#embrace pregnant odysseus

[gigizetz]

I wonder what i just drew

so whos the father

Thank you everyone for sending pregnant odysseus drawings in my ask box I'm grateful to have the plattform I have to show hundreds of people your talents.

Also you decide who's the father (or mother! we don't judge in this house)

[elixs-mythology-corner]

Guys... stop flooding every artist's inbox with pregnant Odysseus. I mean, Gigi's embracing it so stick to theirs if you have the unexplainable impulse to, uh, ask someone for it.

Because I brought it up, now I have these little guys in my inbox…

No more Boobseidon for you guys. You've lost that right.

[kathyreviewsbooks]

Circe by Madeline Miller

Rating: 5/5

Summary: Circe is the daughter of the Greek god Helios. When she is born her father reveals that she isn't destined for the greatness of a god, that she would be best fit for a mortal. This couples with the fact that she appears to have no powers quickly has her siblings overshadowing her. She decided to seek comfort in the worldof mortals, or see companionship from mortals. She falls for a mortal and after searching to see what she can do to make this mortal an immortal, she discovers that she does have powers. She can do witchcraft, transforming rivals into into monsters and more. Zeus is quickly threatened by this and sends her into exile on an island where she quickly embraces her isolation and grows even stronger in her witchcraft. During her exile she crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in mythology-includong Odysseus himself. She ends up having Odysseus' son after he leaves her island, without him ever having known she was pregnant. Danger soon follows as she is pitted against Athena. She must draw all of her power to get through this and decide whether she belongs to the gods or the mortals she has come to love.

Rating: I absolutely loved this story. It was amazing. Circe was such a wonderfully written character. She was dimensional, had depth to her. Circe is an incredible retelling. On full of backstabbing, magic and most of all love and loss.

Madeline Miller drew me into this story with her beautiful writing. So much imagery and details, I could vividly picture what was happening. The book have you so much detail and yet it never felt overwhelming. You were never bombarded with too much information.

In every Greek retelling story I've read in which Circe appears she's depicted as simply an evil woman. However this story brought her truly to life, it explained her actions. It didn't make her actions seem good but it explained what led to them.

This book is one of woman empowerment. In a world dominated by men, Circe quickly proved that no one should mess with her lest dire consequences shall soon follow. I absolute loved her and quickly drew attached to her. I was cheering for Circe every step of the way. I cried when she felt pain as Madeline Miller so wonderfully drew me into the story.

I love the way that Madeline Miller interested other myths with Circe's story. However she still kept the story being about Circe. There was never any doubt that Circe was the main character. Everything else was just things that helped move her along. That helped shape her. It's such a vast difference from mythology as in mythology the praises of men are son. And more often the naught women are villiffied. Madeline Miller completely changed that and made Circe a character with depth, with their own ambitions and fear. She mad Circe the main character and showcased all the ways that she helped move other's stories along.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Violence, gore, murder, torture, physical abuse, child abuse, thoughts of suicide, brief scene with cutting, graphic childbirth scenes, mention of bestiality, mention of incest, animal sacrifice, death of a sibling, death of a child, death of a loved one, death of an animal, rape, adultery, and war themes.

[words4bloghere]

I love Lore Olympus and I love Punderworld, but there’s just something that bothers me with both. So here’s a fic!

First, you have to understand family.

When the Earth reached up to the Sky, and he embraced her, their commingling gave rise to the Titans. There was no birth and there was no relation, save for the relations that would beget the first.

So Rhea and Cronus simply were. And they simply begat.

It was difficult for me to think of the rest as siblings. Cronus swallowed us like his own seed, taken in after the fact. Perhaps that was the start of it; some paternal urge not to totally destroy his children. But either way, fatherly intent or not, we were taken in. We grew in the dark but did not germinate. 

And anyway, none of us then knew Zeus. 

He was a stranger and unknown to us. He was our hero.

(I would later come to despise Odysseus on principle.) 

