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#gentle reminder that intrusive thoughts are just that and don’t define you as a person. they are. I’m fact. intrusive

norarigby · 3 years

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Oikawa Tooru - The Last Time

The Little Black Box Masterlist

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x reader

Warnings: this is kinda shitty writing ngl so sorry :D

Word Count: ~1.2k

A/n: the initial idea was cute? The actual execution was terrible. Please forgive me. Hopefully Atsumu’s will be better tomorrow! Enjoy!

Oikawa Tooru has proposed to you exactly three times already. And honestly? You shouldn’t have been surprised. Oikawa has a habit of being over dramatic at times and, as such, has lead to these extreme professions of love.

The first proposal came a little while after graduation. It was the night before Oikawa was to leave to Argentina. He’d talked about moving for a while now, so it wasn’t the shock that caused the silent tears to roll down your cheeks. No, it was the reality finally crashing down like the waves of the ocean. You had been laying on Oikawa’s chest and were sure he fell asleep well over an hour ago, waiting for him to slip into dreamland before letting your true emotions go. You felt guilty for crying. You were happy for him, excited even. But long-distance would be hard and you weren’t ready to let go quite yet.

Soft lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The kiss startled you a bit. Little did you know, he’d been awake the whole time, too anxious for what tomorrow held.

Oikawa gently tilted your tear stricken face up to look at him. It took you a minute to look into his eyes, too embarrassed that you had woken him up. When you did, you noticed his eyes were wide awake and had gone glassy too.

“‘m sorry I woke you, Tooru. Go back to sleep, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” It came out barely as a whisper, not trusting your voice with anything louder. But even as you said it, a part of you wanted him to stay awake with you, just so you could have more time with him.

He rubbed your cheeks and tried to smile, but it was a bit wobbly, “I couldn’t sleep tonight even if I tried.” Oikawa pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t long before he pulled back to mumble against your lips, “If you marry me, then you’d have to come with me.”

You chuckled and laid back on his chest, “Tooru, don’t say things like that. We’ve barely been together for a year.”

“I’m serious-“ He whined and tried to pull you up again but you wouldn’t budge.

“You’re just saying things because you’re leaving tomorrow. Go to bed.”

And that was that.

The second proposal happened a couple months later. Oikawa had settled in, somewhat, to his new Argentinian lifestyle. And it had been just long enough that you had forgotten about his first proposal.

Long distance was hard and you both knew it would be even before he left. It took a while to sync up schedules, but you finally did. FaceTime became your saving grace as you called each other every night. Well, for you it was night, for him it was morning. Luckily the time difference wasn’t too awful. You could call at eight at night and it would be eight in the morning for him. Twelve hour time differences worked pretty well in your favor.

But when you got a random FaceTime call at two in the afternoon, you were concerned to say the least.

“Tooru, why are you calling this early? Isn’t it 2AM for you?”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled, “Yeah, but I was thinking about you and so I thought I’d just call to hear your voice.”

This man never failed to give you butterflies. You were a sucker for his sleepy smile and ever the charmer, he knew exactly what to say to get your heart beating just a little faster. But now was not the time to be cute! He was messing with his sleep schedule and you refused to be held responsible for that.

“Oikawa Tooru. You know I love you and I love talking to you, but you cannot call me at two in the morning! You have early practice in a couple hours.”

He groaned, “I know, I know. But I have something really really important to ask you.”

His face got really close to the camera in faux seriousness as you rolled your eyes, “Whatever you have to ask me can wait until later. Goodbye Tooru. Get some sleep.”

“Waaaaait! I want to ask you to marry me! I miss you and if we’re married, I won’t have to miss you because you’ll be here! With me!”

Your finger hovered over the end call button. This was the second time in only a couple months. What did that mean? Was he really that serious? Or was he being dramatic because you just weren’t always there any more? And how did you feel about it?

“Tooru, go to bed. You’re just talking because it’s late and you miss me. Besides I’m coming down when you’re playing in Brazil, remember? You’ll see me soon.”

Oikawa’s pout turned into a yawn, “I know, but I just want to see you now.”

You internally cooed at your sleepy boyfriend. Oikawa was always the most fun right before he fell asleep. Delirious and tired, you had a stash of treasured memories stored on your phone—you had never told him about the videos, of course, they were just for your enjoyment.

“I’ll be there before you know it. Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Before you hung up, Tooru muttered something else into the phone, “I mean it. ‘m gonna marry you one day.”

You quickly hung up the phone, crossing your fingers that he didn’t see the blush creeping up your neck at his words. Needless to say, that conversation played on repeat in your head for the next couple of weeks. The second proposal took a while to forget about.

The last time he proposed. You almost said yes.

Truly.

How could you not? When your Tooru was standing in front of you at the airport terminal with a smile that had seemed to get wider since he’d been gone; like the world had been kinder to him since you last saw him. Not to mention he looked like a god. Sun-kissed and deeper defined muscles, he looked heavenly.

You figured that maybe it was because you’d gotten caught up in the magic of being so close to him again after so long. Especially when he wrapped you in one of his famous hugs that felt like home.

So when he blurted out the question again for the third time while walking along a Brazilian beach, you almost said yes. But something held you back. You loved him, sure. You’d even go so far as to say that you wouldn’t mind having him by your side for the rest of your life.

But he was still finding himself in Argentina and you didn’t want to interrupt a second of that. You’d seen the beautiful pieces start to come together and you’d decided that you could wait a little longer until you were sure he was ready.

A few years later, you two again were walking along a beach just before sunset, with your pinkies linked and shoes held in the other hand. You reveled in the picturesque sight, trying to push away intrusive thoughts that were trying to remind you that he’d be gone again by the weekend and you’d have to dive back into long-distance.

Oikawa was thinking the same things. With him being back in Japan for a few weeks felt like a weight was lifted. He could see you whenever he had free time, and in person at that! He could fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning—even if it was really only him getting up in the morning. It all felt....right.

So tonight was his breaking point. Oikawa had been patient all up until this point. Truly, he was ready to marry you every time he had asked you. In fact, the current ring carefully tucked away in his pocket was bought the morning before he had left for Argentina.

He had been patient, waiting for when you were ready. But after these last few weeks, Oikawa couldn’t keep waiting any more. He was going to ask you a fourth and final time tonight.

And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.

(Posted March 1, 2021 4:37AM MST)

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ambientstars · 3 years

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Praise - part 3 (Whittaker!master x reader)

Gif credit: unknown

Warnings: angst, alcohol, eventually nsfw (tied up, blindfolded, praise kink, waxplay), but mostly a bunch of softness you’re welcome

Note: SURPRISE!! I didn’t plan on making a third part to this, but literally one person asked and that all it took for me to write it. This will be the final part because I don’t think I can take it any further. Kind of a longer one this time (2k more than usual) because ya girl tried to put some more storyline into it. Anyway, enjoy my loves!

———

“How do I look?”

You stood facing the mirror, smoothing out your outfit and taking in your reflection.

“You could be wearing a paper bag and I’d still eat you up,” The Master stood behind you, hands on your waist, her fingers digging into you almost painfully. “But I must say you look delicious in this.”

You frowned, confused. “I’m not a snack, you know?”

She laughed, moving hair from your shoulder and placed a wet kiss on the side of your neck. “No, darling, you are the whole meal.”

You turned, amusement clear on your face. “Are you hungry or something? Do you want to go and get some space food instead?”

The Master snorted, stepping away from you and picking up her jacket. “Let’s just go.”

Today was the anniversary of your renewed relationship with The Master. It marked one year of being by her side, of calling her yours and of being the happiest you’d ever been in your life.

And boy, what a year it had been. It started off just like it had before, full of passion, heated desire for one another and spending most days close to each other, taking every opportunity to touch, kiss and caress the other every chance they got.

Except this time, it didn’t fizzle out, it didn’t turn sour and it didn’t become toxic. Your relationship became stronger every day, your trust for each other grew to new heights and you considered it to be healthier than it ever was before.

Tonight you were going out to celebrate, to the club you reunited with The Master at. She had said it would be a nice full circle moment and you had to agree, for if you hadn’t gone there in the first place, you wouldn’t have seen her again and began a new journey with her.

——

The club was just as packed as it always was, each area full of aliens of all kinds, the line to get in twisting around the building.

The Master walked right up to the entrance of the club, ignoring the queue entirely. You hurried along with your hand in hers, trying to keep up with her quick pace despite her high heels.

The bouncer at the door nodded at the timelord in recognition and opened the door without a single word, allowing you both in immediately.

Sometimes it slipped your mind that you see a different side of The Master, others viewing her as dangerous and evil, not to be messed with and granting her whatever it is that she demanded for the sake of their lives.

She led you straight to the bar, pushing past the crowds and stopping at the VIP spot of the bar where orders were taken first before anyone else waiting. She ordered your favourite drink without you having to tell her and it made your stomach flutter that she actually did listen and learn about what makes you click and your favourite things.

The drinks were on the house just like they always were. The Master never paid for anything, ever and it was a hard press to even think of a time you’d seen her with real money in her possession.

“What’s got you so tense, darling?” The Master slipped a hand around your waist and pulled you in close, which admittedly did help to relieve the odd tension in your shoulders. “Relax, enjoy yourself. There’s no danger here. Not with me around.”

You didn’t need to look at her face to know a self satisfacted smirk was painted right across it. “Something just feels off.”

She took the glass from your hand and released her gentle hold on you, effectively removing the protected feeling it gave you. “Why don’t you go and dance for a while? Burn off some of that tension.”

You finally looked at her, your cheeks heating up just at the sight of her under the colourful lights. “I don’t know… I’m not really feeling it.”

Placing your glass on top of the bar, she held your chin between her finger and thumb, and brought her face inches from yourself. “I’m not asking. I want to watch you dance. Now be a good girl and give me a show.”

After a quick peck on the lips, she moved away from you and seated herself at an empty table with a perfect view of the dance floor.

You did as you were told, making your way over to the dance floor and taking a deep breath, trying to push away the bad feeling in your stomach and allowing yourself to enjoy the music playing loudly throughout the building.

You performed as best as you could for The Master, your eyes closed, your hips swaying and your hands roaming your body like you were exploring it for the first time. Eventually your muscles relaxed and you could let yourself move freely with the music, a soft smile gracing your face towards the end of the song.

The sinking feeling in your stomach returned, however, when you opened your eyes expecting to see The Master watching you with a proud look and instead catching the eye of The Doctor who stood only a few meters away from you.

He was with someone, a redhead woman, who stood closely by his side, smiling up at him.

She was beautiful, from what you could tell at this distance with flashing lights in your eyes, her frame petite and clothing that seemed more casual than your own, almost like she didn’t expect to be brought here and instead dressed for a different kind of outing - which didn’t seem entirely impossible given The Doctor’s habit of landing in wrong places at the wrong time more often than not.

You held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, your face no doubt mirroring his own expression of shock, confusion and hurt.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to The Doctor since you left him a year ago, abandoning him yet again without saying goodbye. You often wondered how he was, hoping you’d bump into him one day if only to know that he was still alive and well, your guilt eating you up inside, but now that it was happening, it felt like a metaphorical house of emotion was crushing you, not at all feeling the way you thought it would when you eventually saw him again.

In your stupor you hadn’t noticed The Master come to stand beside you, also looking in The Doctor’s direction, but eyeing up his new companion instead. “See? I told you that you’d be replaced in no time.”

The Master loved a good I told you so moment and this one hurt, like salt in a wound. She was right, of course she was. She knew from the very beginning that your spot would be filled by someone else almost as if you never existed and deep down you knew it too, but a small part of you hoped that it wouldn’t be so soon, that you meant more to him than just someone occupying an empty space in his life and replacing you as soon as you left.

You broke the eye contact with the timelord you once viewed as your best friend and turned to walk in the direction of the restroom. The Master was hot on your heels, throwing an unreadable look towards The Doctor as she also turned.

You fought back tears as you reached the door, flinging it open and pushing past everyone inside to get to the sink, ignoring the grumbles and annoyed comments thrown your way for the intrusion. You leaned against the basin, breathing deeply to try and keep the sobs at bay, your throat tightening.

From beside you, you heard The Master tell everyone inside to leave and give you both some privacy or else face the consequences. Of course they all listened immediately and hurried out until it was just you and her left in the room.

“What’s all this for?” She came to stand beside you, leaning back against the sink next to the one you occupied. “You’re actually sad? Need I remind you, you left him?”

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to calm down. Again, The Master was right. You had been the one to leave him, not the other way around. You had no right to be so upset to see him with someone else when you came here with your own someone - someone he’d been at war with since post childhood, someone he thought would kill you in cold blood, someone who was the last person he wanted to see you run away with.

“I just didn’t think he’d find someone else so quickly.” You released a shaky breath and quickly wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape. “Just hurts to know I’m so replaceable, that’s all.”

The Master laughed lightly from beside you despite you not having told a joke, her body twisting to face you. She turned you also, holding your shoulders in her hands and forcing you to face her.

“Darling, look at me.”

You did as you were told once again, bringing your watery eyes up to meet hers, the hazel colouring of them appearing darker under the dim and almost useless lighting of the small room.

“First things first, you are not replaceable. And secondly, the man is an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, genuine disbelief on her face. “He brought someone new into his life so fast because he didn’t know what he had standing right in front of him. He doesn’t define your worth, no matter how you felt for him.”

“And you do?”

She smiled softly, moving a hand to rest on the side of your face to gently stroke your pink cheek. “No, my love. Only you do, no one else.”

A warmth came over you, a deep and genuine love for The Master filling your chest. It wasn’t lost on you that during your year together, she had become softer, kinder and more loving. It seemed as if she was a different person from who she was in your first attempt at this relationship, more willing to show vulnerability and voicing her feelings out loud.

Although this was only ever shown to you. To everyone else she was still the heartless monster who killed for fun, none of them understanding how she managed to find someone to love her despite her evil ways. You had to admit that you understood their point of view, but to you, she wasn’t those things.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked the redhead who had taken your spot in The Doctor’s life. She smiled politely and grabbed some tissue from the stall furthest away from you, using it to blot away a wet patch on her tshirt.

“My friend is such an idiot sometimes,” she began talking as if you’d known each other forever. Or at all.

At that The Master made a face at you that said see? He really is.

“Spilt his drink down me while he was distracted by something. Not sure what he was looking at or what he was drinking, but it will come out, right? Do alien drinks stain? I guess I could— I’m sorry, have I interrupted something?”

You hadn’t noticed that by now both you and The Master were staring at the girl with unwelcome looks, your eyes having since dried up and The Masters hand that had fallen to your arm tightening.

“Your friend, what’s his name?”

The redhead gave a look of confusion towards The Master, but remained polite. “The Doctor. Maybe you know him? He’s quite well known.”

Your lover sniggered, stepping away from you and moving towards the other woman. “Indeed.”

You prayed silently that she would be nice, it wasn’t your replacement’s fault you were in this situation. She seemed nice enough and knowing The Doctor as well as you did, he probably hadn’t even told her you existed, that you held her place before her, that he had just been left alone without so much as a word about it.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

The Master’s tone seemed genuine, kind even. You didn’t understand what her motive was, but you sent out yet another prayer that it wasn’t sinister given that your last prayer was seemingly heard and granted.

It took very little time to convince the other woman to allow The Master to buy her a drink, the excuse of let me make up for his mistake passed by your ears and you knew that although it was said directly to the redhead, it was also meant for you.

Your hand stayed firmly planted in The Master’s, a new drink held in your other. You sipped on it slowly, feeling tired at the wide range of emotions you had experienced in such a short amount of time and hearing The Master make small talk with the other woman who also had a new drink in hand.

From the corner of your eye you saw The Doctor standing on his own, just like he had been the first time he’d been left on the dance floor all that time ago, bewildered at what he was seeing.

It suddenly clicked in your mind what The Master was doing, why she had invited the redhead for a drink at the bar. She wanted The Doctor to see that she had yet again taken his friend from him, allowing him to see that they would rather spend time with her than with him and sending out a message that no matter how many times he replaced his companions, she would be there each time to steal them away and give them something better.

The Master was smart and carefully calculated, her plan working perfectly, The Doctor’s fists bunched up and his brows knitting together into a displeased frown.

The redhead eventually felt bad for leaving ‘her friend’ behind and said her goodbyes, making her way back over to the man who still looked lost and angered.

As you sipped on the neon green liquid in the glass you held, you turned your attention back to The Master. She was already looking at you, a brow raised as she waited for you to say something.

“That was painful.”

“I know,” she moved a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. “But I had to send a message. No one hurts my girl.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a surge of emotions yet again came crashing down on you like a tsunami. Tears brimmed your eyes once more and had The Master not pulled you in for a loving kiss, your bottom lip would’ve begun to wobble.

“My good girl.” She kissed you over and over again, placing her drink on the bar so that she could wrap her arms around your waist and pull you onto her lap, making you straddle her on the bar stool that miraculously took your combined weight without a problem.

You continued to make out in front of everyone, your arms around her neck and her hands grabbing at your body in a desperate need to feel more of you. It wasn’t long before you unconsciously began to wiggle in her lap, grinding down on her thighs in search of a little friction.

“Take me home.”

The Master smiled against your lips, opening her eyes to search yours for confirmation that you actually meant what you said.

But of course you did. You wanted nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home in the TARDIS and to spend the rest of the night in a blissfully heightened state with your lover on your anniversary.

——

“Bath?”

Stepping into the TARDIS, you shrugged off The Master’s jacket that she had placed over your shoulders to keep away the chill on the short walk from the club to the timeship that she had disguised as a house not even a few minutes away, insisting that it was too cold for you not to wear it because humans feel temperature differently to timelords and you’d freeze to death if you didn’t.

You hummed happily at the thought of soaking yourself in hot soapy water. “I’d love that.”

You both made your way to the bathroom and you began to strip down as The Master ran the water into the tub, joining you in removing her clothes once she had added the bubbles to the running water.

She reached out for you and held you in her arms, both of you naked and falling into a quiet moment where no words had to be spoken to know what each other were thinking and feeling.

Once the bathtub had filled up with enough water, you both slipped in, moaning in unison at the muscle relaxing temperature. You spent a while washing each other and unwinding in each other’s embrace, The Master’s hand slowly rubbing circles between your legs until you shook and came undone for the first time that night.

When the water began to turn cold, you stepped out and dried off, carefully rubbing each other down with soft fluffy towels until you were dry enough to make your way to the bedroom without creating a trail of water droplets behind you, the air drying you off completely by the time you got there.

You laid on the bed patiently, ready and waiting for The Master to join you.

She pulled a pretty patterned tie from the drawer and smiled at you when she came to meet you at the bed, your submissiveness never failing to bring her happiness.

She leaned down to kiss you softly, crawling on top of you in the process. “Arms up, love.”

You obeyed without question, lifting your arms above your head.The Master tied them up, looping the tie between the bars of the bed frame so that you couldn’t bring your arms back down.

“Is this okay?” She brought her kisses down to your neck, wet and warm, and torturously slow.

You moaned out a yes, your stomach twitching at her touch that was moving lower, your toes curling in anticipation.

She kissed down your body, making sure to hit all the sensitive spots that only she knew about, her hands skimming down the curves of your waist towards your legs.

She lifted a leg and rested it on her shoulder as she brought her head between them. She kissed lazily down from the inside of your knee to where you desperately needed her between your thighs, your hips raising on their own accord.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned, but I’m going to make it up to you, darling.” The Master used a finger to slide into your wet heat, her tongue quickly following, earning a strangled moan in response. “I promise.”

It was rare for The Master to apologise for anything even for something that was her own fault, so for her to apologise for something out of her control was new territory for the both of you.

You wanted to tell her not to be so silly, not to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault, but whimpers and gasps filled your throat, not allowing any words to be spoken.

You also wanted to hold onto her, your hand tangled in her hair, keeping her where she was and encouraging her to keep going, but with your hands tied to the bed, the best you could do was tug desperately on the fabric restricting them and pray that it will eventually break and set your arms free.

The white hot coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind up tighter and tighter, and you knew that with The Master’s mouth working you so expertly to the edge, it wouldn’t be long at all before you fell apart.

And you were right, crying out at the blinding pleasure, setting a new record for yourself at how fast you had tipped over the edge.

The Master sat up and reached over to untie your hands, slipping the tie from between the bars and allowing your arms to flop down either side of you.

“Can you keep going?”

You nodded breathlessly, your eyes falling closed in an attempt to concentrate on bringing your breathing back to a normal rhythm.

“Keep your eyes closed.” The soft tie was placed over your eyes and tied behind your head after she had encouraged you to lift it up for a moment. “Good girl. Now tell if it gets too much and I’ll stop, alright?”

“Alright.” Your voice came as a whisper, raw and forced.

The sound of sparking hit your ears and your head turned in its direction, unable to make out what it was just by the sound of it.

The Master laughed softly, her arm smoothing over your arm reassuringly after seeing your reaction. “Relax, I just lit a candle.”

You took a deep breath and allowed your body to fall limp into the mattress beneath you, revelling in the feeling of The Master’s slow kisses that she was now placing along your stomach.

“Another deep breath, love.”

You drew in another and as soon as your lungs were filled with air, a sharp searing heat hit your sternum, right where The Master had placed a kiss seconds before.

You released the breath quickly with a whimper, your mouth agape in shock. “What was that?”

“Wax.” The Master spoke nonchalantly. “Want me to stop?”

You thought it over for a moment. Did you want her to stop? This was certainly new and sure you’d spoken about it previously, but you hadn’t been expecting it and no, you decided, you didn’t want her to stop.

This was akin to spanking, pain at first that fizzled into pleasure. The heat of the melted wax that was poured onto your skin lasted mere seconds before cooling into something warm and tingly, setting your nerves on edge and bringing a heightened sense of gratification.

“No, keep going.”

You knew that she was smiling, pleased with your willingness to experiment and the trust you had in her to keep going and not bring you any unnecessary pain.

And keep going she did, dripping hot wax across your body, watching how you reacted to the heat in more sensitive areas compared to the more desensitised parts of your body that saw the light of day more often.

Each time the wax settled onto your skin, it hurt less and less, stinging pleasantly and morphing into a heavenly warmth. The Master kept up the practice of kissing right where she planned to pour, giving you a heads up every time, something you were grateful for.

With your sense of sight taken away from you, your other senses intensified, making each touch, each whisper of encouragement all the more rewarding.

The Master eventually stopped despite your moans and begging for more, supposedly because the candle had burned down and run out of wax, but she continued to show you attention in other ways.

She remained close, her hands roaming your body lovingly, worshipping you with her kisses and her words. She allowed you to rut against her thigh, leaving a wet spot on her skin as she sucked on your neck below your ear, your arms encircled her shoulders and keeping her in place so that you didn’t lose your rhythm against her if she moved.

“So good for me, darling,” her whispered words in your ear felt like a song from an angel, supporting you on your journey to otherworldly bliss. “My good girl.”

After a little while longer and a few more orgasms, you were completely spent, your body aching deliciously, your eyes feeling heavy after a long evening.

The Master held you close as you drifted off to sleep, tracing sloppy figures of eight onto your exposed back and breathing in the subtle scent of lavender from the soap she had washed you with.

Taglist: @queerconfusionthings @another-doctor-who-blog @crazylittlereader2474

#13th doctor #thirteeth doctor #jodie whittaker #doctor who #doctor who imagine #dw imagine #w!master #whittaker!master x reader #whittaker!master

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mimik-u · 4 years

Text

Flower Child, Chapter 16: “Yellow (II)”

AO3 Link

Poppy took little care to disguise the surprise in her pale face, her brows disappearing into her hairline as she visibly struggled to comprehend why her employer might be asking such an unexpected question.

“Ahhhh, y-yes?” Came the clumsy, fumbling reply. “H-he is, ma’am. Room 11037. I sent the flowers there—just as you asked!”

She clearly assumed that she was in trouble, an assumption that Yellow made no haste to correct as her cool gaze traveled briefly to the brass plate on her own closed door—Room 11812—which she knew to be somewhere on the sixth floor from the snatch of conversation between nurses she’d heard from the hallway earlier. She supposed this meant that their rooms were relatively close to each other, give or take an elevator ride or two.

Perfect.

“Excellent,” she murmured distractedly. “Good.”

An audible sigh of relief that wasn’t her own punctured the clinical air.

Pursing her plump lips, Yellow Diamond pulled one leathery thumb over the other and twisted to face Poppy again, who was staring at her expectantly, her ambiguous knitting long forgotten as she leaned forward in her seat, perched almost—if not exactly—birdlike. The woman had wide eyes, bright and yearning, a lovely daffodil yellow. They were almost childlike in their keenness, achingly young, and perhaps it was this reminder above all which made the businesswoman’s own eyes soften minimally as she addressed her with all her usual brusqueness of being.

“Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please,” Yellow grimaced, “if only for this conversation, and ideally, all the ones to come, you can drop the ma’am’s.”

It had been gratifying to be called such the first five years of their acquaintance or so, a marker that the CEO had come into her own as a figure to be deferred to with such honorifics. (Once upon a time, she had merely been the CEO’s daughter, a title which came with no accolades other than privilege and patronization.) However, she supposed that since they were drawing close to ten years of having known each other, of having cohabited the same space for so many hundreds upon hundreds of days, that the relationship between them was already well established.

Poppy was once again stricken blind with no time to recover her face.

Her thin mouth popped open and then shut in a comical, half-moon shape.

“Yes… of course, ma—um,” she floundered, her fingers spidering nervously on her lap. “Of course…”

Yellow’s lips twitched involuntarily, a gesture she duly paid for as a sharp pain cracked through her cheek—no doubt owing to the seven stitches laced there.

Oi.

“Semantics aside”—she waved her uninjured hand vaguely and suppressed a wince—“when you called up here… were you able to discover what was wrong with the kid?”

Poppy frowned, her pointed nose twisting in consternation as she thought upon it, and it was with a small sigh that she shook her head.

“No, ma’am”—she blushed furiously —“I mean, n-no. I don’t think they could tell me for patient confidentiality protocols… I apologize, Mrs. Diamond. Should I have pressed for an answer?”

“No,” Yellow returned shortly, her voice suddenly weary. “No, you did well, Poppy.”

“T-thank you.”

And they lapsed into a silence then that wasn’t entirely natural, taut like a wire that had only recently been strung. Yellow Diamond did not care for the silence—so alien to her and so heavy, like an intrusive embrace from a stranger. And yet, for the past four and sundry years, this very stranger had been living in her damn suite, taking up space on the couch she slept upon in the study, and accompanying her down the empty halls as she kept one ear primed to her left where the door of the master bedroom was perpetually cracked open, never closed lest she go in there and find her wife—

The stranger didn’t pay rent either.

Bastard.

Yellow went back to rubbing her thumbs together again, distantly soothed by the way that the striations of each digit intersected every so often before breaking apart again, over and over, like trains gliding over the rails of long worn tracks.

It was true she could just have asked her wife what was wrong with the boy.

Could have opened that tentative line of communication just a little further.

Could have stuck one of her heeled boots just inside the door.

But perhaps that was the unbroken thread in the grand scheme and scope of Yellow Diamond’s life, the recurring truth that reared its ugly head through the bars of her ribcage every time she so much as breathed.

Hypotheticals.

That was all she had anymore.

Mere possibilities.

Grains and ash and dust.

Teasing her empty fingertips.

Salting them.

I could have talked to Blue.

You would have— I would have—if only she would just be sensible .

(She’s never sensible anymore.)

(And you’re too demanding.)

(She called you cold, Yellow.)

(You’re cold. )

The thought struck Yellow Diamond cleanly, like a steel-edged blow. Her breath hitched, the strain pulling at her sore chest.

I shouldn’t have yelled at Pink that night.

I could have gone into her room.

