#I had a migraine for the vast majority of the day

[llitchilitchi]

whoever invented unskippable ads I hope you die a death of a 1000 cuts

[yan-lorkai]

I have heard of yan ciel with a vampire s/o but what about yan vampire ciel with a human s/o ? Also gender neutral please:D

Ciel is a solitary vampire who found companionship in few individuals; in Sebastian, whom he never revealed the type of partnership he has with the man, in his human servants (they were people who touched his heart, individuals who lived through difficult situations, and whom he wanted to help). Despite being a creature that many consider to be of the darkness, Ciel had a good heart, even if he never showed it.

Perhaps you were a lost soul who came to the supposed abandoned Phantomhive mansion in search of knowledge; there was a vast collection of incredible and untouched books, as even thieves were afraid to enter. Or maybe you were just passing by, either way somehow you and Ciel crossed paths, and although your initial contact was turbulent, with the vampire suspecting all your intentions for being there, you became good friends and later lovers.

He has been alive for a long time, but Ciel is disconnected from humanity, disconnected from their efforts and struggles, and achievements, even disconnected from his own feelings. The only contact he has with humans is with his servants, and although they have enough freedom to joke and make fun of him without suffering any consequences, they still don't talk much about the world outside the mansion. Ciel knows that things have slowly evolved, society has changed, currency has changed, cultures have changed, but he still remained the same.

With time and patience from you, Ciel manages to evolve as well and begins to explore ways in which he feels comfortable expressing his love for you. He manages to regain the humanity he had lost so long ago, although his cheeks are painted red every time Sebastian dares to make a mocking comment.

As your lover, Ciel takes you for walks through the woods and streams around the mansion, the majority of them happening at night for obvious reasons. But sometimes, the last living Phantomhive transforms into a small bat and hides inside your pockets to accompany you during the day, napping, listening to the sounds of busy streets, merchants shouting, and children laughing as they run; being there for you in every situation, especially to protect you if something happens.

However, despite his newfound humanity being interesting, there are its bad sides. Sides that leave a bitter taste in Ciel's mouth; he hates his humanity when you fall ill or when you have a migraine, little and simple things like these remind him of how fragile and ephemeral you are compared to him, who is stuck in time, forever immortal without a chance to join you if the worst were to happen.

Whether you want it or not, Ciel would turn you into a vampire precisely because of this fear of his. He can't and won't lose you.

[fruit-salad-ship]

Normal Peach is pretty stubborn when she gets sick. I can't imagine how stubborn former gladiator Peach would be when sick. She could be close to fainting with an incredibly high fever and she would still be pretending as though everything is fine. Cue her confusion as Grey and Plum fret over her and she's too weak to turn down their attention.

I think about this AU a (un)healthy amount. I swear.

Dont you just love it when a woman who could kill you is also a walking disaster with affection and has no idea how to live a normal life due to being a literal killing machine for the vast majority of her existance? no? just me? huh.

super clueless soft peach is my entire life. not enough AUs highlight it

this is unedited, there will be issues. I care not. Have the free food.

The fighters been sick and had to go out into the ring, and win, or die. Her body has struggled through a lot, and she has always survived despite the odds. Now, in a less severe setting, she still upholds the old ways. It’s not been too long since arriving in this new job, she’s still finding her feet, but the rainy season comes, and all her old injuries flare up. Agonising, nagging pain that just seems to riddle her without mercy. None the less, peach soldiers on, not once does she complain or ask for things to be adjusted to help cope. Grey notices her moving stiffly, she’s working harder to bypass the aches and pains in training, still keeping her exacting standard, and he spots her rubbing her knee, trying to keep herself loose during guard duty, rolling her shoulder, trying to keep fidgeting, don’t let the stiffness settle in. He suggests she take a moment to rest but she never does, unaware that she’s dealing with a lot, and if anything, the work is a welcomed distraction from her old injuries.

But this is not the worst of it, not by a long shot. Plums first to catch the creeping ailments, she asks peach a question one day as the guard stands beside her, and peach doesn’t answer, doesn’t even react as if the question wasn’t heard. The second pry for her attention is asked, is the soldier ok? She looks sweaty, exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes evident. Truth be told peach hasn’t slept well for a couple of nights, plagued by aches and gradually worsening tightness in her chest, desperately trying to stave off a creeping illness with as best a home remedy she could make with what little she had. Perhaps she stayed out in the rain working too long last week, it’s for sure caught up with her now. No matter, peach straightens up upon her boss’ prying, breathes, focuses, and says she’s fine, despite the sweat on her brow, and the migraine settling in.

By the end of the day she’s praying for the release of her shift to come, hardly able to hear, the ringing in her head is so loud. She’s stowing her gear in the barracks, manages to get out of it all, the process is a blur before she starts to make her way to her little room, but ends up leant up against a wall in the hallway leading to staff common space, head spinning, her normally sturdy stance is shaken, falling to a knee, and losing consciousness before her face even hits the floor.

The next thing Grey knows is he’s got one of his off duty staff rushing into the barracks, a young lad, worried, exclaiming that he needs to come help. In the rush behind this youngster, Grey listens as he stammers about finding her collapsed on the floor, and seeing as there’s only one member of the guard that’s a woman, the captains worry increased. They turn a corner and see two other members of staff knelt beside Peach, her whole form glistening in the candle light. All they know is they found her like this on the floor, none have dared to do more than check see if she’s still breathing, something you cant miss because it’s so difficult, a raspy struggle for air. Grey feels how cold she is to touch, forehead burning, he felt the heat radiating from her without even putting his hand to it, having seen this a few times before.

He scoops her up in his strong arms with seeming ease, though she is anything but light, rushing to the main house with her held tight, getting a house worker to go fetch Plum as soon as he arrives, placing the unconscious woman down on a cushioned bench for a moment. Peach did not wake, her breathing shallow, a shake to her hands even in this state. Plum comes down draped in her finery, expecting news or some kind of event beginning, but not this. Her mild interest turns to immediate worry, picking up the trailing fabric of her outfit to shift unhindered as soon as her eyes fall on the pair, her pair, one of which is looking awful, the other worried. “Is she hurt?!” Her gentle touch fretfully checked, no stabs, no wounds, no blood, realising just how cold she was.“they found her in the staff hallway, didn’t even make it to her room.”

She asks him to moves the sick fighter to a spare room within the main house, somewhere most staff don’t reside, while quickly fetching items from her desk before returning. Grey’s got his staff, his friend, tucked away in fine sheets, asking one of the young women trying to help to get cold water and a cloth. “Take this, ride to town, and bring back a doctor, please.” Plum's hand extends towards her head of guard and passes him a broach, a family crest made of fine gold with mother of pearl inlay. This token proved who Grey worked for, and how well off they were, Plum would pay to get this fixed, whatever it took. He nods, places his hand gently on her arm in comfort, before turning to leave, a final glance at his girls. As he ventures for help, the lady of the house sits beside this idiot, total fool, taking a cool damp cloth, pressing it to her head. “You should have said something…” Her concerned nag that peach can’t hear. “Why did you ignore this? What were you thinking?” With the cold compress placed on her forehead, she busied herself, removed the braces on both her arms, and for a moment, she got a quiet opportunity to look at a part of this woman that she avoided drawing attention to. The seared brand on her wrist, a constant source of sadness for the fighter, with her unconscious, running a thumb over it was possible, feeling one part that was particularly deep, healed a little less clean that the rest. She must have got this as a child, the barbaric practice spared no one, and whoever did this had been aggressive with their methods no doubt. Looking her over, it seemed all methods of handling this woman were that way inclined, criss crossed with scars. It changed nothing, she wouldn’t leave her side.

The doctor arrived late in the night, Grey with him, leading the way into the house. He checks her over, and in his examination finds the same brand Plum had, retracting. “This is a slave, why are you wasting money on her? Just buy another if she doesn’t pull through.” He began to get up to leave, being barred by Grey in the door, his irritation quiet. Plum did not stand, she sat on the other side of the woman, and kept her companions hand in hers, looking sternly to the doctor. “You will treat her, you will take the money required, and you can return to your night.” Angering or irritating someone they needed was not wise, but a stern tone was all that was needed, he looked from her, to Grey and back to the woman struggling to breathe in bed, taking a seat once more to continue checking for various signs of what was plaguing her. He suggested a hand full of medicinal herbs, and how to use them, asking Plum to send an errand boy to pick up more potent medicine from his establishment the next day. He looks down his nose at Plum, who ignores his judgement, before he leaves in the dead of night.

Days pass before they got any sort of recovery signs, medicine is give, and all of the doctors orders were followed to the letter, before finally the fever breaks. Peach has been tended carefully, and finally, after a long time out cold, she opens her eyes just ever so slightly. She is laid beside Plum who’s reading, her curled up position comfortably on a plush chair. It’s late evening, golden hour creeping in through windows that have fine fabrics surrounding them, blowing in the wind calmly, light flooding into the room. A room the fighter doesn’t recognise immediately. It’s luxurious and spacious, a room of wealth. She groans, slowly coming around, becoming increasingly aware of her headache, of the soreness in her spine, and the groggy feeling lingering in her chest. Plum put her book down instantly, gesturing to a member of staff out of view to get Grey, they’d discussed this, before rushing to take the hand of the woman in bed. Her hand is no longer cold and clammy, there is warmth to it.

“you’re awake!” Such a squeeze to the woman’s mitt, feeling Peach squeeze back weakly with a hoarse grumble. It is no more than a minute before it truly sinks in to the fighter where she is, the smell of this building, the quality of the sheets she’s nestled in. Her body despite still feeling weak sat up quickly, she managed to mumble out “I gotta go- can’t be here.” Before making a fair attempt to stand, perhaps she would have made it if it weren’t for her boss, the tiny delicate frame of this woman who put her hand on her chest and pushed her back down. “Stop, you’ve got to rest, lie back down.” Her gentle shove was enough, for the first time in a long time peach couldn’t fight back. She’d had many a body ache before, but this was the worst, every joint as if it was set in stone. She doesn’t try again, has neither the strength of mind or body to go against her employer, watching the little woman slide up near her on the bed, that skin contact from someone so important, so beautiful, making it harder to breathe than before. “The doctor said you’d no doubt ignored symptoms for a while, what were you thinking?” The fighter accepted her defeat, just this once, and lay there, eyes set on the ceiling, unable to meet her gaze. “I…It normally goes away. I didn’t want to be a problem.” Her attempt to be less of an issue caused way more than she had liked, the worm of guilt sneaking into her head slowly. “Sorry.