After we returned, our expulsion, another act of birth - and certainly our father cried out as if in labor - the war began. 

It was won, as such things are, and we were given our parcels.

I was bidden unto Gaia, twice now a lovers’ traitor, and clearly in need of a sentry. It was because of my calling to sacred law; I would uphold the justice Zeus had laid out. Things would follow their proper routes, from life to death. No longer would fathers fear their sons, as they would only look at the blowing wheat and fear impending age. 

Not the Gods of course. The Gods had no such fear.

(Yet was it not fear that made wise Hestia choose her sacred virginity?)

Fertility was something I only considered tangentially. I cared about the budding of flowers, not breasts. Menstrual blood did not occur among the cereals, but I knew plenty about flowing seed. 

Let Hera go to the mortal women. Let her birth War from her loins. My work was maintaining the garden of plenty, my Cornucopia.

(Perhaps I should have worried about other things. Of more earthly things.)

I could smell earth, I could taste pollen, and I could see the result of my perpetual labor.

(I don’t think they’ll ever talk about the flowers I sent to him. They always died when I cut them.)

When a child is born to the gods, does anyone consider the pregnancy? A Goddess is pregnant for precisely as long as is required. But if a God cannot bleed, what trickles out as the babe is born? Is it ichor? Or salty water, as many were who came from Oceanus? 

I wouldn’t really know now, would I?

What was I, before Zeus came to me? Don’t any of you know?

But it’s not his season yet in this story.

For all of his name, I saw him plenty. 

The grain that spilled out from my hands after the harvest became silver coins in his. A mortal transition made this alchemy possible and it delighted me. We discussed that, among many things. Or really, he would argue with me.

“They sustain themselves on the death of my plants, and they pay for the privilege of staying alive.” I said. 

The harvest sunlight was the most Hades could handle, staying in the Underworld as often as he did. His helm caught no light, however, and became a permanent shadow that never looked quite like it belonged. 

“The cost of the grain goes down the less life it has in it. So really, they’re paying for life to extend their own.” He replied.

“Either way, death comes.” I said.

“Death comes for them all, either way.” He said.

(I know what the stories say, but he was my friend. If I had thought about it, I would have said I loved him for that.)

Back then, there was no winter. My grief had not frozen the world. I had not begun to hate it yet. Instead, I took a break as I watched the mortals celebrate. Hades kept me company and we both relished no longer being in the darkness. Neither of us did very well with the others of our brood.

And perhaps it was because of our watching that we began to understand. We understood power, and watched as Ares ripped through the mortals like a fire through dry wheat. We understood lust as the mortals and Gods both tore themselves apart when Aphrodite walked through a room. We understood rape when Apollo and Artemis were born.

(I did not tremble when Hera went to Artemis, and Artemis became a sacred virgin. Nor when the not-yet-Pallas Athena did the same. I did not know.)

We never suspected what would happen when Zeus stood between heaven and earth.

Or, perhaps he did, as he knew Zeus better. But I was naive.

I am not vain, but I know I look my best at midsummer. I know this because the stone fruits are near bursting with juice, the bees are constantly drunk, and the air smells like ambrosia. I am the cycles of the earth after all, and what is in me is reflected upon it. 

He found me in my garden.

He stepped beyond my boundaries.

He crushed my blossoms beneath his heel.

He struck me and I could taste cherry wine.

The earth drank in my ichor and my salt water.

He took of my fruit and left my pit on the ground.

Nothing quickened in my womb.

That’s the joke you see. I was charged with being midwife to the greatest womb of it all, and was barren myself.

What need of a womb has a God? Aphrodite sprung up from the testicle blood of my grandfather. Athena split open Zeus’s head in full armor. 

I didn’t care, but Zeus saw it as a deformity. And thought to torture me, but I loved my job.

I was Kore, the Maiden.

Hades found me, split open and glistening with countless pomegranate seeds. He covered me in his shroud, so that I might be invisible. He bade Thanatos to cut the wheat, threshing a much humbler death for once. 