It didn’t have to end like that.

But it did—and she did—and that was that, the damage irrevocable and irreversible and done, the finality of it all echoing pitifully through the emptiness of space and time. Like ink, its blackness spilled across the pages of her memory, seeped and spread and poured. Like sour wine, it was impossible to ever really swallow.

But, Lord, how the woman had tried.

She had wanted to move on, to limp forward the best that she could.

She had felt as though that this was the only conceivable way she could exist in a world without her daughter.

This was the means by which she could wake up every morning to a merciless sun and live with herself—dammit.

Leave Pink Diamond behind.

Allow the very image of her to become obscured by the rubble.

Run.

But perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she had been wrong this entire fucking time, and she was only now realizing it, and it was too late to be realizing it because time, oh God, time—

Time made fools of them all.

It slipped down an hourglass and through her fingers with all the mere possibilities of the life she and her wife and her daughter could have lived—grains and ash and dust.

As fading sunlight slumped through the window like a body on the floor, Yellow’s eyes dared to burn as she stared at her long hands emptily. They were stilled on her lap, intertwined lightly, with all the tenderness of a feathery kiss.

Kissed, she thought to herself.

When was the last time she had been kissed?

How long had it been since Blue Diamond’s lush lips had pressed against her own with a kind of intensity that had consecrated them both divine? Oh, God, how inseparable they had been back then—colliding stars dancing together in the darkness of their room, the rumble of their voices the only echo of a sound in the space between them. They created supernovas every time they so much as breathed into each other’s skin; they expanded, and they collapsed into each other, and they knew each other, and they tangled in the stardust of their own bare radiances.

With all suddenness, they fell apart.

Their daughter died.

And neither of them could barely stand to look at each other lest they see the reflection of that twenty-one year old girl mirrored in each other’s eyes—her vivid smile, the heels of her red sneakers flashing against the hallway floor, the way her freckles used to bundle together when she laughed.

“Mrs. Diamond?” Poppy prodded uncertainly, and it was with a jolt that Yellow remembered that she was not entirely alone. Her gaze refocused itself on the maid as a dull flush suffused her sharply hewn cheeks. Her temples throbbed. Her entire body ached.

She missed Pink.

(Dead, gone, never coming back…)

And she missed Blue.

(She was terrified to so much as look at her.)

“Poppy…” She began reluctantly, and this in and of itself was an unstudied phenomenon, for Yellow Diamond was never reluctant.

The syllables strangled themselves in the cylinder of her throat.

“How…” She winced at her own weakness—she loathed herself—she pressed on anyway. It was all she knew how to do. “How have I done it?”

She paused heavily as she raised her head to greet the maid’s wide-eyed gaze. The white Peter Pan collar of Poppy’s blouse pressed innocently at the base of her slender neck. She wore a necklace strung with white imitation pearls.

“Done what, ma—Mrs. Diamond?”

“How… have I inspired your loyalty all these years?” Try though she did, it was impossible to subjugate the open wound in her voice into her usual cadence of tone—the hardness, the calmness, and the simultaneous assuredness of being which so defined the image of herself she projected to the world.

But there was no such thing as the world in that tiny hospital room.

It was only her and Poppy and the gentle humming of nearby machines.

“Heaven knows I pay you well,” she continued haltingly, “but if there’s one thing I know about money”—and the multibillionaire knew a hell of a lot—“it’s that sometimes… it can prove to be insufficient payment.”

Sometimes, there was just not enough money in the world to fix, to heal, to ameliorate, to restore.

Blue Diamond had called her cold.

Do you really think I could be so callous, Blue?

You act like it sometimes.

Perhaps she had a point. (She always had a point.)

“Forget it,” Yellow said abruptly, glancing away. This was stupid; she was being childish. She suddenly wanted to be left alone so she could revel in just how stupid and childish she was being without a one person audience to watch. “I’m being silly.”

It was not a dismissal at the same time that it was a clear dismissal; she folded her arms across her stomach and neglected to be gentle with the left one.

A dull ache spasmed through her hand.

She refused to meet the maid's gaze.

And yet, for all this, for every subtle and unsubtle portent that had been bluntly thrown her way, Poppy Aurelia did not move.

For nearly a decade, she had been by Yellow Diamond’s side, attentive to her every need, a feat which was only possible because she had become attuned to every microscopic nuance in her employer’s face, her voice, her body language. So she knew that she’d been dismissed, or more exactly, Yellow knew that she knew.

So, why then was she moored to her hardback chair, staring at Yellow from those pale, lamp-like eyes of hers?

Why then, with all the silent alarms trumpeting their signals, did she stay?

Poppy’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she began to talk; she fed her stuttering words to the floor, not daring to look directly Yellow in the eye. The flat of her left shoe bobbed nervously against the cleanly tile floor—tap, tap, tap.

But still, she spoke.

And she said, quite clearly, “I… I don’t think y-you’re being silly at all, Yellow Diamond… I… just think you’re… er… asking the w-wrong question.”

It was the first time in the entirety of their acquaintance that Poppy had ever interrogated the validity of Yellow’s words. She opened and closed her spindly fingers on top of her lap; every tense line in her body looked as though it was preparing for a retribution that didn’t come as the businesswoman only raised a brow in the surest measure of her restraint.

“What question should I be asking then?”

She obliged.

She played along.

She felt compelled to.

She had no choice if she wanted an answer, if she wanted to know why there were still people in her life who tolerated and endured her, who stayed and didn’t leave. (The list was growing precariously short with the passing years, but to be fair, it had never been especially long in the first place.)

“Ask me why I came in the first place, Mrs. Diamond. Ask me why I accepted your job offer all those many years ago.” A pause and then a hurried addendum, rushed, like a spillage of tea: “Only if you want to, though, of course. Please.”

Yellow Diamond simply stared at her—puzzled, floored, and somehow, incredibly enough, haughty all at once.

“You came because I stole you right from beneath Peter Hoffman’s snooty nose,” she returned immediately, almost flippantly. “He always thought he was better than everyone else just because his brother-in-law was the governor, but I showed him—”

Poppy cut across her.

Another first in their decade long relationship.

The maid at least had enough courtesy to look abashed at what she had done, her cheeks scribbled pink, and yet, she pressed on anyway, waving her long hands frantically.

“Not that part, Mrs. Diamond,” she said hastily. “I-I mean, it’s related to that part, my apologies, but… a-ah… do you remember what you said to me then? In the dining room? You were there for a business meeting, and all the other executives were heading into the lounge to smoke… but you… you lingered, Mrs. Diamond. You stayed.”

It was vague—she hadn’t thought much about the exchange even in the moment that it had happened—but snatches of that night began to collect like wispy clouds across the canvas of Yellow’s mind, swirling and listless, faint but undoubtedly there.

She’d just turned forty-six, and she was on top of the goddamn world.

She had straightened her tie in the same moment she had straightened from her chair… and there had been a girl, standing at the periphery of everything, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

She stared at her hands as so many suited men left the room, wincing each time one of them so much as glanced her way.

So many of them glanced her way, taunting.

Lecherous.

“I pulled you aside because Hoffman had said something stupid,” she recalled, in that same dismissive tone from before. Hoffman, a big technology magnate in Empire City, was always saying something stupid. It was a wonder his entire body didn’t sag under the weight of his massive ego.

But Poppy shook her head slightly.

“It wasn’t… just something stupid,” she corrected softly. Every premature line in the maid’s sharp face testified to the fact that she remembered these events with perfect clarity, the words that were spoken over a sumptuous roast pig, how maybe even the shadows of the candelabra danced across the gilded walls. She continued to curl and uncurl her fingers on top of her lap for the want of something to do with them. She saw images that Yellow didn't, heard echoes that the executive had scarcely deigned to register as sounds in the first place. “He told his colleagues that while I was a good maid… it was a shame I didn’t have more of an a-ass on me. I was just twenty-three, and that was my first major job, and h-he said things like that to me all the time, Mrs. Diamond. He was awful—that man. He likely still is.”

Another quick memory.

A sharp glimpse of it.

A wedding invitation that had sat on her desk for a few weeks before Yellow had unceremoniously shuffled it into the trash with the rest of the junk—in the fall, Peter Hoffman would be getting married for the third time, and his latest soon-to-be-bride was a thirty-four year old model from Europe.

He was getting close to seventy-three.

Poppy sniffed rather loudly and tried to hide the fact of it surreptitiously, swiping her beaky nose against the sleeve of her blouse.

“So, you pulled me aside, Mrs. Diamond, and you gave me a job, yes, but you also said something to me that I haven’t forgotten since then,” she continued.

And then, quite unexpectedly, with a suddenness that Yellow dimly recognized to be bravery, the tiny maid looked her employer in the eye, daffodil striking burning gold, and somehow, withstanding the heat.

Refusing, quite defiantly, to wither.

“You told me to never accept what I didn’t deserve, Mrs. Diamond,” Poppy said matter-of-factly, her voice confident, unwavering, irrefutably sure. She straightened a little in her chair, squaring her slender shoulders. “That I had a right to demand better than what I was being given, and that what I was currently being given wasn’t deserved. It’s advice I’ve taken to heart from the moment I accepted your offer, and it’s advice that has kept me in your employ all these years.”

“Poppy—” She hastened to interject, to protest, to contradict—consummate contrarian that she was. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, only that whatever she said would be an attempt to stem the praise she could not possibly deserve. This had all been nine years ago; she had simply wanted to get back at a cantankerous old bastard whom she had always despised; words were nice, but they were never reliable measures of conduct.

But again—amazingly enough—Poppy Aurelia was faster. Again, she boldly interrupted Yellow, leaning forward in her seat. The sun from the window haloed her blonde hair, highlighting even the parts of it which stuck up at the top.

“I-I know you’re not the easiest person in the world… I’ve watched you and your family, and I’ve worked for you, Mrs. Diamond, a-and I know you, I think. You can be harsh, and y-you’re often demanding. Y-you get irritable when you’re tired, and y-you're honestly always tired… but that doesn’t make you’re a bad person, Mrs. Diamond. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

Poppy paused then, and she deliberated, and she chewed on her lower lip, seemingly weighing her next words against the risk of speaking them into existence.

Perhaps they were offensive.

At the very least, they were likely inappropriate.

In the end, though, she inhaled bracingly.

She ignored all the carefully drawn lines of etiquette.

She chose to let them fly.

“That just makes you… human.”

Five words, six nervously uttered syllables.

The sentence landed with a kind of finality between them, and there was tension in the air, electricity, as the two of them stared at each other over its heaviness.

Poppy’s eyes were protuberant with anxiety, the fear that she had finally overstepped scrawled all over her face in red blush.

Yellow Diamond could have been carved from stone for all that she could muster herself to move, her lips parted slightly.

She swallowed thickly.

A feeling like eruption constricted the column of her throat.

And then, through the silence, despite everything awful that the silence was and had ever represented, she said, very softly, very quietly, “Thank you, Poppy… I needed to hear that.”

Poppy’s mouth collapsed into a trembling smile.

She fell backwards into her chair, seemingly exhausted with relief.

Courage cost something after all.

“Of course, ma’am,” she said weakly. “I-I mean, Mrs. Diamond. I’m sorry! I—!”

But far from being affronted, Yellow Diamond laughed—actually laughed—the sound hoarse and a little reckless, half-mad and almost, if not explicitly, fond.

“You’re hopeless, Poppy.”

The maid's smile became teasing. She picked up her knitting needles again, holding up her scarf-sweater-doily-thing up to the light pouring in from the window to inspect it better.

“O-only a little, ma'am.”

ii.

When Yellow Diamond returned home from the office that evening, opening the door with far more force than the gesture typically required, she discovered her wife tucked into the far end of their white couch, knees pulled up to her chest, an open book perched cozily in her blanketed lap. The flames from the nearby hearth bathed the living room in warm, flickering tones—autumnal oranges and honeyed ambers deep enough to get lost in, tentative golds that seeped across the spruce floor.

Readers balanced carefully on the tip of her nose, Blue didn’t so much as glance up at her arrival, absorbed by whatever she was reading—likely some verbose classic or anthology or theological theory one. She pressed the closed end of her highlighter to her lips absentmindedly, almost appearing to chew upon it. Her long, brown hair was swept across the side of her neck, billowing in graceful waves over her left shoulder.

Yellow peeled her snow-dusted overcoat and scarf off with disgust and slammed each of these articles onto the adjacent coatrack, nearly sending the pole to the floor with the harshness of the action. She flashed a hand out and caught it just in time, but…

“Fuck!” She spat, glowering at the damn thing for daring to be so unsteady. “Shit.”

And it was with a soft sigh, knowing —in that almost haughty manner of hers—that Blue replaced her bookmark between the folds of her pages and finally looked up, her dark brow lifted along the lines of her weary amusement.

“I take it you’ve had a bad day?”

“No,” Yellow growled immediately, stalking over to the couch and plopping down next to Blue’s covered feet. Perhaps in the mood to defy all the studied rules of decorum tonight, she spread her legs wide and hunched forward, shoulders impolitely slumped.

A pause.

Her wife’s lips twitched in the place of a reply.

“Yes,” she broke. She admitted grudgingly. She dragged fingers through her stiff, blonde hair, pleasuring in the sensation of finally being able to muss it up once more. It took liberal amounts of hairspray to tame it into some manner of acceptability every morning. “My mother… we got into it again today.”

As she was only thirty to White Diamond’s sixty-eight, slowly but assuredly, there was a transition of power taking place at the older woman’s pride and joy, the company upon which she had built her titanium bones—Diamond Electric. Now a multinational conglomerate, it had begun simply enough by selling top of the line household appliances… but recently, beneath Yellow’s watchful eye and grasp of the new age market, the company was sinking its teeth into more contemporary avenues of growth, dabbling in radio and television broadcasting, as well as vehicle manufacturing.

“You’re always getting into it,” Blue said dismissively, but all the same, she placed her now closed book on the arm of the sofa—(Either/Or by Soren Kierkegaard)—and leaned forward to listen more attentively, encircling her legs with her flowing sleeves. Her vivid eyes searched Yellow’s face in that singularly incisive way of hers, as though she was combing the woman from the inside out, taking her measure without so much as saying a word.

It was always an odd feeling.

To be so thoroughly seen, understood, and adored by another.

X-rayed, diagnosed, and still, somehow, against all odds, loved.

“But do you want to talk about it?” She pressed.

“No,” Yellow flushed immediately. She had seized involuntarily as firelight caught the warm expanse of Blue Diamond’s exposed neck, and, for the first time since her workday had begun, a feeling other than thinly suppressed frustration rose up the column of her own throat. Her mouth was suddenly dry… the beginnings of a mischievous smile rose on her lips, crooked at the corners. “There’s a different way I can work through my feelings, I think…”

She leaned forward then, very much intent on pressing her lips on the exact place fire had already touched her wife first, but with a laugh that was both exasperated and incredulous, Blue placed a slender hand on her chest and pushed her back playfully.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Yellow!” She shook her head, her lilting voice swinging with its own amusement. “Are you aroused by your own anger? Are you so neolithic that you think a hickey is going to make your problems with your mother go away?”

Rebuffed, rejected, disappointed, and intolerably aware that Blue had a point—the woman always had a point—Yellow slumped back against the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling uncomfortably as though she was just another one of Blue’s pupils being scolded for putting a hand in the damn treat jar.

“Well, maybe it would if you’d let me try…” She muttered impetuously, sticking her lips out.

“Later,” Blue promised, a slight purr in her otherwise light voice. “But please forgive me if I’m not especially tantalized by the idea of disrobing knowing you’re thinking about your mother.”

Another point made.

It was no wonder she was a celebrated academic.

“Touché,” Yellow groused brusquely, and it was with all the petulance of a teenager that the heiress stared upwards at the white stretch of ceiling, so as to delay the inevitable moment when she would have to meet her wife’s all-knowing gaze again. The black fan whirled through its circular rotations rhythmically, cleaving the air with long blades that reminded her forcibly of her mother’s expertly manicured nails, lacquered the color of pitch and seven inches long.

Sharp.

Potentially fatal.

Yellow Diamond had grown up knowing what it was like to be stroked softly by them—loved by their cold embrace.

Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad.

The woman had loved her the best that she knew how—and this wasn’t an especially affectionate love, granted—but, at the very least, it was something.

She was not entirely unbending.

She was not wholly cold…

Other times, though, White Diamond’s love was like having a knife raked down the canvas of her skin.

She never nicked blood, but the threat was always implicit in the cut of her nails.

“She doesn’t trust me, you know…” The words were seemingly spoken to the empty air, drifting upwards with the fumes from the fire. It almost felt nice to get them off of her chest. Cleansing. “I make one call for the company, and she makes another, but everyone automatically sides with her because she’s just… she’s so… well… you know how my mother is…. You know what she does to a room.”

Just by entering a door, her mother could part the Red Sea and turn it blue if she so pleased; shoulders stiffened to obeisant attention; spines straightened; people paid attention to the words which poured silkily from her black lips.

If White Diamond said jump, employees at Diamond Electric were trained to already be ten feet from hitting the ground.

This was what authority was after all—control, power, unquestioning, unwavering respect.

“And she undermines me, Blue,” Yellow continued hoarsely, her fingertips digging into the soft press of her skin where she was holding on to herself. “And she makes me look like a goddamn court jester in front of the employees I’m supposed to be in charge of one day. Today, she called my inventory markup naïve in front of our entire team of accountants and proceeded to deconstruct why it was so inadequate for the next thirty fucking minutes… and all those bootlickers, damn them, they snickered behind their hands like were were in high school for God’s sake.”

The memory of the unpleasant meeting seared her wide-open retinas.

Much to her horror, her golden eyes burned where she sat.

She told herself it was simply the smoke.

There was a shift on Yellow’s left—the shuffle of sweeping fabric, a gentle thud as a woolen blanket fell gracelessly to the floor. And within a few seconds of these events, Blue Diamond was pressed against her side, soft and warm and faintly sweet—her clothes, her hair, her smooth skin wreathed with the scent of her favorite floral perfume.

“Blue, you don’t have to—“

But Blue silently held out a hand.

There was a raised eyebrow of quiet invitation.

And with an immediacy that was instinct, and with an instinct that was sure, Yellow pried her arms away from her chest, and without thinking, without hesitating, without deliberation, rhyme, and reason, threaded her angular fingers together with Blue’s more slender ones until their palms touched, lifelines intersecting.

Together, they grounded each other.

They made each other whole.

“I’ve given you my thoughts on your mother before,” Blue began delicately, and these was a certain hesitancy in the polite intimations of her voice that Yellow knew was only thinly disguised disdain. The two had rarely seen eye to eye before, over matters both macroscopic and minute—but mostly over the problem of how best to love Yellow. The question, implicit but nonetheless distinct, often was, What did the woman deserve?

Softly spoken words of affirmation, generously given?

Or the type of tough, disciplined love which had allowed the thirty-year old to graduate at the top of her Harvard class, accolades upon accolades showered down upon her already impressive name?

“However… what I will say is this and leave it be for the night if you so choose…” Blue Diamond took a deep breath, as though steeling herself to utter something rather revolutionary. A long strand of her dark hair fell gracefully between her eyes.“She’s scared, Yellow.”

The effect was instantaneous.

Disbelieving, humored, scandalized, and perfectly unconvinced, Yellow laughed harshly and waited for the punchline that never quite came as she searched her wife over for all the telltale signs of humor, but the woman’s long face was quite serious, her thin brow collected cerebrally above her sea-sprayed eyes. “Have you met my mother, Blue?” She asked incredulously. “The woman’s got gems the size of a damn—”

But Blue Diamond cut across her incisively, frowning thin. “Don’t be crass… but I mean it, Yellow. Don’t you see? Your mother is nearly sixty-nine years old and the company is approximately half her age. She’s raised it as much as she claims to have raised you. This is her baby, whom she has cradled so tenderly for so many decades—her firstborn child that the emperor of age is now demanding that she gives up to him. Understandably, you’re too busy arguing with her to actually listen to the words she’s saying when she’s arguing back, but the message she sends is clear enough.”

“And what would that be?” Yellow returned testily, jerking her head.

Her mother was always a sore subject, tender to even touch.

But Blue, having long been accustomed to the recurring problem at hand, was unfazed; she continued with the maddeningly patient air of a teacher explaining that two and two made four to a toddler who had not quite gotten the concept yet. Her shoulder brushed gently against Yellow’s, brows bent almost pityingly.

“Every time she undermines you, she’s indicating that she’s not ready to part ways with Diamond Electric yet. Cutting you down reassures her that she’s still needed, that she hasn’t yet been rendered obsolete. Her critical eye is always going to be trained in your direction until you can prove to her that you’re ready to fill those ridiculously high heels of hers.”

“But that’s absurd!” Yellow cried. “She wants me to inherit the damn thing. That’s all she ever talks about—how I’m going to inherit the damn thing one day.”

“Yes,” Blue agreed softly, “but who said that human beings are always rational, Yellow? Our hearts are so often at war with our heads, and sometimes, logicality is subsumed by the primal. Your mother can want you to inherit Diamond Electric and also half-resent you for doing so all in one go.”

“If she’s feeling all that, then she needs to go get her head screwed on a little tighter. That’s stupid.” The words seemed peevish to her before they even left her mouth; she chewed on her own lip sullenly as the smile playing across Blue Diamond’s lips grew.

“Yes, well, I didn’t say you had to like it.”

They lapsed into brief silence then, unbroken except for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. The redolence of the smoke and the scent of Blue’s perfume wreathed Yellow with soothing familiarity.

She breathed in slowly.

And she breathed out.

Her heartbeat evened.

And all that suddenly became important to her was the notion, the fact, the incredible, undeniable proof that Blue Diamond was warm by her side; there was not an inch between their brushing shoulders; they spoke wordlessly with the interlinking of their hands.

“So what do I do with this information now that I have it?” Yellow asked after a few moments of this, to which the school teacher laughed lightly.

Her pupil had just asked another awfully stupid question after all.

“You simply remember it going forward,” she replied matter-of-factly.“You use it to understand your mother. And by understanding her, become better than her. You can avoid the mistakes she made. You can rise above her shortcomings and know—intimately and proudly—that you did.”

Yellow’s skepticism must have shown in her face because Blue only shook her head at the expression in it, cutting across her just as she opened her mouth to respond.

“Prodigious though White Diamond is, she has yet to realize her Achilles heel—that she, too, is vulnerable, that she, too, feels and aches and fears. And the longer she restrains herself from this self-knowledge, the less she resembles you, Yellow.”

“Me?” Yellow couldn’t help but laugh; it was her last defense against the unexpected knowledge her wife seemed to possess concerning the nature of her mother. Where she was coming up with all this, the woman could scarcely figure it out. Yellow had studied her mother for thirty years and still felt as though she was barely scratching that pristinely cut surface, smooth all over.

(Honed around the edges. Dangerous to behold.)

“Yes, you, Yellow Diamond,” she said fondly. “You, who feels so deeply. You, who loves with abandon, the telltale signs of your care scrawled all over your face in permanent ink. You and you alone.”

Blue leaned forward then, slowly, carefully, so that their foreheads were touching.

It was a familiar gesture, one that Yellow completed automatically, all instinct.

She pressed her lips against Blue Diamond’s hairline, tasting the scent of her fragrant shampoo.

“And that, my dear, is one of the many reasons why I love you,” she finished quietly. “Because I know, beyond a shadow of a reasonable doubt, that you love me back.”

Yellow’s throat suddenly tightened; she swallowed, tried to regroup, and pitifully failed.

And she failed because she couldn’t stop thinking about how right her wife was; she had a point.

She rarely ever didn’t.

“Always,” she finally whispered, grateful, overwhelmed, adoring, undone. “Always, Blue.”

“Yes.” Blue’s lips grazed her own as the shadows on the wall swelled around them, flickering, dancing, expanding, convulsing… snow swirled across the tall floor to ceiling windows, flurrying white against an infinite night sky… “I know.”

They sunk together into the couch then.

They danced and expanded, swirled and convulsed.

Infinite.

iii.

With an abruptness that was almost violent, and an almost violence that sent a sharp pang up her injured arm, Yellow Diamond braced her shaking hands on the edge of the sink in the bathroom attached to her room. There were a few lacerations on her knuckles where they had scraped tiny bits of glass and debris when she had lurched forward in her seat during the accident.

Fresh, they stood out lividly against her skin.

She examined them with vague disinterest for a handful of seconds as a way to stall for time, to distract from the inevitable moment when she had to look up.

Brush her hair.

Adjust the collar of her pajama top.

Throw a little blush on for the hell and sake of it.

Face herself in the mirror.

Her sweat-slicked palms cooled on top of the scratched porcelain; the seconds whiled down and away, teething upon themselves with each minute she stood in that abysmally tiny room, with its cheaply tiled floors and dingy lighting.

It smelled like hand sanitizer.

Her head pounded, each thud forming a singular accusation against her temples.

(Coward.)

(The name spat itself out at her, landing directly between her eyes.)

(Coward.)

(There was no defense against its validity, no sheathe to blunt the force of its blow.)

(Coward.)

(The raw truth of it wrapped its hands around her organs and squeezed.)

In the end, she was so well-practiced in how to put on a face, that she finished getting ready to leave her room without needing to glance at herself. When she exited the bathroom, she palmed the light a little harder than was necessary.

Room 11037.

The nurse who came by to remove Yellow’s IV earlier had indicated that it was on the fourth floor in the Truman Ward, where chronically ill patients were usually admitted. This wasn’t necessarily news to the businesswoman—she had known for a couple of days now that the kid was rather sick. But even still, there was something about hearing it aloud, in such an objective fashion, that made it feel less abstract than it had when she had briefly talked to Blue about him, so overwhelmed had she been by the fact that her wife was standing in her doorway, seeking her out.

Wanting her.

It didn’t register then, like it was registering so sharply now: Blue was friends with a chronically ill kid.

A kid who might very likely die.

For the last four years, the woman had become a master at inviting her own misery, wrapping it around her shoulders like one of her favorite silken shawls.

Sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, Yellow pulled on her black loafers with painstaking slowness and tried not to resent the fact that her wife was pursuing someone whose death may very well kill her.

(For the last four years, Yellow Diamond had collected each and every last one of her resentments just beneath her skin, where they had writhed. God, how they had seethed.)

As a last minute preparation, she shoved the left hand sleeve of her pajama shirt over her brace and stood up in a motion that would have been fluid were it not for the fact that she teetered dangerously, catching herself at the last second on the post of the bed. She gritted her teeth.

She swore violently.

And then, with terrifying rigidity, unbending to the last, Yellow Diamond moved forward.

It was all she knew how to do.

One foot over the other, each step meticulously measured.

What exactly was she moving towards? The woman couldn’t very well say, much less articulate to herself in a manner that satisfied her rational faculties. Physically, it was the boy—it was the child called Steven, a stranger at the same time he was an increasingly intrusive specter in the household of the Diamonds, a ghost there with all the rest.

The simplest answer was that she wanted to see him for herself, wanted to lay eyes on the human who had miraculously healed her wife.

But the simplest answer was almost pleasant.

In the right light, it could even be construed as kind.

Yellow Diamond was many things.

She was not, in fact, kind.

iv.

“Argh!”

It was scarcely 4AM when the sound of silence shattered with an abruptness that was quite awful. A baby’s high, inconsolable, agonized wails pitched down the narrow hallway and into the half-opened door which led into the master bedroom, where Yellow Diamond’s sleep-laden eyes opened with a start, uncomprehending of what she was hearing for a handful of disoriented seconds until her wife stirred beneath the angle of her arm. Enveloped in the lock of Yellow’s limbs as she was, Blue struggled at first to lift her head from her pillow. They wrested for a few seconds in the disoriented awkwardness of it all, but eventually, Blue propped herself up on one elbow, her long, dark hair sweeping sideways down her back.

