I have a light and fluffy theory about the Diamonds coming off from researching about them for my last long post.
There have been a lot of posts, including mine, that point to some sort of relationship between Lion and Pink Diamond. The possibilities vary from Lion’s being a repository of information to Lion’s being a corrupted PD.
Lion’s bears marked similarities to PD’s hair.
And in Buddy’s Book, Rose had an affinity for lions. We don’t know if they looked exactly as Steven pictured them because from the beginning his renditions of Buddy and the gems were, by his own admission, his imagination. But it’s rather clear that Rose, one of PD’s more important quartzes, had a thing for lions.
It seems the big cat affinity extends to another Diamond as well. The Lunar Sea Spire is heavily connoted as BD’s territory, not only because of the colour scheme but because of its purpose. Bismuth said she built “Spires for thinkers to think in,” and it would make sense that Blue, who handled diplomatic matters, would mange this “haven for gems” as Pearl calls it in Cheeseburger Backpack.
On the walls of the spire pillar, we see this image as the Crystal Gems enter.
The heads of these creatures look like dogs’ or horses’, with their long faces, but the legs and tail look undeniably like a cat’s portrayal. Much like PD’s wild, five-pointed hair, lions had the big manes. For someone like BD, with smoothed down hair and a sleek silhouette, she may have preferred a big cat that suited her aesthetic, like a panther.
Now imagine the Diamonds’ seeing reports of the wildlife on Earth for the first time and falling in love with the big cat family, like giant kittens. YD I’d peg for a tiger-lover and WD probably had dozens of leopards.
My Boy Builds Coffins (3/? aka Mortician Yuuri and Goth Victor)
“Victor glides into his office thirteen minutes late, Wayfarers on, velvet lapels billowing, and “Friday I’m In Love” sung in a low whisper.
“It’s Wednesday,” calls the bitter and world-weary child intern Yuri Plisetsky. “Also I’m revoking your Goth card.”
“The Cure is technically Goth,” calls his CFO/CPA Chris Giacometti. Chris has a blond undercut and leans more towards jewel tones as he’s firmly a winter. “Though I mean, maybe not that specific song.”
Victor smiles at him as he opens the door to his office. The space is industrial and minimalist save for the decor choices—velvet sofas with sleek lines and an aubergine chandelier commissioned by a hipster artist Victor saw on display in SoHo.
If Yuri hadn’t interviewed in a suit, Victor wouldn’t have hired him because the lemon-yellow leopard print he sports upends the curated aesthetic.
Georgi, who depending on how well his partnership with ladylove Anya is going, matches or not. When they’re well, he’s more in bright colors and Halsey. When they are having strife, he’s in grays and Lana del Ray. Right now there’s murmurings of Anya wanting to explore romantic anarchy so he’s kind of somewhere in between.
Victor fell into a google and r/relationships hole for two hours to make heads or tails of “romantic anarchy” before he gave up and contemplated suggesting Georgi put them on a break. Call him old fashioned but being an Elder Goth with a lifelong partner and their herd of fabulous poodles sounds much preferable.
The lifelong partner in this fantasy now represented by a stunningly beautiful man with coal-black hair, glasses, and warm eyes the color of a fine piece of cherry wood. Victor wakes up his iMac and blares baroque styled love songs by long-gone cult artists.
“Oh my God,” cries Mila as she comes into the room in all her lipstick-lesbian glory. She’s the rare redhead that works the hell out of pink, choosing to do so today in a dress she got from Mod Cloth on sale and a pair of gold heels. “What did you do? Who is he?”
“He’s named Yuuri,” Victor says with a grin. “He wears mostly black, drives a hearse, and likes Dragon Frappucinos.” His eyes twinkle at her. “Annnnd he’s meeting me for lunnnnchhhhhh. Pookkeeeee bowlllllssss!”
Mila laughs and grins. “Sounds like you should be playing ‘At Last’ instead of…” she trails off as she walks around the desk to look at his Spotify. “’You Are the One’ by Shiny Toy Guns.”
“I contain multitudes,” Victor huffs. “And he is perfect. I want six.”
“Six what?” Mila asks as she unlocks the company iPhone.
Victor gives her a blank look. “Six…Yuuris? One for every day and one for the weekend? Duh.”
Mila sighs and laughs at once. “God. Young love.”
Victor pouts as she exits his office with a chirp of congratulations.
He wants to Postmates bagels and cream cheese or maybe fancy doughnuts because he’s in such high spirits when Chris knocks on his open door. “Got a few?” he asks. He’s wearing his glasses today, round metal frames akin to John Lennon that are both chic and outdated, a warm emerald shirt showing off his wushu and pilates toned chest, and a pair of dark jeans.
