves breakfast.”

“I suppose we should…”

*

They finish making breakfast and eat at the table. They’re both hungry, so it’s quiet for a while, but Kurt notices Blaine stealing glances every now and then—a goofy smile on his face, but there’s something behind his eyes, like a question begging to be asked.

“What?” Kurt finally pries, unable to keep a laugh from bubbling up because… because he’s really loving the way he feels around Blaine right now, bright and giddy in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

“Nothing,” Blaine looks down at his eggs, still grinning. “I just… we have a lot in common, and as it turns out, we get along really well. I guess it just makes me wonder where we went wrong all those years ago.”

“Well for starters, you were fifteen minutes late,” Kurt says, but there’s nothing accusatory in his voice, only banter, like the way you would with an old friend.

Blaine scoffs, but Kurt can tell he's not really offended. “I was taking my final for Ms. July! You try telling that woman you’ve got somewhere else to be on her time. I might’ve been late, but at least I was alive. And I passed with flying colors.”

“Hmm, easy to believe, with those Despacito moves.”

“Laugh all you want, but you snapped your fingers at the waiters!” He contests. “The cheesecake is on its way, Kurt, it’s not going to come any faster!” 

“Okay, fair,” Kurt points his fork at Blaine. “You’re not the only one who brought that to my attention and I’ve worked on it... but you ate your salad with a fork and knife. Who does that? It was a house salad, there wasn’t even any meat in it!” 

“What was I supposed to do, put an entire cherry tomato in my mouth like some kind of barbarian!?” 

Kurt has to wipe tears from his eyes and Blaine is silently shaking with laughter. 

Blaine’s eyes are still gleaming when he says, “All that aside, I really, really liked you.”

Kurt stays silent for a second, unsure if he wants the answer to the question he’s been wondering for years. He decides that he does. “Then why did you leave? I went to the bathroom and when I came out, you were gone.”

A deep breath, and Kurt finally gets his answer. “I heard you on the phone that night.”

Oh… 

“I won’t lie, Kurt, I had a crush on you for a long time.” Kurt feels his heart flutter at that revelation. “But everyone knew you and Adam were a thing, and I didn’t have a shot. He was older, leader of the Adam’s Apples, obviously.”

Kurt’s stomach twists guiltily, unsettled, because for god’s sake, he’s known Blaine—really known him—for five days and he’s already so much more than Adam. So much more caring (he asks questions when something is wrong with Kurt, and doesn’t just ignore him until he gets over it), so much funnier and willing to be a goofball in that way Adam never is because he doesn’t believe in “acting like a child” which usually translates to “having fun”.

But even without Adam as a marker, Blaine is out of this world amazing. 

Kurt feels like an asshole for ever making him feel like he wasn’t.

Blaine sighs and continues. “So, when I heard you two were taking a break, I begged Sam to ask Mercedes to set us up.”

Kurt stays quiet, listening intently and trying to push down the guilt in his stomach.

“I um, thought things were going okay… and then you excused yourself for a really long time. I was worried something had happened, so I went to go check on you, and I heard you. Talking to him.”

Kurt remembers that conversation like it was yesterday, even stronger now, because if it hadn’t happened… would he and Blaine be something more than these weird frenemies?

“No,” he’d demanded that night on the restaurant patio. “We said we were taking a break, and you can’t just take that back because you heard I’m on a date. I let you go on plenty. That’s the point of this break. You were the one who wanted to explore your options.” He had used finger quotes even though he knew Adam I didn’t see him.

“I know, Kurt.” Adam said pathetically. “But I felt sick to my stomach as soon as I heard you were going out with someone else.”

“And you think it was a day in the park finding out from Sebastian of all people that you spent the night at his place? You know I can’t stand that guy! And he was so smug about it, too… I like this guy, Adam. I don’t know if I should be telling you that, but he’s nice, and sweet, and I didn’t seek him out just to spite you!”

He’d heard a groan on the other end of the line that at the time seemed romantic, but now Kurt realizes was just frustrated because Adam wasn’t getting his way. “I love you, Kurt.”

He gasped. That was the first time anyone besides his family had said those words to him. He feels like an idiot now for believing them.

“I… I love you, too,” Kurt responded. There was a long silence. “Okay. I’ll make up some excuse to get out of this and meet you at your place so we can talk.”

“I um…” Blaine finishes up, bringing Kurt back to the present. “It was just a huge bummer because I really liked you and I felt like you never really gave me a chance. So I went back inside, picked up my coat, and left.”

Kurt reaches across the table to grab Blaine’s hand. “I… I am so sorry, Blaine.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine shrugs dismissively. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

The last thing Kurt expects is for Blaine to actually smile at him—he certainly feels like it’s not a smile he deserves right now—and say, “Well, you’ve got until this quarantine is lifted to make it up to me.”

Part 6

[hq-cuties-pls]

can i please ask for oikawa trying to win back his ex? angst. i need me some angst.

Holy crap this ask inspired me so much!! I don’t normally write a lot of Oikawa (I leave that to Admin Alyx) but he just spoke to me this time. Please enjoy!~Admin Emma

Oikawa fussed with his sweater and jeans, smoothing them over his chest and adjusting them until they laid just right. He picked at imaginary lint and pills, played with his hair until he was satisfied, and shifted from one foot to the other. He was nervous. He didn’t want to screw up again. He knew in his heart that if his sweater was a little wrinkled or a hair was slightly out of place, it wouldn’t matter, but at the moment it was something he could control. He needed that control right now.