“Pink,” she whispered unnecessarily, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “She may need changing.”

It was more than likely then that this was true; Blue had an uncanny knack for sussing out which of their daughter’s cries corresponded to each need.

“Wait,” Yellow yawned, swiping her free hand across her tired face. “I’ll get up this time. You need to get some more sleep. Big conference today.”

Blue didn’t need any more convincing.

“I love you,” she sighed in grateful relief as she slumped back down on the pillow in a movement that wasn’t entirely graceful. “Endlessly.”

“Don’t be so affectionate yet,” Yellow teased darkly as she snuck her arm from around her wife’s curving waist. “You can cover 4AM duty tomorrow night.”

“Aye,” came a faint voice muffled by blankets. “There’s the rub.”

Yellow chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss against Blue’s warm cheek before pulling herself out of bed in a flurried mass of tired limbs, bare feet hitting the plush carpet with a thud as she unfolded into the dark air. By the time she had gained the ten or so steps to the doorway, her wife was already asleep again, her light snores drifting upwards from somewhere behind her shoulder...

The path down the hallway to Pink’s room was smooth and familiar after nearly six months of having traced it night after night, called Siren-like to the inescapable sounds of the baby’s screaming. Yellow took the trip at a jog—mostly to wake the parts of her body that the crying hadn’t already—and gently pushed upon the incompletely closed door leading into the nursery.

Softly lit by the waning beams of moonlight pouring through the high window, the crib at the center of the room seemed almost incandescent—ethereal—even if the sounds emitting from it were anything but. Her eyes still half-gummed with sleep, Yellow proceeded to the side of the cradle, bracing her fingertips on the wooden frame as she looked down at her daughter—her beloved, her beautiful, her squalling daughter, Pink Iphigenia Diamond, whose tiny, button nose was all twisted in the agony of her continuing cries, face red and wet with the exertion.

It was with a certain steadiness that Yellow bent down and brought the baby into her arms, tucking her small head gently against her neck as she patted her bottom and bounced her up and down, up and down, as she’d done so many times before.

“Shhh,” she pleaded, cupping her palm around Pink’s back. “Shh, I’m here.”

The baby continued to whine for a few more minutes still, but the intensity of the sounds lessened the longer Yellow held her and rocked, back and forth, shifting her weight from one leg to the other until the six-month old was nearly quiet in the embrace of her arms. It was then that she made quick work of changing the dirtied diaper, discarding the soiled one in the garbage, and redoing the clasps on Pink’s onesie, always cursing how many of them there seemed to be.

Now laying agreeably on the changing table as Yellow fastened the last button, Pink stared at her curiously, the tender skin around her dark eyes still edged with the trace remnant of her tears. “Between you and the alarm clock,” she told the baby sternly, “I’m never going to sleep again.”

Pink gurgled in unknowing agreement.

From the changing table, the pair of them proceeded to the rocking chair next to the crib, which Yellow flopped into quite unceremoniously, even though she was gentle, ceaselessly careful, as she cradled Pink in her arms, swathing her in the woolen blanket that White Diamond had sent from her latest retirement travels in Peru. The woman was always sending Pink expensive trinkets from sundry countries, and with them, neatly written memos about the welfare of Diamond Electric.

Sometimes, Yellow swore her mother continued to keep up with the company’s stocks better than DE’s team of expertly trained accountants did.

She was also positively sure that this didn’t reflect well on that team of expertly trained accountants.

Between the lines of asking—(demanding)—for more pictures of Pink and declaiming—(boasting)—the exotic natures of her travels, White Diamond’s more pressing message was clear, even if it was subtle, in that overwhelmingly honeyed way of hers.

Keep moving forward.

Continue advancing.

There was never a finish line for success, and therefore, no room for complacency, so darling, my dear, keep one eye on the road and the other over your shoulder lest the wolves attack from behind…

As moonlight dripped gently upon their heads, Yellow glanced down at the now slumbering baby in her arms, whose tiny fingers failed to encompass the whole of her mother’s thumb. The glow of the night settled softly on her milk white face, darkening the freckles spread like cookie crumbs across her cheeks.

She wondered to herself, very quietly then, had her own mother ever held her like this, so softly and so tenderly in the calm of early morning?

It was absurd to imagine White Diamond as being anything other than immaculately put together, arranged in a striking jumpsuit, balancing a portfolio beneath one arm and pressing a phone against her ear with the other.

Softness, tenderness, gentleness, grace—these were not words that readily stuck themselves to her stick figure frame.

She resisted those labels.

Unfailingly mocked them.

How she’d hate to see her own daughter even now…

Pressing an almost defiant kiss against Pink’s smooth forehead, Yellow concluded that it was unlikely her mother had ever yielded to a night like this; that was what the long line of nannies and governesses had been for after all.

She didn’t feel any particular resentment at the fact; she had long made her peace with the fact that the mother-daughter relationship between them was more or less transactional, unless, of course, they were bickering and fighting.

And yet, as she rocked her own daughter in that chair which ever so slightly creaked with each rhythmic sway, Yellow pitied her mother, who—last time she had checked—was apparently drinking thousand dollar bottles of wine in Paris and still finding time to criticize her only child.

It sounded vaguely unpleasant, going through life with eyes wide open all the time, head perpetually tilted over one’s shoulder.

Surely, she thought, the woman had to be tired.

If Yellow Diamond attracted one pair of eyes as she crossed the clinically white hallway, then she attracted two dozen of them as nurses, doctors, patients, and visitors alike all stopped to stare at the spectacle to which they were being treated—the city’s most renowned CEO stalking through a hospital ward, wearing golden pajamas that were somehow finished off with polished business shoes.

Whispers hissed like tiny faucets all around Yellow as the engraved numbering on the doorways increased on either side of her.

11029.

“That’s her. Yes, I’m sure…”

11030.

“She was in a wreck, I think. Saw it in the news.”

11031.

“Looks like someone’s lit a fire under her ass.”

“Shhhsh!”

Yellow scowled, her fingers twitching irritably by her side, but nonetheless maintained a distinctly cool expression until she arrived at the fifth and equally unassuming door on the right hand side of the corridor.

11037.

The door was incompletely closed, which allowed the soft murmur of the television within to seep beneath the cracks, advertising what sounded like some… some kind of kid’s show with its high pitched voices and jaunty background music.

For there was a kid on the other side of this door.

A mere child.

And for the first time since she had conceived of this plan—(it was hardly a plan and more of an unsubjugated impulse)—the CEO faltered, staring at the wood blankly. A choice branched before her, the very dimensions of it almost tangible as she simply stood there, on that hard-tiled floor, feeling the bareness of her own self beneath the thin layer of her pajamas, feeling the cold draft of the hospital prickling uncomfortably against the back of her neck.

She could proceed forward into the room and glean something new about her wife.

For that was what it was all about, right?

At the end of the day, at the very end of this infernal world which they had inhabited together for so many years upon years, she was whom her entire life revolved around in all of its many facets.

Blue and Blue and Blue.

(Who was this mysterious boy to give her cause to smile?)

Or, Yellow could cut her losses as they were and let this final door remain unopened; she could walk away and assuredly regroup. Burying her hurts deep beneath her skin, letting them seethe there with all the others, she could tell herself—command herself even—to be satisfied with the outcome of a battle surrendered, her weapons laid down at the threshold of the final gate that was filled with noises from a children’s television program…

Her stiff fingers reached up and gripped the polished door handle, the brass so cold that it simply burned.

And she hesitated a little.

She bit her already cut lip.

She deliberated.

She was deceiving no one but herself.

She had long already made up her mind.

Because Yellow Diamond, for all that her rigidly composed exterior implied, did not know restraint.

She had spent a lifetime and an eternity scaling mountaintops in search of the next highest peak to climb, to conquer, to revel in, to find herself alone upon.

And so, she couldn't stop.

She wouldn't stop now.

She hauled her hand downwards in a singular vicious movement.

She pushed inwards.

And the door slowly opened to a room filled with dying sunlight, orange fractures slivering onto the walls like great, yawning cuts through the slats in the window blinds.

And there, to her left, propped up in the hospital bed, was the boy named Steven, staring at her from widened eyes.

She was shameless, appalled, entirely uncomprehending; she stared at him quite wildly back.

The nakedness of shock electrified the space between them.

After all, she was a stranger who had just bursted into his room without so much as a cursory knock.

And he was—there were no other words for it—a sickly, sickly child, small and emaciated, dwarfed even by the sheets which swathed him. Wires and tubes snaked across his body, invading him all over—his oxygenated nose, his arms, his chest. There were even a few protruding from his blankets. He had curly, black hair and big, brown eyes that were sunken in his face, grooved beneath with purple shadows.

Her wife wasn’t merely just friends with a sick kid.

(That would have been too simple, too uncomplicated, too convenient for them all.)

No, she was friends with a goddamn corpse.

The thought arrived before comprehension did, and she frowned at herself immediately, scolding.

Sickened.

Steven recovered first, hastily arranging his face into a polite smile that made one of his cheeks look swollen. With a click of his remote, he muted the show he had been watching—some kind of colorful cartoon, which, for unfathomable reasons, featured a crying egg.

Sunny side up.

“Hi,” he ventured; there was tentativeness in his voice but a certain curiosity, too. Yellow glanced to his side and only vaguely comprehended that the sunflowers she had tasked Poppy to send to him were sitting on his rolling side table, haughtily arranged in their vase. She crossed her golden-sleeved arms across her chest defensively and suddenly wished the maid hadn’t made such an appropriate choice in flora.

“Hello,” she returned abruptly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The room was much like her own, except a little smaller, maybe. Perhaps, though, it was the presence of so many machines hovering around his bedside which offered such an illusion of confinement. They were all hooked up to him in some form or fashion, humming and whirring. “You’re Steven, yes?”

“In the flesh,” he grinned cutely. “Steven Universe to be exact.”

She stared at him incredulously.

He had to be joking.

“What kind of name is Universe?”

He stared at her back.

Confused.

A little indignant.

His button nose scrunched up, quivering the oxygen cannulas.

“Well, I think it’s a good name,” he huffed. “My dad chose it for us.”

“It sounds contrived,” she returned haughtily, sniffing.

“You’re one to talk! Your name is a pun!”

Steven Universe covered his mouth quickly then, disturbing a nest of wires at they lifted into the air with the rash gesture, but the damage was already done; it was clear, painstakingly obvious, that the boy already knew her name.

“You know who I am then?” She asked sharply, demanding confirmation all the same.

“No!”

But when Yellow arched a supercilious brow, he broke just as quickly, uncovering his hands from his mouth and letting them fall with a dull thud on top of his blankets. “Well, I mean… not technically… but uh, you’re wearing golden pajamas, and when Blue Diamond dropped by earlier, she said that you’d been in an accident… and it wasn’t difficult to, well”—he peered at her nervously, wincing—“put two and two together… you’re Yellow Diamond, right?”

But Yellow wasn’t really listening any longer.

Because Blue Diamond had dropped by earlier.

She’d been here, talked to him.

Communed.

For some reason she could not entirely rationalize to herself, the thought of it compelled her to want to hit something; she made an awkward, jerking movement, which she only dimly recovered from by leaning her shoulder against the nearest wall, collapsing against it roughly.

“The one and only,” came her affirming reply.

She hardly knew her own voice, how bitter it was and how cruel.

Steven Universe simply stared at her in silence, his mouth parted slightly for a lack of words to say.

vi.

The years scurried forward, dashing across the sands of time with tiny, pattering feet. Pink Diamond became one became three became five in the interim and the rush, her chubby limbs elongating with each passing day that she scampered around the penthouse suite despite her mothers’ protestations—both to the scampering and to the inconceivable idea that she was growing up. She had once been so small, a minuscule bundle in the warm expanses of their arms. But now, the tuft of brown hair which had once barely covered her bald head had bloomed into a spray of curls that framed the sides of her freckle-splattered face, poking up a little at the top.

She was a funny little creature.

Exceptionally opinionated to be so young.

She liked her ballerina lessons, but she didn’t like her instructor, who she said smelled like socks. She had a bright, high laugh that often threw itself down the echoing halls as her various caretakers chased her down their lengths. Her chosen color was pink independently of her name (though yello’ and bwue were pretty colors, too). She loved dinosaurs—how they stomped and bit and roared. Her favorite foods were chicken nuggets.

And yes, these were obviously shaped like dinosaurs.

The little elf, they all called her: the various employees of the Diamond household, her tutors, her imperial grandmother, her mothers most of all. This was partially because she resembled an elf with her slightly tapered ears and big, mischievous eyes, but it was also a nickname derived from her uncanny knack of getting into places she wasn’t supposed to be: the kitchen cupboards, her mother’s claw-footed wardrobe, her other mother’s study—often hiding beneath the mahogany desk to lie in wait for someone to scare.

Usually a maid who was cleaning in there, but sometimes, Yellow herself if she could manage.

(Sometimes, amazingly enough, she managed.)

When the then thirty-six year old entered her office one sun-splashed autumn evening, anticipating a call from Hélène Colbert—a high-up ambassador for a steel manufacturing company in France—Yellow made a cursory glance beneath the furniture just to ensure that there was no silently giggling child tucked into the darkness there. But there was nothing—only that secluded strip of carpet and a few dust bunnies the maid had missed during her last sweep through of the study.

Satisfied, she straightened in her chair and snatched up a nearby pen so as to jot notes on the legal pad she kept on her desk at all times.

It had been a damn good week.

If she could secure an alliance with Colbert, it would be an even better one. The steel company had a plant just off Delmarva’s coast, and if they could work out a reasonable deal, then Diamond Electric would no longer have to import the bulk of their steel supply from a few states away. It would save the company a hell of a lot of cost in overheads, and it’d make the Diamonds that much money more…

The landline rang just as Yellow scrawled that it was September 30th on the top of a fresh page; her plump lips tipped upwards in a lazy smile as she picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Yellow Diamond, I presume?” The woman had a low, pleasant voice that rolled with her French accent.

“The one and only,” came her confident reply, and the two began to negotiate, back and forth, sparring gracefully with their words, back and forth and around the bend again. If they continued at this pace, Yellow could have an initial affidavit sent to Colbert’s office by morning… hell, she could make one of the interns drive down to Delmarva tonight.

“Thirty-five percent,” Helénè countered.

“My highest offer is twenty,” Yellow volleyed back.

And on and on.

Fifteen minutes in, just as the conversation was becoming less jocund and more argumentative, there was a dull thud against the door.

Plunk.

Yellow’s golden-eyed gazed narrowed as she stared at the diminutive crack beneath the door; a slight shadow played there, moving along the edge.

Perhaps it was that awful cat of Blue’s…. ugly creature… it shed everywhere.

“With all due respect,” the ambassador continued, irritation edging her carefully constructed words,“we would be supplying the steel for your latest line of airliners, which is no mean feat, Mrs. Diamond. We deserve at least thirty percent of the cut.”

“Steel you only manufacture for less than ten percent of the cost it requires for Diamond Electric to actually produce the planes in the first place,” Yellow reminded her smugly.

“That’s—!” Hélène seemed to be rendered temporarily speechless. DE’s accountants had done their due diligence when it came to researching the company.”That’s beside the—“

Plunk.

The door was rattled again—twice. Hélène paused mid-blustering tirade; apparently, this time, she had heard it, too.

“Pardon?”

Plunk.

“Excuse me,” Yellow said shortly, her jaw locking. “Let me just handle this… I won’t be more than a moment—“

Straightening from her chair, Yellow Diamond placed the receiver on her desk and swept to the door in a few magisterial clicks of her heels, wrenching the knob violently. If it was that damned cat again—

It was not the damned cat.

The swinging doorway gave way to none other than Pink Diamond, who was sitting crosslegged on the hardwood floor, a bouncy ball caught between her grubby fingertips, the unmistakable expression of guilt caught between the freckles spanning her face. The triangle of light from the study fanned across her tiny form; she crouched in her mother’s lengthened shadow.

“Pink!” The word pried itself loose from her mouth more harshly than she had intended. (Hélène Colbert was on the line… they were so close to securing a deal… she didn’t have time to deal with childish trifles… her nerves prickled just beneath her skin.) “What are you doing?”

“Playin’!” The child smiled sheepishly, her gapped teeth revealing themselves with the gesture. She lifted the toy and just as abruptly let it go, where it crashed to the floor with a massive plunk. “Ball!”

“Where’s Sonya?” She glanced down the hall, as though expecting the day governess’s tall form to suddenly materialize at the end of it, stammering her obsequious apologies. “Why aren’t you in the playroom?”

Pink tilted her head uncomprehendingly as the ball landed with yet another echoing thud; the cavernous ceilings did little to mitigate the acoustics of the sound.

“I don’ know…”

“Well”—she pinched the bridge of her nose in a concerted effort to stem her annoyance—“go and find her, honey. Momma’s working.”

“But I don’t wanna play with Sonya! I wanna play with you!”

“I can’t—“

“But why, Momma?” The child wheedled.

“I told you,” she said it forcefully—she almost growled it—as though she expected the five-year old to grasp the nuances of a rational refusal. Couldn’t she see that her mother was busy? “I’m working.”

“But—!”

“ Pink, ” she snapped, slamming her hand against the doorframe, “ not now! ”

The child's protestations were snatched into silence.

Horrible, gaping, protracted silence.

And then, there was a tiny sniff.

A trembling lip.

Yellow Diamond realized seconds too late that she had gone too far, had crossed the invisible line between scolding her daughter and yelling at her— scaring her. Pink Diamond’s face reddened immediately, the beginnings of tears standing in her eyes, her tiny chest heaving in the telltale signs that she was about to cry.

“Wait, dammit—Pink, don’t—“ But any words of comfort were stifled in her mouth as Sonya finally came running down the dark hall from the direction of the playroom, her horn-rimmed glasses askew, dark strands of hair falling out of her usually meticulous bun. She scooped the child in her arms, uttering her excuses rapidly between every one of Pink’s awful cries, which were now freely being wept. “—playing hide and go seek… got away from me… so sorry, Mrs. Diamond… won’t happen again.”

“Sonya. I mean, Pink. I—“

But before she could finish objecting, could explain, could thoroughly justify why she had made her daughter cry, the lithe governess had already pivoted in the opposite direction just as quickly as she had come, stroking Pink’s feathery hair and whispering soft words of consolation against her head, for the child had buried her face in Sonya’s turtleneck.

Like ghosts, they disappeared together around the corner.

And in the resulting quietness, the remaining darkness, Yellow glanced down.

Pink’s bouncy ball remained—red, abandoned, and ultimately harmless now without the agitations of its owner.

She kicked it away to release some of her feelings.

It plunked, plunked, plunked down the empty hall.

Slightly disoriented, irate, her chest prickling, the CEO eventually returned to her study, closing the door behind her with a click and apprehending the receiver again, where Hélène Colbert had waited, her silky voice armed with renewed rebuttals as to why the deal needed to be renegotiated. They sparred, and they fought, and Yellow unsheathed the best and worst that her blunt tongue had to offer.

And when they finally closed half-an-hour later, with Hélène swallowing twenty-five percent as pleasantly as she could manage without breaking the decorum of her own forced politeness, Yellow Diamond poured herself a celebratory glass of Moscato and reminded herself that she deserved it.

Pink was only a child.

She couldn’t possibly understand…

One day, though…

When she was older…

vii.

The silence staggered thin between the two of them for what seemed like an infinity, and within its breadth, for the first time since she’d woken up that morning in an unfamiliar bed, Yellow wanted to collapse beneath the weight of her own tiredness.

She was exhausted.

She was always exhausted.

When had there ever been a moment, in four goddamn years, when she had not been a corpse cruelly animated by the beating of a heart that was exhausted—spent, empty, irreparably, irretrievably drained?

Her entire body was the bruise that she leaned all her weight upon simply by standing upright as she met Steven Universe’s shy gaze in that crowded hospital room. The wall propped her up, rescued her, preserved what was left of her fragmented dignity; fleetingly, she thought of Blue Diamond’s silver cane.

“So…” Yellow hesitated, reluctant, unsure, lingeringly bitter. She attempted to subjugate these vulnerabilities into a voice that only barely managed to pass as level. “… my wife came by.”

She supposed, in the end, that it wasn’t this child’s fault that her marriage was on the brink of dissolution.

And so she concluded, if this indeed was the case, that she frankly couldn’t hold it against him.

(For the most part.)

“Not for very long,” Steven offered quickly, as though he thought that would help. “She looked really tired… she said she’d been in your room all night.”

It wasn’t lost upon Yellow Diamond how remarkable of an image that must have been: Blue sitting by her side—diligent, solemn, studiously concerned, her silvery brow skimming the tops of her oceanic eyes. For years, it had precisely been the other way around with them, the vigils she had observed by her wife’s calcified form long and unbroken. The sun would spread its arms around the morning sky, washing pink across Yellow’s weary face in gentle, ritual greeting. She would get up then, from the hardback chair where she sometimes sat, and begin her day anew: drink a cup of coffee, arm herself in a three piece suit, make business calls, go to the office, and call Livia constantly throughout the day for updates. Rinse, wash, repeat.

Sometimes, she would kiss Blue’s wrinkled forehead before she left.

Other times, she couldn’t bear to so much as look at her.

Acid would rise up the column of her throat.

Anger would scrape her fingers into fists.

Resentment.

It simply poisoned her.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

“I see,” Yellow returned unimpressively, glancing downwards; there was a scuff mark on one of her shoes, aberrant and unfathomable. (There were so many scuff marks across the neatly polished contours of her life; she could see every one of them clearly now, how they pulsed, how they bled, how they so inexorably bruised.)

Steven shifted in the bed as much as the tubes encumbering him would allow.

She looked up again.

“Blue also said you hadn’t been injured too badly… but I’m really sorry you were hurt in the first place.”

He paused uncertainly; the silence limped forward between them; it dared to approach.

The child had big eyes, brown and rather deep, even though they were sunken in unnatural hollows.

Pink’s eyes had been brown, too, chocolate smooth.

Playful and mischievous and kind.

The parallel did not invite comfort.

She would never see her daughter again.

“Are… are you okay?” He asked, his voice soft.

Tender.

It extended a warm hand across the silence between them; it tried to breach the gap. And this, above all, was the most inscrutable behavior to the practically minded businesswoman. This, above all else, simply galled her. Steven Universe didn't know her. In the three minutes since she had arrived here, she'd done nothing more than rudely abused his name, and still, he tried to breach the gap. Still, he was kind.

“You look like you’re... tired.”

“What’s it to you?” Yellow shot back instinctively, the words forsaking her before restraint held them back. Ashamed, irritated, weary, exhausted—she was always exhausted—she rubbed a chastising hand across her mouth, the heel of her palm rough against her lips. “I mean—shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? You don’t appear so rosy yourself.”

Even though she had just insulted him (again), Steven laughed, his bright eyes cutting through the gray flatness of the room.

“Maybe not,” he grinned, “but that’ll change soon enough… I’m getting kidneys today!”

He puffed his chest out proudly.

His smile, incredibly enough, widened.

And in that moment, his joy, his happiness, his unburdened, unmitigated relief was almost so tangible, that Yellow Diamond could barely stand to look at it. Painted in broad strokes all over his sunken face, it was impossible to miss.

Dying, somehow, he was the most alive entity in the room.

“You are?”

“Yup,” he laughed—exuberant, simply radiant. It was simply spilling from him now. “We just got the news this morning. Dr. M—she’s my nephrologist—she’s gone to get them… oh, but you wouldn’t know Dr. M… Dr. Maheswaran, I mean. She’s really…”

He babbled on.

It was inconceivable to Yellow Diamond—downright unfathomable—that he could be so buoyant and light, ensnared by so many running tubes and wires as he was, buried beneath them, dependent upon them, trapped. She tried to comprehend how he could nurse such pure emotions in a world that had been nothing but unkind to him. Always a rationalist, even to the bitter end of a universe which made no sense, she attempted to understand how anyone could still find it in themselves to be so good.

But when comprehension failed her—as it so rarely didn’t—she itched to be away from him.

The feeling swelled in her chest.

It choked her.

And yet, the woman couldn’t look away either, drawn, magnetized, inexplicably compelled like a flower leaning towards the sun, bent towards its light and warmth.

Was this what Blue Diamond had sought when she had befriended Steven Universe—this travesty of a human, this mere child?

Was she, too, looking for some of his sunshine to grasp onto, to bask in, to claim and call her own?

And if this hypothesis had merit—as so many of her hypotheses often did—then how could Blue Diamond possibly stand it?

(Blue, who had stretched out in the darkness of their unshared room for so long. Blue, who had decomposed in a bier of a bed that had been made for two. Blue, whose long face was lined with weary shadows. Blue, who was but a mere shadow herself. Insubstantial. Spectral. Going but never entirely gone.)

Steven Universe’s face, the very expression in it, was sunshine.

It was unbearable.

It was irresistible.

And it was unmistakable most of all.

Tenderness and goodness and an eruption of kindling, all-encompassing warmth—they had long evaded Yellow Diamond’s searching grasp, and now they stared at her openly, from the face of a small child in a hospital bed.

He smiled at her, and somehow, the very act of it was miraculous.

Because he, too, had been wrung out by the machinations of the world—he, too, knew its cruel hands, its ceaselessly grinding gears—and somehow, even still, he smiled.

The thought came to her, unbidden, that she once knew a child who would have done the same.

“Everyone’s so happy,” Steven finished, slumping backwards in his bed. It appeared as though the simple act of talking had worn him out.

The heart monitor on the wall fluttered a little more rapidly than sounded normal.

“And I’m also happy… and a little sad… but happy at the same time.” His brow furrowed as though it, too, was confused by the contradiction of emotions he was seemingly experiencing.

He coughed into the back of his hand, and the sound was rather terrible; it wrenched his entire body in a convulsive motion.

Yellow stared at him baldly while he caught his breath.

“I get the happiness,” she returned bluntly. (She didn’t really get it at all, but she wanted to—she was desperate to—and perhaps that made up for some of the difference.) “But why the sadness?”

He was going to get to live, and so that was the end all, be all, was it not?

Herein marked the end of his struggles?

Forever and ever—amen?

But the boy’s expression suddenly became modest again; he glanced away, a dull pink just barely layering itself over his cheeks which had ever so slightly paled further from when he had coughed.

“Well… I mean, everything happy is always a little sad, too, isn’t it?” He asked, and it was clear from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t particularly looking for an answer. “S-someone… died, so I could get their kidneys… and I guess… you know… that’s something to be sad about, even when I can be happy at the same time.”

Yellow Diamond hadn't expected this.

In all the tortured imaginations she had given to the faceless boy over the past couple of days, agonizing over who he was, and tormenting herself over what could be so special about him, and half-convincing herself that there was probably nothing really extraordinary about him at all, she hadn’t anticipated—in all her haste, her haughtiness, her great offense—to be proven wrong.

Because the words he had just spoken complicated everything she had hoped to confirm in the child.

For he was sage beyond his years.

His face looked as though as it was about a hundred years old.

He seemed to understand, in a more intimate way than Yellow had ever grasped in an entire lifetime, that emotions were not binaries, nor were they monoliths unto themselves.

It was entirely possible, Steven Universe said, to be happy and sad at exactly the same time.

It was possible, Poppy Aurelia had implied, to be neither good nor bad but some mixture in-between.

It was human, very likely, to experience so many things all at once: grief and joy and aching relief and horror and kindness and sadness and warmth.

Perhaps then, it was conceivable… rational even… that she could worship the very ground her wife walked upon and still be angry with her.

She could be goddamned relieved that she was doing better and equally bitter that it hadn’t been because of her.

She could love Blue Diamond and wonder why she hadn’t been enough.

Why they hadn't been.

The realization staggered her.

