#Ignore proportions. Ive never met her

[triona-tribblescore]

@hellishgayliath Hold my beer-

[ofwrxth]

Jakob snickers and holds up his hands, grin still in place because for some reason he can't stop fucking smiling around her. "Well the fact that you haven't already speaks volumes. It was the summer hit two years ago." He chimes with a laugh, unbothered by the fact she's not watched. He wants to get into more serious work anyway. "I mean, being an olympic gymnast is pretty interesting. To me and most of the world. Pretty sure you all were trending. Along with pommel horse guy." Of course he'd seen the tags and the memes and everything in between on social media even though he'd done his best not to like too many posts. Being inconspicuous was near impossible unless he was on his finsta.

He scowls at the accusation. "Ashamed? No. But I'm not a weirdo. Like hi, my name's Jakob, nice to meet you this is my cat." But he takes out his phone anyway, showing her his lock screen. "This is Liora. She's a menace but, you know, the best ones are." He grins and unlocks his phone to show her the album he has for his cat. "I've had her for four years now. She travels with me and everything," Jakob explains, swiping through photos of Liora alone and him taking selfies with his cat. "What about your dogs? Or are they just your uncles?"

Jakob doesn't quite know what they're talking about anymore, but he doesn't care. There's something undeniably pleasant about talking to Ines after hours of mingling. It's like he's exhaling without ever realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Yeah, she did – just quit? Thought it was stupid." If only Felix would do the same. "But maybe don't see for yourself if it's possible," Jakob warns good-naturedly before his grin grows. "Okay, your hand is like one of those little toy hands, you know the plastic mini ones?"

He snickers, ignoring the slight spark he can feel as their hands hover close but not quite touching. "Mine aren't shovels. They're proportional." He supposes the same can be said about hers but he's got a point to make. Jakob wrinkles his nose at her, exhaling as he pretends to block her lens. "Doesn't your family own a casino? Maybe they can lend you cash instead of exploiting a poor actor for profit. I thought you were better than that." He teases lightly before pointing at the baby. "Cece, right?" She'd mentioned her the last time they spoke. "Do you still have to carry around those Liquid IV babies?" Another thing he'd learned about her when they first met.

Jakob exhales a puff of smoke, leaning against the wall as she speaks. He fixes her with a pensive look, nodding. "I bet you could. You'd just go sailing over." He gestures at her stature. "Though I think the pole bit might be the harder part. But aren't gymnasts supposed to be super strong? Maybe you won't have a problem." He shrugs, making light of something he suspects isn't light at all. "Uh...yeah, he was appreciative. I guess it gets old when you're always breaking your own world records." Never mind his cousin hadn't been the reason he'd gone to Paris in the first place. "Besides pole vaulting, what other sport would you do if it wasn't gymnastics? I'd swim. People suggest basketball but I'd be the shortest one there. Don't know if my ego could take it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Ines gives a playfully proud nod of her head, but her chuckle escapes soon after. Everyone knows there's a fine line where a back and forth meets flirtation, and Ines thinks she knows exactly what side of it her and Jakob stand on. "Oh come on, no one thinks that." she reassures with a laugh about his acting. "I mean, I haven't seen the show so you might suck but I doubt it." considering Ines wasn't immune from seeing TEAM CONRAD memes, despite having no idea what they meant. Jakob is forever cemented to her as Uber Eats guy who can do a cool Shaggy run. "Deadpan? Me? I don't think so." Ines fights the little smile Jakob accuses her of having, trying to relax her expression but once she catches sight of his smirk, her own grows. "I don't even think I've got interesting enough things to like...you know, bluff people with because it seems too crazy to be true."

Ines is quick to notice how easy they both laugh together, even if she isn't quite sure what's so funny. The way they lock gazes certainly isn't, making her all too aware of the current she feels yet doesn't even how to explain. She wonders if Jakob feels it too, this weird sensation to talk for as long as possible. Any excuse to be around each other. "Aw, what!? Why didn't you mention her before, are you ashamed of her or something?" Ines laughs about the cat, waving a gesture at him. "Do you have any photos? I wanna see." the request makes her step closer, ready for when he has his phone. "We're a dog family 'cause of...you know, my uncle trains them and stuff." she adds with a little shrug.

Ines' chuckle lingers about the dress, and it surprises her that it's not an awkward sound. She's more embarrassed about where her mind goes to than the faux pas of Jakob's words. "Hmm, I think this might start a conversation about what's the point in anything?" she laughs, her words a mixture of avoiding her accomplishments but also something she truly believes since returning from Paris. All that work for what? Her mom couldn't see it, and the news waiting back home was like a needle popping straight through a party balloon. "Yeah, exactly. They kept asking me what was next, like in Paris and I was like...err, I just wanna sleep on a normal bed again first, to be honest." Ines chuckles, once again remembering she has a lit cigarette in her hand because I keep forgetting and she takes a drag. "Wait, your friend did heroin!? And just stopped?" Ines gives Jakob an incredulous look as she laughs.

As his hand raises, she blinks at first and wants to curse her thoughts there and then. "I mean, this is just a hand." Ines says, holding hers to his and unable to control the giggle Jakob pulls from her lips. Which is fucking embarrassing. "That's a shovel." she adds about his, composing her tone with another clear of her throat. A little grin appears as she lets the cigarrete dangle between her lips as she grabs her phone from her clutch and pretends to take a photo of him smoking. "Straight to TMZ. I got some rent to pay." she teases before turning around her screen so he can see there's nothing. Just a photo of Beatriz and her and an infant Cece.

As Ines tucks away her phone, Jakob's question makes her blink but she's quick to shrug an answer at first. My dad slept with someone when my mom was only dead for like two months and now we got a baby brother. Doesn't seem quite so easy to say. "Uhh, I guess figuring out if I really wanna do more? Doing the same thing since I was like six...might be time for something else? You know? I might try vaulting, see if I can beat all of Mondo's records." she chuckles. "I bet he was stoked you went to watch him, right?"

[wornoutmouse]

This is for someone i meet on horny weeb tiktok i might not have finished haikyuu but iv met nishinoya in the anime so i think i can do this.

warning: overstimulation

You guys had just finished a practice game and everybody was in high spirits. As usual you waited for your boyfriend with some water and a towel. "You guys did good Nishi!" Nishinoya glanced at you with a tired smile as he got closer, "Yeah but we only won by two points." You pursed your lips and shook your head, "That only means that they were worthy opponents!" Nishinoya laughed at you and smiled in a way that made you warm.

"Your always know what to say huh?" You smirk, "Of course I do sugar, now reward me with a kiss!" You leaned down a bit to give your boyfriend access to your lips. You two didn't have a major height difference but it was big enough to cause a little strain when you were trying to be intimate. "Man I've already worked so hard today now I gotta work harder just to kiss my girlfriend?!" You laugh scratching behind your ear. Just then Tsukishima and Yamaguchi walk by, "Ha with proportions like that it's no wonder you can't satisfy her Yū!" Snickered Tsuki.

Nishinoya's eye twitched at that comment but chose to ignore it. You on the other hand didn't, "Not everybody can be Jolly the green giant like you Tsu!" Tsukishima rolled his eyes and kept walking. Nishinoya out a hand on your shoulder making you jump, "No worries babe that's just how he shows affection let's go home kay!?" You smiled, "You know I gotta protect you, he shouldn't have made that comment!" You and Nishinoya started walking towards the gym parking lot. "I mean it's not your fault your short!"

You didn't notice it but Nishinoya had stopped walking and was blankly staring at you as your searched for your keys in your purse. "Found em!" You say cheerfully twirling then around your finger. Nishinoya did nothing but nod and hop into the car. All the way home he was quite only responding to your questions and stories with "hmm" and "yeah". You were confused but just wrote it off to him being really tried after a lengthy game. You walked into the house kicking your shoes off and did a big stretch as you made your way into your room. You turn around and yelp tripping backwards onto the bed. "Nishi you scared me!"

Nishinoya didn't say anything at first as he slowly plopped into your lap gazing at you intently. "You want cuddles? Is that why you were so grumpy in the car." Nishinoya slightly nodded after thinking before grabbing your face and kissing you slowly. You moaned into the kiss and doing your best to resist grabbing Nishinoya's waist cause you knew that made him laugh. Nishinoya pushed you down to lay back sliding his hands down your arms before positioning them above your head.

You took no notice to this because this was his favorite position, what you did notice however was the steel coolness wrapping around your wrists and the loud and clear sound of of something locking in place. "Nishinoya what are you....?" You bring your hands in your eye view as Nishinoya climbed off of you, going into the closest. You looked at the silver cuffs that were now delicately around your wrist. The way Nishinoya had cuffed them made you unable to bring your hands lower than your breasts. "What's going on babe?" You asked with caution as your boyfriend walked towards the bed holding something purple and small.

"Back in the gym.....Tsu said that I couldn't please you." You nodded recalling that momment. "Are you still mad at that Nishi? Don't listen to what he says you know he's a tease!" Nishinoya hummed as if acknowledging what you said but you could tell by the far away look in his eye that what you said went through one ear and out the other. "But you said it's not my fault becuase i was so short." You flexed in the cuffs swallowing shallowly as Nishinoya's gaze hardened as he made eye contact with you. "Nishinoya.. You know i didn't mean it like that, come on babe."