Peach knew she shouldn’t be there, not in the house, not in a guest room. She had her own quarters, she should have been put in there and left, she’d pull through. Doctors were expensive, she’d have to work for a long time to earn enough to pay that debt off. If this was her old life, the pits, she’d have been thrown out to fight sick, surely meeting her death. She didn’t even remember getting out of her gear on her last shift, the whole thing was a blur, before she was suddenly just…here, cared for…something no one had done for her since she was a child, before all the mess that happened. She hardly recalled that early memory, but lying there with plum talking to her, telling her about what she’d missed, it felt like home. A thought she tried to shake, did everything she could to ignore, revelling in the hand that held hers.

Grey was suddenly at the door, peaking in, making sure he wasn’t just bursting in on something that’d stress her out, he was just so happy to see her with eyes open. Alive, awake. His relief was visible, joining the girls, calmly sitting on the other side of the bed, able to try to lessen the situation, make a dumb joke. For a moment, he swore she even smiled when she saw him, a weak, half sided smile, but appreciation none the less. Peach didn’t know why they were here, or why this was happening. No logical explanation made any sense to her, their dedicated time and attention felt alien, undeserved. She’d made a mistake, getting sick like this wasn’t acceptable, and now she’d have to live with that on her head. Another weight to carry around.

She felt nothing but awkwardness and shame for the care they’d given, their efforts wasted on someone like her, they could be handed to someone else more deserving. She was fine now, it wouldn’t happen again. They’d found her becoming more reserved as the day progressed, as if her returning strength bolstered her ability to isolate herself. Every time plum returned to the room to check up on her she’d gotten up, made the bed, and was sat up in a chair, just waiting. Plum said don’t leave the room, so she didn’t, still followed her orders, just…didn’t feel right being in a bed like that, or in a space as nice as this. Tried not to touch anything, just in case she broke it, or it was special in some way she didn’t know, just sitting, waiting. Plum showed irritation with her behaviours, which she apologised for, but none the less, didn’t know what else she could do. “Why cant you just try to relax? I brought your book, theres nice clothes for you to swap to if you want, you’ve got a meal you’ve hardly touched.” Her boss asking her to do things could be hostile, could be kind, it made no difference, she had to do it. Peach awkwardly sat back on the very edge of the bed, and picked her book up. The feather keeping her page taken, trying to do what she was told, just…relax right? Reading does that. She could at least follow that instruction.

The lady of the house sighed, trying to get this fighter to take a break was like getting blood from a stone. “Fine, at least come and sit in the garden with me.” Peach went to put the book down, but was stopped. “Bring that.”

“I don’t have any of my gear, should I go get it?” She’d make a lousy guard without a sword at the very least. Surely she should be back to work attire for this? “You’re not working, you’re sitting, no swords, no armour, no shields. Just…c’mon.” Her gentle hand took the larger woman and tugged ever so slightly, feeling her follow, an expression of confusion across her face.

Grey had to keep working, make sure the grounds were secure and his staff were informed, having had three of the men find her unconscious, the rumours started to circle. Many of the young men serving under him asked about Peach, she’d not been very open to conversation, but now and then she’d quietly help one of the youngsters with their stance, tapping their shoulder or shifting their foot with her own to improve it. One raid she’d saved a young boy from a bandit, he’d surely have perished then if not for her, an act she didn’t think much of, she did her job. Guarded. She took no praise for it, and didn’t suddenly become chatty and open, but the boy was determined to get to know her better, surely she’d have some good stories to tell at the least, right? The older guards found her quiet nature very comforting, she listened to their tall tales, and often shared meals sat with them in the communal areas, as they tended not to ask too many questions, or look to her with as much curiosity. They had seen it all, and so her taller, broader, damaged form was not so surprising. She had started to belong, and so when she didn’t show up for her shift, they asked, and Grey obliged with an honest answer. Every morning they’d ask to check in, see how she was doing, some even stopped by the room she was held up in, seeing her sleeping form, just to make sure she was still there, that she didn’t need anything. She never did.

So for Grey to see the woman out, in the sun, not lugging the armour around she was known for, nor with sword in hand, was quite a pleasant surprise. He could see out the window of the barracks that Plum had brought her into the light, trying to get her to just recover peacefully. There was a clear disconnect, he could not hear their conversation, but Peach looked lost, and Plum was laughing gently about whatever was said. The two seemed to settle into it. He saw the fighter sit awkwardly for a moment beside her boss, her attention caught by a bee flying low past her, watched it land on lavender, didn’t take her eyes off it until it took off and moseyed away at a leisurely pace. By this point the breeze picked up and caught her hair, uncharacteristically down, seeing her take a big inhale, shut her eyes for a brief moment, breathe. Perhaps she was better suited to the outdoors. Grey recalled the dank conditions of the underside of where she’d come from, those fighting pits lined with stone and mud. All colours felt dark and dirty, what little light cast by sconces just never enough. So now, sat in sunshine, with the calm green around her, no walls, no roof over her head, she seemed to actually enjoy for a moment. Every time a new bug would inch closer she’d get distracted by it. He found it impossible to take his eyes off her, she had a curiosity he didn’t notice before. She showed Plum one that she’d let crawl onto her hand, some kind of grub or caterpillar from what he could tell sat this far away, to which plum recoiled. He longed to hear what was said. The little woman watched in horror as Peach just calmly looked over this little creature on her, before letting it take its time to move from her to a leaf.

Sitting turned to lying, somehow, maybe it was the fresh air, this woman dozed off out in the open, plums little body against hers as she read to herself. He had never seen the fighter relax like this, whatever illness had its grips on her truly must have worn her out. His break allowed Grey to wander over to them out in the gardens, sitting with Plum, neither waking the warrior, she slept soundly. “Good to see her taking time to recover.” Both watched the rise and fall of her chest, that dreadful struggle to breathe that afflicted her clear, she was quiet, calm. “Yeah, seems she’s like a big cat, a pit lion. Put her in the sun and she goes down finally.” The similarities were uncanny, her behaviour was so similar to that of the caged beasts used to rile crowds, creatures from far off lands who don’t belong in cages. “I don’t think I’ll ever disconnect that imagery now.” This time spent so close with her, though sickness none the less revealed a far softer side that hid beneath the surface, she was not all tooth and claw after all, even if she herself didn’t even know what to do with that softness.

Her steady decline into some small domesticated behaviours progressed. She was forced to take the rest of the week off, every day she’d return to the gardens, and each time would seemingly let go of some of the tense movements, shed the weight in her shoulders until by the end of her time off, she was freely roaming the space, she even discussed with the gardener of her own free will. She was…learning. Plum and Grey watched from afar as she seemed to show an interest in something, a huge step. Her strength returned, and in the process, something else, something new started growing from the ruins of her past life, she was always defiant, but now she had something to put that frustration towards, to channel all the unfair moments she’d survived into something good. Perhaps getting sick, though terrifying for those around her, was a moment to let her see that she could slow down, that she was allowed to extend her interests to other things outside of work.

The parting moment when plum finally allowed her to return to work, left Peach in a strange situation. She had never had to sincerely thank someone before, and found herself tripping over her words as she tried to come off as genuine as possible. She certainly made a mess of it, but despite that, her boss smiled. It was quite something to watch someone so strong and so capable, fidget and find it impossible to look up from her feet, the blush as she said the wrong thing, backtracking quickly, trying not to be an idiot. “You didn’t have to help me- not that I’m ungrateful, I’m not, it…I-I just…I need to pay this back somehow. Take it out of my wages, I’ll make up for the lost hours. I don’t know if I’d have pulled through without you getting a doctor, it was a huge inconvenience to you, to everyone-“ Plums quiet smile was unmistakable, resting her head on her hand at the desk she sat behind, paused on signing a letter, placing her writing implement down half way through the conversation. When peach fell silent, trying not to feel like she messed up every word of that, she held her breath as her boss stood, walked calmly around the desk, pausing mere inches away, looking up with those big brown eyes she struggled to connect with, glancing away nervously. “For the record, I don’t want repayment, never did. This was no trap to shackle you to a debt” her gentle touch to the woman’s arm for the first time didn’t cause the fighter to flinch away at all. “But I see you’re struggling with this so I will think of some way that you can make this up to me, just not now, get settled, I’ll call on a favour or two someday perhaps.” The conversation is ended with Plum tugging at the woman’s hand, bringing her down to a more manageable height, one sweet little kiss on her cheek, before turning to get back to work at the desk. Peach is freed to leave, and does so with a whole new kind of fever. Her boss finds it endlessly entertaining that she gets so flustered from the slightest shred of affection.

Finally it was time for her to go back to work, she was fighting fit again, recovered and finally sat back in the guard house, donning gear on a bench. Other staff entered the building, all greeting her, happy to see her well once more. Her presence put the youngsters at ease especially, she was some kind of affirming energy to them, like a mother hen that they all flocked to, even if peach herself didn’t notice at all, Grey did, saw them all rally to her without thought. Magnetic personality type, even if she said very little and showed limited emotional range. She was stable, sturdy, and they needed that. In a way, the whole house needed it. She was gaining a family, something she didn’t even notice yet.

[malcolmreeds]

wish i could be creative and draw and share more art with you guys bc i have so many ideas but i got diagnosed with migraines in july and in the two months since my symptoms have progressed Very Rapidly and i spend the vast majority of my time lying down in a dark room unable to do literally anything.

finally managed to get a doctors appointment for next week and am hoping i can be referred to a hospital for treatment or smthn bc my medication doesnt work at all and i have Constant visual disturbances and Constant headaches (srsly havent had a head pain free day in 2 months lol). and on top of that i have 3 other chronic illnesses that flare up a lot as well and im just hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh really going thru it besties xx

anyway sorry for another ~miserable life update~ but uhhhh 2023 can go to hell byeeeeeee

[morgandria]

I’m so tired of having a migraine. I've only had a few cycles like this, where it’s months at a time. It’s just a vast ocean of pain, and you al most wish to be at 5he bottom of it, where the currents are slower and saltwater isn’t slapping your face every five seconds. It’s literally been months I’ve been stuck in this. When they ebb it’s brilliant, but they feel almost unending right now. Days sometimes bleed together. Sometimes I feel it's much like how being tortured with wrenching (where they wrapped a rope tighter and tighter around your head) must have felt. Other times it’s like sticking your head in a particle accelerator. You can’t see what’s destroying you but your brain is coming apart. Yet other times you’re stuck between dimensions or planes of reality and you’re really not meant to exist where that intersection is. Nothing gets perceived correctly. And there’s only so much you can sleep, if you can get there at all.