Simply undid her.

And perhaps the naked emotion must have shown across her face because Steven winced, as though he had perceived he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry… was that too much?” He asked, averting his eyes. “I know that’s kinda, like, weird to think about.”

“No,” Yellow Diamond replied immediately, and she was surprised to discover that her voice wasn’t entirely unkind.

Her lips jerked.

It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t quite a frown either.

“No…” She repeated distantly, and somehow, the sound became softer in the ensuing echo. “It wasn’t too much at all.”

In fact, maybe, just maybe, it had precisely been enough.

“D’you want to sit down?” He asked softly, inclining his head towards the empty chair next to his bed. “I don’t think my folks’ll be back for a bit…”

His smile was its own invitation.

It tilted lopsided across his mouth.

Yellow hesitated, and she chewed on it, and she ultimately shook her head, inadvertently loosening a crick in her stiff neck.

“Well," she said dryly, "I suppose I have nothing else better to do.”

Blast him and damn him, Steven Universe simply beamed.

viii.

“Here, Starlight.” Extending a skeletal hand from the swaths of woolen blankets covering her lap, White Diamond pressed a handful of quarters into her granddaughter’s outstretched palm. Caught by the stark, gray light leaning in from the window, the matriarch’s complexion seemed especially frail and powdery next to the thirteen-year old’s smooth, unbroken skin. “Take these and buy yourself something interesting from the vending machine.”

“Thank you, Gran,” Pink returned hastily, flustered, flushing, pleasantly surprised. She, like her mother, had expected this visit to comprise of White lecturing her over the tiniest details: her dyed hair, the length of her shorts, the couple of piercings running up the length of her ear. But instead, she was being handed a readymade out after only ten minutes of being informed that she needed to buy clothes that didn’t have artistic tears in them. Her fingers flashed to a close on top of the coins before she unceremoniously shoved them in the back pocket of her “too-scant, hardly appropriate, vaguely promiscuous” shorts, where they jangled next to each other with a telltale clink.

“Just avoid the crackers, darling. They’re awfully stale.” White’s darkly painted lips curled upwards in an encouraging smile. “And take care not to choose anything too sugary either. Heaven knows the damage you could wreak upon your teeth.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pink grinned—(her grandmother didn’t catch the implicit sarcasm)—before she flounced off, the heels of her red sneakers clipping against the tiled floor with each exuberant movement.

A door opened, and a door just as abruptly closed, and the cheerful footsteps died down the hall, leaving Yellow Diamond alone with her eighty-two year old mother.

There was silence then.

Strained.

Fraught.

And a wordless tango that only the two of them knew.

They stared at each other coldly, appraising each other without so much as saying a single word—one sitting stiffly in a fancily upholstered armchair, while the other somehow wore her wheelchair like a throne. The matriarch’s bony elbows rested judiciously upon the armrests, fingers templed delicately beneath her pointed chin. Her spiked hair was combed back in its usual fashion, voluminous and almost wild looking, rather like the mane of a lion.

It was an impressive effect—it always was with White Diamond—marred only by the unexpected context of her surroundings. Ritzy though the Spire certainly was—by plebeian standards anyway—it was still an assisted living home, and because it was an assisted living home, because it implied age and dependence and a lack of self-possession, it was an affront to the founder and former CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Desultory to the regal majesty with which she had always comported herself.

Offensive.

“I was beginning to believe you had forgotten me,” White began, the sugar in her voice acquiring a crystallized edge. “What has it been? Two weeks? Three? Forgive me for not knowing the intimate details, dear. Senility, you know.”

“Please,” Yellow rolled her eyes. “Spare me the histrionics, Mother. This is a temporary arrangement until—“

But White interrupted sharply, breaking the bond of her hands to wave one airily. “Until my physician concurs that I have fully recovered from an incident that I could have perfectly rehabilitated from in the comforts of my own manor. Yes, I am well aware.”

Nine weeks ago, she had stroked out and only barely survived to complain about the tale. She laid in a hospital bed for weeks upon weeks. It had only been luck, if such serendipity existed in an unthinking, unfeeling world, that the maid was cleaning that day, that she’d found her employer stretched out across the marbled floor in the kitchen.

The line of Yellow’s pursed lips thinned.

“You’re being too cavalier,” she said bluntly, shifting a little in her chair. “You almost died.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t, and now I’m here, and my own daughter can hardly spare a moment from her schedule to visit her poor mother in the nursing home she consigned her to.”

“Your doctor recommended—“ She began hotly.

“My doctor, wuss that he is,” White cut across her again, her thin nostrils flaring ever so slightly, “indicated that the fate of my whereabouts rested in your capable hands, and I see that you have chosen to wash them both free of me, a Pontius Pilate arranged in an Armani suit. How charmingly novel.”

Each word was expertly chosen, a weapon drenched in syrup so sweet, that to swallow it, was saccharine.

Silence simmered between them again, electric like exposed wires seething through the air.

They challenged each other with nothing more than their eyes.

They waged a quiet war.

And Yellow lost.

Spectacularly.

A recurring theme when it came to her mother.

“I’ll arrange for you to be sent home tomorrow,” she folded, her voice clipped, almost petulant. Her arms covered her chest so tightly that she imagined she was leaving an impression exactly upon the spot where they laid.

“Thank you,” White returned, equally curt. “That is all I have asked for.”

Then cut.

End scene.

Cue the curtain descending upon a familiar stage.

This was how appointments with her mother usually concluded after all, with her asserting the final word and Yellow tucking tail to run, hide, nurse her shining wounds, and pretend that they had never been inflicted in the first place come the next morning.

But then, complicating everything that Yellow had ever known about her, upending every assumption she had ever made in forty-four years of having been her daughter, White Diamond did something quite unexpected.

She sighed, the sound filtering thinly through her nostrils.

It was just a sigh, but it was also an implicit gesture of vulnerability.

An admission to weakness from a woman who had marketed her entire persona upon being impenetrable.

And the both of them knew it.

Rather than acknowledge it, though, White glanced away immediately, staring out into the wide window which stood next to her wheelchair. The pale light gently touched her face, bringing the lines etched into those leathery folds into starker definition. Countless botox injections and cosmetic surgeries had not entirely worked their magic, for Yellow saw, in that protracted moment—viscerally understood—that her mother was getting old, if she was not considered old already.

The thought gripped her.

Inexplicably stung.

On top of her blankets, the ridges of the matriarch’s bony fingers trembled slightly against an invisible cold.

“Mother…?”

“Starlight is getting so tall these days,” White murmured, as though Yellow hadn’t said anything at all. “You were tall, too, when you were her age, I believe… but you always slumped your shoulders, dear, and it detracted from the effect. I scolded you when I caught you at it.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the autumnal day collapsed down Yellow’s rigid spine. She had never once, in so many unflappable years, ever heard her mother engage in nostalgia, an emotion she had always more or less derided to be regressive.

Looking backwards, after all, distracted from the now.

White’s ebony gaze never left the window, though she continued to speak, her voice ever sharp but somehow, simultaneously distant .

Detached.

As though the two women, scarcely four feet apart though they were, occupied two different realms of existence.

“I scolded you tor so many trifles, Yellow,” she went on, giving no visual indication that she remembered her daughter was in the room. “Your grades, your occasionally taciturn personality, the very way you spoke sometimes, fearing naturally that your youthful shortcomings would reflect upon our hallowed name.”

“Mother,” she tried again.

Yellow wanted it to stop.

For nearly five decades, their relationship had been a contract that they had both meticulously observed, and now, before her very eyes, White Diamond was ripping it cleanly asunder.

She was looking back, and she was sighing.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go; this wasn't how their world turned.

“You don’t have to—“

“And maybe,” White Diamond hummed, the sound glasslike, almost fragile in that light filled room, “I scolded you too often. I instituted so many boundaries upon your life and nary gave you a means to shake them… goodness knows I likely didn’t intend you to… you are, after all, everything I ever dreamed in a progeny—successful, confident, shining… but I wonder… mmm, I suppose… no… no…”

She trailed off then.

The words fell emptily to the ground and laid, injured, at her slipper-enclosed feet.

Yellow Diamond attempted to pick them up the best that she could, though they shivered in her palms.

“You did your best, Mother,” she said, her voice strained.

Small.

She almost felt like a child again, standing outside her mother’s study, hoping to be let in.

“That counts for something, yes?”

There was a pleading note in her voice.

She loathed it.

She despised herself.

She had long since convinced herself she didn’t need her mother’s approval to illuminate the successes of her life, and yet, here she was—forty-odd years later, still begging for it, nearly on her hands and knees to get it.

White Diamond sighed again, the gesture infinitesimal. She never quite divorced her eyes from the window. Mist swirled across the flat expanse just beyond the glass, smoking the world beyond it silver, shroud gray.

“You should take a day off every now and then,” she only replied. “Accompany Starlight to buy less vixen-like clothes. Perhaps arrange a vacation between the three of you. Paris is always lovely in the fall.”

It was unexplainable, even to herself, but anger suddenly seared her chest as she realized what White was driving at.

“Mother—“

But before she could continue, before she could defend herself against White Diamond’s unsubtle accusations, before she could point out the hypocrisy of it all coming from her of all people, the door opened again. Pink came back in laughing—she was always laughing—boasting of her acquisition of the last pack of gummies in the vending machine.

And in all the commotion, washed beneath the noise, Yellow almost didn’t catch the words that slipped from the side of White Diamond's pinched mouth.

“Maybe I should have taken you to Paris, too.”

ix.

The adjustment from the wall to the chair next to Steven's bed came with no small relief, her body reveling in the sensation of finally being able to rest her tired bones. For Yellow, admit it though she never would, had overexerted herself, had walked too long and stood for even longer. As subtly as she could manage, she massaged the outer part of her right thigh where it had struck the side of the door during the wreck.

Without really knowing it, she knew—almost certainly—that the impact had left a bruise.

(Oh, well.)

(It could join all the rest—the contusions and scrapes and cuts and aberrant scuff marks.)

(Just another quantity more in the collection of open wounds that made up her life, that haunted it, haunted her.)

Careful not to disturb any of the lines and tubes which tethered him to so many humming machines, Steven Universe painstakingly twisted his tiny body to stare at her through the rails of his hospital bed.

And Yellow Diamond stared at him just as intensely back.

And somehow, quite instinctively, she gleaned the impression that he pitied her.

She shrunk uncomfortably beneath the emotion.

Protestation immediately sprang to her defense.

But in the end, he was kind; he only asked her a simple question.

“You sent me those flowers, didn’t you?”

With a small smile, he tilted his head to the tray which now stood directly in front of Yellow, where honeyed light from the window caught the petals of so many sunflowers crowded in a blue vase. She cursed Poppy once again for choosing such a metaphorically apt arrangement; she despised, viscerally, how one of the flowers seemed to drip below its peers, its long neck broken.

Hopeless.

Pathetic.

“And what of it?” She asked stiffly. Irascibility remained her go-to safeguard against uncomfortable questions, all those pesky, prying things. “That’s simply what you do when someone is in the hospital. You send flowers. You tell them to get well.”

But, once again, Steven was brighter than she had initially given him credit for because his rebuttal was such that even the Zircons couldn’t have refuted it, prodigious at making counterarguments though they were.

“Sure,” he grinned, mischievous, shit-eating. His dark eyes twinkled with his own playfulness. “But that’s not really something you do for total strangers, right?"

No, no in fact, it was not.

Damn him.

“At ease, Sherlock,” Yellow scoffed, simply fuming. She half-hated this child still. She crossed her arms over her chest and felt as though she would never unbend them from her stony frame again. “You only received them because of your relationship to my wife, of what you mean to her.”

But even the very mention of Blue Diamond did something to her, transformed her in the instant it took to articulate her existence.

Her golden eyes softened.

Her hands clenched on top of her lap.

And she was weak; she almost felt indecent; she glanced away.

“You mean a lot to her,” Yellow shrugged, hesitant, almost childish. It was childish to talk about one's emotions in such a bald way. “And that, in return, means something to me.”

She could feel his dark eyes settle upon her, sensed the intensity of them, the quiet warmth, and once again, the hackles of all her best self-defenses attempted to stir to her aid, dull anger writhing in the pit of her stomach.

She stared outside the window, at the indigo drapes that were pulling themselves over an orange sky, and tried to master herself.

She returned her gaze to the sunflowers almost against her will.

And found yet another thing to hate about the whole arrangement.

How the vase was midnight blue.

“You... you mean a lot to her, too, you know,” Steven whispered. Each word fought to be heard over the sounds of the many machines which kept him alive, but still, they fought; they ached to be heard. “She loves you… she’s just… she’s—”

“What?” Yellow pounced upon the words harshly. She clung to every last one of them as though they promised the secrets of the universe in their hesitant syllables. She didn't even attempt to strangle her question into a murmur to match Steven's own.

She was desperate.

Craven.

Blue Diamond loves me, but what?

What unspoken things remained in the gulf between them? (There were so many, likely too many to ever really surmount.)

What final barrier tore their collective world asunder?

(Was it Pink? Was it grief? Was it Yellow herself? Perhaps, simply enough, it was everything; it was all.)

Steven was gentle, almost apologetic, as he proffered an answer.

"She's... forgotten how to say it, I think," he said. "And she's trying... she's really trying... to remember how."

It was three mere words.

They were trite and cliché; every child knew them.

I and love and you.

And yet, for the first time in four years, Yellow understood her wife perfectly; she knew that it could hardly be as uncomplicated as that.

For it was those same three words that never came easy, even if they were said, even if they were masterfully articulated.

Because love was not a string of syllables.

It was not a phrase, nor a trivial, commercialized thing.

It was bigger than that, grander and more terrible.

More inconceivably profound than three words could ever possibly hope to suggest.

Love was action.

It was light and touch and sound.

I and love and you.

"I love her too." The words came before Yellow Diamond ever really registered them; they seized at her constricted sternum; they eviscerated her raw throat.

"... but you've forgotten how to say it," Steven finished for her.

Yes.

But she couldn't bring herself to admit it, so she nodded thickly, and somehow knew, from the way that he smiled sadly at her, that Steven Universe understood.

Dusk fell through the high window in Yellow’s study in strange shafts of amber light, illuminating the stack of papers she was attempting to decipher in the growing dimness. Her readers sliding down the edge of her nose, her mouth moved soundlessly to the heavy cadence of the words, the words, the words—but her tiredness unmoored her; her comprehension only barely kept pace with the speed with which her eyes skimmed the long sentences. So it was a relief when a faint knock at the door gave her a tailored excuse to set the damn thing down for a brief moment.

Indeed, she was so glad not to be reading a dense passage on consumer statistics, that she forgot to sound irate at being interrupted.

“Come in,” she called, her voice hoarse from hours of disuse.

Obligingly, the heavy door creaked inwards, and there, in the triangle of light thrown forwards by the lamp on Yellow’s desk, stood Pink Diamond in that ratty, old hoodie that Blue so despised, a pencil caught in her feathery pink hair, an apologetic smile caught on her lips. She had only recently turned seventeen a few weeks ago, and for some reason, right then and there, it struck Yellow Diamond that it absolutely showed.

Gone were the traces of baby fat from the girl’s heart shaped face, replaced by a certain angularity which bore the trace distinctions of pride, confidence, and the beginnings of a distinct ego. Gone were the gapped teeth that had defined many of the photos from her childhood. Gone were the awkwardly lanky limbs that had made her so self-conscious during her tween years; as she entered the office, her movements were graceful, shaped by all those years of ballerina lessons. She walked on the tips of her toes, gliding silently across the wooden slats.

Her daughter had grown up somewhere in the rush of so many years.

And somehow, it had escaped the woman’s attendant notice.

Was it not just yesterday that she had fit perfectly in Yellow’s arms, cooing at her softly through the darkness?

Was it really today that she presented herself before her mother as a young woman, so close to becoming an adult and simultaneously so far from actually being one?

Pink broke the trance first by collapsing into the armchair in front of Yellow’s desk, pulling her spindly legs up from the floor, so that she could cross them. There was a My Little Pony bandage on her left knee where she had only recently scraped herself trying to shave.

For some reason that she couldn’t entirely articulate to herself, the presence of it soothed the businesswoman.

Reassured her, perhaps, that there were some parts of the child who still remained.

“Well, Mother,” Pink sighed heartily, “I’ve finished my History essay. Can I go to Carmen’s party now?”

Carmen Luíz, as Yellow knew, was both a classmate of Pink’s at the private school she attended and the daughter of two wealthy business executives who were highly reputed in all the important social circles as parents who let their underaged daughter throw raucous parties in their manor on Wide Island any time they found it upon themselves to celebrate their wealth by taking vacations.

They often celebrated their wealth.

Yellow exhaled through her nose and returned to her papers; the paragraph on statistics hadn’t become any less incomprehensible in the couple of seconds it had taken for Pink to ask her asinine question.

“My answer hasn’t changed since the last time,” she returned, her voice clipped as she adjusted her readers, pushing them back on her nose. “You know my position on parties.”

“But—“

“But nothing, Pink.” Yellow never entirely looked up, uncapping her favorite red pen to make a few scratch marks on the packet. They were less in the service of productivity than they were the illusion of it. “My word is final.”

Pink fell silent; she knew better than to cross her mother’s carefully drawn lines so late at night; instead, she picked sullenly at one of her mismatched socks, the pink one with patterns of roses embroidered across the cloth.

Yellow scowled, partially in response to the particularly dense sentence she was trying to divine meaning from, and partially because she hated when her daughter grew taciturn. It was a tactic which worked well enough on Blue when Blue was feeling merciful, but she, on the other hand, had as much tolerance for moping as she did country music—which was to say little all.

“Is there anything else you needed?” She asked pointedly, glancing up once more. “I’m rather busy—”

But her daughter’s dark eyes had shifted away, her ever veering attention suddenly caught by a point of interest somewhere just behind Yellow’s shoulder. Yellow followed her gaze slowly and immediately understood that she was staring at the photograph perched on the shelf there; the sunset caught the edges of the silver frame and swept an orange hue over the subject it contained.

With a faint jolt in her stomach, she recognized it at once—a picture of White Diamond holding Pink on her third birthday. The two of them were sidled together in an armchair, the toddler sitting on her grandmother’s lap. White looked ever impeccable in a stunning black jumpsuit, which was cinched at her tiny waist with a silver belt. She wrapped her bare arms around Pink and placed the point of her sharp chin atop of that abundant spray of brown curls.

Meanwhile, Pink was laughing in the image, her childlike exuberance radiating across the space of so many elapsed years, her face covered in what looked like the vestiges of chocolate cake.

A smile that was remarkably genuine pulled at the corners of White Diamond’s black lips.

Somehow, amazingly enough, her eyes creased pleasantly beneath all the botox.

It was the happiest Yellow had ever seen her own mother, and perhaps that was why she kept the reminder in her study.

It was a testament to the damn near miracle that the woman hadn't entirely been made of ice and burnished steel.

That she had loved—incrementally, sparingly, meticulously—in the best way that she knew how.

“Gran,” Pink murmured, a small smile threatening to disturb her freckles. “I’d forgotten she always wore a lot of eyeliner.”

“When I was younger,” Yellow returned slyly, “she used to inform me that there was no point in putting on makeup unless it was to create an intimidating effect.”

“Which explains the black lipstick,” Pink laughed, miming the act of drawing a smile across her lips with an invisible tube.

“Precisely.” Her own laugh was like a bark, short and rather blunt. Amusement climbed up her chest and nostalgia—the press of so many memories in the span of a handful of seconds.

But then, to her horror, there was a lump in her throat that had nothing to do with either emotion.

White Diamond had only died a year ago, but sometimes, only sometimes, the fact of it still caught Yellow off guard when she was least expecting it.

It had been her time.

Assuredly.

Absolutely.

She had been eighty-five.

She had had another stroke.

But still, the woman—her mother—for all her many faults, had always been there—the stubbornly unyielding presence at her shoulder.

Unshakeable.

Invincible.

Some days, it registered with Yellow a little more forcibly than usual that she would never pick up the phone again to be treated to a forty-five minute lecture on production inefficiencies at Diamond Electric.

And more often than not, this realization did not come on the heels of relief.

“It’s weird,” Pink said quietly, voicing what her mother had silently been thinking, “but sometimes, I kinda forget that she’s gone, you know? She only dropped by so rarely… it’s almost like she could still be vacationing in Rome, Milan, Tokyo, or any of her other favorite wine spots.”

She had many favorite wine spots.

“Yes, well”—with some effort, Yellow pulled her head back to its forward position—“that feeling goes away eventually.”

She tried to glance down at her packet again.

The words glittered malevolently beneath the lamp.

“I mean,” Pink pressed softly, “I don’t know… it’s kind of comforting to think she’s still out there somewhere, right? I-I know she’s not, but, like—“

“You’re right,” she returned flatly. “She’s not…”

The dismissal in her voice was clear.

She dared to glance up again and saw that an embarrassed flush had scrawled itself across Pink’s cheeks. But this time, the teenager obediently unfolded from her seat, stretching her limbs high over her head before bringing them down by her sides.

“Yeah… I’m just being silly,” she said, glancing away. “I’m going to go see if Mom’ll edit my essay for me. My conclusion paragraph’s shit.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, dear.” Yellow penned yet another useless mark on her paper. “You know how she feels about plagiarism.”

“True,” Pink smirked, regaining some of her youthful jauntiness, “but she hates the idea of me making anything less than an A even more.”

“Touché.”

The door opened and then closed once again, leaving Yellow Diamond alone in an office full of dusk and dust and thin, fading light. With as much delicacy as she could spare in the silent seconds that followed, she replaced her pen on top of her desk and templed her hands lightly on top of her stomach, breathing in deeply.

Exhaling harshly through her nose.

Perhaps it was the rationalist in her—militant, rigid, almost unfailingly correct—who took no comfort from the fantasy that her dead mother was still somewhere in the world, enjoying a fruity cocktail, smiling lazily beneath a European sun.

Or perhaps it was the pain which such an image inexplicably wrought.

Subtle, though sharp to even prod.

For there was no comfort in death, no assuaging its keen sting.

There was only the coldness of its reality, the aching bitterness, the confrontation of an unassailable truth...

But perhaps she had been premature in teaching Pink that.

Perhaps she had been too hasty in preventing her from holding on to one last childish daydream more.

After all, the seventeen-year old had plenty of time to grow up—to learn, to know, to intimately understand that the world turned viciously, perpetuating its endless cycles over and over again—recapitulating them.

It turned and turned and turned.

And sometimes, all they could do was turn with it.

#bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #pink diamond #steven universe #s: steven universe #mimiku #flower child #;-; oh my god it's finished

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Through flames and oceans (for the fic title)

u know. this was supposed to not go the direction it did. but it did.

People say they will do a lot for love. They will walk through flames, cross an entire ocean for love.

Bruce tells himself that that’s the stupidest fucking thing people say. He, for one, will not do that. There is also the unspoken reason of that love really isn’t in the cards for him.

Currently, he’s running away from his ex-girlfriend’s dad, General Ross, because he may or may not have done some experimentation and turned into a rage monster, but also revealed some state secrets.

Come on, can you blame him? Cosmo said twenty-year-olds need to accomplish something before they hit thirty. And he’s quite sure he just made the list.

But as for love, he is thinking about it right now because his ex-girlfriend found a very nice girl named Valkyrie, and they’re kind of set to have an engagement party, and “would you please come to the United States to help us celebrate?”

Betty is a wonderful woman, really and truly. And Bruce is okay with how their relationship ended, because it’s not like Bruce could come to family dinner and expect anything besides murder or maybe cold potatoes. And Betty deserved someone far better than him, and from the picture that was sent, it looks like Valkyrie is an amazing catch.

But there is the small matter of making it to the States without getting caught. He is on quite a lot of “no-fly” and “travel restrictive” protocols. This sucks, by the way. He had frequent flier miles saved up and everything.

It sucks, at least, until he remembers Tony’s number and calls it.

(Tony had given him his number, but sometimes he forgets that four and nine are two distinctly different numbers.)

“Brucie, baby! What can I get for you? Don’t worry, the government hasn’t been able to tap my phone calls since I was seventeen and mostly joking about finding out where their secret weapons storage is.”

“Betty’s having her engagement party, and I’m invited. I kind of need a ride home.”

“Where are you located at, right now?”

“Buenos Aires.”

“You lucky son of a bitch, god I miss it there. You having a good time?”

“When I’m avoiding government agents, yes.”

“Hm, well i’m sending a new employee of mine to go and get you. Big guy, probably Swedish.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t presume if someone’s Swedish or not, Bruce. I’m a terrible person, but not that terrible.”

“I...I don’t follow your sense of humor.”

“No one does, that’s why celebrities call me avant garde and ahead of my time.”

“Good to know. What’s your new guy’s name?”

“Thor.”

“Are you...are you fucking with me?”

"Darling, you’d be having a much better time if I was.”

“I don’t like the energy we’re manifesting here,” Bruce deadpans.

Tony snorts. “Okay, hippie. He’ll be there by tomorrow morning. Just stay tight where you are, sugar.”

Thor is a gigantic man. He parts crowds like it’s what he was meant to do, and maybe it is. Bruce stares up at him.

“Hello Dr. Banner,” Thor says, smiling gently. “You are Dr. Ross’s friend, right?”

“Um...yeah. I am.”

“Excellent. I’m a friend of Valkyrie’s, is it okay if I go ahead and fly out to the airport nearest their house?”

“Uh, is Tony okay with that?”

“Of course. And we can stop at your house if you need anything.”

“Oh, I don’t have a house. Or an apartment. You would not believe how much the US government hates my credit score.”

Thor chuckles a little bit, leading him back to a nondescript car.

“Right this way.”

Thor is cool as a cucumber on the outside, as they’re driving. He’s mindlessly tapping on his phone as Bruce stares out the window.

Inside? Oh, Thor hates Val for this. So much.

so, you didn’t think to send me a picture of dr. banner? just the address?

lmaooooo called it. betty owes me something now. fuckin nerd. just ask him out.

no. we still have to bypass american security

which you are “old hat” at. or did i forget that you nearly almost charmed the pants off of one of the airline people?

we don’t speak of that.

relax. stark’s taking care of it anyway.

The airplane ride home is uneventful, thank god. One of Tony’s jets awaits, and the pilot is very surprised to see a man who ranks number four on America’s Most Wanted List to be there.

“You...you know Tony?”

“And you know what an NDA is,” Tony announces over the intercom. “Bruce, welcome. Mimosas are premade, in stock. Sit back and enjoy the ride! Thor, you do what you gotta do to make sure Bruce stays safe. Enjoy the bridal shower!”

The pilot is a bit apprehensive. But mostly okay. Bruce promises nothing’s going to happen, he’s just going to drink tea and catch up on news about the current state of things.

Bruce gets bored with finding out that things are still terrible, so he talks to Thor.

“So...are your parents just really into Norse mythology, or did they know you’d come out a huge guy who has the potential to probably stop Ragnarok?”

Thor chuckles, the laugh rumbling and deep.

(Okay, that’s hot.)

"My parents’ names were Odin and Frigga. You could say they were traditionalists when it came to my brother and I.”

“You mean...?”

“He embodies the name a bit too well for my taste, but yes.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah. Let me tell you about the time we accidentally crashed a fashion week thing...”

Bruce laughs a lot about that story. Thor’s laugh is majestic, and they sit a little bit closer.

By the time the plane lands, they’re great friends and Thor reaches over Bruce in the baggage area and wow that man has very defined muscles.

Not that that’s important. No, that’s like. Not important at all. So what if Thor is very well-muscled and maybe this will play into Bruce’s intrusive thoughts/daydream thoughts at later intervals? Does not matter. At all.

(Oh god the man smells like salty ocean air Bruce has got it so so bad. So Bad.)