He was lucky you’d even agreed to meet him. Your break up was… messy was putting it lightly. He’d considered flowers, or sweets from that bakery you liked, or expensive gifts he couldn’t really afford in the off season… but he knew you. You’d see right through that. You always did see right through him. It’s what made you so understanding about his love of volleyball, about his fan club that he honestly couldn’t really control. It’s what made you trust him even if he was mildly flirtatious with other girls, even if you did get adorable and pouty afterwards (he always liked that), and it’s what made everything about you set him at ease. It’s what made you perfect for him.

But he fucked it up. His stupid anxiety and his stupid brain drove you away. You hated him now. But maybe… just maybe… he could fix it.

He finally stopped pacing and stepped into the bar where you’d agreed to meet. Honestly, he was so braced to not see you–to have been stood up–that it was a genuine shock to see you. You were dressed simply–the dark blue cardigan he loved, the jeans that hugged your curves… to anyone else, it was a cute, casual outfit, but to him… were you sending a message? And if so, what did it say?

He shook himself, plastering on that fake smile of his that he always wore. He knew you’d see right through it, but it made him feel more confident than he was. He tapped you on the shoulder, and thrilled a bit when your chilled expression softened when you saw him.

“____-chan,” he began.

You held up a hand to interrupt him; “Don’t call me that, Oikawa.”

He rubbed at a spot in the middle of his chest; after two years of teasing ‘Oikawa-kun’s and sultry ‘Tooru’s and loving and affectionate purrs of ‘darling’ and ‘my love,’ his surname stung.

“Apologies, ____.”

The bartender chose that moment to come over to take his drink order. He just ordered one of what you were having without looking at it. The bartender shrugged, pouring a glass of dark red wine that was sure to be very oaky and floral and earthy and dry and whatever other things red wine tended to be. Oikawa made a face–he wasn’t a fan of reds. But he was committed now. Besides, he wasn’t here to drink.

“Can we talk?” Oikawa asked with a pointed look at the bartender.

“We’re here, so talk,” you said in a clipped voice

“Please, ____. Please can we just…” He trailed off helplessly.

You sighed, taking your wine glass and standing from the stool; “Fine. Let me settle up and we’ll get a table.”

Oikawa stepped over you, sliding a fold of bills that was probably more than enough to cover the 1600 yen worth of wine plus a too-generous tip across the bar. He didn’t care. He just… he needed to talk to you. Now.

“Oikawa, that’s not necessary. I can pay for my own drinks.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know why you don’t want me to pay, ____, but don’t see it as a grand gesture or a piece of control or anything like that, alright? You agreed to meet me when you clearly didn’t want to. Let me at least buy you a drink.”

You shrugged, leading him to a secluded table. It wasn’t so secluded that exits were blocked off, but you were well out of earshot of the bartender and the other dozen or so patrons milling around. You waved off the waitress with a polite smile before folding your hands and fixing him with a withering stare.

“Alright, Oikawa. Talk. What do you have to say?”

He took a breath to make his case; he had a big, dramatic speech prepared about how sorry he was, how perfect you were together, how much he’d changed and seen the error of his ways and if you would just give him another chance… but it all felt so fake. He took a deep breath again, collecting himself. He couldn’t control the catch in his throat, or the way his expression crumpled into something ugly and miserable.

“I miss you,” he said, folding in on himself.

“Oikawa…” You shook your head, exasperated. “Tooru. You know why we broke up.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, more mad at himself than anything else. At least you’d called him by name… that was something, at least. “I know.”

“I told you there was nothing between Iwaizumi-san and I,” you continued. “I told you that you had no reason to be jealous. Iwaizumi-san told you that you had no reason to be jealous.”

“I know!” His hands balled into fists of frustration. “I know that.”

It had been stupid. Of course you and Iwa-chan spent time together. You’d been very quick to befriend his very best friend, which was another thing that had made you perfect. You’d both had an easy relationship with the each other. You’d cooked for Iwa-chan. You’d run errands with Iwa-chan. You’d had inside jokes with Iwa-chan.

And that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that you got along with Iwa-chan–that was pretty much expected if you were to be in Oikawa’s life–but the fact that you got along so well. Oikawa would never admit it, but he’d felt inferior to Iwaizumi since middle school. Iwa-chan may have never had a fan club, or been overly popular with the ladies, but he’d never been dumped just for being himself around someone who was supposed to love him. He’d never felt the need to hide who he was. He’d had three steady relationships since Oikawa had known him, and if Oikawa knew Iwaizumi, he knew the only reason they hadn’t stuck was because Iwaizumi was too kind to keep a high school girl on the hook when he was going to college in Kyoto.

It was only a matter of time, right? It was only a matter of time before you’d realize that Iwaizumi was so much better than him for you–for anyone–and then he’d have to face the hell of losing you by degrees. He would lose you, because he wasn’t good enough for you. You were perfect, and he was this awful, ugly monster filled with rage and anxiety and hatred and–

“Tooru,” you said softly, running your fingertips along the back of his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you still love me?”

You sighed deeply, which was never a good sign. He took a sip of his wine just for something to do with his hands… and pulled a face. Yeah, he definitely hated red wine.

Then you answered in a way he couldn’t have anticipated; “Of course I love you, you big idiot.”

“What?” He nearly dropped his glass, which would have been bad for a lot of reasons.

“Tooru, I will always love you,” you said emphatically. “I mean, sure, you’re kind of childish and petty and hyper competitive… you hide way too much of yourself behind this gaudy exterior that you’ve oh-so-carefully constructed and boy howdy do you have some serious demons that a professional should probably try and unpack–”

“Wow, what do you say about guys you hate?”