Throw in auras, puking, vertigo, eyes trying to explode out of your head, sinuses trying to migrate, triggered tension headaches… hell no. I wouldn’t wish this on an enemy. I seriously wish I had a brain tumour instead. At least then I could point to something as a cause instead of waving my hand at the weather vaguely and sighing for the thousandth time. When I lived in the Ottawa valley my migraines were summer beasts, on the storms that blew up the river. When I lived in Peterborough, the winter was the worst. Here between two lakes, it’s just all year round. It’s been nearly 20 years since I moved here, so you’d think I would get used to it. Heh. Not really. Resigned, maybe.

This post comes to you courtesy of my tablet. I can’t sit at my desk long, but I can handle lying in bed with the iPad in dark mode and the brightness turned down for a while. I spend a lot of time listening to video on low volume with the screen covered, unless I can’t handle sound. Most of my migraines badly affect my language center, so any legibility here comes from the autocorrect function. (We won’t get into how that makes me feel as a former English major.)

I’ve had them since childhood, but I think that a nasty concussion in 2011 has made my migraines worse. I don’t bounce back from them so well anymore. I can still push through them and work when I have to, but it has to be very fucking important that I function that day, and it costs me more recovery time than it used to. So I’m only doing that shit 'at utmost need' anymore. I’m bad at resting, I have an overclocked, anxious mind and unfortunately it’s also a mind that never shuts up and is endlessly curious. I feel guilty when I’m not doing -something-. I dread being useless. But I don’t have much choice. I’m unsteady on my feet. I can’t focus on a task. So I sit, and rot, and get more and more frustrated. It’s hard not to go dark places.

Sometimes I say 'Fuck This' and I blast my brain with metal until I can’t stand it. It doesn’t help the headache, but it can improve my mood, and it gives me something to focus on, and through. But those days are rare.

TL;DR? Migraines are a level of vile I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’m deep in the migraine mines and so tired of digging in the dark. Maybe the weather will stabilize soon and I can get back to relative normalcy.

[penname-artist]

Forgive the tipsy rambling here and, maybe this is just looking back on something having aged through a lot of it but, do you ever just realize how much you've climbed to change as a person?

I guess it depends on the person. Not everyone has the same experience or makes the same steps. Some people hardly change at all. And some people, people like me, you wouldn't be able to look at versions of me more than two or three years apart without struggling to figure out they're the same guy.

Sure, lots of things always remain. You'll probably still like the same things, prefer the same comforts, or struggle with the same faults. No matter how much you change and grow, you're always just gonna be, y'know. You. It's the type of you that makes the change, though; whether to be the you that gives into emotional weaknesses, or the you that controls their ego from overinflating. Sometimes things teach us, events shape us and memories mold us into new characters. But really, it's just us, paving the way to bettering ourselves. Making something out of yourself. Being someone. And being proud of that.

I can't honestly say I enjoy looking into my own reflection, in a physical sense. I've become so hollow, so baggy-eyed and bony-shouldered with the wear of years of pacing holes into the floor. I don't think there will be a time soon I'll be satisfied with the missing and broken teeth, or the acne scars, or the protruding right side of my rib cage. But you know, appearances can't be everything. Even talents can only push you so far in life, the finite detailing of mine having been dwindled off somewhere in the late 2010s. I can't draw what I used to. I can't do a lot of the things I used to.

In some ways you could say I didn't have a choice. That I had to be kind. I can't work like I used to, can't go like I used to. I've developed a bad knee and stiff joints, mental anguish, social overload, muscle spasms, migraines, whatever else happens on any given day. Things I can't explain and things I can't control. But I can manage them, at least.

And I've watched my mother for years, in a far worse state. Fibromyalgia hardly scratches the surface anymore, with a ruptured appendix and a crushed spine about to undergo major surgery. I've witnessed unfairness and fear in the middle of the night, time and time again like some horrible nightmare no one can wake up from. But I've also seen grace, I've watched a woman go from all to nothing and still put a smile on to be the neighborhood mom, risk pain and days of bed-bound downtime just to take a child to a library event. Just to support their eldest child's new identity. Just to exist to love and care for and take care of her family.

I don't know a person who's been faced with a crueler world. I also don't know a person who's worked harder to be kind in turn.

I'm hardly there yet, I'm only in my twenties. The world is so big and so vast and so complicated. I've already tasted cruel, tasted grief as familiarity is ripped from me, as love and longing is left cold and silent as an empty space for someone who never said a word. I've tasted cruel, and born an inked reminder of what it can't do. It can't take me. It can take my friends from me, and it can take my body piece by piece, and it can take my life some unsuspecting day, but it can't take away me. I'm something. In everything I make, I'm leaving something of myself behind. I was here. I existed. I impacted. I did. The world was cruel and it'll keep being cruel but I'm going to exist anyways and I'm going to do anyways and I'm going to be kind anyways, and I'm going to climb this goddamn mountain one pebble at a time, and shout from every clifftop that I was something. It may not have been very much. But it was. And you can't erase me. I was something. And I am proud of the something that I made.

[edit: it's 11:08 PM, I think this took an hour and a half to write and so I'm sober enough to reread it and yeah can we check off the emotional drunk box now please? Please?]

[milkweedman]

Well, it doesnt look like much but i pulled all the dead plants (mostly squash and tomatoes), tilled everything, added a little fertilizer, threw a few more bags of soil down, and got the winter crops in. The area in the first pic just has lots of beets. The trench in the second pic has potatoes, and then those rectangular planters have garlic and one beet (ran out of big cloves of garlic and still had one beet that i couldnt fit anywhere. I got a six pack of seedlings at the nursery but the vast majority i planted today is seed). Theres still some tomatoes left that i moved to the side to give a few more weeks, the basil is still alive and off to the side as well, and Lyubimiy (the fig tree) is looking okay and has a few nearly ripe figs.

Still have to water everything but im taking a break because i have had a migraine all day and im very tired.

Also, i put this off so long because i thought i didnt have any more beet seeds left so i finally ordered some last night after failing to find any locally, and then i just figured i'd get the garlic and potatoes in today and set everything up for the beets. But it turns out i had a half pack of seeds in the seed bin the entire time, and i just. Did not check because i was so certain i was out. Very aggravating, because now im a few weeks late.

Glad to have gotten it all done though. And i guess now i have extra beet seeds. And radish seeds. And i ordered another kind of seed as well that i cannot recall. So, surprise seeds.

[c0rpseductor]

i realize im preaching to the choir here but it is extremely bold of the autogynephilia guy to insist that the VAST MAJORITY of adult trans women are, like, outright lying about their own experiences based on his having sorted them into arbitrary, unscientific categories AS A STRANGER. extremely fucking deranged

also obviously speaking on a more personal level the proposed "autohomoerotic" type of trans guy is so fucking infuriating to me. it's like, obviously that's going to be the explanation for gay trans men this idiot comes up with because of the view that being gay is "feminine male" behavior, so how do you victor victoria around that if your understanding of how gender and sexuality interact is from the stone age? Well Clearly It's A Total Separate Other Thing.

it's obviously a talking point every gay trans man on earth has heard at least once, like "you're trans because you're interested in pretending to be a gay man" rather than like. the actual situation. you know. i'm very tired i feel like garbage bc it's a bad migraine brain day but like it just frustrates me bc like...i mean clearly it's cruel and uncharitable and transphobic.

my own experience is that i grew up experiencing a lot of "typical" markers of dysphoria and preferring to be seen as a boy or at least "not a girl" and wanting to hang out with other boys and puberty sucking etc etc you have certainly heard the narrative people trot out and i did fit a number of those points. but it was difficult for me to pin down how i felt and who i actually felt i was without also wrangling the fact that i was struggling with a lot of internalized homophobia. growing up even before consciously understanding myself as male i felt a lot of guilt about being interested in guys and felt it was "wrong." for a good number of years i attempted to transform "i guess girls are pretty" into "i'm DEFINITELY attracted to women, a very socially acceptable thing for a man!" while also trying to deny being trans, which resulted in this really absurd attempt to convince myself i was An Lesbian despite having genuinely no fucking interest in women whatsoever beyond liking their clothes. ("slay bitch!" is not actually attraction to women, but try telling 19 year old lestat that, he will not agree.) and, of course, i absorbed a lot of surface level feminist talking points about how Bad And Yucky men are that made me feel that it would be, like...misogynist to not be a woman.

so i did have to reconcile all those things at once, but ESPECIALLY the fact that i was attracted to men to finally, like, be ready to just call myself a trans man. it was finally realizing that despite my shame about it growing up and the feeling that it was "bad" or "wrong" or "not feminist" (????) (my internalized homophobia was weird sometimes) i did like men, but only if they'd also treat me like a man, because i didn't really want to be having relationships with men as a woman. i was like "huh...this kind of sounds like i don't want to have relationships with ANYONE as a woman." and then i kind of realized after a short stint of identifying as bi that i was also like. just not interested in women at all. i had been making that shit up for notes.

so like, i think in that regard it's like...it's hard to separate my understanding of myself as a man who likes men from my understanding of myself as a man more generally, which is why it's especially frustrating to me to hear that twisted into "it's because you have a fetish for gay men" when i had to like. fight myself tooth and nail for Literally 22 years to accept that i am a man AND that i am attracted to men. i was so uncomfortable with who i was and tried so hard to be cis (or at least Not a man) and straight (or at least Not into men) at the same time that i tried to force myself to be a lesbian. despite having no interest in women. to me that was better than being the person i actually was, which was somebody i felt a lot of shame and discomfort about. accepting that i was binary trans and gay was not like "being gay seems cool can i play" so much as having to tell myself "maybe liking men and being male does not make you some kind of disgusting aberrant monster, dude." but god forbid anybody have any compassion about that when it's way easier to get mad at a straw fujo

[soulvomit]

One of the things that I am finding interesting about modern autism discourse is how emotional and sensate the descriptions have shifted. I would not see myself in many modern autists and would not see myself as autistic based on their writing and it's what caused my ex to believe that actually I was probably just a heartless narcissist or sociopath. I'm the ice queen, the perpetual poker face. Sometimes I wonder if the discourse has shifted because we are seeing more people with female and adjacent experience in the discourse, I don't know, who live in very very different worlds about emotions. Who live in very different worlds about responding to their senses.

I feel like this is something I lost over a lifetime and even 10 years ago, I am more emotional than I am now.

I am not this self aware about my senses or my emotional world. My reaction is to shut down and withdraw, or to move through the world floating around in a bubble, and I'm certainly not hypervigilant about every person around me. Sometimes I only know I am feeling too much in the moment because suddenly I am very far away, feeling NOTHING. Sometimes I only know I'm in overload because my brain is suddenly running in Safe Mode. I have meltdowns occasionally yes, but I experience way more migraines. My body frequently tells me what I am feeling with Pain.

I have gotten so much shit because of my bubble and I feel like a lot of my masking is having to pretend I have more emotional range than I have, that I am affected by things on a deep level that I'm not. I often don't know what I am feeling about something until the next day when I find I am still thinking about it.