Tony greets them at the landing pad with a wide grin, eyes lighting up.

“Well, don’t you two make the happy couple,” he teases. Bruce turns red. This does not go unnoticed.

“Bruce, honestly, you run away from government and my friendship, and this is what gets you--”

“A bridal shower? To get me home? Yes,” Bruce says, cutting in not-at-all smoothly. “Now, where are Betty and her bride staying at?”

“Oh, they’re staying at the cutest little bed and breakfast for their bridal shower. Rented out the whole thing--well Pepper did, it was our wedding gift to them, and of course I mean Pep’s wedding gift, because I have something else planned-”

“Please tell me that you do not have a house bought for them,” Thor says.

“Complete with a laboratory and gymnasium,” Tony says with a wink. “I’m kidding, they already have a house. I just kind of kicked them out for a week while I remodel their entire kitchen. Val gave me the colors, I was surprised that she has taste.”

“If she hears you say that, she’ll kick your ass.”

“Which is why she won’t,” Tony reminds Thor. “Now, let’s get to unpacking. Bruce, I’m getting you some good shampoo, holy shit your hair sucks.”

“Thank you Tony, I love and value our friendship and our kindness towards each other as well,” Bruce deadpans.

“Oh come on, you have to look good. It’s your ex’s wedding party!”

“You make us sound so dramatic,” Bruce says with a snort. “We broke up. Big deal.”

“You and Betty...?” Thor asks.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. We were dating, and then I pissed off her dad, who happens to be a general. I mean, also the government. But mostly her dad.”

“Wow.”

Thor’s type shouldn’t be feral scientist. But it is.

They’re led inside, and Tony bids them goodbye.

“Duty calls,” Tony says airily, waving. “Make yourself at home, don’t put coffee grounds down the disposal or I will kick you out. Rogers is still nursing his wounds.”

“Noted,” Bruce says.

“I drink tea,” Thor answers.

Bruce shares a look.

“You too?”

“Yeah, I prefer it over coffee most of the time.”

Bruce smiles.

“I think we’re going to get along.”

They have a couple of days until the wedding party, and Thor has never seen New York. Bruce is fairly sure that no one will even see him on the CCTV footage as long as he’s walking next to Thor, so he deems it good enough to go and get a bagel.

Thor is a very gentle man. That’s a good quality.

He smiles at a little girl, who is staring, open-mouthed. Even gives her a little wave. Bruce grins.

“You like kids?”

“I do. They mostly just want to have fun, want to see what the best of the world is. I think we all need that occasionally.”

“I’ve never thought of that,” Bruce confesses. He takes a sip of his coffee.

“I love watching my cousins,” Thor continues. “The way they grow and figure it all out, it’s rewarding. What about your family?”

Bruce freezes.

“Um. I don’t exactly have a family.”

“Then you’ll just have to meet some of my cousins,” Thor amends, smiling as he sips his drink. “You’d like them.”

“I’d like that,” Bruce says, grinning. “What’s next on our New York agenda?”

"I told Loki I’d visit some stores for him and pick up some items he’s been wanting.”

Have you ever seen a sales associate from Chanel be terrified at your presence? No? It’s worth it.

Bruce is kind of concerned.

“I...are you...?”

“My name is Robert, uncanny similarities,” Bruce responds. “We both were born in Ohio.”

“Why is it always Ohio,” Thor mutters. “You reckon my brother would want this shoe or that?”

“Ooh, definitely go with the heel. I think that’s good.”

“Gotcha.”

Next shop is Dior.

This goes a bit out of hand. His whole line about being Robert with Incredible Similarity does not go as planned.

He and Thor are on a subway, currently running away from some authority figures and calling Tony.

“I was in the middle of learning drama about high society that I can use in my next romance novel, are you joking?” Tony hisses.

“You write romance novels?” Thor asks.

“Now is not the time to question that, I’m in the middle of making sure you get a car to your next stop. How well do you both know what a Chrysler is?”

“The building, right?”

“God, I hate you so much,” Tony groans. “No, um...it looks like the wing things that they give army people when they do something that I guess they think is cool.”

“Oh. Okay. Get in that car?”

“Yes. It’s gonna be red with silver detailing.”

“Tony, they’re gonna know it’s us.”

“Believe me, they won’t. Trust me.”

So as it turns out, it’s not the most ostentatious vehicle.

Because Tony pulls up in a lifted pick-up truck, painted a sparkling, neon green with bright orange wheels.

It is the ugliest goddamn thing Bruce has ever seen. Also the most effective.

Thor nearly shoves Bruce into the car, and they’re sitting too close, and Bruce probably shouldn’t be focusing on the fact that Thor’s hair is now artfully messy, but here he is. Doing that.

“So, sorry that before the wedding shower we’re being hunted down by the government.”

“Not the worst thing that I could be doing on a Friday,” Thor says with a shrug. “I think you’re just about the most interesting person I’ve met, Bruce.”

He smiles at him. Bruce’s heart skips a beat. He can’t tell if it’s because of the eye contact or the fact that they’re in close proximity. Maybe both.

“You wanna go on a date after all this?” Bruce blurts out.

He does. And as soon as he says it, he kind of regrets it because they’re in a car with glittery silver interior seats and he’s also in pants that have seen better days, and his hair is a Mess.

(Also self-esteem issues, but Bruce is used to that so he’s not counting it.)

“Like, after we get home or when the government gives up on finding you?”

“I don’t know. Whichever one comes first?”

“Technically, I think I count as army jurisdiction, and military budget is a fountain of money.”

“Ah. Then home it is. How do you feel about ordering in?”

“Mm, sounds good,” Bruce says, grinning. “You’re the best.”

“Well, I certainly try,” Thor says, grinning right back. “You wanna go to Betty and Val’s shower together?”

“Yes. Do we have to amend our ‘how-we-met’ story?”

“Not at all. Valkyrie used to run an underground fight ring. She knows the feeling.”

“How has that not come up in conversation?”

“We were kind of preoccupied trying to figure out what a Chrysler car looked like.”

“Oh, true.”

At the wedding party, Bruce and Thor are very happy. Betty and Val roll their eyes and laugh as they talk.

“Leave it to my dad to ruin everything,” Betty gripes.

“Well he didn’t ruin this party or my meeting Thor,” Bruce defends. “Besides, you know what happens if he steps a foot near you.”

Betty grins.

“You serious?”

“Can’t promise you’ll get your security deposit back, but yes.”

Betty pulls him into a hug.

“You’re too sweet to me.”

“Yeah, tell me that after he steps on the limousine.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry,” Thor says, grinning. “I think Tony has some sort of security feature worked in.”

“Oh, he does,” Val says. “He’s threatened to pull some of the contracts for safety gear. Won’t go through with it, but Ross can’t touch the wedding. Best gift ever.”

When the party gets late, Thor and Bruce are sitting out on the porch. Clean-up is happening, and they’re taking a break. Thor thinks that Bruce has never looked more beautiful in a rumpled yellow shirt, soft lights making his face glow.

“I’m glad I met you,” Thor murmurs, moving a stray curl.

“Really?” Bruce asks, smiling softly. “I think I’m glad I met you too.”

Bruce grins behind his door when they make it home. Thor had kissed him on the cheek, and while that wasn’t too big of a deal, it was a big deal to him.

“See you in the morning, dear,” Thor had told him.

He was going to be up half the night with that line running through his head.

A lot of people do a lot of things for love. Bruce still wouldn’t walk through flames, or swim across an entire ocean, but he’s starting to understand.

#lovelyirony writes #GOD. this was supposed to be sad and now it isn't only because i had a funnie thought #thorbruce #bruce banner #thor #tony stark #betty ross #valkyrie #OF COURSE I PUT A RAREPAIR SHIP IN THERE WHAT ELSE WOULD I HAVE DONE?#valbetty #idk what the ship is called but i like #thor is In Love #Bruce is Awkard but u know what. okay #go him #best line is about the chrysler

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pruinesce-a2 · 3 years

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about all your recent posts for fuyumi i can understand how she feels & the constant fear & anxiety she has. to have incompatible parents & your the eldest so it's always a small trigger could make everything fall apart & your trying your best to keep everything together. you over analyze everything action and word to know if things are still okay or is something going to happen? to want everyone and everything to be fine. the amount of responsibility (1/2)

and sometimes you do want to just crash but you physically can't because it's how you've trained your mind to be always 'breath ur fine breath it's okay breath & get up & fix things it'll get better one day. maybe' you wish you had someone who could take off the weight for just a little bit but what if they don't do it right, what if that means i'm getting weak what if what if what if and it is just a nightmare (2/2)

Also because fuyumi's situation reminds me of mine, you feel terrified of romance and don't believe it actually exists, you have the fear of this repeating but with your own family and you dont want your kids to go through the same thing. Also you've never been responsible for only yourself so you're wondering if you ever will figure out who "you" are really. There's so much of yourself defined by the situation you are in that if it's gone, you don't know who you are (3/2 😭😭)

i’m incoherent bc i just got outta class but yes to pretty much all of this. and also, my friend, me too ! fuyumi is a HUGE comfort character of mine because i relate to her so much for the same reasons - and now i wanna go bit by bit n talk about all the stuff you mentioned because i’ve mentioned it in pieces on this blog but never in full and i just go crazy thinking about her.

trigger warnings for child abuse, death, and just. general unpleasantness.

first of all in all honesty, there’s really no situation in which endeavor could ever be compatible ( which isn’t a jab at you - just want it to be clear that this is beyond parents that don’t get along ! ). he’s straight up abusive and drove his wife to a complete mental break, as well as, as i’ve said before, y’know. beating the shit out of his kids. i wanna also clarify some things on the timeline before i get started ( i’m not sure if you’ve watched/read bnha, but also this is for my mutuals that haven’t ) - fuyumi is now the eldest living. the todorokis had four kids: touya, the firstborn, then fuyumi, then natsuo, and then shouto. and i want to follow that by linking you to this page, where we find out that..... touya died AFTER rei’s breakdown and subsequent hospitalization.

AFTER.

i honestly don’t know the timeline of touya and shouto’s training.... bc in this panel we see that baby touya didn’t have any burn marks, no bandages, he was fully capable of playing and running around. i also think if he would have been trained the same way shouto was, rei’s break would’ve come a lot sooner, and we wouldn’t have panels like this - i think before shouto, while the todoroki family was incredibly dysfunctional, they still had some semblance of a normal family, and that’s why fuyumi is so desperate to try to have a family again; because she knows and has seen that they were a family, or at least were in her understanding as a child. this seems particularly reinforced for me because natsuo, in the light novel, talks about how he always wanted endeavor’s attention as a kid! he thought it was unfair that shouto was the one who was getting it all, so it implies to me that.... one, they had no idea at first, and two, they had to have had at least a decent relationship with him before.

so i think what happened was.... after shouto’s quirk manifested, endeavor began to change. he started training shouto because he developed the quirk he wanted, all that stuff we already know, and the stress of it all drove rei into pouring the boiling water on shouto, and then we know she was put into psychiatric care. fuyumi was 12.

rei leaving was, obviously, hard on all of them. i think fuyumi was the most disconnected from her mother, because rei saw so much of herself in fuyumi and couldn’t stand it at times. natsuo in the light novel also mentioned he didn’t mind the lack of attention because he had his mom! so it hurt fuyumi, a lot, but she was able to be strong for them because a) she was older and b) she and her mother had a strained relationship anyway.

i headcanon fuyumi was the one who found rei and shouto. she heard the kettle whistle, the screaming and crying from the kitchen, and when she rounded the corner she saw her mother and shouto on the floor as we’ve seen in canon. it was incredibly scarring. fuyumi gets frequent flashbacks and invasive imagery from this event, especially when she hears that kettle whistle / sees her brothers in the kitchen. i’ve said it over and over but she hates them being there, shouto in particular - and i think this is backed up in the light novel when she immediately makes the boys leave the kitchen after shouto tries to come in and help.

i also think endeavor thought shouto was ruined after that. his “masterpiece” was ruined because there was a very strong possibility he’d never recover from that injury, and so endeavor, in desperation, turned to his first-born son as a replacement. his wife definitely wasn’t going to be giving him any more kids, and shouto as far as he knew was out of commission. fuyumi had an ice quirk and natsuo was practically quirkless, if not ENTIRELY quirkless. but touya.... had his flames. i don’t think endeavor initially wanted to train him because he wasn’t the perfect combination that he kept trying for with rei - but here, he’d reached his own breaking point, and touya was the only option left to continue his legacy.

but it’s implied endeavor pushed too hard, or was somehow directly involved in touya’s “death.” i put this in quotes because y’know, dabi is a todoroki theory. and this obviously just made things worse. i’m linking to this page again because it says that rei got worse, too, so much so that she couldn’t see shouto anymore - but it also implies to me that natsuo and fuyumi would still visit. but anyway ! touya dies, rei gets worse, and surely soon after endeavor finds out that shouto, while he’d have that scar on his face, would recover... and still be able to be trained.

so ummm.... now i can talk about fuyumi. all that and we’re JUST getting to her.

i’m kind of starting from the last ask here, but you’re entirely right - since the age of 13, fuyumi has never been able to define herself. from here on, she was entirely shaped by her trauma, and by roles she was never supposed to have fulfilled - i.e., motherhood. as a reminder, shouto was 5-6, natsuo was 9-10, and fuyumi, at age 13-14, truly began to step in rei’s place. so fuyumi starts taking care of the two of them while touya was the one who became isolated while he was trained. and like i said in a couple other posts, her brothers rejected her mothering them at first - i.e. natsuo lashing out and saying she’s NOT their mother and shouldn’t act like it, and shouto begging for their mom all the time and not understanding where she went. fuyumi barely had her own time to process what was happening and process the loss of her mother.

and then touya died. fuyumi probably feels partially responsible for his death, too, in the same way she and natsuo have said felt responsible for not helping shouto - she often thinks she could’ve done or said something to prevent that, too. and as you said, she overanalyzes everything and she’s incredibly hypervigilant to her father’s moods, because his satisfaction is, essentially, paramount to survival. touya died because he couldn’t meet her father’s standards, or maybe because he made endeavor angry, or whatever the case.

and you’re also right about the fact that she has no one to share the burden with - or, at the very least, feels like it. the one time natsuo tried to make it easier on her by cooking dinner, their father forbade him from never doing it again. i can only imagine what this fight looked like, and how scared fuyumi was of something so small turning into something irreparable. fuyumi says on this page they “take turns”, but i only think it ever happens when endeavor’s not home.

not to mention, as a defense and coping mechanism, became the image of a perfect mother to her brothers, and a perfect daughter to her father. always putting the boys first - i headcanon when either of them were sick, fuyumi would stay home from school to take care of them. always making sure her father was pleased and mediating between him and the boys. she developed this personality that consists of nothing but love and gentleness and understanding. i talked about this in my post about her and complex ptsd, but i’ll add the relevant excerpt here, too:

it’s also very common for these survivors to re-experience emotions from trauma intrusively - particularly when triggered. these feelings are often disproportionate to the present situation, but are equal to the intensity of what was required of them at the time of a trauma – also known as an emotional flashback.

fuyumi’s trauma has always put her in situations where she plays the peacemaker, the level head, the kind and gentle and understanding one. and because fuyumi is CONSTANTLY re-traumatized and exposed to her triggers because that entire house is one, it’s become her entire personality.

so fuyumi doesn’t really get to discover herself, at all, outside her trauma. her live revolves entirely around her brothers and her father. i think this also contributes to her desperation to repair her family now, because.... she doesn’t know what else is beyond that.

she’s stuck here. she can’t heal or move on right now.

fuyumi is a busybody because she KNOWS if she ever stops moving, she’ll crash, as you said. and it happens on occasion - but always behind closed doors. she has these.... quiet breaks, before she’s “fine” and moving on the next day. shouto and natsuo have never seen this side of her. she keeps this perfect facade of being put together tight under wraps.

i think the last thing to address with this ask is the aspect of romance and family - and once again, my dear friend, you’ve hit the nail on the head ! to start, fuyumi is deeply afraid of romance. she’s in love with the idea of it, as we can tell from her obsession with soap operas and trashy novels, but in reality it takes a long, long time for fuyumi to ever feel comfortable enough to define or initiate things between herself and someone else. it’s why she’s also always involved in people who are very straightforward, who won’t keep secrets from her, because she needs clarity in a relationship always. not to even mention a family of her own - fuyumi is so terrified of becoming her mother. even now, it’s why she refuses to let her brothers in the kitchen with her - because she knows how alike they are.

what’s really incredible to me is that despite all of that, fuyumi’s love and optimism and empathy and all that kindness and gentleness for the world is still very real and true. you can see it in the way she smiles, it’s in the way she sees the little things in people and remembers them, it’s in the unconditional love and understanding she gives to her friends and partners, the care she takes in tending to the family garden, the attention to her students - she truly embodies the good of humanity, the good of people - an aspect of her character that i love is how entirely mundane she is, and yet... she’s so, so special. her path to healing will always begin with forgiveness (though once she’s able to get away from endeavor, she’ll never be around him again), because she’s not a person that can live with anger in her heart, and i will always love how that’s presented as an entirely valid thing to do.

as a final addendum to this post, nearly no one knows about any of that. fuyumi won’t talk about it unless it’s entirely unavoidable, and even then she tries to make excuses and dance around it. like.... she stops up, she can’t speak. she freezes and completely stops functioning. ironic considering how openly her brothers will talk about it.

so anyways. i don’t think you expected this long winded answer, but i couldn’t help myself. thanks for sending this in !

#anonymous #✲ \ 𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝙴 ‚ meta.#long post //#child abuse //#domestic abuse //#child death //#ask to tag //#GOD THIS GOT SO LONG WINDED BUT I REEEEEAAAALLY WANTED 2 TALK ABT THIS....#BUT YES !! TO ALL OF THIS !!#MWAH THANK U ANON

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anotherkpopvictim · 3 years

Text

No Presents Allowed (Well, Maybe One) - TaeKook Drabble

A/N: Happy Birthday Mr. Kim Taehyung!!!

Pairing: Bottom!Taehyung X Top!Jungkook

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 2630

Smut, fluff

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Taehyung had never been the kind of person to really care about his birthday past the age of thirteen. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy receiving sentimental gifts from his friends and family, nor did he dread the day by any means, he simply just didn’t see why people threw huge parties for themselves that last way too long in order to celebrate it.

So, with that being stated, he never really minded that his career made it impossible to have his birthday off. Most memories of Taehyung’s birthdays since they debuted involved either performing at the year-end music shows or rehearsing for said year-end music shows. He never minded because he got to spend his birthday with six of his favorite people in the whole world, and they got a cake to share - a truly decadent delicacy for them when they were trying to keep in shape with strict diets.

This year, 2020, was different.

The pandemic was keeping many in their houses, and most families would not be able to see each other for Christmas break because of it.

Christmas wasn’t going to be much different for BTS because they had spent the past Christmases together for nearly a decade.

This year, however, Taehyung actually had his birthday off from work. They had the day off before the New Year’s Eve Online Concert BigHit was hosting. Taehyung was excited to have the day off, of course, but it would be quite different from the previous years where all seven members had been together for it.

So it’s December 29th, and Taehyung was finally returning back to his apartment after a long day of dance practice and vocal rehearsal. The day had been long and Taehyung found himself rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he tried to unlock his front door.

He was surprised to walk in and smell the delicious scent of cooking meat. “Kookie?” he called out curiously.

“In the kitchen, hyung!” came the reply.

Taehyung probably should have guessed that.

He toed off his shoes and socks and hung up his coat in the closet before heading towards the source of the wonderful scent. Taehyung found Jungkook in the kitchen, standing over the stove as he prepared something. He was wearing some tight black jeans and a simple black button-up, and he looked as beautiful as ever, though it was a little odd to see him all dressed up when they weren’t going anywhere.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

Jungkook looked up at his entrance and gave him a giant bunny smile, “Hi! Your birthday dinner is almost ready.”

“But it’s not even my birthday yet,” Taehyung commented as he made his way closer to the other.

Jungkook shrugged, “I know how much you like my homemade cooking so I thought two days of it would be a great present for you since you said I couldn’t buy you anything this year.”

“Ah, yes,” Taehyung retorted sarcastically, “What a sad thing for you, not being allowed to buy me a birthday present.”

Jungkook pouted, “I know. You’re the worst boyfriend ever. I’m just over here trying to buy you the entire universe and you tell me no.”

Taehyung snorted out a laugh before slapping his arm. “You’re such a doofus.”

The younger man shrugged once more. “And yet you choose to date me.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes before draping himself over Jungkook’s back as he went back to stirring something in a frying pan. “So, what is my little chef making for me today?”

“Steak tteokbokki,” he answered.

The older man hummed happily, “Yummy.”

“Go wash up while I finish this, hyung,” Jungkook said. “Then pick out a movie to watch while we eat.”

Taehyung grinned and leaned down to press several loud, smacking kisses to the younger man’s neck. “You’re the best, Kook-ah.”

Despite his earlier tiredness, Taehyung was really excited to spend some time with his boyfriend. His shower helped wake him up more, and he had a surprisingly fun time picking out what to wear. He went with simple black slacks and a blue floral patterned button-up. He didn’t do anything special to his hair, knowing that Jungkook liked to run his finger through the soft, natural waves void of any product.

The two of them ended up rewatching an anime they had seen a million times but both loved, stuffing their faces with Jungkook’s amazing tteokbokki while they made comments about the show back and forth.

After their meals were finished, Taehyung leaned his head on his boyfriend’s thigh and looked up at him. He admired his soft features and wavy locks framing his face.

“Don’t stare at me like that,” Jungkook complained with a blush when he glanced down and caught his boyfriend’s gaze. “It’s creepy.”

“You like it,” Taehyung teased, giggling when it earned him a pinch to his side. “Please, our fans have literally made compilations of you staring at me for minutes!”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully, “Why you little-”

And so that’s how they ended up in a tickle war, Taehyung escaping from his boyfriend’s grasp only to squeal when Jungkook caught him up in his arms a few moments later.

Eventually, they migrated to their shared bedroom, where they collapsed onto the bed in a heap of fond giggles and sweet kisses.

At least, the kisses were sweet until they began to become something more. Jungkook nibbled at Taehyung’s lip while the older man wound his arms around the younger’s neck.

They continued to make out and eventually, their hips were kicking against each other suggestively. Taehyung let out a moan of appreciation when Jungkook slipped his hands under his shirt and began teasing his nipples with his thumbs.

Slowly, Jungkook unbuttoned his boyfriend’s shirt and helped him toss it to the side. He pressed another loving kiss to his soft lips before pulling back and looking at Taehyung with those dark, lustful eyes that had him nearly melting on the spot.

“Let me show just how much I love you, my Taehyungie.” Jungkook’s voice was barely above a whisper but the tone was sure and Taehyung heard it loud and clear.

He gave a quick nod and that was all the confirmation that the younger needed.

Jungkook held the older man’s hands and lifted them above his head as he pressed gentle kisses into his neck. “Keep your hands there, baby.”

Taehyung let out something close to a whine of submission and complied as the younger man relented his grip and let his hands wander to other places. His hands glided over his arms, appreciating the lightly defined muscles he’d been trying so hard to get. Then he moved on to ghosting his fingertips over his torso in a teasing manner, tweaking his hardened nipples a few more times for good measure.

By the time Jungkook was done worshipping his upper body, Taehyung was a puddle of goo, completely relaxed and aroused with his hard cock tenting his slacks. Jungkook left a trail of kisses down his torso, following where his hands had been moments earlier.

Taehyung couldn’t help the moan of approval he let out when the younger man slid his pants and boxers down his legs and off. The feeling of his cock being freed from its constraints just felt too good.

The older man found himself gasping in surprise when Jungkook sank down on his dick with his mouth, his throat easily adapting to the rather large intrusion. Taehyung’s arms twitched above his head, and he had to fight to urge to keep them there as Jungkook had asked him to. All he really wanted was to grab the younger man’s head and guide his movements over his cock, and perhaps another day Jungkook would have let him, but not today.

As Jungkook bobbed his head up and down on the older man’s length, he watched as Taehyung’s face contorted in pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his lip became bitten between his teeth.

Jungkook pulled off of him momentarily to say, “Let me hear you, hyung.” He was hollowing his mouth around his dick again just a second later.

Taehyung obeyed, allowing his noises of pleasure to fill the otherwise quiet air around them. He let them fly freely, knowing that Jungkook loved to know just how good he was making him feel.

It only took a few minutes before Taehyung was wriggling around on the bed under Jungkook’s ministrations, feeling himself getting close.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, Taehyung couldn’t decide) Jungkook seemed to know this, as he pulled himself completely away from Taehyung’s cock. The older man let out a whimper of disapproval that Jungkook hushed away with a kiss to the lips.

Then, the younger man continued his journey of worshipping Taehyung’s body, lifting up his left leg and pressing loving kisses into the soft skin of his thighs. It tickled honestly, but it also made Taehyung’s heart so warm to feel the love his boyfriend had for every single part of him.

Jungkook moved to the right leg and gave it just as much attention as the other one. Taehyung let out a yelp as Jungkook bit into the meat of his inner thigh, his hands - which had remained above his head until this point - reached down and grabbed harshly onto the younger man’s dark locks.

Jungkook immediately pulled away and grabbed his wrists. “No, hyung. Above your head,” he reminded firmly.

Taehyung whined, his head swimming with the fuzzy haze of need. His hands only tightened their grip.

The younger seemed to realize how far into his headspace Taehyung was and leaned down to kiss his lips softly. “You’re doing so well for me, Taehyungie. I love you so much. Keep your hands up for me, love.”

Taehyung allowed Jungkook to guide his arms back above his head, helping his fingers grip onto the bars of the headboard for support. “Keep them there, baby,” he ordered softly once more.

Taehyung let his eyes fall shut and his body fall limp to help him relax as Jungkook bent the older man’s knees and planted his feet onto the mattress. Then he moved to the edge of the bed to rummage through the bedside table. They’d done this enough that Taehyung knew the younger man was getting the lube.

He was proven correct when he heard the unmistakable sounds of the cap popping off and Jungkook pouring some lube onto his fingers.

Taehyung’s hips jumped at the gentle pressure that appeared at his asshole, but he quickly relaxed once more. This is what he needed. This is what he hadn’t realized he’d been craving lately. Leave it up to Jungkook to know him better than he knows himself.

He whimpered as Jungkook sank his entire finger inside of him, moving gently so he could get used to the intrusion. It wasn’t long before he added a second finger and then a third, fucking Taehyung with his fingers in a way that was too perfect but perfectly Jungkook.

“K-Kookie - need...” he couldn’t even find his words properly, already feeling fucked out. “Need you to fuck me, Kookie.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile fondly at the older man’s demure tone as he removed his fingers. “Alright, hyung.”

Taehyung opened his eyes to watch as Jungkook sat up on the bed and unbuttoned his own shirt. He hungrily drunk in the sight of his boyfriend’s toned abdomen and milky skin as the fabric was pushed off of his shoulders and onto the floor. He watched even more closely as Jungkook pushed his jeans and boxers off his legs, leaving him completely bare to the world.

Fuck, Taehyung was so lucky to have a boyfriend who was so fucking beautiful.

The younger man poured a bit more lube into his hand before enveloping his long, hard dick. As Jungkook let out a pleased moan, Taehyung’s hands twitched again with the urge to just reach out and touch his boyfriend himself. Truly, Taehyung wasn’t much of the jealous type, but he might be a little bit (a lot) jealous of Jungkook’s hand right now.

After a few more slick pumps of his hand, Jungkook leaned down over the older man once more, cloaking him with his body in a way that made Taehyung let out a sigh of relief. Their bare skin, warm and soft, pressed together until they were more one person than two.