It’s fairly casual at Living Legend Enterprises. Victor is only so formally attired because of the chance to see Yuuri again. Generally he lets them wear whatever, he doesn’t care as long as they aren’t unwashed or overly sloppy.
Yuri mentioned possibly dying streaks in his hair, and Victor cheerfully said for him to go for it. He only cares if it’s ugly.
“Yes, Chris,” Victor says. He lowers the volume of his music.
“Well,” Chris says. “I’m reviewing our budget, end of the fiscal year thing. And…I think it’s okay to bring one another full timer on board. That deal with the wineries in Napa is gonna help us out for a long time, and we can handle the overhead without much risk.”
Victor smiles. “Amazing! Get with Mila for the ad.”
“Of course,” Chris replies. He winks, his glasses making it cute but also roguish. “We’ll run the finer points by you for qualifications.”
“Since they’re a second Georgi, just follow his,” Victor says. “It’s neater.”
“Makes sense,” Chris says with a nod.
“Let me know when we have viable applicants, so the three of us can kvetch over who to interview,” Victor says. “No LinkedIns without photos. I mean it.”
Chris gives him a saucy face as he exits.
Victor gets approximately 100% jack shit accomplished. He’s too busy mooning over Yuuri’s beautiful face, his slighty soft round cheeks, the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the careful messiness of his hair. He’s so cute and perfect. Victor can’t wait for lunch.
Fortunately, at 1:09 Yuri comes in unannounced. “Ugh, there’s some square here in a suit with my name, says he’s picking you up for some kind of dorky bs.”
“It’s lunch, Yuri,” Victor says as he rockets out of his seat. He fixes himself in the full length black framed mirror. Ah yes. 10/10 would date, heckin’ handsome.
“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles. “The guy is a pocket protector and a math book short of being shaken down for his lunch money.”
“Does that still happen?” Victor wonders.
“Nah, it’s a lot worse and meaner, too,” Yuri responds. “Regardless, that geek you ordered from Amazon Now has arrived.”
Victor rolls his eyes. When he enters the lounge, he sees Yuuri perched on the midnight blue velvet chaise thumbing through Nylon on the iPad. His suit jacket rests over the arm, and his dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His forearms are nicely toned. His light blue tie is horrendous. “Hiii,” Victor coos.
Yuuri looks up and adjusts his glasses. He’s cute, rosy cheeked and with a bashful smile. “Hi, Victor. Ready?”
“Born ready,” Victor says.
Yuuri flushes deeper and clears his throat. “Walk or drive?”
Victor spots that Yuuri managed to get rock star parking. The cafe is a half a block. “Walk,” he says though he longs to ride in that fabulous hearse. It’s not fair for Yuuri to lose prime parking real estate. Victor takes the jacket and hangs it in their black wardrobe. He reaches out and takes Yuuri’s hand in his.
“Come with me,” he says with a bright smile.
Yuuri hesitates but lets Victor escort him down the sidewalk to The Ramen Bar. It’s crowded but not so bad they can’t manage the wait, and when they get a table, Victor orders a Boozy Boba for himself. Yuuri gets a Lychee Oolong tea with rosewater jelly.
“Do you not drink?” Victor asks. He’s curious, not picking.
“Not during the work day,” Yuuri replies as he sips his tea. He swirls the straw around clockwise five times. “I don’t want to risk forfeiture or suspension of my license.”
“License,” Victor muses. His index finger touches his lips. “Sales? Insurance? Cosmetology?”
Yuuri bites his lip, and Victor wants to do the same, tug on the plush pink skin with his teeth while he wrecks Yuuri’s hair and shirt collar. “Um, well…my family has a funeral home. It’s been ours since my grandparents immigrated here. My father owns it now that they’ve passed, and my sister and I will be the joint owners when he retires with our mom.”
Oh. Oh wow. Victor’s more in love than he has been his entire life ignoring the first moment NorCal Poodle Rescue introduced him to a puffy brown puppy he now calls Makkachin.
Makka gets his ears dyed pink or purple every time Victor has him groomed.
“That’s so amazing!” Victor exclaims. “What a cool line of work. I’m so intrigued.”
Yuuri stares at Victor as if he’s never been told anything like that in his life. Actually, it’s more like he’s staring as if Victor just informed him he’s suffering from upside-down face disorder.
“Really?” Yuuri squeaks.
They order their food—Victor gets the poke trio bowl, Yuuri the octopus by itself. It’s far too warm for ramen or anything hot to eat.