“But you’re also sweet. And passionate and caring and beautiful. You’re generous, and for people you love you are unfailingly kind. Who couldn’t love you?”

“Then… why can’t we make this work?” Oikawa asked. “Because I love you, too!”

“Tooru, you know why! I told you there was nothing between me and Iwaizumi-san, and you didn’t believe us. And you tried to control me, and when I wouldn’t put up with it you pushed me away. I couldn’t bare the hell of losing you by degrees, so I took mercy on myself and ended it,” you said quickly, like you were trying to get it out before he could interrupt. “I told you all of this when we broke up!”

“But–”

“No, Tooru,” you interjected, lowering your voice like you were aware that it had been steadily rising. “I love you, and I’ll always love you, but I am not your goddamn possession. I don’t want to deal with your grand gestures and your speeches. I’m not looking for shoujo manga, here. I thought we had something real.”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in his hair. “I know! You’re… you’re the first person I could ever see it being real with! You’re the first woman I could have seen being forever. And I broke it. I saw you and Iwa-chan and I wanted to possess you both so completely, I lost you both.”

“You’ll make up with Iwaizumi-san someday. Just give it time.”

“Look, I had a plan,” he continued like you hadn’t spoken. “I thought I could waltz in here and lavish you with praise and platitudes and apologies and you would take me back with open arms. I’m not trying to be self-deprecating or manipulative when I sincerely say I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was an idiot, and you deserved better!”

“Tooru–”

“No, please, let me finish,” he pleaded. “____, I love you. I love you so much, and every day without you is just this agonizing reminder that I need you. I wouldn’t blame you if you threw your wine in my face and told me to fuck off and get the hell out of your life forever, but… I miss you. And I want to try again, if you’ll let me. So please… please, ____. Please give me another chance.”

“How do I know it’ll be different?” you asked quietly. “That… that can’t happen again, Tooru.”

He took a deep breathe, averting his eyes; “I know. I was… I was terrible to you. I wish it was as easy as me just… blaming my anxiety and calling it a day. But that’s not fair to you. I’ll always be possessive of you, because you’re so important to me, but… but I understand I have to let you be your own person. I can’t prove that I’ll be magically better… but I can try. I can be better.”

It was the longest, most deafening silence he’d ever experienced. He hated it. He stiffened in his seat, waiting for you to slap him, or tell him to get lost. Instead, you sighed deeply, and he heard the scrape of your chair against the floor. You were leaving… of course you were leaving. Why wouldn’t you leave.

“Tooru,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his neck. You pressed your knuckle into the soft spot just below his ear, sending a delicate shiver down his spine.

He turned his widened eyes on you, and your sly smile sprung him into action. He followed you onto the street to hail a taxi, and while you waited, he pressed into your back. He took a deep breath, taking in your scent. He knew the look in your eyes when you’d passed him. He knew it meant you hadn’t forgiven him yet… but you were inviting him home. It wasn’t a large opening, but it was an opening nonetheless.

This was enough. It had to be enough.

[savetheblackpaladin]

could we get some shiro hc for when he's proposing to his s/o?? like what he's feeling, how he'll do it etc some fluffy feels are much appreciated

I’m crying rn bc I got to imagine Shiro proposing, thank you so much for this gift! Also, this is quite long because Shiro has a master plan and it involves everyone.

Shiro is a determined man, the moment he decided he wanted tomarry you it was all he could think about. And when Shiro sets out to dosomething, he does it right·         

He shows up to your room the night before and tells you thateveryone has the day off tomorrow since they’re going to be orbiting near aswap moon and he wants to take you out.

but he’s nervous

“I-if you want, we could go on a date? Like a real, real date??……Not that our other dates aren’t real dates! Of course they’re real But, uh, would you like to go on a fancy one? With me? …Your…boyfriend….??”

He’s blushing and looking very much like he would rather curl up and hide and it makes you laugh. You agree to go on a date (of course, you’ve been dating forever) and settle on an afternoon date, giving you time to hang out with the other paladins.

and to find a nice outfit bc you two never get to go anywhere nice and goddammit you are going to wear something other than the pants and t-shirt you were stolen with

You spend the next morning with Lance, who for some reason isdetermined to have a spa day with just the two of you. He’s like really adamantabout.

“I need a buddy, Y/N! Pidge and Keith don’t even know spas exist!”

“Ok, but what about Hunk? Or Allura?” You chide, removing Lance’s long limbs from your neck.

“Allura is flawless and I can’t believe you would even suggest that. And Hunk is super ticklish and the last time he got a pedicure he nearly kicked the girl in the face. I almost got kicked out of my favorite salon!”

You were giving him a hard time but hell yeah, spa day!! It was great, you got massaged, you got steamed, your skin was perfected (crazy aliens man) and the lovely ladies managed to get your hair so soft that you couldn’t stop touching it.

Everyone met for lunch,except Shiro. You pouted but Keith assured you he was just occupied withplanning for your date

You spent the afternoonwith Allura, picking out shiny things and trying to find the perfect outfit

You can’t help but think that she knows something about your date that you don’t because she keeps making comments about your outfits that just don’t fit for the situation

“No, not that one. You want this to be memorable!”

“This is an important night in your life, and you want to wear that? I do not think so.”

“*sigh* Not that one. It won’t match.” Match what, Allura? Match WHAT???

“This one! It will make sure Shiro holds on you to. And never let’s go.” Her wink at the end of that one weirds you out. Did she mean to do that?