I was not allowed to have these kinds of feelings by my parents (who couldn't process them or cope and had major problems of their own), or even the world around me. I started learning early to stuff my feelings. A ton of my experience of being bullied, broken relationships, etc is related to emotional dysregulation. Yes I do live with being Too Much, in practice I feel like most people live with their emotions being a sliding scale while mine are like the occasional active volcano hidden under sheets of ice. But my Too Muchness gradually got stuffed deep inside over a lifetime. I don't relate anymore to having Big Feelings. Maybe when I was younger.

and in my looking into autism, I find lots of descriptions that indicate the writers are a million times more self aware at a much younger age and like my particular experience has either kind of been forgotten or it's not autism at all.

Except I relate to other aspects of the described autistic experience.

Do modern autists just describe their feelings differently? Was my generation and older just encouraged to suffer in silence, and I'm experiencing a cognitive emotional break with Zoomers the way there is a vast difference in emotional language and sensate language between Silents and Gen X (Boomers had to outright make up a ton of emotional and social language to talk about their feelings at all.)

That said, this may dovetail into "older autists didn't have lots of meltdowns or talk about having lots of deep feelings, they were often just alcoholics" discourse.

also: I relate to NT-written works about autism because ALL I HAVE TO GO ON with myself is observed behavior. This actually helped me, because I NEEDED to know how I was perceived, that was Quality Information for surviving the world. I have very little emotional memory and remember a lot of stuff in third person (this may be psychic damage of learning NLP adjacent stuff early, I don't know.) All I have to go on, are other people's descriptions! I often don't relate to people's descriptions of interior life. And part of that is my own kind of literalism because someone else's experience is not my own, after all.

It has catastrophic failure mode because I have no memory of my feelings much of the time, and OTHER PEOPLE ARE ABLE TO EDIT MY MEMORIES.

and I spend a lot of time NOT KNOWING WHAT I FELT ABOUT A THING LAST TIME so I'm able to make the same mistake over and over. I do not develop emotional pattern recognition.

like, being Robot Style is a fucking failure mode. I have envied people with Big Feelings all my life. I partner with people with Big Feelings because they're the only kind I recognize as feelings at all and most NTs actually seem like emotionless robots to me.

but I definitely don't experience my own emotional wiring that way.

I also don't have the same degree of social hypervigilance at all. I walk through the world in kind of a suit of armor

[pipermca]

Writing Update - January 2023

(This update brought to you a day late, courtesy of a migraine. I feel like absolute balls. Ugh.)

I'm not sure whether I'm proud or disappointed in my progress this past month. On the one hand, I did some significant writing. On the other hand, I didn't crack the 10k mark. I'm not sure why I've latched onto that as a "you're being productive!" benchmark, but there it is.

I did write 6,291 words in January, the vast majority of them in one story. And as much as I like it when my muse can focus on one story at a time, I can feel my muse wandering back to one of the other stories in my WIP pile. (*sigh*) Oh well, just so long as I don't start on another WIP. I've got four in the active pile right now; I would love to be able to finish one of them.

The one story published this month is one of the reposts: a story from a challenge compilation that I've hidden off AO3, revised, and posted. This is the only one out of that compilation that had multiple chapters (which was one reason I wanted to redo it: to put all the chapters together to make it a more cohesive story. I think I'm aiming to post one a month as I clean them up.

Posted

Lost and Found Again. 15000 words. This story was backdated to its original posting date so it didn't appear on the "front page."

WIPs

I only worked on one other story this month.

Stood Up (working title). 6500 words. New Sparkr fic. I'd really like to finish this one because it's been sitting in my To Do queue for years. XD

[lefae]

Personal Update

On December 1, mom broke her ankle horribly enough to require surgery to fix it. I stayed with her through most of the hospital stay (I only came home one night because I have PTSD issues regarding that hospital and wasn't getting any sleep there because of it), and have had to spend most of my time since then at her house because she's completely non weight bearing and is incapable of much mobility at all on her own right now...

Given that I am physically disabled, with mobility issues - spinal damage and a once broken ankle that needs surgery again that I can't afford, both of which demand I severely limit the amount of time I'm on my feet or I risk losing my ability to walk completely even faster than I'm already losing it - you can just imagine the struggle that this is, given how difficult it is to simply take care of myself, much less another person. Add to that that we don't always get along when forced to be around each other for extended periods of time, and I don't get any chance to rest during my chronic illness flare-ups or to recover from them...

The rest of my family who had been helping with at least meals, running errands, and a couple overnight stays a week all have COVID right now as of December 24. Thankfully, there wasn't any family gathering, so neither mom nor I got sick, but that also means all of what minimal help and breaks I got have disappeared, to where it was a while production when I needed to get my aunt from the sperm donor's side of my family to give me a ride to the store to get a few things I needed for myself because no one else picked them up for me like they were supposed to.

I am bloody exhausted, in severe pain, dealing with severe depression on top of it all, because in all this, one thing has been made abundantly clear: it doesn't matter how fucking disabled I am, my family honestly doesn't give a shit and it's actively exploiting the fact that I'm unable to work (even if I found a job I could handle, it wouldn't be available here locally, the internet sucks to much to be able to do it remotely (plus they wouldn't leave me alone to do it regardless), and any commute would be insane even if it was in the immediate area since it's a 30 minute drive to the nearest fucking grocery store as it is, etc) to have me essentially work literally 24/7 with no compensation, I'm not even able to sleep in my own fucking bed, I don't have access to my computer at all most days, I have to work regardless of flare-ups or migraines or pain levels, and I've actively noticed a severe decrease in my own mobility trying to do this because no one else will, and the hospital sent her home instead of putting her in rehab like we were told they would because no one here was able to handle doing this but apparently that didn't matter and no one would listen to me when I tried to kick up a fuss despite my being the one who has had to do the vast majority of the work since, all while completely neglecting my own living space because I haven't even had time to go home and take out the fucking trash or clean out the fridge because apparently no one cares if I get sicker or permanently injured in all of this.

And the real kicker is when everyone else is being all "woe is me" because they miss my uncle who passed away in September, and expecting me to comfort them when I'm well past my breaking point to where I simply want to run away and never look back because I can't keep this up, I'm so tired and I'm so much pain and I'm scared that by the time this is over, I'm going to be unable to even stand on my own two feet anymore and it will be entirely their fault at that point and they'll just leave me to fend for myself like they've always done, yet expect me to push myself to the point of sickness and injury for them even when I say I'm not able to do it because they'll threaten me with taking away the financial support I'm dependent on them for.

So yeah... Don't expect a lot of activity from me right now, since I have a lot of trouble trying to type on touchscreens and I'm largely stuck on mobile for the foreseeable future. And if you can spare a few dollars so I can try to just order some things for myself to have it delivered rather than struggling and fighting with family to get any bloody help around here, I would deeply appreciate it (links to buymeacoffee & Amazon wishlists are in my pinned post, or it's possible to tip through this blog).

[rewiringwithpsilocybin]

DAY 10

Again, it was a real battle to get up and get my morning routine out of the way but somehow I did it despite some very convincing arguments from that voice in my head. 

I can’t remember where I read it – it could have been Awareness by Anthony de Mello – but up until five or six hundred years ago, people thought that the voice in our heads came from an outside source, a demon so to speak.

And in a way I suppose they had a point. As I understand it, this voice is an amalgamation of characters that played a major role in your life during the first few years: parents, siblings, relations, teachers, bullies etc. “You’ll never amount to anything.” Or, “Why can’t you be more like your sister.”

Because we’re so young at the time, we don’t have any real defenses against these destructive phrases and so we believe them. Sad! And something that I’ve always tried to avoid with my own kids although I’ve caught their grandmother using similar negative language with them. 

Meantime, today’s major symptom was an annoying and somewhat debilitating sinus headache located at the forehead. I read about sinus headaches and discovered that they’re frequently misdiagnosed and that the vast majority are actually migraines. Since migraines have been reported as one of the downsides of microdosing it made me wonder. 

Whatever it was it persisted for most of the day before subsiding in the evening. Didn't get much done. Sigh . . .

[relax-and-read-on]

Ohhh I love the care and thought you put into the primarchs medical and mental states, they’re human at the end of the day- they can be mentally ill, disabled, any of it, and you have an interesting viewpoint! /pos !!

Hehe, thank youuu! My point of view is that the vast majority of the population deal with various health issues, from the relatively minor to the extremely debilitating, and still somehow manage to do their things. The human body is a wonderful lil machine, even if it brake, *constantly*. The primarch may be super humans, they still live long, dangerous life, and have to deal with extreme stress and trauma. It's logical that it affect them in some way. In fact, here is the list of "issues" I see in each primarch, because it make me pleased to write about them!

Lion: Clinical sociopathy and psychopath. This boy was all alone until he was a teen, and never had anyone to care or love him during the most critical phase of his life. He cannot empathise with others, he cannot understand emotions, it's literally something he does not relate too.

Angron: I won't go TOO far into that one, because I have to sit down and read about frontal lobe trauma, trans orbital lobotomy, and other happy fun practice, and THAT'S gonna be a hoot. In all case, the nails fucked everything, and I need to properly write down what I think they do, in big medical term. Stay tunned.

Sanguinius: His poor, poor ligaments. Flying cannot be good for your joints. His muscles must be incredibly strained and soar all the time too, and I will headcanons that his bones density is much lower for a primarch. Has high level of anxiety disorder, with the whole vampire thing stressing him out.

Roboute: Autistic, and pretty functional! Tho, after his big nap, the man definitely has a solid case of depression. Has general anxiety too, and is always just a few hair short of a mental breakdown. Need glass, for no other reasons that he would be sexy with some.

Lorgar: Ptsd. Ptsd up the wazoo. All the bros have variations of it, but Lorgar is one of those that got the cake. Mentally he's a mess, and I would maaaybe dare to advance that he's either Borderline or Bipolar. The big deal with him is that his abuser is still around (fuck you Kor Phaeron!!), And it's a constant re-trauma for my man.

Magnus: this one is... Complicated, because Magnus is an amorphous pile of warp goo technically. Post heresy, for sure, huge, GIANT depression. Pre-heresy... I can actually see him sometime loosing a grip on his form if he was too tired, and just becoming a shifting mess. Oh! And more than likely a solid helping of mania.

Vulkan: sometime, in downtime situation, he start shaking uncontrollably. Think of old time, wwI shell shock. He was not raised to be a soldier, he just want to protects others. Sometime, it's not enough. And even if his body is fine, he *remember* dying, over and over. That can't be good for one's mental state.