“Yes! I’ve always found funerals calming. There’s something soothing about them, especially the religious ones. Like Catholic funerals with all the Latin rites. I don’t know. I don’t want people to die—” Victor is careful to clarify. “But the actual ritual of grief and letting go…I find it quite lovely.”
Yuuri keeps staring, eyes wide and bright like a startled cat. He cracks the knuckles on his index fingers. Yuuri fidgets a lot, Victor notes. He also looks at Victor when he thinks he won’t notice, and turns his eyes away when he’s caught. It’s cute, like he’s a schoolboy with his first crush. At least, Victor hopes.
Victor rests his chin on his right hand. He unabashedly stares at Yuuri, his eyes focused on him intently to catch every movement. Yuuri avoids his gaze as he licks his lips, his cheeks staining like someone brushed a wash of red watercolors over his skin. Victor watches him run his hand through his hair, though it just falls back how it was, and he swallows as he meets Victor’s eyes.
Their food arrives and before Victor can break the silence, Yuuri breaks apart his chopsticks and digs in. He’s elegant and careful when he eats, Victor notes. Almost meticulous, but then his occupation requires attention to a lot of fine detail. Why should his eating habits be different?
Victor can’t help but wonder if it extends to sex. He really wants to know, he thinks as he breaks apart his own chopsticks and selects a piece of tuna for his first bite.
Yuuri washes down his food with a sip of the tea. “Um—” he starts. “Well. No one’s ever…people tend to not care for my work.”
“Narrow minded simpletons,” Victor responds without looking up. He can feel Yuuri’s eyes on his face as he combs through his bowl for the next morsel.
“And…you’re right,” Yuuri says. “Funerals are supposed to reassure the ones you leave behind. They’re supposed to enable you to say goodbye, let go, and move on. Sometimes when someone comes to us, like a wife grieving a husband of fifty years, they have a really hard time. They can’t make choices or even fully grasp the situation. It’s my job to help them make sense of it and voice their love out loud one last time.”
Victor looks at him. “That’s beautiful,” he replies.
Yuuri smiles, though his lips are closed. It’s sweet without being sickening, and Victor gives him an expression that amounts to a heart eyes emoji.
They finish their food, and with a refill in a to-go cup for Yuuri and a new non-boozy drink for Victor, he pays their bill. They stroll back to the office, and Victor halfway reaches down and entwines their fingers.
Yuuri chokes on his drink, stumbling, and almost taking them both down hard on the pavement. Victor manages to save the day as he tugs him back, but Yuuri lands half clutching Victor’s blazer. He blinks up at him and Victor’s blue eyes widen a bit in awe as they stare at each other.
Yuuri blushes again and Victor can’t stop, won’t stop, as he kisses him just a centimeter away from his lips. Yuuri gasps. “Oh.”
Victor pulls away. “Please,” he says. “May I have dinner with you soon? Somewhere with white tablecloths and—-”
“Yes!” Yuuri blurts. He coughs. “Um. Yes.”
Victor is pleased. Victor is so pleased that right outside his office he pulls Yuuri close a second time and after wrapping his hands in his hair, he kisses him for at least ten minutes by his estimation. Yuuri kisses back with skill and equal amounts of affection, his hands clinging tight to Victor’s biceps like he thinks he’ll become a bat and fly away.
God Victor loves bats.
What Victor does not love is his entire staff cat-calling them and pounding on the glass windows of their office front. He actually didn’t even know Mila’s voice could pitch that high, and of particular note in terms of obnoxiousness is Georgi blaring “Young and Beautiful” from Yuri’s desk.
Yuuri breaks the kiss and hides as best he can behind the recycling bin a few feet away. Victor glares at his staff, sending them scurrying away like roaches. He pulls Yuuri out of the not-subtle hiding place and walks him inside to get his blazer. He puts it on him, Yuuri holding out his arms after a moment’s confusion, and Victor may or may not get a bit frisky with his (strong, corpse-lifting) shoulders.
Yuuri faces him and he hands Victor a white business card with an austere typeset. “Here.”
It’s his card with his information, like Victor gave the day before.
Yuuri runs his hand through his hair. “Um…call me. Whenever. I’ll go to dinner.”
He bites his bottom lip and exits, though when he pushes the door open he turns, opens his mouth, and closes it. Victor watches him go to the point where he sees the hearse disappear into the rest of the FiDi.
Africa | Design | Hermès scarf: (South) African designers. The Savana Dance by Fée Halsted and her team of artists at Ardmore, a pottery internationally acclaimed for its striking ceramic art which is based in KwaZulu Natal, South Africathe. One of two Hermès scarves deisgned by Ardmore. .