She’s right though. It’s a simple dress that drapes over your body like you’re a Grecian goddess and it moves and looks like smoke. It may not be your usual thing (or maybe it is) but you love it.

You happen to not see Hunk, Pidge, Keith or Coran for the restof the day, which is strange since you see them every day and you kind of missthem.

You don’t see Shiro at all until he knocks on your door thatnight.His eyes light up when they see you and he just gazes at you before hefinally lets out a nervous chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. “Y-youlook beautiful, Y/N. I mean - You always look beautiful, but wooooow. Just,wow.”

He takes your hand, gives it a kiss, and twirls you around once to get a 360 degree view. He whistles and twirls you again, making you laugh as he finally draws you in for a warm hug and a gentle kiss.

He’s wearing a simple grey long-sleeve button up with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks. Simple, but with his hair slicked back he looks like some sort of corporate CEO and it’s kind of hot

You two walk hand in hand to the Black Lion’s bay. You arch your eyebrows questioningly and Shiro tells you that you two need to travel for a bit but don’t worry, there’s a wormhole involved so it won’t take long

you allow Shiro to blindfold you before entering Black

“I want where we’re going to be a surprise. And I know you well enough to know you can’t resist a peek if I don’t blindfold you.” Damn him

Feeling Black take off and go through a wormhole can best be described as: Fucking Terrifying. Since you’re blindfolded, you’re aware of every slight turn, bump, and movement of the metal beast around you and you become acutely aware of how tiny you are. Luckily, Shiro notices your near panic attack and reaches over to hold your hand. You notice he’s shaky too and his palms are a bit sweaty but he caresses the back of your hand like nothing is wrong and you immediately begin to calm down.

When you finally land (a soft landing you note) Shiro carefully steers you out of Black and down the ramp with gentle hands on your waist

you can feel sand under your feet and can hear waves

it’s a little warm and you’re thankful for a dress that breathes. You vaguely wonder if Shiro will unbutton his shirt, because that would be great

When he removes your blindfold you are startled by what you see

a violet sky with two pale orange moons and a glittering belt of starts

a deep purple lake so large it has waves that crash along a black shore 

 and you seem to be in a crater surrounded by vibrant green mountains and silver trees and the soft breeze smells faintly of cinnamon

You turn around to tell Shiro how beautiful this place is and you see him kneeling on one knee in the sand. He’s blushing and clearly nervous and you feel yourself swallowing hard because there is only one reason why Shiro would be in that position

He clears his throat, taking a deep breath before steeling himself for what’s to come.

“Y/N, my beautiful Y/N. I’ve had a lot happen to me in my twenty-five years of life. I’ve gotten top grades throughout high school, a full-ride scholarship to the garrison, became the best fighter pilot in my class, and I’ve adopted a little brother. I’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and forced to become not only an arena fighter, but a defender of the universe and the leader of a amazing team of teenagers that can still somehow pilot the universe’s greatest weapon. But absolutely none of that compares to you. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Y-you’ve accepted me for what I was, what I’ve become, and still everyday you push me to be a better person. I-I still have nightmares about the Galra, terrible nightmares that leave me broken b-but with you…I’m no longer afraid. With you at my side, Y/N, I can do anything, save everything, and overcome any obstacle in my way…..Y/N? Will you do me the honor of being my wi-ife?”

his voice cracks on his last word as he opens the small box in his hand, and you can barely make out a simple silver ring inlaid with a small amethyst, diamond, and your birthstone through your tears (and Shiro’s shaking hand)

You can’t speak. You can’t think. It’s all you can do to just fling yourself around Shiro’s neck and chant “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again while peppering his face in kisses

He’s sobbing right with you, holding you tight to him and smiling, accepting every kiss

After a few moments of sobbing, Shiro finally slides the ring onto your finger and it looks so perfect you start crying again and he does his best to wipe your tears away, and kissing your cheeks while murmuring ‘I love you’ over and over

when you two pull away Shiro just stares in awe at his ring on your finger

he hoped you would say yes and now that you have he almost can’t believe it

He kisses the ring and murmurs under his breath, “You’re my fiancee.” A moment of silence before he scoffs and repeats it again, louder this time, “You’re my fiancee! You’re going to be my wife!” He looks like a little kid, he’s so excited.

He really can’t get over it and for the rest of the night he just keeps looking at you like you’re a gift from the universe itself, and maybe you are.

You two spend a few hours stargazing on a blanket, identifying new constellations, creating stories for them, and otherwise just enjoying each others company

wine is involved (thank you Coran, you gorgeous man)

occasionally you hold your hand up so you two can admire the ring

and you both really enjoy using the word fiancee in every possible way.

you only return when you start to complain to Shiro that you’re hungry

Here’s what you don’t know:

Determined to make you have a wonderful day, Shiro asks Lance to treat you to some sort of self-care. He was thinking just a massage but Lance knows how to treat a girl right.

Shiro also asked Allura for her blessing and if she would officiate the wedding since back on Earth ship captains can do that. She agrees, on the condition that she dresses you both. She chose Shiro’s outfit earlier in the day.

Shiro is eternally grateful for that because he might be panicking now and probably would have just worn what he usually does

Coran and Pidge made the ring. Shiro doesn’t ask how, just only accepted their help when he asked Coran if jewelers exist in space. 

Thanks to Pidge, those are real gemstones. She will never tell how she turned space dust into gemstones.