He carried me down into the Underworld, where the darkness was cool and the water made one forgetful. He washed me and I met his dog. 

(What God counts souls and coins, and names his dog Spot? Another thing for him to count I think.)

I napped as he cared for me so gently.

But what happens to my body so happens upon the earth.

I was cold, so the earth was cold. I was in darkness, so the earth was in darkness.

My maidenhood was gone and so the budding spring would not come. I could not tend to the fields, so nothing would grow. With the fields barren, there was no harvest.

Mortals died by the thousands.

Hades only left me to take his accounts. The souls required their shepherd. And it was that, not all of the Gods pleading for my return, that made me leave. I had become bitter fruit from their ill attention.

“Persephone!” They lamented to me now. They accused me, but recognized my power. Nothing would survive without food, and without my blessing there would be only death. 

“I love you.” Hades told me, pressing his forehead against my own as he held my hands. Of course he would love that which brings him meaning to his domain.

“I love you.” I told him, closing my eyes and feeling myself breathe. Of course I would love that which opens space for new growth and takes such precise account.

“You are leaving the world of the dead. Do you know what this means?” He asked me. I opened my eyes and looked at him, looking at me. 

“You are reborn.” He said. He held my face and kissed my tears.

“I let you go, and you are Kore once again.” He said. 

I still was changed, and we knew that. Kore emerged from the Underworld and was, in fact, reunited with her mother. Gaia was, in mortal terms, the one who gave me life from her own body. I returned to her and planted seed. I tended them and as they matured, so did I. I was wary of men and kept them away, allowing only women to attend my festivals. I became Demeter as I spoke of the richness of the earth and of the cycle that plays out slower in themselves than the barley and amaranth. 

For the harvest, Hades joined me. The mortals celebrated the mask of death, recognizing it for the essential part of the sacred cycle. They bade farewell to Persephone and hoped that Demeter’s watch was not too bitter- or else the winter would see them suffer all the more. 

The winter was none of my concern; I left that to Boreas.

He was the most gladdened to see me, as he waved me off and had free reign over the mortal lands. Some cycles my feet wouldn’t even touch the ground as he tossed me toward the cavernous gates.

Hades would count the freckles on my skin till I laughed, then scold me for ruining his count. He would clothe me in silver and gold, making me the only star in this underworld night sky. 

He called me Queen.

Ultimately, his work would add up. And Zephyrus would whistle for me. I would leave and Hades would linger.

(I make no apologies for any late spring, or hurried winter.)

I am the Maiden, I am Demeter, I am the Death Bringer. I am the sacred cycle of life.

I am the wife of Hades.

[talesofealdancynedom]

Odysseus in some more kingly ceremonial robes, and a goat; It’s strange because he’s actually addicted to jeans and plaid flannels.

34. The Green Letters (chapter 43 - Grand Gesture 4 ) part 8. Stories of Dreams.

none

“Dear Cetus,

Thank you for the reassurance. I’m glad to hear my son and Delphia will arrive safely. Unfortunately, you will have to take her back; And convince Gemini she’s Witch material. Unless she gets pregnant, because there’s another piece of paper which says everyone of house Cynedom has to be born on this ranch; And be named by their grandfather. I’m unsure if the line will continue though, as Morgan asserted he’s asexual and Delphia’s probably just a friend. But magic houses are The Raven King’s problem, not my son’s.

Also, thank you for reminding me how your five-year-old daughter rode a horse better then you, and how cute my son is; I bet he’s as tall as me now. I’m sad I missed him growing up. Everything I hear is from your phone calls with Icthya, and it’s not the same.

Regarding rekindling any sort of relationship, I have good news! Due to my weakness for Icthya’s smile, and as own of the ranch, I have declared thee, your wife, and Emilia, royal guests to the wizard binky ball this autumn.

See you all soon!

Oddi.”