Nishinoya raised his hands to caress your face, "You know I'm not going to hurt you right?" He asked voice wavering in slight hurt. You hurriedly nodded your head, "Of course not i just want to let you know that I didn't mean it like that!" He nodded at your confession before staring down at the small object in his possession, "You hurt my feelings Y/N, so you need to be punished. What's your color?" Your eyes widened and your heart stuttered in anticipation.  Months ago you asked Nishinoya if he wanted to dable in more extreme things now to finally get it has you excited.

"Green." Nishinoya nodded grabbing hold of your pants and pulling them down. Gingerly he cupped your warmth making you sigh at the slight stimulation. All during this Nishinoya never lost eye contact with you. "So you think I can't satisfy you?" You shook your head as he began grinding his palm into your clothed entrance. "No I think your right, I can't because I'm too short right?" He slid his hands to the side of your panties before pulling them to the side stroking your folds watching as he gathered your arousal before bringing them to his mouth licking them off. "I love you Y/N, and I hate that I've been leaving you.... unsatisfied this whole time."

Nishinoya then brought the small object up to your pussy running it slowly up and down before rubbing your clit with it making you draw shuttered gasps bucking your hips slightly. There was a long while of this till you were borderline whining from the bare minimum stimulation you were receiving, "Nishi please I need you!" Nishinoya stopped but he wasn't looking at you this time but staring intently at your nether regions. "Unfortunately i can't please you but i do have something that can." You feel the object slick with your fluids, push into you and you whine at the intrusion.

Nishinoya stood up and looked at you before pulling his phone out and snapping a picture muttering, "So pretty..." He hopped through his phone a little more making you grow needy, "Nishi-" you choked on your words as a slow but firm vibration reverberated throughout your body.

A vibrator

Your moaned lowly as you watched Nishinoya leave the room while the volumes of vibrations varied. When he came back into the room it was with a chair. Turning it backwards he sat down leaning forward on the back of it. "To make up for your troubles I'm going to make you feel good Y/N.'" you nod face heating up at how determined he gazed at your pussy. "Does it feel good?" You nodded, "M-More plea-ase." Nishinoya have a smile that was ment to be comforting but to you it only gave a chill before he slowly made the vibrator turn up. You bucked sightly into the toy as your tried to hold back your moans earning yourself a small slap on your leg, Nishinoya pouted, "I want to hear you babe, how will I know you feel good if I don't hear you?" You smiled cause your can't argue with that logic and allowed yourself to let your sounds slip.

Nishinoya stroked your inner thigh as he watched your face contort as you slowly got closer to the edge. Once you were on the brink he turned the vibrator up at full max making you arch your back and let out a breathy yelp was you came. Nishinoya took his finger and played with your release laughing. "Was that good babe?" You nodded smiling too as you shifted in the cuffs. "I'm sorry if i hurt your feelings babe i promise not to-" you squeak as the vibrator to full max. "Well i can't only give you 'one' orgasm." Nishinoya said standing up walking towards your head along the bed. He leaned down towards your face and bringing his hand up to start stroking your hair being careful of your new braids.

"After all-" he said slideing his hands down to grip your chin forcefully making you look up at him. "Imagine all the orgasms I didn't give you from being so, so, short." Nishinoya played with his phone as he walked back to where he sat making the vibrator go from lowest to highest repeatedly making it almost simulate like you were being penetrated. You moan with sensitivity wanting it to go away yet wanting it to continue. "Nishi!" You groaned eyes closing as you reached your second orgasm. Thinking it would be over you opened your eyes to look at your boyfriend heart stopping cold at the lustful look in his eyes. He had the same intensity as he had during his games now focused entirely on you.

You gasped eyes sightly rolling back as the vibrator continued feeling almost as if the intensity got higher. "Does that feel good Y/N? Is it doing better than me?" Shook your head as the vibration lessened, "Do you not need me anymore? It's this all you need to help your reach your end?" You were silent unable to focus on his questions, "WELL IT'S IT Y/N!?" Nishi said voice sightly raised as he made or the vibrator once again. You gurgled unable to responed trying to close your legs to muffle the strength of the vibration. All you heard was a slight tsk from Nishinoya as he got up from his chair. He opened your legs slotting himself in between them pulling your panties the rest of the way off marvelling at how sparkly they were from your own release.

"You got to keep your legs open sweetie how else will I be able to please you." Nishinoya said in a teasing manor but his face stayed cold. "It's too m-m-much." You groaned as another orgasm pushed through you causing you to shake as it came over you. "I know... But it's my turn now. You think you can do that for me?" Not really registering the words being said to you as you felt the vibrator turn down a fraction. You shutter as you felt the head of Nishinoya's hard cock stroke along your folds gathering your juices. After a while he finally decided to push in sighing. "Ah your so messy for me huh... Well i guess not me since you don't need me to make you feel good huh?" he growled slowly rocked into you. The veins of his dick began grazing your g-spot not quite touching but just enough to make you orgasm once again. "Wow you came again baby does the vibrator feel that good?" You shook your head no before sluggishly trying to find his hands holding them, "You feel good N-Nisji."

You couldn't see it but his eyes widened at the confession before a smile shakily came over his face this time, it was genuine. "Ahh your doing so good for me baby, that's my girl. I'm going to try to go fast do you think you got one more in you cookie?" "Yes Nishi~" you moan as Nishinoya began to pick up the pace shallowly thrusting in and out of you making obscene noises from your previous orgasms. "Your squeezing me so hard cookie." Nishinoya moaned layibg over you picking up the pace and fucking you brutally holding onto your hand grounding you to this moment.

The pleasure was unimaginable as your eyes prickled with tears at the overstimulation. "I'm... Coming!" Nishinoya groans as he give 6 hard thrusts into you coming inside before turning the vibrator on max and rubbing your clit counterclockwise bringing you to your fifth and final orgasm.

You both still, breathing hard as Nishinoya turns the vibrator off. Nishinoya looks at you stroking your face with a laugh. "Was that good?" You nod slowly still not quite precessing. You could feel Nishinoya pull out of you and your wince making him stutter it a quick sorry. For a while your hear nothing but the sounds of the shower turning on. After a while you feel yourself being lifted off the bed with a small stumble before being set in a pool of warm steamy water. As you drift in and out of sleep you feel Nishinoya wash your back while holding up your box braids and doing his best to clean you out while maintaining little too no contact with your sensitive folds. Getting you out the bathtub he brings you back to the bed and lotioning you up with cocoa butter and slipping your lightest night gown over your shoulders.

After a minute he sits you up handing you a pill and a small cup of water. "You wouldn't let me pull out I'm sorry." You shrug lightly not really caring. While Nishinoya wouldn't mind a kid or two you weren't quite ready yet stating you wanted to work a little while longer so he respected your choices. Handing him the cup back watching him drink some water himself you open your arms wanting to hug him. He chuckled quietly before complying lying in your arms pulling the cover over the two of you and you fell into blissful peace.

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 12): Monday

AO3

i.

Monday morning found Yellow Diamond in her study, watching nothing as dawn slowly drew itself around her like a pinkish cape. The shadows under her eyes pooled in the soft light, and the crow’s feet edging them became stark, black, defined. (God, when was the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep? When was the last time she hadn’t stayed awake—fighting and chasing away and courting sordid demons? When was the last time she’d seen a proper bed?) Even still, she was already impeccably dressed for it to not even be seven yet. Her golden hair was swept upwards in a coiffure sharp enough to cut yourself on, and she wore a black suit in the matter-of-fact way that the sky wore the sun. Her heels were perfectly practical (thank you very much), her face meticulously painted on.

Put together but not quite, she stared at nothing.

Maybe the wall.

Maybe the minuscule crack in the door.

And could not bring herself to think about the three meetings she had today, so consumed by the thought of Blue.

Blue was getting out today.

She would assume the stage.

She would get into a town car and not go to the cemetery where their dead daughter lay.

The world would spin on, and for once—for the first time in four years—her wife would spin with it.

It made Yellow so damn happy.

And it made her so damn sad at the same time.

Blue was moving… not on, never on… but forward.

And it wouldn’t be because of Yellow.

She took an impulsive drag of her coffee and half-hoped it would scald her.

(She hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been.)

When the analog clock on the wall unwillingly dragged her into the next minute, the CEO finally slid her golden gaze from the door to the intercom panel propped next to her lamp. She pressed one of the buttons, eliciting a crackling noise at first, before the line was abruptly snagged by a voice that was equal parts panic and equal parts sleep: “Yes, Mrs. Diamond?!”

“Did I wake you?” Of course, Yellow knew that she had, but she at least had enough courtesy to feign otherwise.

“No, ma’am!” Poppy gamely lied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to do a favor for me,” she said, biting her lip. She could have added please to let the maid know that she was serious, but reticence was this particular woman’s both strength and weakness.

“Anything, Mrs. Diamond!”

“You can knock that off now. We’ve already established who I am.”

“Of course, Mrs—” Poppy caught herself with a little squeak. “O-of course.”

Yellow sighed—quite dramatically in proportion to the circumstances really—but pressed on anyway. “I need you to call up to the flower shop and send an arrangement to someone in Empire City Hospital. I’ll leave my credit card on the desk.”

It wasn’t a particularly unusual request. Yellow was sending flowers and champagne bottles to business associates all the time. Even through the staticky transmission, she could hear Poppy scribbling these directions down on paper.

The scratching stopped. “And whom shall I direct the flowers to, ma’am?”

She inhaled sharply.

Oh, hell and shit.

She only knew the kid’s name and approximate age (older than five but certainly younger than twenty).

“His name is Steven,” she sniffed haughtily (to disguise her ignorance, of course). “Young boy. You should be able to locate him.”