It was a process that took a long time though. The ring was only finished right before Shiro came to pick you up

He was anxiously pacing the entire afternoon and if you look at his nails you can see where he began absentmindedly chewing them

Hunk and Keith offered to help Shiro make a nice dinner for you two but Shiro was determined to make it himself because “It needs to be made from the heart. I want her to know how serious I am.”

“Yeah, ok, Shiro I’ve tasted your cooking and I’m being generous when I say you are the worst cook on Earth.” Thanks Keith.

Hunk tried. Oh God, did he try. He ended up shoving Shiro out of his kitchen with the promise of a feast when he returned with a fiancee.

Keith was Shiro’s number one confidant and he is so thankful that Keith was there

talking to Keith really gave Shiro the confidence boost he needed. Shiro really just needed to hear someone else say that you would obviously say yes.

Keith’s exact words were: “You two were made for each other Shiro. If I were ever to fall in love with somebody…*sigh* I would want a relationship like yours.”

Shiro cried, he was so touched.

Shiro had one breakdown because he couldn’t find a perfect place to propose and everyone else’s ideas just seem too plain. He ended up going to Black and just ranting and raving about how much he loved you and wanted to do something perfect for you but “Goddammit! I can’t even do this right! How can she love someone so fucking useless?!”

Black activates and picks him up before jumping to space. She’s the one who found the purple planet and Shiro is eternally grateful.

They spent more time together just so Black could comfort him because she may be just a semi-sentient lion, but she knows love when she sees it

Before he came to you room, everyone met him in the main control room to congratulate him and wish him luck

both Pidge and Allura kissed him on the cheek

Hunk got everyone to group hug

Lance told Shiro to treat you right, because you deserved the universe

Keith and Coran basically shoved him out into the hallway so he would stop stalling

When you two come back from the alien planet, there will be banners everywhere congratulating you, confetti, awful Altean music, and a delicious feast

everyone knew you would say yes. Only Shiro had concerns

Speaking of Shiro

he was internally screaming the entire time, convinced you would say no and dump him (thanks anxiety)

he almost backed out a few days ago but Keith managed to convince him to go through with it on pain of death with minimal persuasion

when you said yes it was legit the happiest moment of his life and well worth the like 3 weeks of near panic he was in

~*~If you enjoyed this or any of my other works please consider donating to my Ko-fi or Digital Tip Jar!~*~

[allollipoppins]

Chapter 3: Yuuri/Georgi

Ch. 3 of the YoI villain AU is now up! Read it here on AO3

Georgi Popovich, head designer of Aurora House, somehow managed to juggle creating ten collections in both men and womenswear, and designing Yuuri's costume in the span of six months.

Though in fairness, he would have gone much faster if it hadn't been for the fact that, according to Yuuri and Eros, Georgi and he were close... friends.

“Georgi, you'll spoil the makeup.”

“It was already ruined in the first place.” the Russian man growled back, proceeding to wipe as much lipgloss off Yuuri's lips as he could – with his own lips and tongue.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Yuuri couldn't help but chuckle. “Don't let Eros hear you.” Though he was ready to bet he'd heard everything.

At least, the undignified scoff they both heard from the other side of the dressing room was enough of an answer to make them giggle. “Too late,” Georgi noted, sending him a wink as he turned to draw the curtains. “Come on, let me show you my latest creation.” He extended his open palm towards Yuuri, a clear invitation to follow and – in Yuuri's opinion – annoy Eros further.

As if it hadn't been enough of him to barge on them making out on the couch earlier, tv playing in the background and Vicchan being the only one happy to see him. The only reason why he hadn't bothered to kick him out was because he knew of the bond existing between his master and the designer.

The two of them had met while they were both in college completing their degrees, Yuuri double majoring in criminology and journalism while Georgi had elected design as his own. Which, at first sight, was as evident as the sun rose in the east. A single look at the designer-in-the-making and his questionable, self-taught-and-applied makeup techniques was enough to make people doubt him.

Yuuri, on the other hand, hadn't heard much about Georgi until the latter asked him firsthand to model for him. He hadn't believed him at first, and it took much prompting before Georgi could get him in his studio for test shoots and fittings. From there, they'd escalated from model and designer, to study pals, and to the one and only person the other could consider as a real friend, someone with whom to go to the cinema or have ice cream and shopping dates.

Though their relationship was … complicated to say the least. Not in the twisted way he shared with Eros, but not as innocent either.

Long before finding Phichit again in the headquarters of the crime magazine they both worked for now, Georgi had been there for him. The friend who always gave him a pep talk, the friend who talked him into going shopping or watching a movie, the friend who knew his favorite ice-cream flavor and bought him one without needing to ask, the friend who waited on Yuuri at 3AM whenever he felt under the weather.

The friend who slept with him to forget how his fiancée cheated on him with another guy.

“Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?” Georgi's suggestion shook him of his reverie, and he nodded at the unrequited innuendo the words carried.

Eros stood obediently on the sidelines, intently watching as Georgi started to unbutton the tuxedo, enough for Yuuri to feel his eyes burning holes into his back... or rather,  Georgi's, who had somehow decided to check Yuuri's measurements again and analyse the clothing.

“Relax pup,” Georgi assured without looking at either of them, “just checking if the clothes are a good fit. Don't want you master wandering around looking like a trashcan, do you?”

Eros snorted. “As if I cared. Yuuri looks good in anything he wears.”

The latter was certain his cheeks were burning after that statement, a clear contrast with the crisp white shirt the stylist had dressed him in. Georgi huffed, but seemed to ponder his words. His analytical eyes wondered on Yuuri's form, taking him in wholly.