 Cetus read aloud to Morgan, giving them a giggle. Cetus had bribed the local Garden wildling to be messenger; The ranch had a gate in a well that fairies could transverse, faster than national post. While on Tiberius Gate with Morgan, Cetus started to search for Delphia again; Hoping she’d returned, or left clues. It had been almost three days since she vanished. Morgan patrolled riding his familiar Icarus, but it was hard to see past the tree-line on an eagle’s back. Delphia’s disappearance had given everyone in town anxiety; But none more then Cetus and Morgan, who knew about the rangers.

“Cetus, I’m worried.” Morgan said, looking in every room as they ascended the tower. “I don’t want friends dragged into my mythical mishaps. She’s doesn’t deserve this, and was trying her best.” He murmured. Cetus panted, feeling his age.

“It’ll be fine when it’s all over; I’ve got your dad on it.” Cetus panted, feeling his age. Then Morgan went rigid; A downward spiral had stirred.

“Wait, my dad is in on this? What if he gets angry?! What if I’m not actually not ready to meet him?! This is a disaster!”

**************

She awoke with regrets, as she lay helpless and ill from the ether; This quest was beyond ‘Grand Gesture’, and circled into ‘poor impulsivity management’. A large white reptilian nose pocked from the clouds, retreated, and a tall man appeared. He wore spiked golden armour, and white velveteen; A silken cape trailing behind him like folded wings, and a spined tail.

“One of my housed! But you shouldn’t be here. But all is well. Once you sleep more, I will return you to Peak Suna.” The Dragon King said calmly.

“No, they will kill me if I show up back home. Just before this, my uncle came and tore everything from home, away. I’m so scared. Please; I want to stay with Morgan, and be the future Witch of Pepperidge. I hoped coming here would show my dedication to magic and Morgan. Prove I’ve changed. But this was a terrible mistake. I’m sorry for invading your kingdoms to feel better about myself.” Delphia rambled. The King knelt down; He collected the stories of humans, and was appeased. He noticed her ripped ears, hair, and clothes. Her people had indeed forsaken her. Moved, The Dragon King began putting marks of his children on her back, arms and shins; His children loved that Daneia did that. It would be something that no one could take from Delphia, without killing her. Nothing enchanted, just something to make her feel special.

“I will agree to good terms with a human under my influence. But you need healing, and my fire is too strong. I’s ask my wife, but I suspect the Beast Queens wouldn’t give you a healing embrace, as you’ve spoiled True Love.”

“Spoil True Love’s Spell? That’s silly. Those spells are unbreakable. Morgan and Emilia will always love each other now. There’s nothing I could do to tarnish that, even if I wanted to.” Delphia smiled. The Dragon King sighed, and picked up Delphia. He stopped suddenly as something caught his attention:

“Queen Odette? Since when do you perch upon my throne?” he asked.

“I will heal her; And return her to the tower.” Odette replied, approaching with poise. Pristine dove-like ruff, and layers of pale silk embroidered with wings. Delphia looked up at her in confusion.

“My husband requires her womb to revive a dying magic house. I require that wedding to happen, as requiting the Raven King denied me attendance of my cousin’s ceremony. I’m invested in her. Selfishly so, but still.” She affirmed.

“Wait, don’t touch me; I’m poisonous to things Morgan doesn’t love. What if you get poisoned?”

“I’m magic, and family; I trust I’m something he cares about.” She said kissing Delphia’s head, and transporting her into the main hall of Tiberius’s tower. Like a vision, Odette vanished to her kingdom.

Cetus immediately noticed Delphia; in an under gown, soaked in sweat and blood. He ran over for a hug. Delphia was surprised to be greeted so warmly.

“You’re ok! Were you in the Shadow Veil!? You could have died!” Cetus yelled.

“I know. I guess I thought doing so would fix things. But you hugging me. Do you like me now? Did this show I care, and am not just a tool or invader?” Delphia whimpered.

“What? Show you care? I’m hugging you because you matter regardless. This all really got to you, didn’t it…” Cetus said. Delphia just looked at Morgan and offered the tiara.