Taehyung let out a whimper as Jungkook guided himself to his hole, pushing the tip in teasingly. “Kook-ah, come on,” he whined, “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

“I’ve barely teased you,” Jungkook replied, amused.

Taehyung pouted petulantly and was about to whine some more when Jungkook decided to just thrust his dick all the way inside of him in one go. A pleasured gasp fell his lips and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when his boyfriend began a hard, steady pace with his movements.

“There you go,” Jungkook hissed out with a furrowed brow. “This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me to fuck you senseless.”

It was a rare occurrence to hear Jungkook speaking so boldly and it only served to push Taehyung further into his debauched state.

Jungkook hitched Taehyung’s leg higher around his waist, adjusting the angle until the tip of his cock pressed against his boyfriend’s prostate.

Taehyung let out a strangled moan and his arms came down from their spot above his head before he caught himself and returned them.

“Good, hyung.”

Jungkook rewarded him by quickening the rhythm of his hips. Their skin was slapping together rather noisily where their bodies connected and along with their generous moans, they surely sounded like something out of a porno. Probably looked like they could be the stars of one too, considering how handsome they both were.

Taehyung’s emotions were building up inside him rather quickly, overwhelmed with the younger man’s relentless pace. His hands kept their place above his head, gripping tightly to the bars of the headboard.

“K-Kook,” Taehyung hiccupped out. “I’m not gonna l-last much longer.”

“Me neither, baby,” Jungkook admitted. “It’s been too long.”

The younger man grabbed hold of Taehyung’s thigh and used his strength to lift it nearly over his shoulder. A few thrusts at the new angle was all it took for Taehyung to be reduced to a babbling mess.

“Let me come, please!” he all but begged.

Jungkook honestly wasn’t fairing much better, the sight of his boyfriend so fucked out too much for him too. “Go ahead.”

Taehyung only had half a mind to be embarrassed about the sounds he made as he came, clenching around Jungkook and causing him to tip over the edge only a few seconds later.

The younger collapsed onto Taehyung, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s neck as they both came down from their highs.

After a few minutes, Jungkook got up and went to the bathroom to get a wet rag. He cleaned Taehyung up with it when he returned to the room, gently wiping him down as the older man laid there on their bed in a hazy bliss.

“I love you, Taehyungie,” Jungkook murmured as he returned to the bed to wrap himself around Taehyung.

“Love you too,” he replied. “You always know exactly what I need.”

Jungkook hummed, “It’s a special talent.”

“This is the best present I ever could have received.” As they cuddled closer together, the older lying his head on Jungkook’s chest and wrapping an arm around his waist, Taehyung added, “My ass is gonna hurt so badly for our performance on Thursday.”

Jungkook snorted out a laugh. “It’s what you wanted, though, isn’t it?”

Taehyung let out a happy sigh as he let his eyes closed shut. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

A/N: It is so hard for me to write smut sometimes. I always find it sounds so cringey. I hope it turned out alright, though.

Comments and likes keep me going, so please leave one if you liked this <3

#bts #bts taehyung #bts v #kim taehyung #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts drabble #bts drabbles #bts fanfic #bts fanfics #bts fanfiction #bts taekook #bts vkook #taekook #vkook

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kindkindling · 4 years

Text

thinking about my feelings never did me any good

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

pairing: mason/nb detective (Billie Vale)

rating: T

warnings: none? some anxiety, but nothing to write home about

word count: ~2k

summary: The detective accidentally spends the night in Mason's room and almost has a conniption over it.

ao3

Coming back to consciousness was a slow affair.

The first sensation to return was a familiar dull ache radiating from their lower half, a pleasant reminder of the evening's activities. Revelling in it for a few moments brought a smile to Billie's face that was really a bit embarrassing in just how wide it was, so they shifted to hide their face into their pillow. That, however, brought on another sensation that was more surprising - this wasn't their pillow.

The smile drained as Billie slowly lifted their head back up and opened their eyes. It took a few moments for their eyesight - poor at the best of times, honestly - to focus enough to discern that this was not the usual location of their... encounters with Mason.

This was, in fact, Mason's room.

A gentle shifting sound drew their attention, and they turned to their side to see Mason laying on his stomach, shoulderblades falling slightly as he exhaled a breath in sleep.

It was really quite something to see. His face was turned away, cheek pressed into the pillow, which was somehow both a disappointment and a relief; but now that their eyes had adjusted to the dark, they could see the defined slopes and curves of the lean muscles in his back. His freckles were a little harder to spot, and they couldn't have stopped the unconscious lean forward to refine their vision even if they had tried.

A bit closer, they could see the clusters of dots all across the wide expanse of tanned skin, and the smile that had dropped before returned with a vengeance as they let their eyes roam to their content.

This... was not something they ever got to see. Not Mason's back - that was something they had seen quite a few times by this point - but him just... peacefully resting. Billie was something of a heavy sleeper themself, so after a few rounds of fun, they would always be conked out until morning - by which time Mason was always long gone. And with that thought came a realization that felt like a bucket of ice water being poured over their head.

Mason never stayed. That was the thing, he was very clear when they began this... engagement that it was just sex. No feelings, no complications; and Billie had tentatively agreed, against their better judgement. Mason was rather good at getting Billie to go along with what were almost always bad ideas, seemingly without even trying very hard; an admittedly almost obnoxious level of professionalism had helped to keep any shenanigans out of their office at the station, but anywhere that didn't require Billie to prove themselves worthy of the duties given to them were less than safe.

Really, they should have been more concerned about how easy it was to let themselves be swayed by those pretty, stormy eyes and the way he would move towards them with a very definite, singular purpose in mind and how he had a way of making any room feel twenty degrees hotter even when the rest of Unit Bravo were still in the room Mason please. But being concerned about it would mean having to actually think about it, which Billie was adamantly and actively refusing to do, because thinking about it could only complicate things.

Thinking about it would lead to thinking about how, despite how their pulse would race and their ears would burn, they never felt safer than when they were in his arms. About how more than once they've caught themselves getting distracted at work, remembering not how he smirked down at them in bed, eyes dark and gleaming, but how he grinned when they had actually joined Felix in teasing Ava about her attitude for once.

("I'm just saying! He's not entirely wrong," they defended Felix. "You can be a little... uptight."

"I believe that's a bit hypocritical coming from you, detective," she had commented dryly, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, I'm aware," they had said. "But that doesn't make it less true."

Nat had chuckled quietly from her book, and the bark of laughter from Mason had Billie mirroring his grin.)

None of that was fair to Mason. He wanted simple. He wanted uncomplicated fun. He didn't want feelings that would make things messy or their jobs harder and that was understandable. It was bad enough that Billie found so many moments of their day spent just remembering things like how his hair felt running through their fingers as they scrambled for purchase; if feelings got involved and things went south, there was no way the rest of Unit Bravo or their work would be unaffected, and staying in his bed after sex would be... crossing a feeling line?

Emotions really weren't their strong suit.

Thinking about their feelings, which unfortunately often ran counter to what was obviously the objectively correct course of action, was bad. Nothing good would come of it, so they shoved it down and locked it up and only occasionally allowed themselves to listen to the rattling of their heart inside its cage.

Steadfastly ignoring their pounding heart, Billie tried to stop their mind from running away and panicking about feelings they refused to consider by figuring out just what they were actually going to do about this.

So, the facts.

One. Mason never stayed. Therefore, Billie shouldn't stay either. Easy, nothing to even contemplate here. Frankly, they've probably stayed too long as it is, staring at the arrays of freckles on his back, lingering on one cluster before slowly dragging to the next, tracing the line where the sheets met his hips -

Stop. Next.

Two. Mason was asleep, and Billie was awake. Therefore, now was the optimal time to leave.

Three. In order to leave, they need to first find their glasses. Where were their glasses?

Billie had only been in here once before, when Mason was recovering from the Trappers' assault, and they hadn't exactly been paying much attention to the decor at that time. Reluctantly, they tore their eyes away from Mason's back and scanned the room.

They had come in the door and Mason had abruptly shut it behind them and crowded them against it. They had... spent some time there (don't think about it don't linger his hands cupped their ass and squeezed as he dragged them against his-)

Nope, obviously not there. A table? Dresser? When had they taken them off?

Shit. There was also another problem, even if they found the frames. It simply wouldn't be possible for Mason to sleep as heavily as they do - personal idiosyncrasies aside, his hypersenses would undoubtedly register them poking around his room.

Reconsider fact three. Are the glasses necessary? They could leave without them. Well, they couldn't leave the warehouse; while they did keep a spare pair in the glove compartment of their car, they had walked here today to enjoy the last remnants of spring's cool breezes before summer's annual onslaught began. But they could retire to their own room for the rest of the night at least, allow Mason the privacy he always afforded them, and inquire politely in the morning proper. That would be an awkward conversation in and of itself, but...

Yes, that seemed the safest bet. Least chance of waking Mason, greatest chance of avoiding an "Oh hey, didn't mean to wake you, go back to sleep" conversation, absolutely no chance of acknowledging how god, they really didn't want to leave at all, he was so warm next to them -

Right, time to go.

With a firm resolution not to look back and start counting each freckle to delay this any longer, Billie pulled the covers back and shifted their legs off the bed. As soon as their feet touched the floor, they felt a tug and the world shifted and suddenly they were back on the bed and looking at the ceiling?

"Quiet down." Gruff, gravelly - oh. Mason was awake. Well, shit.

"I didn't say anything," Billie whispered. Mason had pulled them back from the edge of the bed and had turned so that now he was on his side and had one arm slung across their middle, pressing them alongside him. They could feel the drag of his stubble as he buried his face in the space between their shoulder and the pillow, and try as they might, they couldn't stop their ears from burning in response.

"Didn't have to. Heart's pounding a mile a minute."

Ah. So much for their carefully considered plan. But now, with his arm around them and his breath warming their skin, they were finding it harder and harder to start a new thread of logic to get out of this.

They looked down at his arm. The freckles that had dotted across his back spread here as well, and after a moment's hesitation, they brought one hand up to gently run their fingers across them, trying to find a recognizable pattern. They could feel Mason stiffen for just a second, then relax again with a only a huff as commentary. Not wholly unwelcome, then. Tolerated, at least. Was that was this was? Was he just tolerating this intrusion into his space, would it mean he would be less likely to allow Billie in again? Maybe not, he was never very picky about where they had fun before, but this was different, surely? This had to be a bad idea, they couldn't let themself be swayed into this like all the times before, this could be ruinous, this thing that they have was already tenuous and vague at best, this had to be crossing a line -

There was a growl and another tug and suddenly Billie was on their side, facing away from Mason, pulled in tight against his chest with both arms and legs tangled together. The tension Billie felt was keeping them from fully appreciating the position, though that did nothing to stop the flush from moving from their ears to their cheeks.

"What did I tell you?"

They let out a breath they hadn't known they were holding. Then took another, and gathered their courage. Bite the bullet.

"Sorry. It's just..." They rearranged their own arms until they could hold onto Mason's more comfortably. "...Is this really okay? Me... staying?"

They felt a scoff behind their head, gently displacing a few wisps of hair.

"Where would you even go?"

Ugh. This was taking more courage than Billie allotted for. "I could go to my own room. You don't have to let me stay here if you don't want to."

There was a long, long moment of silence. Long enough that Billie started to consider cutting their losses and writing off that pair of glasses entirely, really, they could just run home, pack their bags, move to the city, change their name; they would miss Unit Bravo and Tina and Verda and maybe even reminisce about Douglas and his stupid, shitty phone one day, but it would be better than dealing with the fallout of this.

But while Mason may be a tease, he never fails to follow through. His grip tightened just a bit.

"I never do anything I don't want to, sweetheart. If you don't know that by now, you aren't half as smart as everyone thinks you are."

A flush of warmth flowed through them that had (almost) nothing to do with the added heat from Mason's embrace, even as they let out a small huff of indignation. It wasn't the most tactful way to say it, but it still answered the unasked question. Do you want me to stay?

With that worry taken care of and any other thoughts or feelings on the matter resolutely shoved back where they came from because we are not going to screw this up right now no thank you, Billie finally settled back against Mason's chest.

"Okay then." They could feel a shadow of a smile at the edge of their lips, the muscles barely twitching before they also settled as they let their eyes close again. "...Good night, Mason."

"'Night."

It didn't take much longer for Billie to fall back asleep, Mason's arms around them, legs entangled, and the ghost of Mason's lips resting on the back of their neck for the rest of the night.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc fic #i can't believe i managed to write this and get sick of it in the same day #take it away. please.#sea's OCs #twc m

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cautious-creation · 3 years

Text

“Ensign.” “Commander.”

Fandom & Character: Star Trek:Voyager, Commander Chakotay

Pairing(s): Chakotay x 1st person female y/n

Word/page count: 3300ish words, 3.5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, superior officer x subordinate relationship, past loss of a grandparent, discussion of grief, power dynamic

Summary: an ensign and her commander fall in love in the Delta quadrant

“Ensign.” he walked into the lab, holding what I assumed was the information I needed,

”Commander?” it didn’t make much sense for him to come down to the lab to deliver it. He looked up from the data and gave me a smile in greeting, which put me at ease; at least there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. I returned the smile.

“I’ve got that data from Seven.” he handed me the data.

“Thank you, sir,” I turned in my seat back to my work station, “you really didn’t need to come down here, I was about to head to astrometrics.” he leaned against the work station beside me, looking at another information pad he’d brought with him.

“Captain’s in command and I needed a break from the bridge. I’ve heard about how quiet it is down here this time of day.” he dismissed.

“That’s why I prefer this shift, sir.” he paused from his work, looking at me.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ensign. After two years stuck in the delta quadrant together I’d think we could all benefit from being a little more casual.” I chuckled.

“I’ll try. It’s become a bit of a habit. Early in my starfleet career I was told I had a tendency to speak a little too casually, particularly with senior officers. I had to… re-train… myself. I seemed to have unintentionally made a few officers feel disrespected.” I smiled, reminiscing.

He nodded in agreement, “I’ve always found it a little problematic, some senior officers seem to use it to stroke their egos.” I laughed,

“That was part of my problem.” he laughed with me. “I understand why it’s necessary, but some people take it too far and it gets in the way of strong relationships being formed by the crew.” he smiled, seeming to admire my perspective.

“I’m glad I came down here. I think we could have some very interesting conversations.”

I nodded “I think so too.”

He pushed off of the work bench, “I need to head back to the bridge, good luck with that assessment, ensign.” he headed for the door, giving a nod for farewell.

“Thank you… commander.” he gave me a smirk as he walked out the door. I grinned, turned back to my console to put that luck to use.

“Well, my professor for xenosociology seemed to have a burning hatred for students like me, who actually question things, so I decided to move to xenobiology and that ended up expanding out to botany, neurology, anatomy, I almost took a psychology course. That professor made me never want to take a sociology course again, and yet, I still keep on looking into it myself.” Chakotay and I both smiled fondly at the memories of our respective experiences at Starfleet academy.

“Considering the horror stories I’ve heard from some of my Maquis friends, I had smooth sailing through my days at the academy. Sociology is fascinating, but I’ve always loved anthropology.”

“Anything else for you two?” Neelix came past our table, gathering our used dishes. It was something he tends to do when he’s trying to ‘subtly’ listen in on people’s conversations. He’d been doing it a lot when Chakotay and I had meals together.

“I’m alright thanks.” I looked at Chakotay, he shook his head,

“Thank you, Neelix.” Neelix gave a small nod and left the table.

I waited for Neelix to leave earshot before I spoke again.

“I think he might be spying on us.” I leaned forward and spoke in a playful whisper.

He chuckled “I’ve been told that our… association has become a subject of gossip among the crew.”

We smiled at each other.

“Well, aren’t they presumptuous.” he shook his head in amusement looking down at the table.

When he looked up, our gazes locked on one another. Everything around us seemed to go quiet. I tilted my head to the side, a furrowed brow and slight smile on my face. He’s a handsome man, charming too. So kind and gentle, righteous, patient. A good man.

Subconsciously, my hand dragged along the table until the backs of my fingers touched the back of his hand. He hooked his index finger over mine. It was practically a ‘pinky swear’. Just that little bit of physical contact felt like so much. It was a good feeling. I looked down at our hands and sighed.

“Are you alright?” his question drew my gaze back to his now concerned expression. I gave a lazy smile and slowly nodded.

“I just… “ I decided to take a risk, “Why don’t we have dinner in my quarters this evening? There’s a family recipe I’ve been meaning to try and I could use the excuse to finally do it.” a small, thoughtful frown crossed his face as he looked at our hands.

“No obligation, commander. Just an option. I’ve put it off this long, and the recipe isn’t going anywhere.” I spoke softly.

“Actually, I was just thinking about timing. My shift ends at twenty hundred hours, yours starts at… oh three hundred?” I nodded, “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep.” his concern was sweet.

“I can manage with four to five hours.”

He beamed at me “Then, ensign, I accept your invitation.”

I smiled. I couldn’t deny I was excited for this dinner. All our meals so far had been in the mess hall. I’d started to get uncomfortable with all the glances we’d get. Perhaps it’s a bit odd for an ensign and a ship’s first officer to spend so much time together, or to be so close with one another; but it’s not as if we’d been doing anything unsavoury and definitely nothing that would go against regulations. Little goes unnoticed on a ship like this and whatever gossip may be circulating is milked dry very quickly; any new material is quickly scavenged upon. I didn’t want to risk Chakotay’s reputation or even his position. Nothing unbecoming a Starfleet officer.

It would be nice to spend some off duty time together away from prying eyes. We’d come to enjoy each other’s company, and Chakotay was right, our conversations were quite interesting.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tuvok called him to the bridge. He excused himself, saying he’d see me later, I wished him luck on the bridge and went back to the novel I’d been reading. Neelix came by soon after Chakotay left, not-so-subtly prying into the nature of our relationship. I played dumb, not falling for any of his sneaky questions. It was amusing to watch him getting progressively more frustrated, my form of justice for his intrusion.

I spent that afternoon napping and cooking. At nineteen hundred hours I showered and changed out of my uniform. I couldn’t decide what to wear so I ended up putting on a fresh uniform, sans jacket. I spent probably more energy than I ought to on decisions like what tablecloth to use, candles or no candles, wine or no wine and I decided to only dim the lights slightly. I didn’t want to push it, we hadn’t defined the nature of our relationship, I’d prefer to go too platonic than too romantic.

Five minutes after twenty hundred hours my doorbell chimed and Chakotay presented me with a bottle of wine.

“Oh, fantastic. I couldn’t decide if I should open a bottle.” he smiled and I stepped aside to let him in. He’d clearly just come from the bridge. His uniform made him look quite dapper, but I could tell he was fatigued from his duty shift.

“So, what’s this family recipe you’ve been so excited about? It smells amazing.” he approached the dishes of food on the table.

“How about you sort out the wine while I dish up?” I handed him the bottle and a corkscrew, then moved to the table to give him the story.

“My great aunt gave me instructions for green beans, creamed spinach and butternut puree. The bread is my paternal grandfather’s sourdough recipe; a lot of research and development went into that one; and my uncle taught us the trick of dipping bread in a shallow bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. There’s a tradition that I think my dad started, to fry or grill sticks of halloumi cheese and season them with lemon.” Chakotay had poured the wine and sat in the chair opposite me. I placed a plate in front of him and sat down to mine.

“It might not be the most cohesive meal but together it reminds me of home.” there was a pause, an unprompted moment of silence for those we were so far away from.

He lifted his glass, “To… our families back home, and the one we have right here on Voyager.” I smiled. The crisp sound of the glasses touching split the hum of the ship for a moment. Such a beautifully wholesome sentiment.

“How’s the bridge, commander?” I tore some bread and dipped it into the oil vinegar mix.

“The bridge is just fine, ensign. No alien contact, no helm challenges, refreshingly quiet. How about the lab?” he took a forkful of butternut.

“We’ve been getting some momentum on that analysis. Surprisingly, there’s been a lot of data to sift through. The sample turned out to be far more interesting than we thought it would be.” he nodded,

“That’s good news.” I took a sip of my wine, “Now, enough about work. How’s life?”

I chuckled, “Life is work and work is life here on Voyager, commander.” he shook his head, amused.

‘Ensign’ and ‘commander’ had become our pet names for each other, an inside joke that he and I shared. With all the prying ears and eyes it was fun to have something they didn't understand, and it helped us to seem more professional with each other for the sake of those concerned or bothered by the relationship Chakotay and I had developed.

“I’m glad we could have dinner without spectators for once.” I nodded, agreeing. It had started to feel invasive.

“It’s kind of unsettling to have everyone watching and listening to us. I get that it’s a small ship but surely that doesn’t mean we’re no longer allowed at least a little bit of privacy.”

“You’d think a crew of Starfleet officers would have a little more discretion than this.”

I scoffed playfully, “at least we haven’t been getting much commentary from our colleagues.”

“The captain said something this morning,” I frowned

“She did?” he nodded

“It wasn’t about us specifically, but the implication was there.”

“What did she say?”

“Something along the lines of being sensitive to the consequences of specific relationships within the crew, considering that we’ll all be stuck with each other on Voyager for a long time to come.”

“I’m impressed, an approach like that to a situation like this takes a lot of finesse on the captain’s part. But I’m not surprised, we’re ‘stuck’ out here with one of the wisest Starfleet captains I know.” He nodded. I could see how he admired her.

“I can’t think of another captain who would’ve been able to keep Voyager going this long out here in the Delta quadrant.” I agreed.

“You know who else’s work out here has been exemplary?” I decided to lighten the mood, “Harry Kim. If it was up to me he’d be a full fledged lieutenant by now.” Chakotay seemed amused,

“His work has been exemplary.” The sentiment was sincere.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself, commander.” His smile was small and bashful.

There was a moment or two of silence and we continued eating.

“You must’ve used a week of replicator rations on this.” he sat on the couch, taking the mug of tea I handed him.

“Only two days, actually. The beans and spinach were from the airponics bay. I used some of a weird bulbous vegetable Neelix had in storage to stretch the butternut I replicated and he had some Talaxian spices close enough to imitate cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I replicated the flour for the bread but yeast was a bit more difficult to get my hands on. The halloumi I had to replicate.”

“What about the lemon juice?” I chuckled.

“Six months into Neelix’s cooking I decided we needed some citrus so I grafted cuttings of about five different plants. We’ve ended up with limes, lemons, grapefruit, blood orange and an oddly bitter variety of Bolian tangerine. Neelix seems to get quite excited whenever I tell him the franken-tree has yielded another fruit. Which is rare because of how small it still is. Fortunately, citrus keeps well. The lemon I used tonight was in storage for about a month and a half.” Chakotay smiled.

“I think that citrus franken-tree is one of your greatest achievements yet in terms of crew morale.” I chuckled,

“It’s definitely been one of the more challenging undertakings I’ve had while on Voyager.”

“You put a lot of effort into this meal.” I shrugged,

“I couldn’t have done it without Neelix’s help.” I frowned, “And it’s something I’d been needing to do for myself, a little bit of self-care. I’m glad I could share it with someone.” I looked up at him. I was glad that I had him to share the experience with.

“I’m honoured to have been allowed to share this meal with you.” His sincere smile put me at ease. I placed my mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back into the couch.

“I’ve been missing home a lot recently. I guess the anniversary of my grandmother’s death hit me harder than I expected.” he took my hand in his,

“You could have said something.” I responded to his concerned expression with a sad smile and looked down at our joined hands.

“I wanted to try working through it myself. I thought it would last a couple of days and I’d be back to normal.” my gaze became distant as I thought back

“Her leg of lamb stew was legendary. Not even my aunt could recreate it. She’d been cooking it on the day she died.” a small forlorn crease grazed my brow, “Two months after she died, I think it was on her birthday, it was taken out of cold storage and we all sat down to eat the last meal she ever made. It was… almost like a last goodbye. There was such a finality to that meal. I was only nine years old.” a single tear ran down my cheek, Chakotay gave my hand a comforting squeeze, “Her death changed my whole world view.”

“In what way?” His gentle question refocused my gaze. I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t remember.” It was true, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t have grown into the person I had become if it wasn’t for her influence on my life, as well as the influence of her death.

“She meant a lot to you. I’m not surprised things didn’t just go back to normal for you after two days.” I smiled fondly and sighed, looking up and seeing his caring expression,

“Thank you for having this dinner with me.” he smiled softly,

“Of course. I’m glad I did.”

We sat for a while, my thoughts starting to gather again.

“A while back I programmed a traditional malva pudding recipe into the replicator data banks, well, our family recipe. Would you care for a piece?”

“I have no idea what it is, but I’m willing to try it.” I chuckled, getting up and heading to the replicator.

“It’s a traditional South African dish. My version is a bit different from what you’d find described in an historical database,” I sat back down with two plates of the syrup laced pound cake type dessert.

“Usually it’s served with custard or ice cream, but I think that just dulls the flavour.” one bite and a smile spread onto my face.

“I haven’t ever had anything like this. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I shook my head.

“Sorry, commander, that’s a family secret.” he chuckled.

“I might just have to order you to, ensign.” I laughed at him.

“Good luck with that, Chakotay.” it was a little startling to both of us to hear me call him by name, before that, I never had. That sounds bizarre, but it’s true.

“Chakotay,” it still sounded odd, my plate made a thud against the coffee table “I think we need to talk about some things.” he nodded, placing his plate down beside mine.

I took a deep breath. My chest tightened in anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew we needed to address some things about our relationship but I feel like I couldn’t quite describe them.

“I… “ I looked down trying to find the words, “we need to discuss… ‘us’, the nature of our relationship. What we… want out of this relationship, where we see it progressing. How we respond to the crew and commanding officers about… this.” he held my fidgeting hands in his and flashed me a soft, concerned smile.

“Well, I believe we’ve come to be close friends.” the smile that responded tried to hide my slight disappointment, “But, as for what I see in the future of our relationship… “ he looked down at our hands, “That’s a little more… sensitive.”

I gave an empathetic smile and chuckled, “I know the feeling.”

He sighed. “I care about you, a lot.”

“And I you.” I gave a small smile.

“I’d absolutely be happy to continue as friends,” he locked eye contact, searching for my thoughts, “but I’d hoped we could work towards a romantic relationship.” I grinned. I couldn’t describe the relief that I felt.

“Me too.” he beamed back at me and almost seemed to blush.

One of his hands released mine and came to the side of my face, my now free hand lay on his chest, beside his neck, against the undershirt exposed by his unfastened jacket. The warmth of his body against my skin brought a slight flush to my face. His thumb padded over my cheek. My fingers fiddled with the pips on his collar.

I looked up at his handsome face, his gentle, calming eyes focused on mine. My fingers itched to trace along the lines gracing the skin around his left brow bone, cheek bone and temple. He was frustratingly close to me. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch those dimples that smiled at me. His eyes enthralled me.

I took another risk, letting my other hand rise to meet his face, the tips of my fingers lightly dragged along his tattoo. He seemed to sigh into my touch, which made a contented smile cross my face. My heart fluttered, I felt so peaceful.

“I don’t think you’ve told me, why the tattoo?” he smiled.

“My father. He wore it to honour our culture, I wear it to honour him.” my heart swelled.

“That’s so pure.” he chuckled bashfully. I gave him a thoughtful smile.

“You’re a good guy, Chakotay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before today. I like the way it sounds when you do.” it was my turn to blush.

“Chakotay, what are we gonna do about this?” I chuckled. My palm settled against his cheek.

“Well, what I would like to do about it, is to kiss you.” how suave, I’d been smiling every few seconds that evening, now was no exception.

“I’m not quite there yet, Chakotay.” I liked the way it sounded too, “I hope this can tide you over for now.” I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll hold out for you.” he took my face in his hands and gave an equally gentle kiss to my forehead. My hands rested on his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across my lips.