Konrad: *wave hands* he got.... Everything??? Did, mania, psychosis, depression, anxiety, ptsd... And that's without counting the malnutrition/starvation in early childhood. Or the various injury he suffered. Probably has major liver problem too, wich does not help his metabolic ones. Hypersensitivity to sunlight and bright light in general.

Perturabo: This man has depression the size of a mountain. And like. I don't WANT to get into his neural implant... But i cannot beleive that they aren't occasionally inflamed and that they don't cause occasional major headaches. Has really bad stress migraine.

Jaghatai: This man has poor circulation. I can also see him having general bad joints. In comparatively good health, physically and mentally! Aside from the obligatory PTSD but like, everyone has it.

Rogal: our second autistic boy, a lot more rigid! Probably has a solid helping of OCD and repetitive behavior too. Slowly loosing sensitivity in his nerves due to the pain glove, and it could technically be considered a form of self harm.

Corvus: Not an issues in any way, but trans woman, because I need to hammer it home to yall. Hypersensitive to lights. Probably get some circulatory issues from growing up on a freaking moon with little to no natural atmosphere and what was probably weird gravity.

Alpharius / Omegon: perfectly average, without a single physical health problem. Mentally, however... They experience severe dissociative episode due to the nature of their legions. Omegon especially seem to have some severe depression too.

Leman: extremely high metabolism, and actually need to eat a lot more than other primarch to keep up. Overheat extremely easily. Quite smart, but his neural pathway are completely strange: he was raised by wolf, and as such has entire different tough process than most humans, and can have a hard time relating to others if he's not masking.

Mortarion: read his own post, because there is so. Fucking. Much. Lmao. In competion with Konrad for "most starved looking primarch".

Ferrus: Body dysmorphia, with a healthy dose of asomatognosia (aka not recognising your own body part). He's perfectly fine most days with his arms, but in period of high stress, he may zone out and get into one of those tough spiral.

Fulgrim: OCD as big as the galaxy. His anxiety level are so high, his blood pressure is worrying. Rapid cycling bipolar, and his manic episode are legendary. All this as a tendancy to push him into disorder eating, wich does not help his OCD.

Horus: ok, hear me out, it's a weird one: actual, honest to god, schizophrenia. Mostly of the auditory kind, with a solid helping of paranoid delusion. He had it under relative control, with a mix of self medication, self-check and a robust support system. Erebus, chaos and the fucking evil sword basically shattered all the safeguard he had carefully build his entire life, and his delusions took over with the chaos gods now also joining the voices in his head.

I know the Horus one is.... Quite wild, but hey, it's a personal headcanon, and I think it make the character a lot more interesting, imo. As always, yall are free to simply disregard anything I come up with, I'm just a stranger on tumblr lmao.

[roshniwrites]

old to tumblr, new to writblr

i’ve been meaning to make a writblr for a year and i guess i’ve had this account for a while but i literally never post because i am so horribly uninspired!

about me:

desi, queer, american, autistic, 21

my pronouns are they/them

eye and vast alignment; scorpio sun, pisces moon, gemini rising

i am an english major with a creative writing concentration :)

i love to read! feel free to send recs! (even though i am not as good at reading these days)

i write high fantasy the most but my most recent endeavour is fantasy in the real world (i’m struggling) and new adult i think

feel free to tag me in games! especially if it involves oc’s. this blog probably won’t get very big i’m just bored and hoping this will get me to write

if you want to see fandom content check out my other sideblog @dream-to-be-frog <3 i’m very funny

my name for this account comes from my main, in which i have a hashtag called “#roshniwrites” because i have some poetry or short prose works posted on there <3 @radioactive-rosh

about my writing:

i have been writing stories since i was in.... second grade? though i might’ve been having ideas since even earlier. i’ve found some hella old drafts of badly written things XD

i really started to write (not just come up with ideas) in middle school. a good amount of it was percy jackson (and occasionally hp, before i knew jkr was a horrible human being) fanfiction.

come high school, i wrote a lot more of my original stories, though most of them are either scrapped by now or, if the idea is still cool, on the backest of burners.

in spring of 12th year, i came up with one of my largest projects i’ve done. it was vaguely based off of a retelling of hades and persephone. i’ve come to a bit of a standstill with that one for now.

wips !!

stellamaris

the name is still in the works, but “star of the sea” is cool and it kind of fits my mc so. for now

this is a story that was actually meant to be a spiteful (and elaborate) fanfiction if harry potter. i wanted to make all the characters queer and most of them trans just to piss off jkr because she’s a horrible human being but. it is not my job to fix her story.

anyway it has evolved far beyond its original goal, though the very very basic premise is the same.

students at a magic school, a big bad, enemies to lovers, worrying prophecy requiring the sacrifice of the chosen one (and the subversion of this trope)

stellamaris actually looks a bit more like the book carry on by rainbow rowell now.

my issue with it right now is that i simply have no clue how the magic system works because i can never think of a smarter system than rainbow’s and i don’t want it to look like i copied. like i know there’s no original stories etc. etc. but to a level. trying to create a new system makes me get a migraine but it’s the only story i care about at the moment

also i might cut down on how many main characters there are but i’m not sure which ones i am keeping i’m emotionally attached to them all. maybe i will transplant them into another story. god knows

on my original intro post about this i said i would likely post a lot of picrews about them but the truth is i am now questioning the main character’s design too so if i post it will be about one character and that is my darling juno <3

blameless

this is a barely expanded upon idea

i thought of an idea of four friends who fell apart after high school because some shit went down and last year for my creative writing class i chose this story to write as a short story of when the four friends meet up again and try to get some closure

this is shockingly not fantasy, but if i write more about this maybe i will make it a bit fantasy. a bit supernatural. just because that’s my brand and writing only realistic fiction makes me sad. (who knows, maybe a life is strange true colors-esque superpower thing! we shall see)

requiem

this has reached a bit of a standstill, to be honest. likely won’t be posting a whole lot about it because there are a lot of little things i need to work out

tbh sometimes i don’t want think i’ll go back to it at all but i wrote so much and all that closing the door completely seems rash. maybe in A Very Very Long Time

originally based loosely off of a retelling of hades and persephone (a less violent version, where persephone wanders off and thinks hades’s kingdom is neat)

i will not lie lore olympus ruined this for me a bit because that ““retelling”” makes me Super Very Mad

it’s the story i’ve written the most for my whole life; i drafted this my senior year of high school in spring when i said fuck all my classes and wrote like 78,000 words :P

some of the writing is really good i think (last i checked, like almost a year ago but that’s better than most writing) but i really don’t know if it’s going anywhere for a long time

(some friends have stories they’ve been writing since they were 11 and they still have ideas for that... shocking because that couldn’t be me props to them but i cannot)

[enbywanderlust]

hey folks, this is less of a psa or update and more of a vent/thing I want to get off my chest. ignore it if you want, I really won't mind, I'm more talking to myself here.

trigger warning: mentions of suicide and self harm

I was doing really bad last october and november to the point of self harming a lot and planning on ending my life, then I was taken off of a medication and things drastically changed. within the month I was feeling so much better, so hopeful and confident, like I had been under a dark cloud for 4 years that had finally went away.

the semester was great and I finished with a 4.0 (for those outside of the US, that's a perfect overall grade). then I had to move back home for the summer.

I love my mother. I love her a lot, but she is miserable to live with. she's so nosy and so judgemental. I'm anxious and on edge whenever she's around, which is all the time.

I went to stay with my dad for the weekend, but things turned for the worst (it wasn't his fault) and I got really overwhelmed and had an anxiety attack, but I couldn't have the anxiety attack then and there because I had to keep going, I had to keep working through the crying and breathlessness. I lied to my dad and told him it was a really bad migraine just so I could go sit down and stop shaking. I must not have looked well at all. my dad and I left early, leaving the rest of the project to everyone else. then my dad called his brother to cancel the get-together we were going to have the today for my aunt's birthday. she wanted my dad to cook something special.

but he thought I was too sick to go, so we didn't.

the weight of not being able to recover from an anxiety attack for 5 hours, not finishing the project and letting the kids down, and ruining my aunt's birthday, plus not eating for a full day and being dehydrated... it was too much. I needed a release. and I felt like everything was my fault.

so I relapsed.

I thought I had been clean for 5 or 6 months, but I sat down and did the math, and I was actually clean for 7 months. all of it gone in one night.

I'm so upset with myself, but I also know that if I hadn't done it, I would have done something much much worse. I felt like I deserved to be punished for always being a burden to everyone. very rarely do good choices come from that mindset.

I know I shouldn't blame myself. maybe it's my upbringing of "everything bad that happens to you is your fault" or maybe it's seeing the disappointment on everyone's face when my chronic pain flares up and ruins everyone's day, but I can't fight the feelings of wanting to just disappear. I feel like my loved ones would be better off without me around. but I can't support myself so I can't leave. I'm stuck here thinking I'm burden to everyone and everyone is stuck with me, having their lives ruined by all my chronic pain and fragile stomach.

I was doing so much better. then I came back to this stupid town where everyone is miserable all the time and there's no life to be had. I've been here for 3 weeks and I've already gone from pure happiness to relapse. I don't know if I can survive 4 months of this until I move back to the city for uni. (why is summer break so long? the vast majority of kids haven't had to help in the fields for generations, why can't we have longer school years with more evenly spread out breaks?)

the worst part is being a burden on my friends. they have so much to worry about in their own lives. I want to talk to them and tell them all this and ask for a hug (I genuinely can't remember the last time I was hugged by someone) but I know if I talk to them, they'll worry and I don't want to burden them any more than I already do.

I don't want to die, but I don't think I can survive life much longer.

I know things will get better, but I'm not sure I can make it long enough to see it.

I'll probably delete this in the morning, I just needed to talk, and I can't afford therapy. thank you to everyone who's read this far, and I'm sorry for burdening you with my problems. I know there are much worse things going on in the world right now and I'm doing my best to help them with all the support I can give.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (No TW this chapter, but keep in mind the grander story involves major character injury)

Words: 6.7K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Chapter Summary: Aftermath.

This is officially the longest complete SU fic I’ve finished. I’m so proud ;w;

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

_____

Chapter 4: The Remembrance

His mind is shrouded by darkness for long enough that in the split instant the curtains finally part, for just a momentary shard of infinity, the mere idea of any world beyond the pitch-black he’s become so accustomed to seems like a farce.

Resultantly, his journey to consciousness is about as labored and exhausting as a backpacking trip across the Great North in the dead of winter.