“A-ah, yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Yellow leaned back in her chair and looked quite pleased with herself until she just as suddenly didn’t; with a sudden thought, her dark brow depressed into a frown over her eyes. (When was the last time that her mouth and eyes and chest unbent in a smile? When was the last time worry didn’t transform her entire physiognomy, didn’t make her appear ten years older—ten years more grim and demanding and cold?)

“And, Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Make it anonymous.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

ii.

Monday morning found Poppy on the verge of hysterics as she called three different extensions in Empire City Hospital trying to inquire after a sick boy named Steven.

No, she didn’t know his last name!

No, she couldn’t tell you a room number!

No, she most certainly was not pranking them!

Gah!

iii.

Monday morning found Priyanka Maheswaran nursing her third tumbler of coffee as she surveyed Steven’s guardians from over its rim. In Room 11037, they stood in the empty space where Steven’s bed had once been. The technicians had just taken him down for a couple of scans for UNOS, but even though the five adults in the room objectively knew that, the absence of the boy unnerved the air. Abandoned wires spilled across the scorchingly white floor. The heart monitor on the wall was a flat black, leering at them with its emptiness.

Pearl’s hair seemed to be positively standing on edge.

They were all in shambles—each of them, in their own ways.

The doctor gathered herself into some semblance of professionalism and half-wondered if such posturing was but an exercise in pointlessness. Surely, these people could see through the cracks, the holes in her carefully constructed facade.

Surely, they knew that she cared.

“I’m going to be blunt with you—”

Amethyst cut across her with a wry smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You always are, Dr. M.”

“True,” Priyanka conceded with a sigh, “and so I see no reason to be anything else with you all.”

She was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct.

Greg’s eyes bore her down, were haunting in their worn sockets.

It was his damn child.

It’d once been his damn girlfriend.

(At the funeral, he pressed Steven against his chest and wept in place of a eulogy.)

“Even with dialysis,” she said, clutching her cup like it was a lifeline, “and even with the extra support we’re giving him here in the hospital, we’re still racing against the clock. His heart is working harder to compensate his kidneys, and his lungs are working harder to compensate his heart.”

He was dying.

That was the cold and hard truth.

Priyanka did not say it, for she didn’t need to—the unspoken words landed in the room anyway, striking precisely, like bullets, the carnage written all over their faces. Pearl’s hands on her stomach were gored with it. There was a third eye on Garnet’s head where her troubled brow met in the middle.

(At the funeral, Pearl had to be lightly pulled away from the casket. She stared at nothing. She said nothing. She stared at Rose.)

(At the funeral, people whispered that Garnet was callous for looking so stoic, so put together, so tearless. They didn’t notice her hands, how they trembled by her sides.)

“Ya gotta say something, Doc,” Amethyst said when the silence got to be too much, when the room started to feel too empty. The air around her was frenetic, charged. She looked liable to be both the predator and the prey trapped in a corner. “That’s what’s wrong. Now what’s the solution?”

(At the funeral, Amethyst cried openly, viscerally, and yet, still found the strength to pull Pearl away from the casket, to squeeze Garnet’s hand, to hold Steven when Greg had to bury his face in his hands.)

(At the funeral, Priyanka made herself notice all of these little things, forced herself to carve them into her memory, one scalpel incision at a time, as both a punishment and a reminder. Somehow, someway, she could have done better, could have been better. Moving forward, she would, dammit. She would never attend another funeral like this.)

“The solution, of course,” she sighed, “is a viable kidney, and I know you don’t want to hear that. I know that it’s the same thing I said last time and the time before that, but dammit, that’s what it’s going to take.” 

If anger seared the edge of this proclamation, it was not an anger intended for the broken people standing across from her. It was for the woefully inadequate transplant system where eighteen people across the world died every day because they couldn’t get the organ they so desperately needed. It was for the unfair fact that neither Greg nor Amethyst nor Garnet nor Pearl were matches for the boy they would all give their lives to protect. No hesitation. No blinking. It was for the incredulous idea—ludicrous, absurd, preposterous!—that even if they did find a kidney, that this family wouldn’t have the means to pay for it because health care was so screwed up in this damn country.

If Priyanka was angry, it was for the utter insanity of it all.

The madness.

There was no rationality in a fourteen-year old dying.

“It’s so perverse,” Pearl whispered into the silence, “that we’re here again.”

It was a familiar stage, a familiar scene.

Just someone else in the bed that had once contained a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile—a brilliant, compassionate heart.

Garnet looked away, clenched her fists by her sides.

“It has to end differently, though,” Greg said, a plea in his voice and his eyes. It was scratched across his entire body. It was a scar. “I… I can’t… do that again. I can’t lose him.”

It was wonder that he didn’t shatter where he stood, that they all didn’t. Amethyst reached up and placed a hand on his back.

(This was a familiar image, too.)

(Hell, it was a memory—simply transplanted into the here and now.)

“Greg… all of you—” She began and abruptly stopped. Priyanka Maheswaran was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct, but for once in her life, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to tell this family that their kid was going to make it, that they’d find him a kidney, that the surgery would go well, that love and joy and peace would win at the end of the damn day. She wanted to give them hope; she desperately wanted a modicum of the sensation for herself.

But what could she say?

What could she possibly fucking say?

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking, “but this is all I have.”

iv.

Monday morning found Connie Maheswaran unfolded across the backseat of her dad’s cruiser, scrolling through another medical journal, only occasionally stopping to jot down notes in a tab-marked, dog-eared, well-worn, well-loved composition book. When he wasn’t pretending to be interested in his heretofore very boring stakeout, her father’s wire-rimmed glasses peered at her from the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure looking studious for it to be a sunny day in July,” he quipped lightly. Some old alternative band warbled through his ancient cassette deck as he said it, lending him an inadvertent lyricalness. Connie, penciling down donor qualifications in her neat handwriting, mmm’d in distracted reply.

“Oh, I get it,” he shrugged playfully, feigning hurt. “You’re busy. Alas, I’d forgotten the singleminded passions of youth so removed am I by the passage of time. Woe unto me!”

“You’re such a dork, Dad.”

Donors must have a compatible blood type with the patient.

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow in the mirror. “Is that a polysyllabic response I hear?”

Donors must be in good physical and mental health before consenting to the surgery.

A master of irony, Connie sparred back with a nice and succinct, “Yep.”

Donors must be at least eighteen-years old to qualify for surgery.

These six words were logical, reasonable, were only to be expected—and yet, ice dropped through the twelve-year old’s stomach anyway; a burning sensation pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped at these feelings furiously, scrubbed them away with the back of her hand.

“Touché,” her dad sighed.

v.

Monday morning found Pearl dragging her feet against the wooden deck, her overnight bag dripping carelessly from her shoulder, a world and a boy and a boy who was her world pressing against the column of her spine. Her fingers shook as they fumbled first with her keys and then with the handle of the screen door. 

The hot, July sun taunted her pale neck one last time before she finally escaped into the dark house… only to be immediately swallowed by its emptiness.

God, it was desolate.

So wrong and so vile.

Gray light wept onto the wooden floors.

To her left, there was no Steven in a bed that was left unmade from the last night he’d slept in it. M.C. Bear Bear dangled halfway off the mattress, deserted and derelict without the boy who brought him to life with a smile and a laugh.

To her right, the reading nook in the corner of the room almost looked untouched, betrayed only by a slight crookedness skewing one of the cushions. Steven had knelt there, and Steven had fallen, and now Steven wouldn’t be leaving the hospital for a very long time if… if… if?

(If ever again.)

The dull thud of his fall echoed in her head.

It dropped into the pit of her stomach and ruined her.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said, and Priyanka Maheswaran never said sorry, "but this is all I have.”)

Pearl clutched her rumpled shirt and tried not to shatter as she limped further into the living room, where a lump on the couch caught the corner of her eye. 

The lump, of course, was Peridot, wrapped in a blanket and snoring slightly. Without her glasses on, she looked particularly young—vulnerable. (Though, ferocious as she was, she’d claw someone’s eyes out before ever acquiescing to such gooey epithets.) 

Pearl didn’t necessarily want to wake her, but she didn’t want to leave her on the hard couch either, so in the end, she approached quietly and skimmed her knuckles lightly against the girl’s exposed shoulder.

Emerald eyes flew open with a jolt.

A startled cat tore from under the blanket and streaked out of the room.

“Nyeh!” 

“Sorry,” Pearl apologized as Peridot scrambled to find her bearings and her glasses and a little shred of dignity, too. Once her frames were adjusted on her pointed nose, she looked positively scandalized—which was fair, of course. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. I’m going to nap for a few hours before my shift, so you’re welcome to go home for a bit or crash in a bed if you’d like.”

But scandal turned into realization turned into somberness in the other’s face.

Pearl found that she wasn’t ready to face it; her duffel bag slipped slightly on her shoulder.

“Where’s Lapis?” She tried quickly, but Peridot was quicker—intuitive and stubborn, a deadly combination.

“Swim practice. Never mind her.” Peridot waved a flippant hand. “How’s Steven?”

She knew the litany of lies by heart now.

He’s fine.

He’s stable.

He’s resting.

He’s fine.

And she tried to summon one on her lips for Peridot—she tried so damn hard to stay together—but how could she?

How could she fucking do it?

“… Pearl?”

"Peridot, I... I—" Tears leaked from her eyes.

And dripped down her beaky nose.

And splattered her sweater with their ruin.

Something was building in her stomach, in her chest, in the column of her throat.