“Come to think of it, you're not completely wrong, Eros...”

“Guys, please.” Yuuri muttered, head lowered under the praise – or was it teasing? Hard to tell given both men's proclivity to shower him with compliments on occasion (meaning, on a regular-enough basis).

“Sorry,” they both echoed, one a little more honest than the other. Once Yuuri was down to his boxers and had a robe draped over his shoulders, Georgi stepped away to reach for a bag on the nearest table. With one flick of his hand, he beckoned both Eros and Yuuri to step closer to look at what was inside the bag.

Yuuri watched with bated breath as Georgi handed him its contents. “You go ahead. Think of it as an early birthday present.”

He tentatively unwrapped the garments out of their plastic and paper wraps, like a teenager warily unpacking his Christmas gifts, and laid each item on the table. He was so focused on the results he hadn't noticed Eros moving closer to him, standing behind his back. He mentally acknowledged the hand placed on his shoulder, as if in silent support.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Yuuri took in his newest costume.

Black, form-fitting and made of a fabric he'd never seen before. It had the brillance of silk, but the elasticity of spandex – which, thank God, wasn't what the entire costume was made of. The simplistic top and assorted pants were adorned with various belts, one tied high where his right tight would be underneath the clothes, and the others served to tighten a leather corset, the wide buckles at the front accentuating the curves of his chest and waist. The shoulder pads and gauntlets Georgi had given him were also made of leather, comfortable and snug enough to let him move at ease without straining his muscles, he observed as he rotated his shoulders back and forth in a circular motion. A dark hood attached to the top completed the outfit, its cowl hiding the bottom part of his face and leaving his chocolate eyes visible. Maybe he'd ask to have it removed, Yuuri mused, thinking that it would smear the makeup Georgi usually applied. He voiced his thought out loud.

"Actually, I'd rather you removed it halfway, if you don't mind. It's true that I should have thought about that earlier but ey, I just figured it would look cooler that way."

“Well yeah I get that, but you do realize that I'm going to wear a hood right? As in, there's no need for me to put makeup on?”

“The makeup's just for insurance. Besides, with my expert hands, it won't be removed so easily. You of all people should know that.” The underlying tone of knowledge lingering in his voice brought a blush to Yuuri's cheeks. Of course he'd know.

He silently turned back to his new acquisition, not quite sure what to make of it.

To say he was a little surprised by the costume was an understatement.

Georgi, the fantastic partner in crime that he was, had tried to convince him to go for something a little more excentric, but the (first) final result had reminded him more of the girl from The Ring than anything else, almost giving him a heart attack when he took a look at himself in a mirror. The next result had been an oddly elegant cross between Slappy the Puppet and a Japanase Noh-Theatre actor, but remained every bit as creepy as its fictional counterparts. Next had been the tuxedo he'd been wearing instants ago, a better fit but the makeup hadn't done him justice either. He hadn't quite seemed like the Saw puppet, but he'd looked the part.

So it was a surprise to see this final product come out as minimalistic and yet so beautifully crafted, plus it gave him enough anonymity to be unrecognizable and unidentifiable to the public eye.

In short, he loved it. Yuuri's disguise wasn't as intricate and complex as Georgi probably would have wished it to be, but it was for the better. Who knew, maybe one day he'd be able to put the dresses and kimonos Georgi had specially designed for him to good use.

Which reminded him.... “But I thought you wanted me to wear a kimono.”

Georgi shrugged. “That was before I realized how awkward it would be for you to move. Unless you want me to add a few touches to it, but in the end you don't have to don the entire outfit if you don't want to.” The statement took Yuuri off guard. He knew Georgi to be someone who never did things halfway; either he was fully involved in his work, mind body and soul, or he dropped it the second.

“But Georgi -” Yuuri started to protest.

“No won't do, Yuuri, I can't have you waltzing down Detroit streets when you trip on your own two feet, can I? That would be rude of me.”

Yuuri didn't have the gall to correct him or feel offended. Georgi, if not all of his acquaintances were aware of his legendary clumsiness. Years of ballet training could only do so much for his form. Besides, it was nice to know that in spite of all fashion codes currently taking over the world, Georgi was still considerate enough to keep in mind his particular … needs.

“Still,” he sighed, “you took so much time just to prepare this outfit, knowing that you also had your fashion show to plan, models to recruit, and God, don't even get me started on – ”

Yuuri didn't get time to go on. In fact it was Eros who cut him off, forgotten in the background while he'd been watching the exchange between his master and Georgi.

“Okay,” he sighed, “what was it this time? What made you decide to change the costume on a whim??”

Georgi ignored the fake tiredness but very much real annoyance seeping through his voice in favor of circling Yuuri in long strides, taking in the outfit under different angles.

“The problem wasn't so much that it didn't look good; it would've been be a little impractical, although according to my measurements and adjustments you could have easily pulled off a jetée in those tuxedo pants.”

“Why would he want to do a jetée while he's slitting someone's throat? That would be awesome, sure, but really.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Eros, I think you have the wrong person here.”

“Anyway, let's try it on, then we'll see what to do with your makeup.” Georgi nudged him forward, gently removing the robe from his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground at Yuuri's feet.

To Yuuri's surprise, Eros turned to leave. “You're not staying, Eros?”

His shadow turned back at him to shrug. “I'm on patrol duty in a few minutes, and I don't want to miss anything out. Also,” he stopped before crossing the threshold, “I'd rather undress you by myself when I get back home to see you in that.” He winked at Yuuri and sent a smirk Georgi's way, who replied with one of his own, before stepping out of the studio.