He’s greeted by flashes of white, first— intermittent, dim. They splash across his inky sky in unreliable patterns, little bursts of static gearing up to pull him out of this all-consuming nothingness and back to reality. Next, a heartbeat. Steady and sure, such a relief to experience that his throat can’t help but constrict in a wave of all-encompassing emotion. (Why is he so relieved to feel something this normal?) Lying somewhere intangibly beyond his awareness, he can hear... water? Waves, he immediately corrects himself. The aching familiarity of waves crashing upon the shore, a sound he’s shared his front yard with for almost his whole life. Elsewhere, the faint scent of herbs and simmering broth delicately pulls on his consciousness, burning through tangled threads of disorientation and confusion and beckoning him awake.

Steven’s eyelids flutter open, thin lines of light streaming through the gaps between his eyelashes.

The moment he does however, the stark actuality of his situation slams into him with a vengeance. His head throbs as memories begin to re-establish themselves like individual puzzle pieces locking into place.

 I was— Dad, and Amethyst... the fountain... empty, and then Pearl had to....

His heart’s pace snaps into overdrive in seconds. Thrashing under his blankets, he manages to kick his arms and torso free so he can rush to sit up. Dizziness assails him as he yanks up the bottom of his pajamas and splays his hand across the smooth, warm surface of that diamond at his core, feeling for cracks, for chips, for—

 Huh. Imagine that.

Steven inhales deep as he attempts to balance out the pace of his breath, blood still pounding in his ears as he delicately traces a shaking index finger around the edge of the central pentagonal facet of his gem, entirely unblemished and whole. There’s no sign of damage, no thin stress fractures left behind. No evidence that it was ever cracked at all, really. For an excruciatingly lengthy moment his brow creases inwards in confusion as he wonders if all this agony was nothing but a stress-induced nightmare. But then again...

He groans, pressing his fingers to one of his throbbing temples as the ambient pain hits him.

Oh stars, everything aches. His head, his limbs, his spine, every square inch of his body feels like he’s been pressed through a meat grinder and ruthlessly spat out on the other side. If that’s not proof that what happened on his mission with Amethyst was real, then he doesn’t know what is. Drowsily, he flops back against his pillow and squeezes his eyelids shut, stubbornly yearning for the comfort and familiarity of sleep-induced unconsciousness. Maybe, just maybe... he can sleep these aches away.

Time passes far too unreliably as he’s laying motionless there, struggling against a hyperactive flood of thoughts to return to his earlier state of rest. Has he been awake for a minute? Half an hour? He has no idea. The only concrete thing he can glean is that he definitely has a headache right now. Maybe even a migraine. He’s still not sure what the difference between those is supposed to be. Is it a ‘squares are rectangles, but rectangles aren’t squares’ sort of scenario? Or are they synonyms? Hmm. Maybe he should ask Dad, he’d probably know. In fact, where is Dad? And how’d he end up in bed in his pajamas, anyways?

He’s honestly relieved when he hears the unmistakable sound of Pearl’s light, precise footsteps climbing the stairs to his room, if only that it gives him a solid excuse to face reality and stop deluding himself with the tragic, unobtainable lie that is peaceful slumber. He lets his eyes flutter open again.

“Hi, Pearl,” he mumbles when she reaches the top step.

She’s carrying a small dinner tray with a steaming bowl of something delicious smelling (the broth he recognized earlier?) and a glass of water perched atop. Meeting his half-alert gaze, her expression lights up with a glow of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” she says, a great deal of the stress locked in her shoulders melting away as she crosses the room towards his bedside. “I was just about to wake you myself, if you weren’t already.”

Rubbing away the exhaustion crusted at the corners of his eyes with the joint at the base of his thumb, he watches as Pearl carefully places the tray on the nightstand at his right. With a groan, he bows upwards under his covers, the vertebrae in his back popping and sighing all the while as he stretches. Goodness, he’s not sure his spine has ever felt so stiff and tight. Remind him to never accidentally get hurled against a tree in combat again.

“How... how long was I out?” he asks then, the workaholic part of him already fearing her answer.

Pearl glances towards the ceiling, her brow creasing as she makes the calculation in her head.

“Hmm, I think... around seven hours?“

“What??” he cries, shooting upright in bed with the speed of a spring trap. “Seven hours?! That’s like, the whole day! I had plans!”

She frowns pensively, gesturing widely with her hands as she replies. “Steven, you were cracked and needed time to recover. A hit like that is bound to take a serious toll on any body, hard-light or not.”

His features morphing into a scowl, he slouches back against the wall. That’s a fair point, how disruptive cracks can be for full-Gems as well. It’s not just a matter of Pearl babying him. Even though they healed Amethyst’s fracture fairly quickly, years back, it still took her a few days of rest before she rose to the top of her game again. And as much as he’d love to deny it, right now his whole body honestly feels like it’s been hit head on by a truck at sixty miles per hour. It’s a dull but constant brand of pain he can’t claim he’s ever dealt with before all this mess. That month he shot up almost a foot in height back when he was 14 came close, but even that period of ache was more subtle than this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says with a heavy sigh, threading his fingers together in his lap.

“Anyways,” she says gently, the reminder of her presence cutting through some of the layers of his pain-induced melancholy, “it’s 5:38 now, just in time for dinner! And I took the liberty of cooking a batch of your favorite soup.”

Unable to help himself, his inner child gasps in sheer joy. He sits up again, slamming his palms to his cheeks as he gushes with excitement. “Chicken and vegetable soup with the tiny star noodles??”

Any lingering crankiness about the percentage of the day wasted dissipates into a fine mist as Pearl picks the tray off the nightstand and passes it into his lap, confirming the identity of his homemade dinner. As he begins to eat— carefully, taking small spoonfuls at first to ensure that his stomach can handle it— his guardian sits at the edge of his bed and provides him updates on the rest of the family’s whereabouts. Apparently Garnet’s still halfway across the galaxy, but should be returning home tomorrow the moment she’s through with her mission. She sends her love, Pearl says. She also texted Connie to let her know what happened, and his friend plans to come over as soon as she can in the morning to spend time with him as he recovers. Meanwhile, Greg left a few minutes before he woke up to hit the store. He’s picking up some new food for the both of them, and intends to sleep downstairs on the couch the next few nights to keep tabs on him.

“He’s been really worried about you,” she admits, reaching out for his hand as if she too frets he might suddenly fade into the ether if she takes her eyes off him for one moment. “Before I told him to step out of the house for some mental rejuvenation, he never left your side.”

Steven responds to her tactile affection with a soft squeeze for her benefit, but quickly lets go to continue eating his soup.

“Well,” he says through a fresh spoonful of food, “‘m fine now, so...” Pause to swallow, the bump of his larynx bobbing in his throat. “So there’s no need to worry anymore.”

“Oh, if only it were that easy,” she comments, a melancholy smile framing her face.

With a sigh, she stands to her feet, smoothing out the edge of the covers where she once sat. Watching this small act, he suddenly wonders if her vast history with deeply troubling experiences like what she had to witness this morning are why she’s so emotionally drawn to tasks such as tidying and repairing; after all, these do allow her space to exert a small degree of control over areas of her life she might otherwise harbor concern or anxiety towards. Huh. He presses his lips into a tight line as he willfully contemplates this concept. Considering his earlier disappointment about how much daylight he’s wasted, (so many business and socialization meetings he’s missing in town today!), perhaps he inherited a portion of his own workaholic tendencies from emulating her throughout his childhood. He dares not follow this rabbit any further, however... dares not ask what he’s distracting himself from.

 Another time, Universe.

Brimming with a renewed sense of purpose, Pearl crosses towards the narrow patio outside the open slider door, her features returning to their neutral, observant state.

“In any case,” she continues as she rests her palm flat against the glass, “please do enjoy the rest of your meal! I’m going to fetch Amethyst from the observatory. She’s been, um... how to say... on Diamond pacifying duty these past few hours, and I’m sure she‘s desperate for a break.”

He offers a sharp grimace in response to this sentiment, knowing from almost two years of firsthand experience that patiently keeping watch over those Gem monarchs is no easy task. “Youch, my condolences. Feel free to send her in, I’d love to see her.”

Pearl nods in confirmation, and then slips out the doorway towards the observatory’s ramp.

He enjoys what little is left of his soup as he waits. Thankfully, his system shows no signs of unrest, which allows him to finish the whole bowl. Good thing, too. He unfortunately recalls losing his breakfast earlier this morning amidst the blunt force of that spiked tail to his stomach, which means he’s had little to no food in him all day. Now, he’s no medical expert, (Connie would likely know the answer thanks to her mom, though), but surely that can’t be good for recovery.

Amidst his better wishes, his thoughts turn to all the social meetings and appointments he’d planned for today. He can’t imagine Pearl knew his itinerary well enough to contact each and every person he’d unintentionally blown off, so that means from all of their perspectives they waited and waited and he simply... never showed up. Like Mayor Nanefua. He was supposed to discuss logistics about Little Homeschool’s eventual opening with her at town hall immediately after the corrupted Gem mission. Peridot. He agreed to meet with her at one of the ancient drop ship sites to assist in de-arming it for safety purposes. Lars. Before all this happened, he was genuinely looking forward to hanging out with Lars and the rest of his Gem gang this afternoon. And because he was reckless and got himself cracked on what should’ve been the most straightforward mission of all time, he let them all down. He groans, slumping backwards until his head clunks against the wall. Ughhh. Stupid, stupid Steven. Now, where on earth’s his phone? He should probably start to clear up this mess.

Steven places his empty bowl on the tray on his nightstand, and begins dutifully searching the tabletop. Before his search can bear any fruit, however, Amethyst bursts into the room, toting one of the handheld diamond communication lines they store in the observatory. (Blessedly, this one comes without self-destruct functionality. Times have sure changed since the daring days when Peridot emphatically called Yellow Diamond a clod.)

“Hey, little man!” she chimes when they meet each other’s glance, her relieved smile admittedly rather infectious. “It’s great to see ya’ up and at ‘em again.”

He offers a bashful laugh, twirling his finger around a short curl at the nape of his neck. “Y-yeah, I’m—“

“Yo, what’s this here, though?” she interjects, bee-lining to his nightstand to stick her nose in his dinner tray. Her face falls the moment she sees inside the bowl, which he’s dutifully scraped empty. “Dude, come on, you didn’t leave any for me?”

“What? Nooo,” he says in mock protest, his voice wavering in laughter. “I already ate it.”

Amethysts reaches forward and gives him a solid noogie, ruffling his hair until its ends are all mussed. Even though his head still hurts he can’t help but giggle, playfully batting her arms away. Hah, typical quartz sibling affection. Gotta love it.

“Nah, I’m just goofin’!” she grins. “You’ve lost enough food today on the forest floor, so I wouldn’t be stealin’ any even if I could.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” he comments with an eye roll, lips pursed as he tries not to muse too hard about the uncomfortable burning sensation associated with that abhorrent experience, least he vomit all over again.