And she tried splaying her fingers across her mouth, tried damming up the carnage, but—

"Pearl!"

—she was falling apart.

Or she'd already done so.

And this was just the explicit proof:

Pearl collapsed to her knees and wept.

vi.

Monday morning found Greg Universe on his metaphorical knees. He was desperation reconciled, a man not really sitting on a bench, so much as he was a man being supported by one. A phone was in his hand; there was an exhaustion on his shoulders.

“Ya could have called me sooner, y’know,” Greg’s cousin said on the other end of the line. There wasn’t admonition in the sentence, just resignation.

And concern.

And grief.

Andy had just met Steven a couple of months ago, but like all people who came into his son’s orbit, found it impossible not to love him, not to care. Andy had taken him up in his old plane and shown him the stars, and Steven had shown that cantankerous old coot that he didn’t have to roam the world looking for home.

Greg spidered his hand across his forehead and looked down at the concrete between his feet—the minuscule cracks in the pavement, the imperfect rubble. He burned all over; he wanted to burn the world to the ground; he wished the ground would swallow him whole; his son was sick.

“I didn’t want to face it, Andy,” he whispered, his voice strained tight, on the verge of breaking. “I’ve already lost Rose… I didn’t… I couldn’t—”

But his cousin took pity on him and quickly cut him off. “—I know, kiddo… I know. Listen, I’ll go get tested and get back to ya, okay?”

“Okay.” He closed his sagging eyes. “Thanks.”

“Tell Champ that I’m gonna bring him something cool the next time I fly down there.” Andy’s thick Jersey accent was slung with emotion (or whiskey one), all the hard consonants broken and slurred. “Ya got that, ya bald bastard?”

Greg chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good man,” and the phone clicked off just as warm hand landed quietly on his shoulder, drawing him back from the darkness. Of course, it was Garnet, who had been his companion in exhausting their contact lists and asking friends and family to get tested. Of course, it was Garnet who always knew exactly what he needed in the moment that he did.

She was steady like that, dependable.

Somehow, he found it in himself to wonder who was the same for her? Who was steady? Who was dependable? Who was the shoulder she leaned upon, if she needed to lean at all?

She’d always been so self-sufficient, so contained and in control.

Or was it Steven?

The possibility hit him suddenly, like a train.

(He thought on it; he chewed; he concluded: it was probably Steven.)

“You can’t beat yourself up, Greg,” she murmured. Sunlight glinted across her sunglasses, eradicating even the suggestion of her eyes beneath them. “We didn’t think we’d be here this fast. We thought we’d have more…”

“…time,” he finished quietly and choked a little at the end.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said. He then waited for the blow, and she promptly delivered. “But this is all I have.”)

There wasn’t any more time.

There was only waiting and hoping and waiting and hoping and—

They’d been waiting and hoping for eight months now.

Garnet’s fingernails dug into his shirt.

“S’not that I want to be hard on myself,” he mumbled, swiping clumsily at his snotting nose. “It’s just that I feel like I’m failing my kid, y’know? He’s in there fighting for his life, and I… I can’t do anything about it!”

The concrete mocked him with its gray, blank face; he wished it would rise up from the ground and strike him; he’d give anything if it would clock him cold; he deserved it; or maybe he didn’t; maybe everything was all screwed up, and he just didn’t really want to feel a damn thing—for hours at a time, for days.

“But, Greg,” Garnet whispered, her voice tight around the edges, her grip on him tighter. “Look at you. Look at that phone in your hand. We’ve been calling people all morning. We’ve been fighting for him for months.” She almost sounded angry, which was a rarity in and of itself for this particular woman who so masterfully boxed all of her emotions down and away. “That isn’t nothing.”

But then, suddenly, without warning, further complicating everything he knew about her, Garnet balled her free hand into a fist and knocked it hard against the bench. Her knuckles came back imprinted with the striations in the wood.

“It can’t be nothing,” she growled. “All of this can’t be for nothing. He can’t just—” But she stopped short, apparently choked, and Greg closed his eyes again.

Steven could just die, and that would be that.

It would be their entire world.

It would all be for nothing.

The sun was so damn bright today; it burned, and it burned, and it burned.

vi.

Monday found Amethyst teetering beneath a hella big flower arrangement as she stumbled into Room 11037.

God, the container was almost as huge as her head and just as full of crap—which was to say, beautiful sunflowers whose golden petals unfurled symmetrically around dark anthers. The strain of carrying it reddened her fingers as she did well to deposit it on the moveable tray Steven ordinarily used as a table when he ate.

(Not that he did eat.)

(Not really.)

The thud of the vase hitting the table jolted Steven from what had been a half-lidded gaze to a well-alert panic.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry, Steven,” she apologized, still panting from the exertion. She then leaned against the foot of his bed, wrapping one of her newly sore arms against the frame. “Didn’t mean for that to be so loud. Stupid thing was just so heavy.”

Encumbered as he was by wires, he couldn’t really move his head to take a closer look at the arrangement, but all the same, panic softened in his eyes—became appreciation and awe in a blink.

It hurt Amethyst to look at him.

(She would never look away.)

“Ohmygosh!” he croaked in one impressive breath. “These are so pretty. Who sent them?”

“Beats me,” Amethyst shrugged, quite unfortunately exacerbating the soreness in her shoulders. “Nurse said that your secret admirer wanted to stay anonymous.”

“Aw,” he grinned, “I have a secret admirer?”

“Ahahaha, somethin’ like that. Could it be the old lady?” Not that anyone was asking, but she thought it was quite admirable of herself to show restraint enough not to go with a more colorful moniker. “She’s rich enough to send something as fancy-schmancy as this.”

Steven thought on it for a moment—lifted his dark eyes towards the ceiling and hummed tentatively. The fluorescents overhead crowned his black hair with a harsh halo and illuminated the deep grooves beneath his eyes, the hollows in his face, the yellowish pallor of his skin.

Jaundice was setting in, making a fine mockery of his youth.

(God, would it hurt to just look away just once?)

“Truuuuuue,” he eventually conceded, “but I don’t know why she just wouldn’t bring them with her.”

Oh, yeah.

That was something that was happening.

It was a hella good thing Pearl was working today.

“Oh, yeah. She’s coming later, isn’t she?”

“Yup. Two o’clock.” Amethyst glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall—it was nearly one—and then turned back to him, a small frown puckering at her lips.

“That isn’t a long time from now.”

“And?”

“And, buddy, my pal, my friend,” Amethyst smiled bitterly, “I hope you know what you’re gonna say to her because you look like shit.”

“Rude!” He stuck his tongue out and approximated some semblance of a faux offended expression, but his brow furrowed above his bruised eyes all the same.

These past three days had done their number on Steven, and he was a far cry from the boy who bounced in the elevator ride up to Blue Diamond’s opulent penthouse suite, and he was absolutely the ghost of the kid he was eight months ago.

(He used to pounce on Amethyst’s back and demand that she fake wrestle with him.)

(He used to play on the beach for hours.)

(He’d been so vibrant and alive and present and capable, and God, how was it even fair that he wasn’t anymore?)

“Just tellin’ the truth,” Amethyst sighed. “I dunno much about her, but going off the bathrobe and smudged mascara alone, I wouldn’t guess that she’s got a strong constitution.”

Steven batted back with a worldweary sigh of his own.

“I know,” he murmured, “but, also, like, I dunno, Amethyst—I think strength for her might just be wandering around in a bathrobe, you know?” On top of his blankets, he softly skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of his other hand, careful to avoid all of the intravenous lines. “Honestly, I think… she might struggle with even that.”

The translation was clear in his face: Blue Diamond struggled to even be.

At that very moment, Amethyst was simultaneously irritated and sympathetic, understanding and unkind. She began to pick viciously at one of the loose threads in Steven’s blanket; her long bangs fell unceremoniously over her right eye.

“If that’s true, then she might break just seeing you, Steven.”

He thought on this, too, closing his eyes and settling his thumb across the ridges of his knuckles.

She hated when he did this.

Hated how still he looked.

(And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself look away.)

“Maybe”—he opened his eyes—“but maybe not… I want to help her, Amethyst. I think she needs it.”

You're the one who needs help, she wanted to say.

(He looked so sincere as he said it, so kind and warm and believing in the idea that a broken, old lady could be saved by his smile alone.)

You don’t owe a damn thing to this lady.

(He didn't owe a damn thing to all of the other people he'd helped, but he still did it anyway.)

Take care of yourself.

(What more could he do?)

Fight for yourself.

(What more could any of them do?)

For me.

(I can't lose you, buddy.)

For us.

(We'd be lost.)

But those options would fundamentally be unSteven, and it was so Steven to be so damn selfless, to extend a flower to a grieving woman in a cemetery, a hand and his stupidly big heart to what was clearly a person in need.

“Yeah,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion, “I gotcha.”

On that tray that he used but didn’t use because he couldn’t hold down solid food anymore, a flower head leaned towards Steven, as though it was itching to say hello.

vii.

Monday found Blue Diamond standing at the threshold of the exit (and the beginning), her long hand pale against the handle that she had been gripping for hours now—weeks, months, years.

(It’d been minutes, but time swallowed her up and spit her out back again. She was here in her penthouse suite preparing to visit a boy in the hospital; she was in that fatal night from all those many years ago, screaming.)

She was coming, Steven Universe.

Her silvery hair swept down her back in its signature braid; a dress, not a bathrobe, unfolded down her curvy frame. 