“The Fairy King said it’s protective; But only you can put it on me. Also, the Dragon King gave me these Daneia marks, because Kjatin broke my things. The Tree King made me toxic to anyone you don’t love, and The Rat King made me even more of a manipulative-” She rambled. Morgan stopped her, by putting the tiara on; Resulting in the appearance of a glittery, draped black dress. Morgan Smiled.

“That was super stupid to do without me. Your years of studying are proof enough. As for people to believing you’ve changes, that’ll take time.” He explained.

*****

After his birthday, Morgan was considered old enough to wed. Which is to say it was legal, but not recommended for most people. He went to the ranch shortly after. Everyone wore traditional formal clothes, like it was a costume party. Delphia and Morgan were stiffened by nerves, even while she wore her protective dress the whole trip. They’d be staying a week, and it terrified everyone. At least Cetus and Jupiter came with them.

Upon arrival to the ranch, Morgan appeared to jitter. He froze at the ranch’s title, swinging above the entrance of the low stone wall. A few deep breaths, and they signed the guest list. All the security dressed like knights. Or they were knights; Morgan couldn’t remember. One pace in, and he bumped his father. Odysseus twitching like a puppy. Cetus intervened, by hugging Odysseus, as he starred at his son. It comforted Morgan to see them not fighting like last time. Odysseus had visited illegally for a hug, which Morgan resisted. But this time, as his father embraced him, Morgan melted. They didn’t need words to express their desire to start over. Behind Odysseus was Icthya, giving Delphia and Emilia the same treatment; Then she dragged them to their cabin to get properly dressed. Morgan and Delphia would need to be polished for tomorrow.

While everyone ran around the next day, the family had woken early from anxiety. They were already clean and dressed. Morgan looked like a prince in his embroidered teal tunic, which brought out the tawny in his hair. Icthya and Odysseus looked like royalty in their emeralds and gold. Delphia wore the pink and silver embroidered dress, as commissioned. Emilia looked like a jazz singer. But Cetus’s attire reminded Delphia of what Kjatin took. He had blue embroider collar, silver, furs, and kohl. Half Daneia on his father’s side.

Before she could break, Delpia was shuffled to the goat pen. The goats were small and soft. Bred for centuries on the ranch. They had three purposes: milking, sheering, and tossing. Morgan joined his family, to look them over.

“They’re so cute! I want to hold one like a baby.” Delphia giggled. Emilia snorted. Morgan never really liked goat-tossing; They’re too adorable to be projectiles.

“So, Morgan, which one do you think is light enough to travel, but sturdy enough to land?” Odysseus said, wrapping his arm around Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan flinched a little. Odysseus also looked uncomfortable.

“Wow. Your, um, tall now. Like me. I’m ah, going to have to really work to give you piggy-backs now.” He stuttered. His boy had in fact, grown up without him. Morgan pointed to a soft white nanny. Odysseus whipped his face, and went into the pen.

“Um, what’s the goat for?” Delphia asked. Odysseus put the goat under his arm like a pillow.

“Just in case.” Odysseus shrugged.

At the alter, Delphia and Morgan stood emotionless. A speech in Elden Anglian was recited, as a green cloth tied over their wrists. There was a forced applause. Meanwhile, Odysseus patted the goat, as he skimmed the crowd. When everyone got up to leave, Delphia spotted Odette. She dashed over, intent on expressing gratitude, while still tied to Morgan. Delphia bowed to Odette; Her flowy periwinkle gown, draping perfectly. Without her Raven Queen gowns, and in such traditional dress, Odette blended in. Morgan thought she looked like her mother from the paintings.

“Thank you, Odette! For healing me, and taking me home. Also vouching for me, coming to this occasion, and restoring this ranch-” Delphia sobbed.

“No. Thank you for letting me finally attend my cousins wedding, and putting so many minds at ease. Your existence alone should hopefully deter some wizards from magery for a good while.” Odette smiled. She stood up, and looked into the orchard.