Silence settled in as the sound of his companion's footsteps faded into the distance. Georgi seized the opportunity to grab Yuuri's clothes, stretching them enough to help him into the pants, which were as tight as he'd imagined them to be, but not uncomfortably so. For the top Yuuri bend down slightly, arms stretched up while Georgi let the fabric slide over his arms then onto the rest of his frame. He repressed the small giggle building in his throat when Georgi's fingers brushed his sides, tickling him lightly. He held his breath while the corset was adjusted, but to his surprise it didn't bring any discomfort. He slipped on the gloves and assorted leather belts, turning on himself to catch his reflection in the mirrors. But before he could, Georgi pivoted him so they were face to face.

“Last detail,” he explained, and Yuuri shivered when his fingers dug under the high collar, softly brushing his neck, and brought up the cowl to cover his mouth. For a moment, Yuuri was almost scared to lose his ability to breathe, but the knot that formed at the back of his throat dissolved as he realized he could easily take in breath, even with the cloth covering his mouth and nose.

When he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind him, he could hardly recognize himself. Not only due to the fact that this outfit covered most of his body and didn't appear to give away his identity. The garments clung to him like a second skin, but in a pleasant way that didn't make his skin itch. He wondered how it was possible, for him to manage to pull off such a look. His reflection brought back childhood memories of ninja cartoons and fictional assassins in the movies Mari would take him to see back when... back then.

“You're so beautiful.”

He twisted on his toes in time for Georgi to pull the cowl down, and place his hands on each side of his face.

This was so intimate. It didn't feel uncomfortable, not the way his own, first future interactions with Minami would be. Georgi was one of the few besides Eros allowed to see him like that. Bare, so vulnerable under the layers of clothes and makeup that hit his other self.

Georgi was always oh so gentle, never coaxing him into things he knew Yuuri would dislike. And even when he thought the Russian would pull off a nasty trick, he'd ended up having fun against his initial preconceptions.

“You're quite the challenge, Katsuki Yuuri, did you know that?” He asked, staring directly into Yuuri's eyes.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “How so?”

“Always being so mean to me and to yourself, forcing me into whatever business it is you have with that other gigolo”, he leaned his forehead against Yuuri's. “I don't like this, Yuuri, whatever it is you do. You know what I think, don't you?”

Yuuri sighed, pressing back against Georgi, his own hands moving up to Georgi's chest and digging int the fabric of his crisp white shirt. “I know you don't approve of this, Georgi, but I couldn't picture myself doing anything else. And I could not think of anyone better to do the job.”

Gerogi frowned. “Are we even talking about the same person at this point?”

Yuuri snickered. “I meant you, silly, not Eros. I”m choosing you for this because I know you're the best at what you do. Besides,” Yuuri brought his hands up to circle them around Georgi's neck, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear, “what kind of best friend would I be, keeping you out of these things?”

Georgi sighed with finality, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk Yuuri into changing his mind, for one. “Ugh. Fine, I'll do it, but don't come crying when he stabs you in the back,” he emphatically insisted, Yuuri knowing without asking who exactly he was referring to.

Yuuri hummed as Georgi pulled away and guided him towards his vanity. Georgi motioned for him to sit, which he complied with Georgi still brushing his cheek.

“The stories are real, I see. Japanese truly have naturally soft skin.”

Yuuri felt the color rushing to his cheeks. “We – we do not! I don't where you got that from, but that's not true. At least I never heard of it.”

Georgi chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, now you know. But just in case, I'd rather have you moisturized before you go out there. After all, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure your skin is properly treated?”

He sounded playful, but Yuuri knew him to be dead-serious, judging from Georgi's expression alone. He'd be damned if his personal makeup artist didn't follow his own rules.

Yuuri shrugged, but teased him back. “The kind of friend to whom I'd ask “who are you and what have you done to my Georgi?”, I guess.”

Georgi paused in the middle of blending the cream. “Your Georgi, huh?” he mused. He then extended his cream-coated fingers towards Yuuri's face, the other moving under his chin in a gentle but stable grip. “I like the sound of that. Although it's not like you to be territorial.”

“Not territorial,” Yuuri corrected, holding as still as possible while Georgi's expert fingertips deftly dabbed at his forehead and temples. “Just concerned.”

“You shouldn't be,” Georgi applied small batches on his cheeks in a freckle pattern, then booped Yuuri's nose with an additional spot of cream to distract him; the action made him smile. “I'm getting over An – I mean over her. Over it.” Georgi covered his light stumble by lowering his head, focusing on blending the product with his fingers.

Yuuri stilled. There was no denying Georgi was getting better at this: moving on was never an easy progress, and witnessing as he was taking steps forward was reassuring. Slow and steady wins the race, as the common saying went. Though Yuuri would have preferred him to get a grip earlier. His best friend didn't deserve to shed tears on such an undeserving woman.

He hummed, willing himself to go back to another subject. “You'll make me pretty then, won't you?”

“Oh honey, I don't need that do make you look nice, you already do a fine work on your own.” Georgi cups his face between his hands, looking him directly in the eyes. “Just ensuring that I'll be the only one seeing your real face.”

Yuuri laughed. “Now you're the one being territorial.”

Georgi grinned back. “Not territorial, no. Just concerned.” The Russian designer patted his cheeks, testing the texture of the finished product. He must have been satisfied, for he pulled away to reach for the rest of his supplies in his makeup case. Yuuri mourned the loss of the warm, gentle fingers on his skin. “Let's move to the real deal, then,” Georgi shot him a sideway smile that Yuuri corresponded. “Let's.”