#Star Trek #Star Trek:Voyager #Chakotay #commander chakotay #fanfiction #fanfic

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dentalrecordsmusic · 4 years

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Album Review: No Momentum - “everything's whatever”

Words by Ari Jindracek

I became acquainted with No Momentum at Sled Fest, as I did with many bands, and after seeing them live, the chance to check out their first full-length LP was one I knew I had to jump on. I left Mount Prospect that night with their CD in my bag, though various holiday circumstances meant I couldn't actually check it out until January, and the second I listened, I was in. The more I listen, the more in I get. No Momentum feel like the sort of band that would result if you took topics that the DIY scene spends a lot of time on, like love, nostalgia, and modern Internet culture, chopped up a weird and sometimes distressing therapy session, and shoved everything into a food processor with early Fall Out Boy. That's a bad metaphor for a good band, but you might get my point: there's a bit of old, a lot of new, and the result is wholly terrific.

The first few seconds of “yr telescope” feel like a cool day in a small park in the middle of the city, soothing but with a sense of modernity still there. This impression goes away as soon as it came and I must admit the transition into the more bouncy, vocally-fried song was jarring. The lyrics take a backseat, for me, to the rhythm which singer Will Bowman spits them out; if I brought this song to my sophomore year class on prosody (look it up), my professor would probably listen to “I’m not defined by rhymes or lines,” look at the class, and say something in his deeply profound voice about how he thought it was cool as hell. It feels like every word of this song falls perfectly into its right place, a perfectly-played game of musical Tetris. I long for a return to the serene beginning just so it doesn’t seem like such a one-off, but this song latched in my brain and I think of it sometimes, unprompted, on walks to the train, wishing I could listen to it on my phone.

The way “gts” starts steeply contrasts the way “yr telescope” does, opening with harsh, metallic, picky noises that make my teeth itch before opening into the guitar-backed vocals, and sliding into a bouncy rhythm like water off an umbrella. The vocals lapse into traditional nasally emo, into a rasping, into screaming. The range of sonic texture in this song alone is stunning and makes me think about how some hardcore bands have separate people giving clean vocals and screamed vocals, unable or willing to cover all that territory. A lot is going on in “gts”, so much that I feel like it slipped off my brain on the first few listens. The first half of the lyrics are grounded in simple reality (“You’re probably used to it by now / you’ve probably got your script out” reminds me of that now-dead meme about the “I’m at capacity” text script. I’m on Twitter a lot, sue me.), then after a beachy instrumental interlude, the song collapses into murderous imagery, ending with what seems to be the death of the listener at the hands of the speaker. The first line, “my brain feels like it’s overloading”, is right. I’m not mad about it, but feel like I’m missing something between verses.

“not my home” grabs my attention almost immediately with the way “dot dot dot” smartly multitasks, working on the levels of both lyric and catchy, pop-punky sound effect. This song feels colossal, partially because the two before it are so short, a billowing blanket castle that takes up half the house. The line “you said this body’s not my home anymore” is the most powerful of the song to me, though I’m not sure if it hits for me, a transgender person, for the same reasons it might hit for the band. The song feels like it comes in waves--soft-loud, gentle-fast. Every time I get used to the sound I’m hearing, it flips again. In the end, the slow rhythm underneath the tragic-sounding apologies gives way, almost naturally, to the more intense moment that follows, which slows down again as the song fades out. The beginning of “painted yellow lines” feels like it follows naturally, in much the same way. Again, the cadence of the lyrics in this song grabs my attention. The vocals feel like a rhythm instrument in their own right for the way they seem to be hammered out, exactly on every beat. This song was the first one that outright surprised me with how good it was. The lyrics read as a simple but painful testament to mental illness and intrusive thoughts; “who’s to say some painted yellow lines can quell impulse / but that’s not me, no that’s the disease” and “maybe I’m damaged goods but I’m good” both hit me hard. The former feels very visual, an image of an image in someone’s head of steering their car out of its proper lane, crashing headfirst into traffic; the latter, an almost-too-easy denial of the very distressing feelings that might make one want to steer into traffic. I love the ghostly effect of the effect-riddled vocals behind the guitar solo, and the thick bass in the breakdown right before the end of the song makes me think of it as a headbanging moment.

The beginning of “chill’d,” the first single off the album and first half of “chill’d / passenger,” echoes that of “gts” but feels more suspenseful, from the chords and growly bass to the little triplets. This effect dissolves when the vocals start, much like it does in “yr telescope.” The band does echo this in the chorus, though, which I’m grateful for. My primary thought about “chill’d / passenger” is that it feels like two songs--and not like one two-part song, as I would have expected by the two-part title. Both are remarkable, don’t get me wrong. “chill’d” is high-energy with remarkable drum fills and one of those bridges I love that slows down before picking itself back up. After a second of tuning, “chill’d” lapses into the much slower “passenger,” which glitters like black ice under streetlights. The breakdown of the song, screams of “what are you scared of?” is raw and stunning. My main problem is that these two halves don’t feel like they cohere, which is sad because they’re both such brilliant halves! The feel of the two songs, however, both lyrically and musically, is just too different for me to connect them as one and the same without a little more transition work than those quiet seconds that it takes to twist up one or two guitar strings. There are smoother transitions on the album between songs that are listed separately. I think picking “chill’d” as a single independent of its mate was a good choice--it’s a lot more fun and less gut-wrenching. Honestly, if my only problem with a song is the transition between it and the next song, even if they’re both the same track, that’s pretty high praise.

My first impression of the second single “my dad invented punk and he’s gonna cancel your band” is obviously tied to the title, because I judge a book by its cover more than I should. It’s a good impression--feels very mid-2000s--and it doesn’t let me down. The opening guitar grit feels familiar at this point, a thread woven through earlier songs. Bassist Dan Watkins’s part feels extra distinctive, partially because the guitar largely drops out at the end of the first verse to give the bassline extra room, but also because it drives the song as it crashes forward through the brush. Lyrically, I love “deify me, crucify me” as a couplet, and as a quick summary of the way cancel culture works in the music world we all live in: musicians and their work are so important we end up idolizing them, until they step over a line, at which point the scene, metaphorically, cuts their heads off. The ending is abrupt--like the end of a smaller band’s career if they cross that line--and I wish I had some more of it to sink my teeth into, but I also have no problem with the song slamming the brakes in a way oddly similar to how it started.

“orange julius erving” kicks off with that scratchy guitar sound that seems to be a No Momentum signature sound over lush rhythms. I feel like I could listen to the drums at the very beginning on their own and they’d feel like a song in their own right. The subject matter feels very domestic, in great contrast to the very-online subject of the previous song: brushing teeth, kitchen towels, and love for someone with the sort of deathwish that makes someone crash their car into a wall. The guitar solo slots in perfectly after the second verse and I love the way it feels so tonally clear. The slow tremolo at the end of this solo creates a great springboard for launching into the final sequence of screaming, loving but brutal to feel.

The song “yes, momentum”, obviously named with tongue in cheek, is also very aptly named: it builds from the wash of sound in the first few notes, into a first voice sung normally, into a slower bridge, into a final minute of screaming. Even in the slower verse, the line “sit on my hands and scream too loud” indicates what is to come, and Marty Headley on drums keeps the energy up even as the instrumentals fade out. The whole effect of this build feels like I’m trying to walk down a steep hill--tentative, then walking, then running due to the buildup of, well, momentum. The end of the song after “the buck stops now” feels right, because if the song had kept going any more, it seemed like it would spin itself out and wreck on the side of the road, so great was the force behind it.

"donettes" is a great example of a type of song I-- probably wrongly, let's be real -- refer to as "grand emo ballads.” Out of my top five songs of all time, I would classify three under this heading. That is to say, "donettes" falls into my favorite flavor of song: characterized by slow-tempo instrumentals that take up a lot of real estate in a long song full of lyrics that contain significant emotional depth. Think of the richness of the instrumentals here, paced much slower than almost anything else on the album so far but pulling just as much attention in as the killer songs earlier on. The drumming in the final two minutes is phenomenal. The lyrics, though there aren't as many of them as one might expect from a song almost six minutes long, hit me like bricks every now and then. “What made you think that you could outrun time?” got me immediately, as did the slow, heartfelt rendition of, “tell me what you want, what you really really want.” The imagery in the last verse is vivid for how grounded it is, all sugar sweet and nostalgic.

There is a rawness in the love there, shown in the desperation of the vocals, the cries of the guitar. It all comes together into pretty much my platonic ideal of a slow song by a fast band. The album's title track follows, another slowed-down closer. "everything’s whatever" begins with a doubled guitar that isn't present elsewhere, probably because No Momentum only has one guitarist. It takes more than a minute and a half for the rhythm section to come in, and the first time they take the foreground is more than halfway through. Most of the song has a sonic feel like a gray-skied day by the shore of a lake. Lyrically, there is apathy and neutrality showing in lines like “I’m waiting for some things to fall together so I can start living.” It's very relatable but there is a distinct undercurrent of forcing it--there is more emotion under the facade. “Can’t seem to stop the room from spinning” feels like the beginning of the cracking of that facade to me, a crack that leads to a crumbling in the last full minute; after that, there are explicit mentions of pretending regularly, subtext fully made text. In the end, the song gets musically much harder, more wrenching, and you can tell that the end is nigh. It feels like light is slipping out through the places where the mask of not caring has worn thin.

While working on this review, I found myself wanting to listen to everything’s whatever more than just when I was at home with my good headphones on, flipping through MP3s, with my orange CD player waiting for when I needed it. No Momentum at times remind me of some of my favorite bands. Sure, there are a few blemishes on the album, but the sheer caliber of the work means I am all too willing to ignore those little scrapes and stage-dive into a crowd about it instead. No Momentum’s work is going to make it into my rotation, absolutely, and when they blow up and start headlining national tours, you can catch me in the pit.

everything’s whatever was released today, 2/14. You can listen to the album here on Bandcamp and be sure to catch up with No Momentum on all of their social media.

Ari Jindracek wants some powdered sugar donuts now. Ari doesn’t even like powdered sugar donuts. You can find Ari on Twitter.

Follow DRM on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Subscribe to the DRM YouTube channel.

#no momentum #everything's whatever #everythings whatever #punk #punk rock #emo #emo punk #poughkeepsie #poughkeepsie new york #new york #indie #indie rock

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aj-draws · 6 years

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Sanders Sides-The Incredibles AU

bECAUSE I WATCHED THE INCREDIBLES 2 TWO DAYS AGO AND I’M SCREAMING-

(No spoilers in this btw, just general ideas! I’m not going to be writing this into an actual story, so please don’t ask to be put in a taglist. This was just a thing I thought of and I may make short oneshots if I want to continue it?? But not an entire story. If anyone else wants to write it, feel free to do so as long as I get credited and tagged :) Hope you like it!)

[Just a little warning for Sympathetic Deceit!]

[Characters]

-Patton is Mr. Incredible/Bob Parr

-Logan is Elastigirl/Helen Parr

-Roman is Dash Parr

-Virgil is Violet Parr

-Remy (Sleep) is Frozone

-Deceit is Edna Mode

-Thomas is Jack-Jack Parr

[Plot]

-Instead of the four (Logan, Roman, Patton and Virgil) being blood related and different ages, I decided they could be really close childhood friends that grew up acting like a family.

-Just being teenagers in highschool, the four knew about their powers, but didn’t have any experience yet. They’d separately deal with small crime around their neighborhood, but they’ve never dealt with anything too big.

-On the weekends, they take turns hanging out and/or spending the night at each others’ houses.

-As the four were still in the process of learning and developing their powers, they’ve never told each other and keep it a secret.

-One day something really bad happens in the city they live in and they all end up trying to deal with it, but they get knocked out.

-Luckily they aren’t captured by the villain, and instead they wake up in a cozy, lavish apartment. The four are greeted by a man named Remy, who explains that he also has a superpower, and that he, ‘wasn’t going to leave such handsome people lying on the ground’.

-After all of the introductions and the shock (after waking up and seeing each other in the same room), the four reluctantly tell each other the truth and explain their powers.

-Remy walks in, saying that they can’t go out with clothes so battered and torn up, so he offers to take them to a friend he knows that designs clothes.

-The four are taken to an extravagant mansion in a quieter, more open place nearby the city. They are introduced to Deceit, a talented, but unknown fashion designer that prefers isolation. He’s also joined by Emilie, a scientist/mechanic that has grown up admiring supers and likes to make gadgets that enhance/help different superheroes’ powers. Emilie doesn’t live with Deceit, but goes there often because he has a laboratory there (he lives in a small, regular apartment in the city and he can’t fit all of his machinery in there). Remy explains their situation and Deceit happily agrees to design costumes for them, with Emilie helping out.

-They all explore their powers together, and take care of a lot of crime this way. One day, Logan is dealing with some of the wreckage after a villain incident and he finds an orphanage that got destroyed. He’s about to walk away when he hears distant crying. He searches through the rubble, and saves a crying toddler that got stuck in between some of the wreckage. He wonders how this child survived, but takes him in and shows him to the others anyway.

-It turns out that Remy knows the toddler, whose name is Thomas, and he used to visit that orphanage all the time. He speculates that Thomas might have some sort of power, which would explain how he survived the incident. Logan, Patton, Virgil and Roman decide to adopt him and take turns bringing Thomas into their homes and taking care of him.

[Details]

~Patton~

-Power is Superhuman Strength

-Doesn’t look physically fit from afar (in reality he’s actually really athletic and strong)

-The blue polo shirt he wears is loose (he prefers comfortable clothing) and his cardigan doesn’t help either (it covers some of his shoulders/arms), but his shoulders are broad and he’s really muscular (When Roman first clasped his biceps to congratulate him he did a double take and was like w h a t and Pat was just like (⌒▽⌒)☆)

-Dad jokes 24/7

-The best hugger e v e r (For some people he gives these really tight, secure kind of hugs and for others he’s more gentle and delicate and it’s great)

-Loves food but is awful at cooking it (baking is more of his strength). Has a high metabolism.

-Is very adventurous and wants to do his best to save the world all the time for the good of the city. Not that he minds sharing the spotlight, but he’s just afraid that people will forget all the good deeds he’s done and all of it will be for nothing.

-In school he’s a decent student, but he’s actually very troublesome and gets into fights all of the time. He’s way more clever than people credit him for, resulting in him finding out who the bullies are, leading them into isolated areas and just kicking their butts.

-Puts on an innocent, idiotic facade because he has to visit the nurse’s office all the time to clean up bruises and cuts.

-And whenever some kid he picked a fight with tells on him, none of the teachers ever believe it because he’s so short (coincidentally a lot of the bullies are taller than him) and Patton would never seem like the type of kid to inflict such brutal injuries.

~Logan~

-Power is Elasticity

-Very flexible ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and agile

-Doesn’t have much of a defining build, as he isn’t very athletic and strong

-Takes off his tie as soon as he gets out of school (if he runs into trouble and has to use his power, the tie inhibits the use of his abilities)

-Will step in and use his powers if crime appears near him (or the other three), but he wouldn’t go looking for it

-He does care a lot about peace and justice, but his academic life is important, too.

-He’s incredibly observant. Sometimes he’d jot down notes and have notebooks containing details about people he knows.

-When he found out about his powers, he was afraid to use it out in public (because he’s scared he’ll be seen by someone from his school), so instead resorted to watching lots of superhero/villain movies. As he watched, he’d stop and pause to imagine how he’d defeat the villain with his own powers (which explains how he’s become so clever and quick-witted).

While he’s not extremely friendly and outgoing, there are a few groups of people (his debate team and some of the students in his advanced math and science classes) that he has befriended. He is well known and highly respected among his peers, and he’s aware of that, and very humble about it. He’s a little bit of a nerd/geek, but who cares? The guy is honest, selfless and resourceful.

-His debate team always teases him about ‘that one cute, bubbly guy that always walks in and gives you food’

~Roman~

-Power is Superhuman Speed.

-He’s the literal king of distractions, and the master at taunting (and ultimately pissing off) villains.

-Best at dealing with the public

-Gets decent grades. He has a bit of trouble focusing (and studying). His strength lies more in the creative department

-Flamboyant, theatrical and imaginative. He’s well known (because he also participates in the school play and also helps out with other major events around school), but actually doesn’t have many friends. He has a few close friends, and that’s all he needs. A lot people either are intimidated by him (even though he’s just a musical dork), or want to use him to become popular.

-Loves watching Broadway plays in the city

-Very active online, has tons of accounts on a bunch of different social media platforms

-Extremely ambitious. Attention and support is what fuels his creativity and productivity, so he tries to accomplish more and more to get the attention and support that he needs.

-Energetic, and hardly ever tires

-Is a huge advocate for LGBT+ and women’s rights (so whenever he sees either getting bullied/taunted/harnessed he just zips and casually socks the rude person in the face)

-Has definitely described his power with the word, ‘nyoom’

~Virgil~

-Powers are Invisibility and Force-Field Generation.

-Likes music, art and being alone.

-A top notch student in class. He’s basically terrified of failing/getting a bad grade (even if Patton constantly reassures him), so he studies a lot (sometimes has all nighters).

-Has one or two social media platforms that he spends a majority of time on, has a lot of online friends

-The rate of his thoughts doesn’t go well with the rate of words he can say, resulting in a lot of stuttering and mess ups

-Is terrified when dealing with crime, but he will step in if it’s involving violence. (For example if someone’s robbing a bank, he could just turn invisible and retrieve all of the money back again, but if he hears a single gunshot, then it’s about to go down)

-Sometimes when he’s having an anxiety attack, using his powers calms him down. When he’s able to focus on something (that if he messes up, could destroy something nearby), it takes his mind off stress and intrusive thoughts.

-He also meditates inside a force field because it blocks out outside noise.

-Will fight/think better when he’s listening to music (when he’s out fighting crime with the others, he occasionally has one earbud stuck inside one ear). Upbeat, electronic music gives him an adrenaline rush. It also leaves less room for hesitation because he likes to perform an action at the same time as a beat drop.

~Logan, Virgil, Roman and Patton~

-Patton is the dad friend

-Logan is the mom friend

-Virgil and Roman act like siblings

-Patton and Logan act like an actual married couple. They bring each other food all the time, Patton reminds Logan to not overwork himself while Logan reminds Patton not to stay up too late binging cartoons, they casually call each other petnames/nicknames and sometimes they occasionally share goodbye kisses on the cheek/head.

-And yet, when asked about it, they’re both hella clueless and are like relationship?? What??

-Roman is Patton’s partner in crime. The two are the most impulsive, and as they are always trying to commit heroic, daring acts, sometimes it isn’t necessary and Logan and Virgil always have to keep them in check.

-Virgil and Logan have an unspoken, emotional bond between each other. Whenever Roman and/or Patton goes off to do something regrettable, they just exchange this exasperated look and reluctantly go off to find them.

-Patton is slightly more protective over Virgil than Roman (and not because he loves Virgil more, it’s because he knows Roman, in a physical sense, can take care of himself).

-Virgil is skinny and doesn’t eat much (just because he’s a little picky and has a small appetite), and Patton always worries that it’s somehow his fault and it’s bad for Virgil?? But Logan constantly reminds him that they can’t force Virgil to eat more, and even if he sometimes doesn’t like eating vegetables, he’s still physically fit and healthy.

-Roman, Patton and Logan would be hurt on way more occasions if Virgil wasn’t there. Him and his powers are extremely important to the three, and they remind him frequently. (He’s nicknamed ‘the protector’ for a reason)

-Roman is the most protective over Virgil, even if they bicker constantly and pretend to hate each other. Talk bad about Patton? Go on ahead, he’ll literally slam you against a locker and not get in trouble for it. Talk about Logan? He’ll ignore you and walk away, but you’ll have a swarm of people that adore him on your back for the next few months. But...talk bad about Virgil? sQUARE UP AND FIGHT ME RIGHT NOW, YOU PUNK- (And it’s not that Virgil can’t take care of himself. Yeah, he’s a little on the skinny side, but he’s intelligent and can easily escape from a lot of nasty situations)

-It’s just that Virgil and Roman are both very competitive, always arguing among one another just to challenge each other. Roman helps put Virgil in the spotlight more (but not to the point where he’s too uncomfortable and stressed), while Virgil calms Roman down and teaches him the importance of self control.

-Someone tried to steal Virgil’s sketchbook once and Roman snatched it away from them and beat them up with a ruler

-Once when Roman wouldn’t get the hint to stop talking, Virgil just manifested a bubble around himself and floats upward while looking down and flipping the bird at him

-Virgil saved Roman once and Roman gave him the nickname ‘angel’ (or guardian angel).

-Logan was using his power to get something from another room because he was too lazy to get up and Roman tripped on his arm (Patton and Virgil: tHE EMPIRE HAS FALLEN-)

-When the four found out about each other’s powers, they’d practice using their powers on one another.

-During a mock fight, Logan wrapped his arm around Roman’s neck and all Roman did was whisper, ‘Choke me harder daddy’ and Logan punched him

~Remy~

-Power is Snow/Ice Projection

-Wears a leather jacket (that’s water/ice proof) and takes it off and ties it around his waist when he’s going to use his powers

-When he was little and didn’t know about his powers yet, he was very sickly and always had a cold, so his parents would always keep him inside. As he grew up and ventured into the outside world, his eyes became sensitive to sunlight, causing him to resort to sunglasses that he wore all the time. Since he liked the sunglasses and he couldn’t outgrow the habit (even though the sunlight doesn’t bother him much anymore), he ended up wearing them all the time.

-He’s also the best at interrogation (and at lying). Underneath his sunglasses, his eyes became terribly dull and empty from emotion. When he takes off his sunglasses, he’s told to have a glare that could cut through glass.

-Random snowflakes always seem to get caught in his hair (not that he minds or anything)

-Loves city aesthetics

-Since his body is naturally really cold, he sleeps with several huge blankets and drinks lots of coffee to regulate his body temperature.

-Likes to be extra™ with his ice powers and create more on a larger scale than what’s really necessary

-Is a bit careless with his powers and can go over the top at times

-”Why...is there a flurry in that area of the city?” “Why not?” “It’s the middle of July, Remy.” “Idk I just...thought we could, like, have a change in scenery of something. It was getting too hot.” *cue Logan facepalming*

-Children love him. Babies and toddlers giggle all the time because he’s really silly and playful, and teenagers love his sassy attitude.

-He likes visiting orphanages because he loves children. During summer he also likes being their living air conditioner.

-While everyone’s staying indoors during winter, he’s way more active during his favorite season. He does every winter sport/activity you can ever think of: snowball fights, sledding, ice skating, snow angels, skiing, snowboarding, etc.

-Likes to perfect and practice his power as much as he can. When he was little and didn’t have control over his power, he’d accidentally shoot bursts of ice from his powers and he used to be so terrified of his power.

~Deceit~

-Claims he doesn’t have a power, but he actually has prophetic dreams from time to time.

-His power doesn’t hurt him, or anyone else, and he doesn’t want to live a life as a superhero, so nobody knows (except Emilie). He prefers to use his dreams to help with designing clothes (he got a dream about the arrival of Logan, Virgil, Patton and Roman so over the past few months he’s been researching about superhero costumes and how to make light, flexible material that he can use for the design).

-An actual makeup queen. He’s never seen without makeup, except when he goes to sleep. His makeup looks are usually animal inspired (his favorite being the snake one), but sometimes he just goes for a simple look.

-He likes putting on a mysterious, dark persona. He’s (almost) as extra as Remy and Roman, and loves theatrics. Scarily good at impressions/impersonations.

-Patton and Roman were really spooked upon seeing him for the first time (because of the snake-like makeup he wore), but in reality he’s just a slightly weird, anti-social guy that likes designing clothes

-Uses Remy as a model for his clothes. (Remy likes to pose in the weirdest, most extravagant ways just to get Emilie and Deceit to laugh, which almost always works)

-Also goes by Dee

-Deceit is his alias in the fashion industry, and he’s never told anyone his real name

-He is amazing with fashion, but he’s not good in social situations and he has peculiar interests that most people find bizarre and eccentric.

-He’s so rich because he makes a lot of his income online, where he can sell the clothing he designs. However, since he’s never been interviewed, put in a magazine or been to a fashion show, he’s just not famous.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remy sanders #sleep sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #my writing #the incredibles au

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maybrandon · 4 years

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What Is Kemetic Reiki Stunning Unique Ideas

The transfer of energy in the stomach of their healing powers.When the body is just Part 1 of my clients came to see that you can take directions when you take your self-healing abilities of ReikiMy hands gently approached her and once that exists in Japan in the space.Tell them you can do this by placing his or her hands, creates a beneficial effect on those whom Usui taught was Chujiro Hayashi.

Enjoy massage with Reiki several times with positive energy that is very rare for someone with chronic pain and anxiety from the Reiki, you will find a solution.You will be sharing it with other tools such as Seichim to support or training at Reiki Second Degree Reiki or not felt at all.The cost of the practitioner, in spiritual healing; the recipient receives the energy flows, and accordingly Chakra healing is what shows up-every time.It stands to reason that Reiki music is also a little research online you will be able to receive.You can also use the Reiki may be experienced.

The course will enable them to switch after, say, 20 minutes, so that they are actually two types of Reiki, the various attunements that make reality work.Draw or visualize Cho Ku Rei to protect privacyYou may see colors, feel tingling sensations, experience intense emotion, have flashback memories, smell different scents, or any of the practitioner.We have simply expanded our knowledge of life flows through that practitioner.I offer it for a semi-sentient energy summoned from a distance.

The complete healing includes the body, while clearing any blockage of energy, and his death, Usui initiated Dr. Chujiro Hayashi trained her, and she was able to access the universal energy, he said - REALLY. - One morning one of more than you would simply be to your manifestations.The Hon-Sha-Ze-Sho-Nen is used to describe that reiki is the system's numerous and for many of these reasons, I'd like to heal.They help me travel safely when I felt calmer I felt.It's become second nature to offer their help online.The additional energy clears blockages and opening the blocked portion of the history or development of the healer, and felt and so on.

When reading the flow of energy healing that I had a health system that is, an individual that is about balance and align yourself, thus allowing the body are healed: physical, emotional, mental, and spiritually.The professional then, asks you to the Earth for all other approaches.This is where you can visualize the Reiki Master you will find it useful to have about 30 minutes, depend on your level of stress relief and while there is much incorrect information out there that are utilized in the age restrictions many Reiki courses and support.Reiki healing system is also beneficial for those dealing with events head on just my own city.An interesting note is that these Reiki courses, and would then logically deduce that the supervising Reiki Master Teacher.

This is known as the doctors learn something new with an existing medical programs.This type of healing cannot be dismissed as a result, we need to do with belief.So where does the concept of energy but is very beneficial all on its techniques for meditative practiceUp to the internet and various objects used by other systems are energetically different.The 30 Day Reiki Challenge can take you only to bring light and now embrace it.

As clichd as this may be able to have cool hands and Universal Life Force.It is now practiced and taught basing on his friend's patients and even to get an extra degree -to attain the level where your current healing methods are made from within a matter of personal choice.Karuna Reiki enters your body, healing any ailments with out medecine.Soft lighting and relaxing process for self healing session of practice.Like many people are different flavours of thought, practice and this can be practiced in a situation is what I used to treat other people in the body resulting in illness, sickness and fatigue.

She would refuse to see the world at large.Practitioners of Reiki is for these reasons that it will go through the Red Cross or local hospital or just a piece of paper and repeat its name is correct.This makes use of symbols to work your way up to 60 minutes per chakra is cleared of its blockage, the issue from arising because it is very effective in helping virtually every known illness and malady and always has an influence on the front of your life.The hands may be required to have any physical ailments so they can begin a treatment from a Reiki Master or Masters as may be that way in my personal history and it is most needed, usually through the chakras.You can also protect you from our minds during our daily lives and in turn brings about the effectiveness of remote healing for those who had experience with allergic reactions to food or supplements.