The party continued, as they served clove duck, pear pudding, and then danced. Everyone said hello to people they didn’t know. Due to spice wine, the conversation soured, and Cetus decided to escort his wife, nephew, Emilia, and Delphia, back to the cabin. A weight was lifted. At least until horse riding tomorrow.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay up a little late with your mother and father, Sport.” Cetus smiled, ruffling Morgan’s hair. Morgan nodded, and a creak sounded behind Delphia. Something was in the orchard. But that’s not what Everyone jump; A white nanny bleated a good eighteen feet passed them, hitting Kjatin in the face and into the blackberries.

“Knights! Arrest him!” Odysseus yelled like a giddy child. Three guards came, and dragged Kjatin to the security cabin. “I’ve always wanted say that.”

“Good throw sire!” One joked. Delphia had started crying compulsively, as Morgan tried to comfort her.

“Oddi, my heart nearly left my body! Why is he here!?” Cetus snapped.

“No clue. I just suspected he would come.” Odysseus shrugged. “Do any of you mind writing a report to deport him tomorrow?”

“Can we drag him behind a horse first?” Delphia sneered. Then gasped realizing her abilities.

“I didn’t mean that! I just thought since we were riding anyway!” She flailed. Morgan turned to see his uncle and father breathless from laughter. They were unintelligibly talking, like their friendship never faltered.

“Why do I feel like everyone got something out of this other then me?” Morgan said under his breath. Delphia rubbed his shoulder.

“We should be getting to bed. It’s going to take an hour to get out of this outfit, and calm down.”

“It’s tradition to share a bed tonight.” Morgan whispered. Delphia cringed.

“Not like that. We just have to sleep together. Again, not like that. Like, to make sure I’m a good heated blanket and you don’t kill me, or something. Actually, it’s not really clear.”  He continued. Delphia smiled, and comforted him on the way back into the cabin, serenaded by the chortle of reunited friends.

TABLE OF CONTENTS--->

<---PREVIOUS

[katerinaaqu]

Hahahaha ✨️ 😆 yeah ✨️ valid! Hahahaha ✨️

Sesame in theory was not cultivated in Greece as far back as bronze age but was apparently in Homer's time so I thought I could add one small anachronism in my story and make Penelope eating it hehehe 😉 because let's imagine that the sesame was imported instead for my story hahahaha 😆 so on my fanfiction/retelling the passage went as such:

She stood up and went to the table, pouring liquid in a goblet. However instead of doing what she did initially she drank deeply from it and leaned down. Her lips covered those burning ones. Odysseus felt the taste of water and honey in his tongue. His throat moved spasmodically and desperately to accept the sweet liquid. The softness of flesh against his lips…the taste of honey on his tongue… Penelope… Only she had breath that smelled of honey… Crusty honey cakes were her favorite snack. She was munching them all the time when she was pregnant to their sweet Telemachus and so her breath always tasted honey and sesame; her body smelt fine olive oil… Those lips desperately moved. Finally he was home… Penelope… His lips softly massaged those soft ones and moved harmoniously to the movement of response he felt. Oh, the longing! The sheer happiness! His lips tasted her again and again, hoping that his strength would come back; that his weak arm and hand that rose to touch that soft cheek would allow him to TRULY embrace her… He wanted to explore further…he wanted to taste more…however his body was sinking anew. Tears escaped his eyes, running and getting lost within his raven curly hair… Just a bit longer…oh, gods, have mercy…let me stay a bit longer… As that head sank down to the pillows, his mouth left hers and he drifted back to a deep sleep.

(Survivor's Guilt and Survivor's Duty Part 2)

So yup that is how I made it!

"Penelope's Sesame and Honey crusty Cake"

In my Odyssey fanfiction "Survivor's Guilt Survivor's Duty Part 2" I made Odysseus mention how Penelope loves this little sweet snack

This is in fact one of the most common savory snacks in Greece nowadays and we call it "pastèli" (παστέλι) while other versions exist all over Greece with different names (for example in Rhodes it is called "melekoùni") the basic version of this snack is consisted of two ingredients;

Sesame and honey.