Meanwhile, Amethyst’s high spirits finally hit their crest and begin to break like the distant din of white water waves offshore as she nervously tussles with the crystal octahedron clasped in her palm.

“But, ah... ignoring all that, Blue D said she wanted to talk to you?”

She presses the diamond line into his possession with fettered urgency, the posture of her hands vocalizing an unspoken, underlying message of “oh stars, I’m going insane babysitting these ancient Gem monarchs, please take this from me NOW.” Or at least, that’s what he gleans from it. To be fair, his months of near-constant interaction with them may make him a little biased on the subject.

“Probably best not to keep her waiting. We can catch up later,” she says, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.

And with that she hurtles down the stairs into the main living area, ditching him within this empty room with the equivalent of an intergalactic phone that dials direct to who he can only describe as his honorary Gem grandparents. Sure, so maybe most Gems don’t have “children” in the same manner humans do, and maybe the Diamonds themselves have no clear understanding of the classification of human familial relationships, (despite their somewhat touching attempts at learning a few details about Earth culture for his sake), but the quasi-parental role they played in his mother’s life is undeniable from his perspective. So is their “out-of-touch” nature, a common stereotype he sees played up for drama with fictional grandparents on TV shows all the time. He’s not sure how he feels yet that this stereotype rings so true with his own.

Regardless, if Blue wants to talk, then there’s no time like the present. As much as he dreads it, this conversation is bound to happen eventually, of course— and after all their concern, the diamonds more than deserve an update on his well-being. Steven swallows hard, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the crystal as he summons the courage to dial, desperately attempting to not let the sour notes of their last interaction tint the underlying sentiment of this one before it can even begin.

Eventually, he sucks in a deep breath and activates the communicator. The octahedron glows a soft blue, and after a few seconds’ time during which the signal is crossing to the far edge of the galaxy, projects a view screen above its upper point.

The image is fuzzy at first, but sharpens fast once Blue connects from her end. She immediately smiles as she looks upon him, elated emotion running so deep within her that for once, it even manages to reach her eyes.

“Steven! I’m so glad to see that you’re okay,” she begins in full earnesty, clasping her hands together in front of her gem.

He doesn’t respond at first, finding himself too distracted by the scenery, and by the radical juxtaposition of Blue’s current demeanor to her behavior last night. Given the glimpse of White’s empty throne behind her shoulder, he’s pretty sure she’s sitting alone in the ballroom, the sight of which can’t help but stir up unwanted memories of the brief argument they had right before he rushed off to visit home, b-because... oh stars, he was right there, standing right in her presence when she reflexively forced her tears on him.

She wanted to throw him a massive planet-wide ball honoring his sixteenth birthday, wanted to organize a whole coalition of Gems to set up the venues, the entertainment, the food, everything— and when he finally managed to squeeze a word in edgewise between all her unfettered excitement to inform her that he wished to spend his birthday celebrating with his family on Earth instead, she was inconsolable. Crying. Raising her voice. Blaming him of running away from her just like Pink did all those years ago. In the heat of the moment he believed he was simply standing up for himself and his preferences, but fast forward to the present and he can’t help but question the etiquette of his own response more and more as the cruel minutes tick onward. Did he do the right thing, or did he only cause her undue emotional harm? Will Blue Diamond accept his stance moving forward, or will she press the topic again? (After all, he knows her desire to tether him to Homeworld for his birthday is merely a symptom of her greater longing for him to live in the palace with them permanently.) And if she does, is he even allowed to express his opinions when he’s outright walking a tightrope every day he’s in the public eye, single-handedly balancing Gemkind’s delicate political situation in both hands as he slowly but surely advances towards the light on the other side? He must be careful. One wrong move, and everything he’s been working towards for the past year could topple, could cause a disastrous vacuum.

No matter the personal cost, isn’t it his duty as savior of the galaxy to ensure that doesn’t happen?

Gems are depending on him.

And as much as he wants to be selfish and dig his heels into the ground to ensure his own comfort for once in his life, he’s not sure that’s even an option anymore.

Steven grips onto the edge of his bedspread with his free hand, clamping his fingers in tight, reveling in the sensation of skin shifting against downy fabric. It’s just enough to tether him back to the present. To ensure he doesn’t lose himself in the riptides of bitter memory. But by the time his scattered awareness clues in on the fact that he’s probably remained silent for an overly awkward period of time, it’s much too late, and in due consequence, he mentally returns to the scene to find that Blue has kept on talking with or without his conscious attention.

Hah. Serves him right, honestly.

“—was just explaining the details of the disastrous mission you embarked on today,” she says, making small gestures in embellishment of her soft-spoken words, “when your Pearl entered to announce you were awake. I’ll let the others know as soon as I can.”

He swallows, his throat hopelessly dry, as dry as the fine granules of sand scattered across the upper shore on an intensely hot summer’s day.

“I, um—“ he manages, voice wavering. (And quite honestly, feeling stupid for it, in her presence. How many months has he spent perfecting his technique for confidently speaking with the diamonds, again?) He adjusts his hold on the octahedral crystal as he vies to regain some sense of inner balance for the rest of this conversation. “So Yellow and White know too, then?”

Blue leans upon one of the armrests of her throne, releasing a weary sigh. It’s only then that he begins to take note of the residual anxiety blanketed across her form— the almost bruise-like shadows under her eyes appearing deeper than usual, her normally flawless hair now frizzy and unkempt— and if he’s honest, he struggles to understand how he truly feels, knowing that the news of his injury could affect her in such a soul-striking manner. (He often wonders if it’s fair of him, interacting with them in such a detached business-like fashion when, despite their intermittent shortcomings and confusions, they’ve offered him nothing but love and adoration in return since the beginning of era 3.)

“Oh, they were the first to know. Yellow answered the initial call, and White, she was hosting a court session with some of the fusion Gems just next door. I—“ She presses the pad of her thumb to the center facet of her gemstone, pausing in her words a moment to take a sharp inhale. “I only learnt about what nearly happened to you a fragment of a rotation ago, upon my return to the palace.”  

His brows furrow, suddenly realizing the fact that, beyond Blue, the throne room she sits in sounds desolate. Void of all Gems. “Where is everyone, anyways?”

“Distracting themselves, mostly. Last I heard, they’re busy trying to locate any of Pink’s essences that might still remain within our stores, just in case something like this should happen again. Of course I dread the very thought, but...”

Her voice wavers with just the hint of a sob, as she momentarily breaks from her explanation to regain her composure.

(Steven is ashamed to admit that he fails to mask the instinctual tightening of his shoulders as he sees fresh tears brim upon the digitized representation of her visage, even though logically he knows there’s no chance her influence could cross all these light years to weigh down on him here. Not on Earth. Not this far away.)

“...I couldn’t bear to lose another,” she manages, and— after dabbing those teardrops away with her curled fingers— glances back up to meet his gaze with those boundless, melancholy eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, chest growing tighter at the untimely reminder of his mom’s passing, an inseparable facet of his life history he still hasn’t managed to process yet. Perhaps subconscious in nature, his free hand creeps its way under his shirt to rest protectively over his gem. “No one deserves to go through that pain again.”

“Y’know, that’s why I really do wish you’d consider our offer to permanently live with us on Homeworld, in the safety of the palace,” she mentions then, clasping her hands together as if this were a dawning, glorious new idea Steven’s never heard before. “After all, I’m sure none of this would’ve happened under the protection of the guard.”

“Uh, I don’t thi—“

“Can you imagine it, all four diamonds finally reunited under the same stars?” Blue continues, a wide smile passing gracefully across her lips as she waxes on about this indulgent dream of hers. “We could grow you an orchard, so you have as much food as you need, and your pebbles could make you whatever clothes or luxuries you desire. And of course, there’s still the matter of your annual birth celebration to attend to...”

Steven can’t help it. He can’t manage to stop himself, no matter how pathetic he knows his reaction is.

In the light of this topic’s re-emergence, he zones out again. He slips directly into the welcoming embrace of inattention and subconscious thought. His head’s pounding, the pulsing discomfort birthing a brand new species of ache right behind his eyes. It’s miserable, but no more miserable than the idea of the future Blue Diamond has been continuously pushing for the last few months. No more miserable than the idea of being trapped on a planet with individuals who — no matter how hard they try and change their habits for his sake in the present— have all deeply hurt him at various stages of his life. And sure, he knows this is a twisted, selfish sentiment for him to harbor, because of how Pink abandoned them in the past, because of how all three of them have worked so tirelessly these past months to reorganize their entire way of life: to actually see him as his own person instead of a shadow of his mom, to healthily process their own emotions instead of tearing others down, to openly invite fusions and off-colors into the light of society. They’ve genuinely changed for the better. He should be overjoyed about that, shouldn’t he? He should be happy for them.

And yet joy is the last thing he feels when faced with the genuine possibility that he might not be strong enough in his own convictions to stand up to Blue’s desires, that he might one day find himself trapped long-term on a planet that— albeit picturesque in its own unique way— he doesn’t call home, his feet rooted to the dead soil by thorny vines born of his own timidness.

Somehow, in the face of all his fears, he swears he’s transforming into a coward.

He didn’t used to be. The Steven Universe of Era 2 wouldn’t dare stand down from making his opinions heard, would fight for what he believes in until star-shine glistens overhead and all denizens of the galaxy could experience true freedom.

So what the hell is his hang up now? He knows exactly how he wants to respond, so why can’t he simply summon the courage to do it? Why can’t this be as intuitive as summoning his shield, or a bubble?

Why does he have to feel so... so twisted up inside about this?

Steven clenches his teeth then, a sudden spike of residual pain arcing up his spine. Yikes, okay. That doesn’t feel great. Maybe he’s been sitting up for too long, and needs to lay down and rest again.

Or else, maybe after he’s finally done discussing matters with Blue he could...

Wait a minute.

The fingers of his free hand begin to knead the blanket in his lap with a new wave of gusto as he comes to an abrupt revelation about his present condition that could change literally everything.

Stars, that’s perfect. That’s not even a lie! Why on Earth didn’t he think of this before?

He was severely injured this morning. The gemstone at his core outright could’ve shattered, without treatment. Surely any fellow Gem would understand if he says he needs some extra time to fully recover? Perhaps even... the rest of the week? Including his birthday? And on top of that, this extra time would allow him all the privacy he needs to figure out how to confidently and politely decline Blue’s recurring request to live on Homeworld. He’d literally be hitting two targets with one shield!

He nibbles at the inside of his bottom lip as he considers how best to phrase this.