In just a moment or hours from now—weeks, months, maybe years—she would walk out of the door.

(It would be a few minutes; it’d be a near panic attack; it would be bravery.)

She was coming.

[thelifetimechannel]

The Dave and Dirk log, for obvious reasons, was something I wanted to try very hard to get right. That meant although we drafted it together via msparp, as was our custom, I ended up overhauling it way more than any of our other combo walkaround logs. A few chunks did survive the transfer, though.

In other news, we’ve made a solemn pact to finish TLC over winter break, which is good because I’m running out of bonus content. Hopefully we’ll have some assets to show off soon. I’ve already seen a few; they’re very nice.  

DIRK: Hey, dude. You did pretty well out there. DIRK: Didn't even die once. DAVE: twice in a day is my max im satisfied with keeping that record DAVE: even if getting machinegunned is rapidly becoming my "thing" DIRK: Seems we each have our respective "signature deaths". DIRK: Or at least it ain't a party until I get decapitated. That sure was something we needed to do again. DIRK: Just once, for old time's sake. DAVE: well that puts the nail in the meme coffin DAVE: any time you panic someones gonna tell you to keep your head on DAVE: like keeping your hair on except you know that shit aint going anywhere its probably shellaced DIRK: That shit is bolted to the floor. Did you know I walked around with a girly-ass pink tiara on my head this whole day and had no idea? DIRK: I had no idea. Couldn't feel a thing. DIRK: And people let me do that. DIRK: Can't fuckin' believe it. DAVE: oh DAVE: i figured you knew DIRK: I am less than pleased with my Skaia-ordained divine color scheme. DIRK: But I guess I have to live with it. It's part of the team aesthetic. DAVE: you could always change DIRK: Nah, with the tiara and tights ditched I have at least mitigated the enforced flamboyance. It's bearable. DIRK: I can't be the one dude out of uniform. Couldn't bear the shame. DAVE: my outfit is pretty sick ngl DAVE: sburb knows everyones secret desire is to have a cape DIRK: Unfortunately, mine isn't long enough to also make for a good tactical maneuver. DIRK: Not gonna lie, that was pretty funny. DAVE: if nothing else my attempts at combat can provide a source of humor in our lives DAVE: but honestly id be fine if my fighting days were over DAVE: i was never into it DAVE: rose on the other hand was obviously itching to beat people up DAVE: one of those 12 year olds who wants to get jumped in an alley to work out her suppressed anger DIRK: Maybe Skaia did make a few miscalculations in dumping your asses with your respective guardians. I think you'd get along well with Roxy and her cats, make her budget her time away from the alcohol. DIRK: ...in theory. DIRK: Rose can go a few rounds with me if she wants, we still need to sort out who has the rights to document our legendary journies. DAVE: ill plan your funeral DAVE: what kind of flowers do you want DIRK: ...there's different kinds? DAVE: damn thats right you grew up in waterworld DAVE: these choices matter DAVE: allegedly theres a thing called "flower language" DAVE: whether you can actually send someone a boquet telling them to meet you in the pit i dont know DIRK: Like, I get that, in theory, different kinds of flowers exist. But I fully anticipate any attempt on my part to conjugate in the language of said plants would end in my coffin declaring my hovercraft was indeed full of eels. DIRK: Maybe it'll have thorns on it. Or it'll be like the sixteen millions tons of green bullshit covering my land and making my nose itch. DAVE: probably DIRK: Worst case scenario, I'll pick out something orange and present to a prospective love interest and it'll mean something like "my brotherly passion for you knows no boundaries, and also no homo". DAVE: my bro wouldnt go for flower arranging DAVE: or pink tiaras DAVE: he was pretty uptight about the whole rah rah macho act DAVE: probably subscribed to alpha males weekly DAVE: which is weird considering DAVE: well DAVE: youre gay right DIRK: Uh. DIRK: Well. DIRK: My symbolic quest land is not covered in green bullshit, but I. DIRK: Happen to like watching birds, if you know what I mean. DIRK: Fuck, you probably don't know what that means. Jake and his goddamn thousand euphemisms. DAVE: cant say i do no DIRK: Nobody knows what it means but Jake. It's an old time epithet for being into dudes. DIRK: He knows all the old epithets, including some I suspect he made up. DAVE: so DAVE: thats a yes DAVE: in a roundabout way that includes birds DIRK: I've never denied it. DIRK: I'm just. DIRK: Not a huge fan of the word. Why, in this world post-society, do we need to confine ourselves to labels like "gay"? Such constraints were washed away from my world with the rest of the human race. DAVE: holy shit that was such a pretentious dodge DAVE: dont let rose hear you say that DIRK: Rose can hear all she likes. DAVE: but anyway DAVE: i wasnt asking to get up all in your business like SOME PEOPLE DAVE: who are so into getting into other peoples businesses theyre basically the fucking mafia or the irs DAVE: but DAVE: it explains some stuff DAVE: but on the other hand it doesnt DAVE: the way you raised me was kinda aggressively mainstream masculine enough that it wasnt something that ever seemed to come up as an option DAVE: [describe that type of culture and mindset better later, I KNOW what i mean but im tired rn lmao] DAVE: and anything outside of that id just brush off because it couldnt apply to me DAVE: and that went for pretty much everything that went against what you wanted for me DAVE: including that DIRK: And yet, here the man was, subconsciously shrieking his desire for floppy felt dong through, DIRK: What I guess you could call his art, for want of any other applicable word at all. God, the mental images are crawling up the insides of my skull like the Exorcist child, do I want to know? DAVE: probably not DAVE: guess trying to act peak male has its drawbacks DAVE: weirdly enough troll culture is obsessively hyperviolent but doesnt give a shit about sexuality DAVE: they dont see the difference most of the time i guess DAVE: and so like DAVE: maybe it rubs off on you because in some ways that kind of makes sense DAVE: but after so long its hard to know what i feel and what it means because i spent so long ignoring it DAVE: so i guess i was wondering DAVE: if you had anything that might help with that DAVE: or if youre also trapped in this whirling screaming maelstrom of bullshit DAVE: while kinsey sits in the eye of the storm laughing DIRK: Wait, wait, wait. DIRK: You're coming to me. DIRK: For advice. DIRK: Do you know what a laughable hurricane of disaster my interpersonal life has been? DIRK: Like, in a weird way, I'm kind of honored, especially since about five hours ago you were scared shitless to be around me, but. DIRK: I'm standing here and waving my credentials in the air just to display how I don't fucking have any. My degree is a sham and my hands are empty except for a crudely scribbled on piece of construction paper. DAVE: are you suggesting theres a gay university DAVE: where you study bird watching DIRK: Do I look like a man who's been to college? DAVE: fair DAVE: but like DAVE: your friends know DAVE: how did you broach the subject there DIRK: I might as well have been dating a Yoko Ono for the devastation it wreaked on our friend group, so yeah, it was a little hard to ignore. DIRK: Compounded by the fact some smartass from Gay University was using my social circle for romance geometry homework. DIRK: It wasn't even a love triangle so much as a love roundabout. DAVE: ok but thats just because you were a dipshit not a gay dipshit DAVE: they were chill about the first part right DIRK: Thanks. DIRK: I mean... Roxy always seemed disappointed. DAVE: luckily i dont think anyones waiting in line for me DAVE: i guess im blowing it out of proportion DAVE: i dont think anyone will MIND DAVE: no one did about rose and kanaya DAVE: didnt even question the vampire bit which goes to show what our lives are like these days DAVE: like ok our outfit has vampires now DAVE: thats a thing that we have DAVE: if i say oh hey i might be bisexual theyll just say sure pull up a chair at the acronym table DAVE: the only one who might be weird about it is john DAVE: but hed be just as weird if i told him id changed my favorite color hes just like that DAVE: the only person its really a big deal for is me DIRK: Jane was a little bit like that. I'm pretty sure the only reason she had to object was because she found out the day I made a move on her crush. DIRK: It might just be growing up in a household where you're not regularly fighting for your life, and thus what genders are kissing whom has the space to be higher on your priority list. DAVE: that aint anyones priority these days DAVE: im prepared to acknowledge the concept that hey maybe everyone elses lives dont revolve around me and my personal drama or self revelations might have some merit at least as a hypothesis DAVE: when i met kid english he kept going on about how i was the most important person and everyone else was side characters DAVE: and maybe ive acted like that sometimes DIRK: Yeah, like you alone are the one responsible for everyone around you. DAVE: and maybe ive acted like i think that way too sometimes DAVE: ive been wrong about people DAVE: people i care about people i shouldve known better DAVE: i was wrong because i wanted to believe things that matched how i wanted the world to be DAVE: things that made it easier for the story i was telling myself DAVE: i dont think kid english meant to call me on it but damn DIRK: Reality is, after all, something we construct for ourselves. DIRK: I think maybe I knew that all along when I surfaced for air inbetween shoving my head as far up my ass as it would go. DIRK: Or maybe that's just what I try to tell myself in hindsight. DAVE: well if it takes a hyperactive 12 year old version of the final bosss creepy hero worship of me to make a point i guess thats not the least subtle way the universe has sent me a message lately DIRK: You want unsubtle? Let me tell you about my damn planet quest. DAVE: haha DAVE: i didnt have to do much of my quest because im invisible DAVE: thanks mom DIRK: My denizen practically sat me down like it was my life coach and growled in my ear about improving my communication skills with a guy I told to go fuck himself not eighteen hours prior. DIRK: So while I'm glad SBURB has a vested interest in me repairing my friendships, playing electroshock death DDR with him was a little on the nose. DAVE: maybe getting shot again wasnt that bad DAVE: so weve all learned our life lessons good job team DIRK: Exactly. Can we wrap this up now? Can we please go rest? DIRK: I'm so exhausted I haven't even noticed I'm still hungover. DAVE: sure thing DAVE: but if i need tips on leaping out of a closet to intimidate passerby i might text you DIRK: I mean, I can try. As long as you don't ask me for dating tips. That, I definitely shouldn't be helping you with. DIRK: Go talk to your sister for that. DIRK: ...wouldn't she, by the transitive property of siblings, also be my sister? DAVE: yeah i guess DAVE: but theres no way in hell im asking rose for dating advice DAVE: on her first date which she refused to admit was romantically oriented she got wasted in anticipation forgot to show up and then fell down the stairs DIRK: Oh my god. DAVE: she tries to look like shes got her shit together but its a lie DAVE: if you find my corpse floating on lolar in the next few hours dont let the truth die with me DIRK: Why are we like this? DIRK: Is there actually something hardwired into our DNA that predisposes us to being disasters? DIRK: But, that aside. DIRK: I won't object if it's me you come to talk to. DAVE: ill hold you to it DAVE: and if you ever want to publicly you admit you DAVE: "enjoy birdwatching" DAVE: in less vague and evasive terms DAVE: ill have your back DIRK: Thanks.