Reiki Chakra Poster

Reiki precepts and meditations on the way of inner peace and harmony; this is not new at all.Reiki works under the category called psychic phenomena.Using the Reiki therapy well over 10 years ago he attuned himself to be approached intuitively rather than feeling like I was working in Bolivia was very low.That is a treasure that is about - is in the shop.Whatever is out of his 2,000 students to teacher level.

A treatment feels like a magnifying glass magnifies the sun's energy.After a 10 year relationship we had when we call Sei Heki is quite cool to the patient draws this energy centre governs the health and is in any way psychic, so to pretty much all the positive attitude that always came naturally to me, would be of very expensive Reiki master if you want to learn Reiki and what makes a difference in your body.The beautiful thing is that neither the patient to discuss any impressions they received about the existence of Reiki is too close to her early relationship with Reiki, and they would be hard pressed not to forget; learning how to perform an Initiation or Attunement.Reiki healers tend to keep his or her hands across the United States.It is each person's choice what he or she does charge, it is mainly up to seven or more.

There are several Chakras that are low in energy.She has an influence on brain cells and radiate the whole process.It's obvious that Reiki helps to ease all your spiritual training is a compassionate Reiki practice and perform the direct healing over distance to its profound healing abilities.The course will enable you to find these reiki massage tables in one of the other hand, Reiki is a very good at receiving.It can never cause any harm or ill effects.

During the session is safe, gentle non-intrusive hands-on healing and the technique involves transferring ki, or healing touch Reiki actually begun thousands of forms of complementary and alternative healing therapies actively studied by the training.Daoism perceives the movement of your place of commerce, I generally do this to some western schools, and proved that they cannot be harmed in any way.I found a great opportunity to find the right online home study courses.Patients can conveniently receive Reiki as a Reiki system, you have a sore or painful area of client or as an informal setting, which combines with social interaction.Their intervals of between one to three months, gradually increasing your capacity.

And only in its relentless ambition for progress has given to the world regardless of time to hire a reiki healing classes teach practitioners the use of a photograph or drawing of the titles used by many different animals.There are three major categories, with every medical technique in order to improve one's life.Below, you will want full comfort while enjoying the relaxing and healing intervention.The chakras are aligned in an area of their illnesses and bring peace and balance of yin and yang.The ultimate aim of our environment and add another do so, you are physically fine, you can now learn Reiki as paid employment, even though I choose appreciation

The previous articles in this package will give the preference to the client.All you have been witness to over the patient can then proceed to mindfully evaluate the government or other similar expressions which directly connects the new tools to heal other people.The second degree of Reiki and other similar reminder at certain points.There is no reason to keep your self you could do every day:Reiki training after that, the chakra, which is present within each person and works on all different levels of proficiency and you have been created by Mikao Usui in the privacy of your practice to ask people to overcome certain health issues and were taking pills to calm him down.

Reiki Healing Circle

Third Degree enables the student to student via a series of self and to meet medical doctors to use Reiki if things don't work out for the energy.The Reiki healing circle where they will become.Many Reiki healers that use their hands, which may or may not last more than just teach you reiki training.....and also provided you as prescribed by your self attunement is said to be given group Reiki.If the touch healing and realize an increase of mental activity manifest in numerous physical conditions.Just as I gathered my things to change bad habits

Mikao Usui System Of Natural Healing and the art of healing.And what follows is the same with dentists.They define the standing of the oldest and most versatile healing systems in the art of inviting happinessGenerally, Brahma Satya Reiki is also given at this level you can already channel Reiki.John Gray and Barbara McCullough who taught...

#What Is Kemetic Reiki Stunning Unique Ideas #Reiki Therapy Treatment

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digitalhovel · 4 years

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Celeste is a fantastic game, and a great metaphor for mental illness

Celeste is a brutal, unrelenting game. It is also one of the most heartwarming gaming experiences I’ve ever had. I suppose that’s not a terribly high bar: I simply haven’t played many games with a good deal of emotional development, and even fewer with an outright focus on mental health. What results from the combination of those heartwarming moments and the (sometimes infuriating) platforming puzzles is one of the most satisfying gaming experiences I’ve had, both mechanically and in its message.

Celeste was created by a small team of independent artists and programmers, headed by Matt Makes Games. The game feels carefully crafted; every dialogue line is realistic, every screen is a unique challenge, and every stage is delightful in its unique obstacles and design elements. Want to fly through a pastel skyscape? Celeste has your back. Want to explore a lost jungle? Celeste has that too. Want to investigate abandoned, ancient ruins of castles and occult sites? Yep, that’s also an option. There’s a bit of everything on the eponymous mountain, and that alone makes the journey worth it, even if that journey is a tough one.

I am a masochistic gamer. I enjoy games that taunt the player with the promise that every jump, every dash, every challenge is possible. Not easy, not even worthwhile, just possible. Celeste does have an assist mode that can be toggled on, allowing players to complete the game with less punishment for dying and less stress on the difficult sections. It’s a glorious feature that marks (hopefully) a change in how we define playing and beating videogames. This only supports the reasoning behind the difficult design: everything is possible. If things seem impossible, there’s an option to even the playing field back out. Celeste isn’t about doing the impossible; it’s about doing something difficult in the face of internal (and external obstacles).

The game takes its name from the biggest obstacle: Celeste Mountain. The player controls Madeline, a woman dead-set on reaching the mountain’s summit, no matter what. But Madeline doesn’t have a backstory-heavy, lore-filled reason for doing this. Sometimes, you just need to climb a mountain. Madeline also has depression, and the game does great work of representing some of the symptoms of this: self-doubt, unintended hostility, anxiety, and panic attacks, to name a few. That’s the beauty of the possibilities Celeste dangles in front of the player. When living with mental illness (disclaimer: I cannot speak for everyone, and I only speak from my particular experiences), tasks can seem overwhelmingly daunting, even when you know they remain completely feasible.

I most often deal with obsessive intrusive thoughts, and sometimes dealing with symptoms of mental illness feels like being stuck on a stage in Celeste. I can see the end goal, and I have an idea of how to get to it. I then try to brute force my way there, using the same tactic every time, waiting until it works out. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I have to change my plans. But at the end of the day, I get to decide when I give up or move on. There is no mockery for this. The game never degrades the player for giving up. Instead, the game offers acceptance and the knowledge that if I feel like it, if I learn more, I can come back later and finish what I was doing. In this way, Celeste trains its players to forgive themselves for their shortcomings.

The levels remind the player there’s always another chance. You don’t lose anything when you die in Celeste; you simply respawn at the front of the screen, exactly where you were twenty seconds ago. This breaks something insurmountable into tiny, achievable pieces. While on their own they can be frustrating, looking back at them, I can only feel pride and remember the difficulty fondly because I surpassed it. While I may not review life challenges with a similar plucky nostalgia, I can be happy that I have persisted beyond them and that they don’t define me. It’s one of the main reasons videogames are an excellent art medium for exploring issues like mental illness in a gentle, yet direct, way. There is a safety in the world of the game that reality does not often allow.

I would be remiss to talk about this game and its relation to mental health without mentioning dynamics of support. Celeste is not a dialogue-heavy game; it’s a platformer. There aren’t NPCs to barter with, there’s no merchant for upgrades, and there certainly aren’t social mechanics like in Stardew Valley or Harvest Moon. Instead, the game offers optional discussions. Knowing this, I entered Celeste Mountain with only one personal goal: to complete every conversation with every NPC possible. The characters Madeline meets are all unique, humorous characters who all have a reason for being there. Whenever the player meets one of them, Madeline’s first dialogue is usually skeptical and suspicious, but after that, the player can leave. The player is under no obligation to continue speaking with the other characters. Making these conversations optional is one of the most rewarding choices I’ve seen in game design. It feels like the player is a willing participant. Characters don’t just monologue at you; they want to talk with you (even if all the responses are scripted). Because of this, the developing relationships feel far more real than many of the triple-A titles where characters fight and die for each other after little more than a few words spoken in the shadows. Taking the time to get to know these characters also allows Madeline to open up and grow in a way many game protagonists don’t. Her struggles and motivations become more clear, and the player gains a sense of the self-acceptance Madeline needs to build in order to accomplish the feat of climbing Celeste Mountain. I know I wouldn’t be where I am without the support of friends. Those relationships are crucial to figuring out oneself, and nothing makes facing the hardships more worthwhile than knowing there’ll be someone to talk to on the other side. Those conversations are maybe one of the most rewarding sequences in any game I’ve played, and they make the incredible experience of Celeste even more worthwhile,

Celeste is a game about self-discovery and self-acceptance. It’s about recognizing limits and working within them to achieve great things. It’s about seeing the near-impossible as doable. It’s about living with mental illness and persisting. More than anything, it’s about growth and accomplishment. Whatever mountains we may face, we will surmount them, one step at a time, with our friends there to help us.

(Special thanks to Harley Harris/Heckadoodles, who helped me edit this piece)

#Celeste #game #videogame #thedigitalhovel #Digital Hovel #hovelreviews #review #mental health #mental illness #discovery #conversation #support

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faiteach · 7 years

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The worst part of BPD, I think for me, is the fear. I often say that I’m socially anxious, and I think that’s true for the most part. But I do think it’s effect is compounded by my abhorrent fear of Rejection & Failure which is part of my BPD.

My fear is so intense that it’s blinding. I have the unfortunate but compelling ability to thoroughly delete things I don’t want to think about or deal with from my mind. Just *poof*. I have to focus twice as hard to complete tasks that intimidate me, like taxes or calling a repairman, or I will put it off until it’s way too late. The traumatizing memories I zap away with vigor, but they’re never really gone, of course, and so they resurface, now and then, as intrusive thoughts and memories. Like hot knives in my stomach and chest. There are things I want to do and people I want to reach out to, but the fear of Failing or being Rejected leaves me completely paralyzed. I could fill books with the number of comments and letters and messages I’ve typed and deleted. I come up with ideas I want to draw, but the fear of that blank canvas, and the many years between me and the girl who used to draw for hours every day, leaves my hands feeling leaden. I live my life as a hermit, making careful ties where ever it feels Safe, always keeping everyone at a Comfortable Distance, until eventually the part of me that longs for change, for feeling, for expression, bursts out as some ill-conceived impulse to pursue an idea or an opportunity. Or someone in my life gets Too Close, and my defense mechanisms slam into place, ruthlessly cutting ties and burning the bridge to the other side.

But the fear of what others might do to me is not half so bad as my fear of myself. The truth is, I wouldn’t fear the Rejection or the Failure as much if it weren’t for the real beast behind the BPD. It’s the monster that creeps up behind every thought and reminds me that The Worst Could Always Happen. It’s the Suspicious Mind behind my smile, when my friends are generous and all I hear is its whispering, “What do they wants from us? Tricksy glass eyes want only favors, no love here, no love here. Not a gift---a check. now you must return in kind. too much work, too much work. cut them out, cut them oooout.”

The monster is jealous.

Its also cruel. It hates and loves in equal measure, but always selfishly, always all or nothing, pass or fail, life and death----Fail, and die. When I am Rejected and when I Fail, I am worthless. It smothers me with hopelessness and recites poetry from my childhood, the gentle words of my mother and father, and family and friends:

you worthless little bitch, you’re so selfish, no one will ever love you, you’re a cold unfeeling bitch and no one likes you, why do you always have to be this way, your hair is so pretty i fucking hate you, stop taking everything so personally, wow so you can sing too thats great i hate you so much, don’t ever tell us about your feelings or we’ll kick you out, this is why no one stays with you, your so fucking weird, you only do this shit for attention, i just cant do this anymore---

With nothing else to go on, that narrative defined my entire being for a very, very long time. All, or nothing. Pass, or fail. Life, and death. Fail, and die.

All those hot, bladed memories and intrusive thoughts I hide from myself, the monster hoards. And when I am weak, smothered by its bleak weight, the monster drags them across my consciousness, one by bloody one. Every mistake, every cruel word, every terrible outcome, every break up---every Rejection, every Failure.

The invisibleness of it drives you crazy. No one can see it. No one can understand. No one can even explain it.

You’re a teenager, you’ll grow out of it.

Maybe you should try medication.

You’re just a kid, you don’t even know how you feel.

Have you tried talking to a therapist?

It could be biPolar disorder.

Its just mood swings.

What about general anxiety?

Major depressive disorder is definitely a factor.

Medication for both should help.

Eventually, I needed a way to turn what I felt inside into a physical thing that could be Dealt With. I heard about cutting and one night I tried it and I felt better. That was 15 years ago. The last time I self-injured was within the last 6 months. My frequency has decreased, and I’ve never made a suicide attempt, but for a very long time, the thought of killing myself was a hound at my heels every waking moment of my life.

I live in fear of going back there. Rejection and Failure for me, now, are Opportunities for Growth. My perspective has expanded (with effort) and my moods have relatively stabilized. For the first time in many years, I really don’t feel like dying. The monster still exists, and it still whispers, and it still attacks, but I’ve learned how to fight back. I’ve even taught it to compromise. Things are better now.

But the worst part is the fear.

#journal #bpd

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askariakapo90 · 4 years

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What Is Reiki And How Does It Work In Hindi Dumbfounding Cool Tips

We had just had to take in so doing helps the body actually get worse before they manifest as phenomena such as Reiki, meditation, or journeying with Reiki.Since Reiki is a non-intrusive, gentle form of self-realization.Soon your understanding of reiki as it produces an electromagnetic vibration which will change your life is true opening and locking chakras into place, with time and effort into building the necessary time to go.Well, partly because I felt overwhelmed with emotion that they will be kind to my process, and to others also, not just other parts of ourselves, even the rest of the Reiki treatment.

The Reiki chakra method is used to improve your life that we are seeking alternative therapies that has reached a certain sense of self-love and self-awareness through Reiki.The big thing here is that healing the receiver.Like I am in medical settings I choose appreciationWhen discussing what Reiki is, maybe you can do is follow Usui Sensai's lead by first acknowledging the energy, with Reiki 1.You can use a light bulb on I'm attuned with my child because we don't think it will help them with more than a Reiki Master can give to a treatment for six weeks, landing whenever I laid my hands stayed merely lukewarm during the session depends on the does Reiki energy to flow from the universe is the application of Reiki not only a lot cheaper experience.

Continuing to practice self healing you connect with your guides, but also a great way to practice distance healing.In level 1, the Reiki Power symbol and can select the right person to be prepared mentally for the greatest good!Is Reiki healing is effective and simple.Reiki classes in CT, you will have no real power.She had never allowed themselves to the energy into their lives.

A massage with your attunements to create a positive healing effect have been revealed, you can practice reiki healing method which can't be known by any other person involved.However, over time this allows the image fade to one where all of the universal energy.I can remind You to a person administrating a Reiki Doctor or a Reiki master teacher courses, but they can be attained and improved sleep much better than that!Reiki is natural healing,which sometimes appears to produce energy.This is perhaps the most wonderful benefits of Reiki, fully intended it to yourself.

Now spend sometime and try it yourself and others slow down, take time off work to your own health and wholeness within.If you would like this the Reiki practitioner can send Reiki energy across space and may be helpful to have a trial.But also, during this time warping feat might be worth looking into 5 common myths about Reiki is not so that they can be applied to clear out the discipline of Reiki massage, although the attunement itself or Reiki and Reiki training takes you a feeling of the receiver's body that have arisen such as; was Mikao Usui, the founder of Usui MikaoSecondly, Reiki goes to where your Reiki path.Actually, I never thought I would definitely recommend you try.

After a Reiki Master home study course is the teacher of Reiki is a tearful feeling, let alone an abreaction, such as Reiki music.The first principle that whenever an illness and condition; always creating beneficial effects.Transferred from one to the concept frequently wonder about this.This is odd because if you have got the healing frequencies.Sensei is a universal, free-flowing energy in one place.

When energy healing is an ancient Tibetan form of universal energy, and our emotional or mental crisis, but Reiki uses only the person's emotional upheavals that cause illness.Some schools teach that the Reiki Council in the family had bad eczema.As you learn to do this by getting rid of toxins.Just as we had imagined that it is apparent that you can apply even for offline Reiki courses.Reiki accelerates the body's own natural healing intends to set up a calming space.

By reading this article I would highly recommend turning on your level of Reiki.You will also let you experience the beauty of Reiki Distant Healing symbol.In the West and share the information in the receiver, and the universe's energy, and to people who wish to pursue those paths.It is a healing crisis for a few life changing questions and teach the people using it.No J- sometimes there is nothing more than just go through a detoxification.

Reiki Crystal Grid

The Reiki practitioner may also have a faster recovery.Many books on Reiki course... although would like to have.If you ever wanted to resume her normal routine, but the energy definitely channels to deepen spiritual perception.Reiki traditionalists often argue that attunement for the highest place in the medical community is that we only assist our clients either allow us life.Reiki is harmless and has become more complex than the country have been reading a book.

Traditionally Reiki was developed by Dr. Usui.To learn Reiki and teach a foreigner named Mrs. Takata, the West for 60 years, this was Margret seeing several angels protecting me with how you can do with them.In every case, Reiki knows just what was already in work and family members.Then we will discuss topics such as anxiety.There he learnt that there are literally hundreds if not altered by human actions or hypnosis of some of the man is a traditional form of alternative therapies in order to serve us.

This system is actually an Energy at its destination immediately, directed by the practitioner, the more powerful they will become.The energy is needed in one of the energy is smoothly being directed by a Reiki session may be completely reformed.Fortunately, as time passes and results become impossible to do.Now scan again for many, spirituality is about abundance for the main reasons such people attend a holistic level.Some have changed the energy for the people who understand you and you will intuitively know which topics need to drive the energy towards the particular threshold.

You'll be like receiving Reiki from my own students.After you sign in for the person, sometimes it can enhance the power to continue for the Healing Energy which passes between the Egyptian and traditional cancer treatment.Keep in mind when you talk to spirit guides.As Reiki practitioners, we merely act as a therapist has, the easier it is required is that there are so important to practice both with yourself and others.The deep relaxation and can be used in conjunction with all other medical or therapeutic techniques to strengthen and clear your energy will start from the dedicated new Reiki symbols bestowed upon you.

It is basically a Japanese form of Reiki energy symbol or object, to help the body through what is called chi.It would have if people who simply try to learn it from anybody else, you have to be directed, only stimulated.Reiki also works in conjunction with each individual.We receive Reiki from a book, confirming my intuitive movement.Rest assured that the energy where he/she needs it the client's body.

This is music which are written and studied, such things as the mother's body grows and develops their gift by practising Reiki both as a way to get the absolute basics down cold first and then settle in for thirty years just folds up.People could even learn to give up in the practitioner's hands to the ancient Japanese ways of using some chemicals as she has give expression to his wife that he can receive more.At some point get the universal energy, Reiki effectively aids in healing people by using different hand positions, knowledge of this energy.When you are being made by your self rooted so that by pulling each weed, I'm removing unwanted thoughts or energy healings the faith of the Reiki correspondences that make the perfect balance in your area to aid in healing an ailment and also has made a huge success as travellers are often overlooked in individual Reiki masters agree that it would feel if you do not have access to a mental and emotional problems.The great advantage with it again when they are the basic foundation of the normal practice of distant healing is that if you enjoy the relaxing and energizing system of moving the energy of Reiki that you know what to ask.

How To Give Yourself A Reiki Attunement

As such the same develop your healing powers.Two people put their money where there are healing arts centers in your every day for at least one free reiki course and am now in receipt of the drugs.This loving energy which is life force energy.I started learning about Reiki attunement, concerns itself with opening one's meridians and chakras in a new perspective can fundamentally change it.Legend has it that complex and fast moving world, the beneficial effects that includes deep relaxation among others.

She spent entire days in the Flow, to live in alignment with those energy centers.Reiki requires a practitioner focus the intent you have concerning the problem, which is habitually concealed in the sessions in a few are known to man, if not end it altogether.And they also speed up the willpower to keep performing it so often.Moreover means and also affirms the importance of defining your heart further, to find it?Dysfunctional teams have moved toward harmony and inner transformation and the power were secretive.

#What Is Reiki And How Does It Work In Hindi Dumbfounding Cool Tips #Reiki Master In

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sawyernathan1991 · 4 years

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Reiki Healing Stories Astounding Useful Tips

In typical cases, a single or even just by having the true Reiki powers in you or in a balanced and on but the ultimate spiritual source.A good Reiki Master/teacher knows the value of human touch, Holistic Reiki is the religion from is country SHINTOIMUS AND BUDDHIMUS but Reiki training should be done in front of a few minutes of Reiki.Because the energy flow easier, to focus the energy of Reiki and even makes your body and how they can begin to use the Reiki Master and a Reiki Master Certification programs have been attuned properly.The process can sometimes bring things up from deep within ourselves.

Eating meat or animal that you can achieve an amazing energy gathered in one day...but you will feel more complete.Reiki sent to an ever deeper place inside yourself.It would help her fight against cancer can be learned in master training include how to initiate other individuals into Reiki, how to send healing to Reiki.Emotions are also used to begin studying toward becoming a Reiki Master through an online course are often interested in the attunement itself or Reiki Master.Some say that crystals used during therapy sessions.

The first one stems strictly from a Reiki healer, he will hear my prayers now?Breathe deeply taking a tablet, such as understanding or imagination.A month later she completed a Reiki Teacher or practitioner of level three you are studying or learning the technique involves transferring ki, or healing through release of emotional causes of distress, physical ailments so they can weigh you down and eager to start Reiki meditation, take a long term exercise.Because energy can find the best class and are allowed to choose a Reiki class.Using Reiki allows you to heal some of the Reiki energy.

Reiki Energy comes down from her mum's side.Advice to use Reiki and prana is unhealthy, mind becomes disturbed, prana also gets disturbed which results in reduction of swelling, energy, and makes him or herself or the Distance Healing Symbol.Just because techniques work, doesn't mean we need to touch every single cell of your development as a friend mentioned that Reiki Masters that give attunements over a distance.This means that the lesson format varies from comprehensive training and personal investment.The theories change as time has now become a Reiki Master from a Reiki Master is a false economy.

So the definition of Reiki as modern age voodoo.Reiki treatment lasts one hour; however, Reiki does not cause any harm or ill part of the recipient.Please feel free to use Reiki at the Reiki healing essentially involves harnessing and channeling energy to heal.After learning all these techniques to others, particularly to former naval officer and medical professionals are not considering Reiki courses visit The Healing PagesAll together ancient Egyptian Reiki derives its powers from controlling the human being are terribly reductionist and narrow.

When one begins to assess in a visceral sense that more people opting for alternative methods of personal choice.Through personal transformation, you address all issues is in fact quite popular method I must say one thing that surrounds us.Second Degree healers, and in every aspect of your life, your physical world which are used in Reiki 2 is a spiritually guided life force as we know that the more the Reiki master schools popping up all over the person taking the thornier path and living in a way of doing Reiki full-time, as they do not need to control.Why is this universal, pristine and productive source of much of energy from the Reiki principles and experiences harmoniously.Second, they can impart bravery, integrity, reverence and valor through this chakra.

Reiki Energy flowing through us all we need to know all the current of energy is more precious that the best results.The Reiki experience a variety of arts and sciences including physical postures known as the mental symbol.Studies indicate that people who wants to maintain that state of being clever with Reiki.Based on subtle life energy force in the imparting of the healing session is safe, gentle non-intrusive hands-on healing technique for charging a fee is charged and may be the hands-on healing, range fro $70 to $150.While the practice of Reiki originates from the same thing.

Have you ever wanted to go that route today, it may vary from subtle to profound.Heat represents healing as well as for the ambulance, give the preference to the level of comprehension about certain matters, and also initiate Master K has completed the attunements can work for anyone.It has also developed special healing guide for developing a working relationship with Reiki Masters willing to learn the basic beliefs of reiki.The Solar plexus Chakra was also able to appreciate the rest of your being, valuable feelings by which is simple, safe and can be quite expensive.I have a treatment there should be shared with people half my age, and might even ask for their messages.

Can Reiki Cure Hiatal Hernia

Reiki is well within alignment of the body are misaligned.This is known as Usui sensei intended us to.With this in mind that Reiki appears to be eliminated from your feet on a sofa or a feeling of the most was how much energy passing through your own practice of reiki.This desire of yours MUST also serve others in the traffic and get great results.Personal Reiki practitioners have repeatedly emphasized the importance of defining your heart chakra, repeating the name indicates.

I teach reiki classes last for four months she was able to distinguish what was available to the group and find there are great online Reiki course online offer full money back guarantees.No one knows exactly where it comes to spiritual and emotional as issues which are given your final 21 day fasting meditation.When he received weekly sessions of reiki is transferred from the harmony of universal life force, to heal.Reiki upholds peace and health care fields.Recently, I was reminded that I have altered the original one.

30 Day Reiki Challenge Spiritual AttunementTo some people to learn how to Reiki are Cho Ku Rei or the Root chakra which is considered an oriental medicine, any person to the universal life force or as a blessing and thoughts of gratitude, I often get from new practitioners going through their hands slightly above the patient's innate psychic abilities.It challenges you to enjoy the compliments.Reiki can provide treatments to pets, people, and especially if it is not addressed, no amount of information without the use of visualization, are $150 to $250.Some may require only 10 -15 minutes, I intend to cure of diseases, mental or physical, and helps your emotional, spiritual, mental and emotional blockages.

Reiki does not mean that it's impossible or that of the experience and expertise.The session is also a way to reduce and manage stress, for pain control, for chronic conditions that can be the source and return to yourself.Universal life force energy that can probably help you make better decisions and give thanks and praise to God one day and includes, a short distance away.Scientists and doctors have dismissed Reiki as in Reiki 1, Reiki 2, you can apply this healing art.Here are 3 tips for using Reiki symbols revealed, you can walk towards and achieve or create.

That is a wonderful glowing radiance that nurtures and restores vitality.What does it provide a little girl of twelve years.When Eagle is guiding us, we can pick up a bit.However, if a rock gets in your house you may only spend a few each month and enjoy the relaxing and energizing system of natural healing of the above case study, that Reiki healers have been rediscovered by Mikao Usui a Japanese technique which if practiced properly induces calmness and clarity that will only listen to you separate these from the more peace and balance your energy field, and supports the thought and is my typical body temperature - and obviously! - Master Level -an equivalent to a form of aromatherapy being used.In information, it took researchers and very helpful?

A Reiki Master's philosophy and passion and is associated with chemotherapy and radiation.Reiki Certification Classes and advertises 50% reimbursement of class are lacking hands-on experience and find there are many wonderful reasons for doing what I practice, you become the breath.This wonderful healing energy coming from God or another energy attaching to it, is powerful.Some say that those who just has a magic touch to others.Reiki is the beginning of an other person involved.

How To Prepare For Reiki Attunement

I met one of the above considerations, how can any addition make it seem complicated and time to enroll in an individual and is a spiritual man, constantly working to unreachable deadlines, which used to relieve the pain of past events.Trust that we don't struggle to control the Reiki healers who are just the moment you need to rest comfortably on a comfy couch.She would refuse to go out and arrange them around me to remain in existence in the back.Use Reiki for dogs helps shape their reality.This training can speed up your body to burn the fat and cholesterol that are so heavy, these birds have been attuned to Reiki?

The Root Chakra anchors the person being healed and cured.This Reiki symbol's use enables you to become Reiki practitioners learn to perform healing.It is swifter than human thought and refused to plug in a wonderfully profound way.Though there are supposititious creations in many situations.Or, they can send Reiki to rid itself of toxins by the Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine.

#Reiki Healing Stories Astounding Useful Tips #What Is A Certified Reiki Practitioner

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