“Hey, Blue?” he calls, immediately garnering her full gaze. “Um—“

Although briefly squirming like an insecure child under those intense azure irises, he stamps down that devilishly tempting urge to go silent and recede into the shadows of this conversation again, wholly compliant to whatever she says. No, he has to speak his mind. No positive change in this relationship will ever occur unless he resolves to stand up for himself, no matter how many reminders it takes. His muscles grow tense as his mouth bobs open once again.

“About the whole birthday celebration thing, I, uh...”

His tongue grows excruciatingly dry in his anxiety, and he’s suddenly struck with the reminder that he never drank the water Pearl left on his dinner tray. Pity, that. He swallows, throat tight and scratchy, and continues.

“I think it’s very kind of you to offer hosting a ball for me on Homeworld, but as of right now, I... I’m very, very sore, and need to stay at my home for a few days to recover from my injury, okay? I promise I’ll visit in person as soon as I’m physically able to,” he rapidly blurts, recognizing a glint of hurt coat Blue’s otherwise attentive expression, “just... after my birthday.”

The diamond lets her weary eyes flutter shut as she takes a moment to soak in everything he just said. Honestly, he can’t think to guess what’s running through her mind right now, and he’s not sure he wants to. Eventually however, she offers an extended sigh, its watercolor edges brushed with an air of melancholy.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replies, offering him a watery smile. “We wouldn’t want to upset your fragile organic system so soon after such an ordeal, now would we? Very well, then. I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Thank you,” he says, his shoulders finally loosening up from their overwrought state.

“We can do something to celebrate when you’re back on Homeworld, just the four of us. In fact, I’ve been talking with White, and we have the perfect idea for a gift!”

Steven gives a small nervous laugh, fiddling with the back of his shirt collar. “Hahah, yeah? Well, I guess I’ll look forward to it. Anyways, uh... thanks for checking in. Bye.”

His heart still pounding despite the overwhelming sense of resolution, his thumb presses the bottom point of the octahedron inwards, ending the call. He gently sets aside the communicator on his nightstand, next to his empty soup bowl. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he flops backwards on his bed with his arms stretched wide and gives a sharp, celebratory cackle of relief. He... he finally did it! He spoke his mind. He stood up to Blue’s headstrong desires, successfully reasserted his intentions. Set clear boundaries, just like Amethyst said he should. And as his reward, maybe now he can celebrate his birthday at home without guilt hanging like a weighty anvil over his head. Just maybe. He smiles, allowing his sore body to sink right into the plush cocoon of his mattress.

For the first time today, things are finally on the up-and-up.

And so that pattern continues through the rest of the evening. It’s not long after his call with Blue that his dad returns from the store, not even bothering to put the frozen and refrigerated foods in their proper temperature controlled places before bounding upstairs to check on him upon the call of his name. No amount of detailed description could ever hope to intimately capture the full spectrum of sheer elation and love Dad unloads on him in the precious minutes that follow, but by the end of it his father’s sobbing in his arms, exhausted tears staining the collar of his pajama shirt as they clutch to each other with iron clad grips. At this point, the only way Steven can hope to respond is to act as nothing more but a solid rock, if only to reassure him that he’s alive, he’s well, he’s here.

The two of them spend a good chunk of the remaining evening together, watching reruns of Under the Knife at the foot of his bed while nibbling on some cheddar popcorn. It’s rejuvenating, honestly. Stars, is it rejuvenating. Somehow it seems like an eternity since they’ve been able to just... live life together, even in the simplest of ways. They’ll share a dinner here and there when he visits home, sure— a video call from another planet every week or so, yes— but there’s something so fundamentally irreplaceable about physically leaning against your loved ones and spending a tangible amount of time with them that he’s sorely missed over his busy months as Era 3’s ambassador. It’s special. Something to cherish. And something he dearly hopes to engage in with his family and friends a lot more as his immediate duties with the Diamonds wind to a close.

At some point in the middle of their fourth episode, Steven finally finds his phone. It was in his jacket pocket, of course— the new pink wool one he left slung over his desk chair before leaving on the corrupted Gem recovery mission this morning. With that retrieved, he makes sure to text a quick update to all the friends he missed seeing today. Even though logic tells him getting cracked wasn’t entirely his fault, it’s hard to dodge the temptation of guilt. Thankfully though, with the rest of the week now scrubbed entirely free of Homeworld stuff, perhaps he can reschedule a few of these gatherings.  

The rest of his night is uneventful.

The Gems pop in and out to check on him, otherwise attending to their own obligations. Over the comforting backdrop of the television, Dad gushes about the concert he’s organized in town next week for Sadie Killer and the Suspects. Says he’s hopeful it’ll be a sellout. In return, he provides lush descriptions of some of the distant former colonies (now free planets) he’s gotten to visit as part of his political service. There’s some pretty stunning ones, he has to admit. The sightseeing he gets to engage in is a small but shining perk of his current responsibilities.

At ten, the TV is turned off. They hug and part ways, his dad quietly shuffling to the bathroom downstairs to brush his teeth and throw on a sleep shirt.

His headache is almost gone by now, having reduced to nothing more but a faint aura.

He’s standing outside on the porch enjoying some fresh, salty air before bed when Amethyst quietly slides into place alongside him, seeking his affection. She wraps her arms tight around his torso, burying her face against his shoulder. He reciprocates in kind. She doesn’t cry like Dad did, however. She doesn’t even speak. Rather, her purposeful silence ripples through his soul more than any concrete word or phrase ever could. Innately, he knows what she’s asking.

“I’m okay now,” he murmurs softly, blinking away his own budding tears while his expression is still hidden from her. “You healed me, I’m okay.”

“You’re a big liar, y’know that?” she says, voice muffled.

He rolls his eyes, pulling away from her embrace. “Fine, fine. I’m still a little sore. ‘Ya happy?”

Amethyst frowns, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she shifts her stance to lounge against the railing. “I’d be happier if none of that ever happened in the first place.”

Her frank statement hangs amidst the wind like a tattered flag upon an abandoned battlefield. Steven swallows, the resulting lump settling uneven in his throat.

(For a second he almost feels sick again, a surge of lingering discomfort churning at his core.)

“Yeah...” he sighs, staring off into the dim ocean horizon and forcing himself to acknowledge her unfortunate experience with this type of injury. “Yeah. I’m sorry if that brought back any bad memories for you.”

She scoffs. “Ch’yeah, so... I’m not gonna say it didn’t suck, but. It’s over now, y’know? I’ll deal. You don’t have to apologize for it, or anything.”

Long pause. His quartz sibling threads her fingers together as she leans against the chipping wood, silently tussling with herself under the ebbing solidarity of the ocean tides. A significant stretch of time passes between them before she finally takes it upon herself to speak again.

“‘S’not like it was your fault, anyways.”

His chest tightens upon recognition of that familiar self-blame inherent in her tone. If he were a stronger, better person, he might take it upon himself to chip away at the walls of that insecurity with love and reassurance, to be the kind, encouraging Steven he used to be. But he’s tired, and he’s lived long enough to acknowledge by now that perfectly formed words can’t fix everything. Not immediately, at least. People are complicated. He’s complicated. And sometimes the best one can manage is to simply act as a supportive companion to another.

Starlight glittering overhead, and the cool coastal breeze tussling at their hair, he joins Amethyst at the balcony and rests his cheek on her shoulder just like he used to do when he was little. Together, enveloped in a tension-filled silence, they watch the waves together. Watch the gulls pick at old food scraps further up shore, closer to the edge of the cliffs.

“Hey, what kind of gem was it, by the way?” he asks eventually. “You never said.”

“Ughhh,” she groans, dropping her head against the wood with a soft clunk. “A dang sapphire. Literally no wonder why she was so slippery!”

Steven can’t help the bubble of oddly placed glee that rises within him upon her answer. He cracks a dopey grin, shaking his head at himself. A snicker passes his lips.

A sapphire. Of course it was a sapphire. Gosh, isn’t that sweet, sweet vindication.

Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”

Perhaps finally cracking under months of accumulated stress, he breaks into peels of low laughter.

“What is it? Dude, ya’ gotta tell meeee!” she cries, playfully rustling at his arm as he doubles over against the railing, clutching his sides as he wrests to catch his breath and respond.

“No, it’s- it’s not even funny,” he says, pushing past the final surge and gaining some sense of composure again. “I just... my guess was spot-on. I’ve never seen a corrupted sapphire, before that.” His demeanor falls sober in a snap, wholly humbled by the abrupt reminder of the vital task waiting in his future, a task that— alongside the Diamonds’ bottled essences— only he can hope to see through. “I hope she’ll be okay, once she’s healed. I’m not even gonna mention what happened, honestly.”

Amethyst visibly pales at his allusion to the incident this morning. To ‘what happened.’ Hah. As if cushioning the truth in vague, non-specific language could at all erase the stark reality of what he went through. Sometimes he really is daft.

“Steven, I—“ she swallows hard, nibbling at her knuckles for a moment as she contemplates the greater details of whatever seems to be assailing her mind. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, okay? But... I have to at least ask. Do you, like... remember anything?”

He frowns, avoiding her direct gaze as he moves to lean against the balcony, overlooking the blustery shoreline.

“What, you mean about... everything after the fight? And at the, ah... at the fountain, yeah?”

Amethyst offers a hesitant nod, her eyes glossed with marked worry. Peering at the pinprick constellations above as he reflects on this question, Steven experimentally nudges scattered fragments of memory closer together, the seconds and minutes of that experience progressively locking into place until—

The world bends and splinters within his sight, his dad and Amethyst’s tear-stricken faces phasing into each other as they sink ever further into the thickets of their fearful despair. He’s prone in their hold, hard light pulsing rampant through his veins, unregulated, unrestrained, stretching out from his broken gemstone like clawing, yearning fingers... his muscles taut at one moment and pliable at the next, wholly unable to exert control over his body as his every limb jitters and jerks, unable to staunch his hoarse sobs as he soaks in the cold, terrifying static of it all, and now his words are jumbled and backwards, and deep within he knows this with an intense clarity but he can’t help it, he can’t fix it, he can barely even think, he ca—

Steven inhales evenly, purposefully not allowing his expression to flash even a minuscule micro-expression of residual fear. After all, it’s Era 3. Everyone’s supposed to find happiness and fulfillment now, which can’t happen when people are stuck dwelling on their shadowed past. Thus, Amethyst doesn’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of what he does or doesn’t know. That’s his problem to shoulder, his boulder to carry.

And he refuses to force anyone else to carry the weight of his past for him. He refuses to become like Blue, still stuck in a tempestuous pattern of pushing her emotions on everyone around her and making them feel like crap.

Perhaps it’s foolish, but he sorely wants to believe he’s better than her.

“Nope,” he says, feigning an unparalleled air of confidence as he shakes his head to confirm the negative. “Can’t remember a thing.”