[siorca]

hey gang, coming on in here to drop off my weird little megasound fic ive been working on for the past week now and felt compelled to complete. takes place in a g1 au (i guess) where the war doesnt fully get back up into the swing of things after they wake up on earth and the autobots are bored and nosy. also warning for a bit of sticky talk at the end but it’s pretty tame.

Megatron and Soundwave treated their relationship with as much discretion as they were allotted. They did not bother to cover it with secrets, but it was important to both of them to, at the very least, keep a high veneer of respectability. It would not do for the Decepticons to dissolve into catcalls whenever they were seen together, after all.

On Cybertron, during the height of the war, it had been easier to stay down low. The troops had been spread thin during that time, and any remaining under their command were far too busy to bother with what their commanders were up to. As time moved on, and the war grew more volatile, it became increasingly harder for them to find time for even a good night kiss.

Earth, however, presented them with an, admittedly, much sought after lull. Fewer large battles left them with only small skirmishes to deal with, ones which were becoming less and less frequent the longer they stayed on the planet.They found themselves coming together much more frequently - much more easily - than before, something that came as a relief to both of them. They rarely indulged in some of the more flirty aspects of their relationship - Megatron would grouse that they were much too old for such foolishness. Soundwave, older and far more enthusiastic, would beg to differ -but it was the companionship that was always the most fulfilling aspect of their relationship and it was a relief to have that back again.

Yet still, in the midst of a calm that Megatron had not felt in millenia, he was restless. He could feel a prickling under his plating; one that had very little to do with the organic mud that tended to get stuck between his seams. It was an instinctive sort of thing, built from habit. He did not like not knowing what the enemy was up to. He told as much to Soundwave.

“You never did well with these sorts of stalemates, my love,” said Soundwave, a touch of bemusement in his tone. It’s a soft sort of teasing, one that Megatron could do nothing but grumble about. His casualness was enough to bristle, but there was a cleverness to Soundwave’s optics; the only indicator that his words did not go unheeded.

They were refueling together in their shared living quarters. The domesticity of it was not lost on Megatron. Here, it was almost believable that they were back on Cybertron and all they had to worry about were simple and inconsequential. A cozy warm feeling curled within the pit of his tanks. He was tempted to forget his misgivings, but Megatron was nothing if not pragmatic. In war, when the enemy was quiet, there was need to worry, a fact that he had become aware of many times in his long career.

Soundwave, more than anyone, understood. It was this understanding that was calming, a balm to Megatron’s frazzled nerves. “Do not fret so much. I have reconnaissance out already.”

“Ah, I should have known better.” A good reminder of why Soundwave was not only his top spy, but also why he loved him so dearly. Megatron grinned coyly behind his cube.

“Of course. Do not doubt me.”

—

Laserbeak’s return was met with little fanfare; a quick check-in with Soundwave, before she made a beeline for the washracks. It was a little known secret that she loved to preen and being away on missions always slighted her, even if she never voiced her protests. A quick mention that she had procured some interesting files that he should take a look at and she was gone.

Protocol did not require them to converse; whatever information was crucial to pass along would be found in her report. If anything, their exchanges were more for Soundwave’s benefit: a small way to reassure himself that she was ok before she disappeared into the base.

For his part, Megatron was elusive. A quick sweep of the command center and the common areas left him with nothing. Soundwave was not concerned, although he did let loose an irritated huff. There weren’t many areas he often haunted. Megatron was nothing if not a creature of habit and it didn’t take long to track him down in their living quarters.

He paused in the doorway, disbelief converging into wry amusement. Earth had slackened Megatron’s resolve enough for him to idle within his quarters, datapad clutched in a slackened grip, while he looked to be half asleep. Soundwave privately thought it was quite cute.

The sound of the door snapping shut only served to applify the clinking of Soundwave’s mask retracting. Megatron jostled, straightening on the berth in an immediate display of attention. He relaxed almost immediately upon realizing it was Soundwave, who met him with a look of bemusement.

“Your comm is off,” Soundwave said, as way of greeting. His optic ridge was cocked in an exaggerated manner, twisting his face into intentional comical proportions. There was no respite in his voice, just clear amusement.

“Oh is it?” Megatron’s words were casual, with only the barest hint of alarm. He fiddled with the side of his helm until Soundwave could hear the barest hum of a frequency. He paused as he reviewed his recent pings. “Sorry about that.” He made a poor attempt to cover his sheepishness as he met Soundwave’s optics.

Soundwave shook his head dismissively, a smile tugging at his lips. He turned his attention to the datapad in his hand, if only to steer his thoughts back to more important matters.  He held it out in front of him for emphasis. “Laserbeak has returned with her report.”

He made a subtle turn back toward the door. Both of them knew that it would be preferable to have their exchange in a more appropriate setting; either Megatron’s office or the bridge, as normal protocol stated. Today, however, seemed to want to deviant from the norm, for Megatron waved him over airily, still lounging upon the berth like some sort of would be king.

“Well, bring it over here.”

Soundwave stifled a sigh. He silently mourned the waning professionalism in high command. It was only his deep love for Megatron that kept him continuing toward the berth, but it wasn’t enough to hide his mumbled, “I do so hate when you get like this.”

Megatron, at least, looked thoroughly scandalized at the reprimand, straightening on the berth to a more presentable position, sitting at the edge of the berth with his back ramrod straight. Soundwave snickered lightly. Megatron growled lowly in faux threat, reaching for the datapad with urgency.

“Together.” Soundwave sat next to Megatron, in a close, familiar position, sides pressed tightly together. He shivered; Megatron’s plating was always cold, a layover from his days as a miner. It warmed quickly as it ate up the heat from Soundwave’s own unnaturally warm frame. Together, they held an ambience that was comfortable and uniquely theirs. Megatron wrapped an arm around Soundwave, pulling him closer to his plating, and Soundwave gladly leaned into him, flopping into his lap like a large cat. He raised an eye ridge at the display, but otherwise made no comment.

Soundwave balanced the pad between their laps. The screen flickered to life soon after, a slew of files neatly ordered on screen. Largest, by far, was Laserbeak’s full report, carefully organized and detailed in her usual precise way. The files below it were tantalizing, as well, clear copies of whatever confidential information she was able to procure. Soundwave ignored them for now.

Her report consisted mainly of mundane scenarios. In the absence of proper battle, the Autobots had instead decided to invest into things like recreational activities, focusing on strengthening their bonds with their human allies. The Autobots did not look to be gearing up for a proper war anytime soon. He had suspected as much. Yet Soundwave would loath to come to a definitive conclusion before truly finishing, lest he let Laserbeak’s hard work go to waste. He read on, half a processor bored, leaning more into Megatron’s bulk as it went on. It wasn’t until the end that a lone addendum caught his attention. He stiffened, meeting Megatron’s optics with confused surprise.

The Autobots knew about their relationship and kept extensive records on it.

It was not the fact that they knew that was shocking - Soundwave would seriously question the legitimacy of their spies if they had not figured it out by now - but the sheer volume of information, as if they were specifically keeping tabs on their romantic entanglements for a purpose that Soundwave had yet to figure out. The information held no tactical value in his eyes. Even to use their relationship as a ploy in a hostage situation was a moot point; Megatron would be desperate to have him back regardless.

Megatron make a quizzical noise in the back of his throat. It bordered into something distressed until he rebooted his vocalizer. “Perhaps those files that Laserbeak stole will shed some light on this.”

Soundwave nodded, already fiddling with the datapad before Megatron finished his sentence. An eagerness had overcome him, presented with such a puzzle as he was. He opened the first file, optics skittering over the words with a rapid hunger. Information, he knew, could be wielded like a weapon, but how sharp that weapon struck depended on its owner’s might.

Luckily, Soundwave was adept at rhetoric, and reading only proved that said weapon was dull and lifeless and much more suitable to be used as a toy. How fitting.

He laughed, causing Megatron to give him an odd look. His brow was still furrowed as he digested this new development. A gifted orator he may have been, but Soundwave was designed to get inside a person’s mind in the quickest way possible. And the way the Autobots wrote about them was almost innocuous.