Yuuri kept his eyes trained on Georgi, even though he knew the designer not to be paying attention to his surroundings. Right now, his sole focus was Yuuri, and Yuuri only. Knowing so pulled at something inside Yuuri.

The bastard was right. He sure could be possessive when he wanted to be.

He stayed as still as possible when Georgi started to apply the foundation, one that was far paler than the one he usually used but looked convenient enough. At least this time it wasn't face paint for clown makeup. He let his eyes close and his mind drift elsewhere as Georgi tapped on various spots on his face, applying small batches one at a time, the cool liquid losing its thickness when Georgi handily blended it on his skin, always with a light and gentle touch.

Yuuri opened his eyes as Georgi pulled away to grab the hightlighter. One glance at the mirror made him access that he definitely looked pale, almost white, his complexion looking closer to that of a Caucasian male save for his normal features. Georgi's fingers under his chin made him face him again.

“Pull your cheeks in,” he directed, and Yuuri sucked in a breath, pulling in and biting the insides of his cheeks. Georgi brushed each cheek with a powder that, if his eyes weren't failing him, was a few shades darker than the foundation, though still faint. Georgi added the finishing touches with blush, using his fingertips to spread the texture higher in a triangluar shape. Yuuri raised an eyebrow when he next took out a crayon.

“Freckles? Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely! The makeup brought out your lovely cheekbones, it would be a shame not to highlight them further, even though they'll be hidden.” With this said, he delicately pecked Yuuri's cheeks with the crayon, before looking satisfied with his work and picking another crayon. Yuuri stole a few peeks: he did look cute with the tiny freckles painting near-invisible constellations on his face. One would have to come closer to see them. Clever boy.

“Eyes this time.”

Georgi followed the line of his eyebrows with a dark pencil the color of his hair, then grabbed a liner.

“Look up.” Yuuri did just so, his friend applying a thin line of khôl on each external lower eyelid. Once he could look down again, Georgi placed his thumb on a temple, silently motioning for him to close his eyes. He let himself be maneuvered, Georgi taking his time to run the liquid eyeliner along the lid directly above his lashes.

“Eyeshadow and mascara?” He heard the Russian ask from behind his closed eyes. Not knowing quite exactly how it was turning out, Yuuri shrugged. “You're the professional, you make the decision.”

“I'll take that as a yes, in that case.” Georgi remarked graciously, a beat passing until a spongy tool made contact with Yuuri's eyelid, spreading eyeshadow along the line previously drawn with eyeliner. Georgi made a quick work of the other eyelid too, then told him: “You can open your eyes now, I'll get the mascara.”

Feeling the bright light in his eyes again was a little painful, adding to the tiredness that was starting to weight down on him in addition to the thick mascara being applied on his lashes. It was getting late, after all. Georgi would probably have to give him a lift.

“Do you want to stay overnight?” Georgi's question caught him off guard, just as he was getting started on his lips. Had he absentmindedly voiced his thoughts out loud?

“No it's fine, I don't want to be a nuisance. Surely you must have a lot of work to do and I don't want to keep you busy.”

“That's not a problem.You could never be bothersome, even if you tried.” Georgi traced his lips with a red crayon – Yuuri guessed the shade as “Blood” - , then proceeded to coat them with a lipstick of a similar shade. Yuuri had to open up his mouth so Georgi could have an exact access to his lips, having decided long ago to only paint the middle so his puckered lips would form a heart. He pulled them together, rubbing before releasing them with a loud “pop” that resonated inside the otherwise quiet room. Realizing suddenly how obscene his action had been, Yuuri's cheeks colored, certain they were as red as his lips.

Georgi, thank God, hadn't seemed to notice nor mind. “Last touch,” he only concluded, grabbing a beige and brown pencils and tracing two parallel lines on Yuuri's chin, running from the bottom corner of each side of the red heart. He took turn using the pencils, coloring the lines alternatively and shading to have them burst, as if they were part of Yuuri's face.

He finally sighed, pushing back in his chair and away from Yuuri to watch him. “There, all done!”

“How do I look, then?” Yuuri asked, wincing a little when he sat up, having stayed in the comfortable chair for much too long.

Georgi grinned in response, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Why don't you see it for yourself?”

When he saw the transformation, Yuuri gasped. He had known Georgi to be capable of miracles and making some of the best illusions out of reality, but he hadn't thought him capable of transforming into a human-sized, realistic-looking puppet. Somehow, Georgi had managed to pull quite a feat: he'd transformed him into a ventriloquist dummy. The words alone, he thought as he stepped closer to the glass, didn't do it justice. The name, used on its own, appealed to a world Yuuri only associated with darkness and children's nightmares, and yet when he looked at him he felt none of the horror he'd expected to experience upon gazing at his final makeover. He didn't remind himself of a Goosebumps villain or a demonic clown straight out of a freak show. He reminded himself of the precious dolls one kept in glass cases in museums, for the sake of preserving their beauty from the outer world.

“And what do you think of the final result?” Georgi asked softly, his chest pressing against Yuuri's back.

Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat. “These are my strings. Puppets are only free when they love their strings, aren't they?”

The kiss Georgi pressed to his neck made him shiver, though not enough to take his eyes off his reflection.

Georgi hummed appreciatively in his ear. “I guess so. I take it it is to your taste, Puppet Master?” Georgi murmured.

Yuuri shook his head. “I don't like it. I adore it.”