“They are fascinated by us.” A part of Soundwave was weirdly amused by the whole situation. It was provocatively invasive and he, who had left his misguided notions about privacy in some early decade of the war, felt titillated.

“What?” said Megatron, confusion melting away into disbelief.

“These are not high level security files, even if they are encrypted. These are more akin to gossip holos, clearly written out of boredom.” Soundwave selected another file, scanning through this one quickly.

Megatron snatched the pad back. In this new light, several things stood out to him. He paused. “I believe you are correct.”

“Naturally.”

Megatron wrinkled his nasal ridge, reading the pad with more intensity than before. He selected another file, giving an offended scoff at the first few lines. “‘It’s hard to believe that a mech like Megatron is selfless enough to love another, let alone someone within his command staff. It explains the blatant favoritism, I guess. Now I get why Starscream is so pissy all the time…’ what’s that supposed to mean?”

Soundwave snorted. “It means your fierce warlord persona is working, my dear.”

Megatron made a face that might have been smug, had the twitching of his face not give him away. Soundwave could read solid amusement, barely masked by a bit of unease, on his surface thoughts. Neither of them had ever given much thought to what others said about their relationship, ancient and comfortable as it was. What was theirs was theirs and it worked for them. Here, it is different; on display in a way that was voyeuristic. He can tell that there is a part of Megatron that is annoyed by this, but neither of them felt like engaging the Autobots in the matter of wartime gossip.

Instead, Soundwave snatched the pad back, rifling through it like an excited youngling, caught up with fascination. “‘To think that either of them could be so different behind closed doors is almost ludicrous to believe, and yet I’ve seen it with my own two optics. They fit together nicely, which is strangely nice to see, almost like a wall is broken the minute they are alone. It’s almost like looking into a parallel universe: Megatron is almost sweet and Soundwave? Soundwave is open and playful and not at all what we’re used to. If they weren’t enemies, I’d be jealous of their connection, and maybe I still am…’” Soundwave paused here. Meeting Megatron’s optics, as if they both came to a new realization. “Well, that’s oddly sweet.”

Megatron made a barely audible humming noise that may have passed for agreement, but was too absent-minded to really tell. He leaned over Soundwave’s shoulder, scrolling through the pad in a slow, thoughtful manner. “These all seem to be separate entries, compiled together, all written by different people.”

“Yes, I noticed that too. They have traces of several Autobot signals.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You would think we were the subject of some sort of Autobot romance novel.”

“Indeed. At least they have good taste,” Soundwave teased.

“I’m glad to see you at least find some amusement out of this,” grunted Megatron.

“There are worse things for the Autobots to become enamoured with. Be glad that they have yet to show this level of dedication to anything war related.”

“Hmm.” Megatron scrolled through the other files on hand. There was a substantial amount, pages and pages, all dating back to about the time that they had all awakened on Earth. It was unclear if the Autobots had known before that time, but they had certainly became fascinated by it by then. “I think the Autobots could find better things to do with their down time.”

“Do not begrudge them so much, Megatron. Perhaps they don’t have the luxury in their faction. You have said before that Prime could be a bit of a prude.”

Megatron made a humming noise. “Yes, I am aware. I feel no sympathy for them.”

Soundwave chuckled, leaning back into Megatron until they fell into the bed in an ungainly manner, Soundwave making quick work into contorted Megatron into a make-shift pillow. Megatron rolled with him, a rumbling purr shaking his chassis, passing pleasant shivers through Soundwave’s body. He shifted, draping himself over Megatron, chin propped up on his chest, datapad held in front of him in a way that Megatron could still read it if he dipped his head a certain way, of which he took full advantage of, still scrolling through the entries with a reverent greed.

Soundwave smiled indulgently. “I can tell that there is a part of you that is at least flattered.” It was the egotistical side, the only that got off on rousing speeches and demanded to be referred to as ‘Lord’ by his subjects. A part that he pretended that did not exist because he liked to believe that he was humble. It was endearing.

A barely legible smirk teased Megatron’s lips. “Perhaps.”

Soundwave snickered, freely giving the pad up to Megatron’s devouring hands. It allowed him to snuggle further into Megatron’s frame, of which he indulged in freely, drowning himself more fully into his sturdy frame. He could not resist a brush of lips over Megatron’s plating. He was rewarded with a gentle caress of his head and he smiled contentedly.

A relaxed silence settled between them, broken up by the gentle sound of Megatron’s thumb swiping against the pad. The noise was consistent enough to create a pleasant background noise, lulling Soundwave into a half doze. Megatron’s emotions danced in the back of his processor, as they always did when they were alone together; an open connection that Megatron embraced early on in their relationship. He could sense his amused fascination deeply, creating a pleasant warm feeling throughout his body.

This created a sharp contrast when that leaked into a near sort of offense, a bristle of something that wasn’t quite anger, yet still brushed against Megatron’s mind in an unpleasant manner. It was uncomfortable enough to stir Soundwave from his lounge, glancing up at Megatron’s otherwise stone face. His emotions bled out into the rest of his body, stiffening him in ways that motivated Soundwave to move in a quick manner. He gently moved Megatron’s hand down until he could view what was on the screen and promptly gave a sharp bark of laughter.

“‘Do you think Megatron is a valve mech…?’” Soundwave read aloud. “Now that would be a waste of a perfectly good spike.” He patted Megatron’s shoulder in a placating manner, rolling until he straddled Megatron’s hops.

Megatron scowled deeply at him, throwing the datapad toward the end of the berth. He unconsciously wrapped his arms around Soundwave’s waist. “That is entirely too personal.”

“I agree.” Soundwave lifted himself until he could reach Megatron’s brow, smoothing out the lines of his frown with gentle kisses. Megatron huffed, teetering on the edge of a full-on pout. “Perhaps if they are so curious, they would appreciate a demonstration next time they decide to pay us a visit.”

Megatron balked at first. Soundwave tilted his head with a devilish smirk, which succeeding in turning Megatron more thoughtful. His discomfort was momentarily forgotten, face falling into a predatory grin. “That would require more diligence in the future.”

“Of course,” said Soundwave. “I will get right on that.”

[fairyiatlotl]

The Vampire That Longs For Mirror

There are three things you should know about me.

Im a vampire (hot scary fanged immortals that live on blood as in blood).

My name is Zhae (Its pronounced as Zshay, so please dont try pronouncing any other way).

And I have a huge butt (well the story is all about this).

Have you ever looked at the sky at night? Bet you would have been awed by the sight of it – bet you would have tried tracing out the zodiac signs – bet you would have tried spotting your zodiac and had felt happy about it – bet you would have had told the special characterstics of it and how it miraculously fit your description –bet you would have done all that and happily felt categorised into something that you feel proud to be born in.

Have you ever looked into the mirror? – Naked? Bet you would have hesitated a moment – bet you would have hated that one extra flab coming out – bet you would have hated how your bones are all that was visible – bet you would have hated the way your boobs dont grow the size they should – bet you would have hated the large butt that swings every damn time you walk – bet you would have hated those eyebrows out of proportion – bet you would have hated the way your underarm hair left a dark patch – bet you would have compared yourself to a thousand other people – bet you would have felt ashamed of yourself and what you have made yourself into – bet you would have asked yourself when is your body going to be happy – bet you would have done all that and still ignored the clitoris that you are supposed to be proud to be born with.

Thats how stupid we are; letting our zodiac signs make us feel happy about us while letting the mirror NOT feel happy about us. And I know this because once upon a time I used to think in this exact same way until one day I woke up seventeen and a vampire. And boy was I happy! Nope this aint Twilight, who am I kidding? – I mean I was kind of hysterically happy but for just a second. The belief that vampires are godly beautiful made me expect miraculous changes until I realised Ive not turned into a Beyonce-bod vampire but am forever trapped into a Beyonce-bod that weighs 80 kgs. So Congratulations to me! Am no more a mortal endomorph! Hurray! The vampire beauty curse epically punctured my gorgeous body dream! – I became a fat-ass immortal. Period.

Coming from a society where fit figure is an aspect of befitting element, do you realise how much stress would you go through once you realised that you are gonna be trapped for the rest of your immortal life in the body that you fed for seventeen heavenly years of your life – its like having permanent thyroid problem – its like being trapped in those epic novels that you love. Yea so I got trapped in my True Blood. I got trapped in my jeans. I got trapped in my body. And it sucked.

The next few days after my transition the thought of being forever fat did not even cross my mind. The funny thing was, I was reminded by the ignorants of this society that I could never ever wear a twenty six waist jeans. It was Aunt Shinzah; shes a dreamy doll aunt – everyone loves her; shes too pretty and too sweet, unfortunately she is too determined to make each and everyone happy. We were in the living room and she and her husband; Uncle Drad came for tea. I sat with the family to entertain them and while we were in a full swing of laughter and fun she said; Oh Baby! You look like you lost some pretty weight. Oh darling! You wait – youll lose weight as soon as you enter college; youll be as pretty as a sunshine; she passed me a smile. I felt so happy that she thought I lost some weight (should have known it was because I had starved for a week). My glass of delusion was cracked by Rob (the guy who apparently turned me into a vampire because he was too high to remember) who I met the very next day. He got scared at how pathetic I looked; I happily smiled and said that I was losing. He smirked at my foolish conclusions; No – youre hungry. Youre not losing weight. Gawd youre a vampire – you are never losing weight. Your body is frozen; I remember that day well and clear, I remember how the taste of my throat changed from sweet to vomit-like. I remember the guilt face of Rob as how he noticed my hurt. That day I killed my first human: He was a forty five year old drunkard that had abandoned his wife and children while he ogled every piece of an ass that walked by the 56th Bay street (and yes I am trying to justify my kill with this one sentence). He was eating Lays with booze; my hunger hormones couldnt resist. That day I felt pathetic at my existence. I actually wished for death – just walking and sitting made me feel ashamed of myself. But I couldnt ignore the fact that my body felt strong and healthy and ALIVE! That day I got the taste of human blood. It was irresistibly Lays-like!

The feeling of being the object of fun is one dark feeling induced by shallow mindedness. That day nothing was wrong; all was normal, I was infact happy and feeling healthy until my math period. The teacher had some grudge against me; reason to which was anonymous to me. He asked for our assignments, he started scolding each and every student in line; my heart was already in my throat I knew that he was going to scold me for no reason. He was a bully, what do you expect of him! He atlast came across me. He looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows, he radiated disgusted criticism and mean looks and then he came on at me (and am the vampire here!) he started yelling at me – he told me how pathetic my work is, that he would better thrash me on the floor ten times than better ever check my assignment ever again (by the way that assignment was an obsolete method of wasting mind, time and energy). This was not it. The next day when I entered class, he was filling some health forms. He came across my name and started laughing; Zhea huh! Even shes gonna write her weight here atlast; he laughed in his evilish snort and some of the front benchers joined him. What are you Zhea? An eighty or a hundred? soon the whole class joined in his act of evilness.

The next day he died in a sudden accident he met on the mid-way road that leaves the city (I wish this guy drowns in the pits of hell – I wish the Satan takes his personal interest in him and gut him with his pitch fork until he drowns in the lavas of the hell!). Dont judge me, he was the one at fault. I thought his death would stop my body shaming and public bullying. I was wrong. Everyone had started looking at me/my ass as an object of laughter by that time. Why wouldnt they? Well when the elders of the society take pleasure in this why shouldnt they? After all its the elders and teachers we look up to. It all came to an end. Even my distant hearing capability became a nuisance to me. I could hear boys talk about butts, I could hear girls talk about the methods to avoid a butt like mine. I could hear girls search over net the category to which my butt belonged to. I apparently fit into the peach figure among several other types: hour glass, straight line, inverse peach blah blah blah! It was there all over internet; the figure categorization of a womens body that is indirectly set for pleasing the patriarchs of our society. So much for gender equality!

The most pathetic part was, I was letting myself being treated that way; I being the vampire did not retaliate or infact confront anyone coming over to me and making fun of my so called healthiness (bullies gave me nicknames like fatty or dinosaur while friends gave me the consolatory adjectives like healthy; ironic right?). But believe me this was nothing to the final act that actually made me hate myself – the funny thing was it was an inanimate object that told me that I absolutely wasnt meant to fit in this society. It was just one chair – a students chair which had a side swing table hinged to it; I sat on it – I didnt fit. So I tried and when I fit I realised I was stuck; by the end of the class I struggled but then when the bell rung I awkwardly tried getting off the chair and then I heard; Look look Hahaha Hehehe God Am so happy to be me today; all the snickering, sniggering, simpering and whispering of all forty five fellow mates got me. It got me and thats when it happened – I lost it.

Seventeen years of my life I had been hearing people wait for me to get slim and pretty, seventeen years of my life Ive heard my father call me with funny names, seventeen years of my life Ive heard my sister flaunt me her figure and give me goals to reach, seventeen years of my life Ive been hit with comments and been joked about, seventeen years Ive been asked to dress myself in a way that nobody could see the fat-flesh of mine, seventeen years Ive cried about the fact I bloat even when my diet is exactly the same amount like any other persons, seventeen years Ive actually never looked into the mirror with pride and glory or in a way that I feel happy about myself or my body, seventeen years Ive felt ashamed of my ass and me, seventeen years were given to me to change myself. SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS IVE BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE TO BE SOMEONE THAT THIS SOCIETY WANTED ME TO BE! Still it took the curse of eternity to make me realise to love me. How foolish we humans are, right?

The following days were followed by insidious depression. Vampire depressions are worse than human depressions they are like black holes that temporarily feel likely to be filled by the lust of human blood, but as soon as you hunt one down another appears for more – its actually a black hole in me that build: consuming every inch of me per person I killed. The depression was a slow perpetual intricate build up. It first started with the reckless killing of animals, then isolated hobos and then it lashed out as the most horrifying thing you could ever imagine. I started cutting myself. How? Well it started when I slit off my extra flesh in the shower. It hurt me like hell but it was the best way to release my anger and anxiety – the best way to punish myself for having flabs. Once I had cut myself, I would heal but I always ended up being hungrier and so I had to go hunting again. Soon it became my daily cycle. Nobody knew it, nobody noticed it. And why would they? Everyone was too busy feigning happiness and I was too busy killing mine.

Breaking away from my beloved cycle wasnt a choice. Rob found me one day all bloody and weak. This time it went far; I could have actually have actually died (could you believe that!) but luckily Rob smelled leakage of blood and he came running to my bedroom. He was horrified by the sight. He found me in my tub; I wasnt dead, just numb; all my blood was in the tub. Soon I lost conscience; when I opened my eyes again I found myself on the bed. I wasnt feeling hungry like the other times I felt. I was feeling physically normal. The sun was shining and it all came back – the frustration, depression, anger, hurt, hate. I again felt pathetic about myself. While my mind wandered in the dark miasma that I had created inside my head, my eyes wandered around the room; I saw a flower pot by the open window. That was different since I didnt keep a flowerpot by my window. It must have been mom, I thought.

Hey dumbhead; a voice came from the door; Mazie was standing there. Mazie is my Nana – we dont call her Nana for some specific reason that even we are oblivious to. Mazie? What are you doing here? I looked at her; I felt the warmth that she radiated.

Dont ask me silly questions! You were out for a whole godamn week and you ask me why am here? You gotta be kiddin me! Now get up and get ready we are going for shopping Mazie is one stubborn Nana – she has got my genes of holding onto things and being stubborn about them. What shopping? I asked with absolute confusion.

Well bikini shopping – we are going to the beach tomorrow; she gave me her Cheshire cat smile as she crossed the room and checked the flowers. It was she who got them.

Bikini shopping? I must confess she is the only living person that is scarier than a vampire after a hunger strike; I dont do bikini shopping; I answered with a wavering voice. Mazie looked at me with sceptic eyes and sighed heavily; Well! Its about time that you start doing it; she raised her eyebrow. I felt my cheeks flush. Bikini shopping? How could I do that? I hated my body. I hated myself. I felt pathetic and embarrassed about it. My eyes widened and I could feel tears brimming my eyes; I cant do that; I heard my voice mumble.

Yes you can! You in fact will; Mazie raised her head and I could see her poker face; Zhae – its just a bikini; she took the flower pot and moved towards me; Dont let a piece of cloth weigh you down; she kept the flowerpot next to me and patted my cheeks. They knew.

That day we went for bikini shopping and spa. I had no idea what was happening or what was going to happen tomorrow. The bikini was good but I again felt embarrassed about my weight. The spa on the other hand made me feel heaven like; I could feel my body relax. The next day I wore a long baggy shirt over my bikini. Mazie didnt say anything just gave me a look. I looked around and saw people playing and having fun in their shorts and bikinis; they looked gorgeous. But then I noticed something; I noticed a man with a big belly playing with his seven year old daughter, I noticed an old women rub sunscreen on herself, I noticed a women of twenties with a bulging belly run down the beach with her sister who apparently had the biggest breasts Ive ever seen, I noticed a boy with absolutely no flesh on him sit on the life guard post, I noticed chubby boys eat popsicles, I noticed a child rolling down the sand mount, I saw people getting wet as the waves hit the shore, I saw life happening around me and I felt so aloof and sad. I again felt angry but this time I wasnt angry at the society for not treating me well – I felt angry at myself for waiting for the society to treat me well. I immediately got up and walked away to the shops nearby. I entered a shady lane and cried my eyes out. I felt so agitated and irritated and so annoyed that I wanted to just end everything. I hated being a vampire, I hated being cursed with this body; I wanted to stop my misery. I wanted to know how was everyone on the beach confident enough to stand straight and play and enjoy; I wanted to know the secret because I also wanted to wear bikini freely; I also wanted to be a part of this happiness that everyone seem to radiate. I had to see how bad I looked – I needed to analyse and accept how I looked and moreover I wanted to see why it mattered to me to look Barbie perfect for wearing a bikini on a beach. I needed to know.

After a while I got up and roamed around the lanes, and there I saw something that induced a spectacular idea in my head. I entered a sketch shop. I took off my top and paid for a bikini portrait of mine. I still remember that one hour of portrait making – that one hour of exposing myself to me. It gave me the acceptance I needed. That one hour was totally worth it. When I came out with my sketch I smiled. I saw a piece of a bikini body that was made by an artist. I saw a piece of an art, I saw myself reflected in that small piece of paper and it made me feel so true and so important for some reason. The very sketch made each and every cell in my body release endorphins. I fell in love with my portrait. It was a fine feeling, tears brimmed my eyes and I hugged it. It felt good to make yourself feel mattered. Thats what I had to learn to finally accept myself. I analysed as I went down to the beach that I did not look bad at all, I looked okay, absolutely fabulous! In fact I looked really beautiful and confident. I seemed normal. I seemed human.

That day was my first day to ever walk on beach with only bikini on. Mazie was proud. And I prouder. I atlast had found my mirror.