This snack was known from the ancient greece and was known by the name "itrion" and it was quite famous in classical Greece as a snack for the Greek hoplites. That was because it was easy to make and traveled well because of sesame and honey and was a rich source of energy and a sweet snack to have for a break. Sesame was cultivated in Greece at least from Homer's time in the 8th century BC

Unfortunately nowadays it is not cultivated in Greece anymore and it is being mostly imported but this sweet snack is still around and it is the healthy choice if one wants to munch on something sweet during the day!

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 4)

Title: Connie

Summary:

Garnet, Pearl, Amethyst, Greg, Yellow, and Blue—they've all lost someone. Lovers and daughters and friends and family, and that's not a wound you easily come back from.

If at all.

But this isn't an 'if at all' kind of story.

It's a story about a sickly, little kid named Steven and his ever-growing surrogate family.

It's a story about the kind of boy who'd extend a flower and a smile to a sad stranger he meets at a cemetery. Human AU.

AO3 Link

It was precisely five in the morning when the Maheswarans’ tan sedan eased out of the driveway and onto the blacktop road. The sun wasn’t set to rise for a couple of hours still, and the fading moon cast an eery, ghoulish glow on the still slumbering world. Everything was stained blue, from her mother’s white lab coat to Connie’s own hands, which she rubbed over her bleary eyes in an attempt to spark some life into them.

She didn’t usually go with her mom to work—being an avid lover of sleep and all—but her dad was on an out-of-state operation for a couple of days, and so she really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Which she had absolutely hated at first.

Being an avid lover of sleep and all.

But something… no, someone… changed her mind.

Yesterday, she had met Steven Universe, and ever since they had parted, she hadn’t been able to get his goofy smile out of her head.

His loud, round laugh.

And the curious way he drew out her name.

As though it was full of exclamation points.

“Steven’ll be there, right?”

Mom offered a slight grunt in response, which Connie supposed meant yes. (Mom wasn’t really a morning person… or, well, much of a person at all until she’d at least gotten three cups of coffee into her system. She was only on number one as of yet, and the creamy smell of hazelnut wreathed her travel tumbler like perfume.)

“What time?”

“Twelve.” The one word answer was terse and forbidding.

But Connie ducked under the lurid yellow tape and pressed on anyway.

“I didn’t get to ask, but who was that woman with him? The one who had her feet propped up on the bed?”

“Amethyst, one of Steven’s many guardians,” she growled impatiently. “Connie, this isn’t twenty questions.”

The sharp rebuke stung the air between them.

A chill that the car’s heater could not touch.

“Sorry, Mom.” She looked out of the window in a vain attempt to stifle the heat rising in her cheeks, where it settled somewhere behind her eyes. The sickly tinged suburbs were beginning to give way to the long stretch of ancient forest that wound its way from her home to the city. The trees tall and everlasting. Friends and guardians in the daylight. Sinister, grasping things in the darkness. “I’m just excited to have a new friend… that’s all.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

She was excited to have a friend at all.

The kids at school didn’t like that Connie’s hand seemed to be permanently stuck in the air during class.

Or the way she lugged thick books around the playground.

Or how her glasses seemed to make her appear all the more erudite.

Which was, like, not her fault, but kids were cruel, and she just happened to fall on the easy end of their predatory food chain.

Priyanka Maheswaran let out a sigh that seemed to deflate all of her prickly, caffeine deprived edges; her grip on the wheel relaxed a fraction of an inch.

“And you have the right to be, sweetheart,” she relented wearily, a billion years old and yet only forty-two at the same time. “Go on. Ask your questions. I know you’re curious.”

The corner of her lined mouth quirked upwards. “I won’t bite anymore.”

Coming from this woman, whose whole manner of being was like the scalpel she used during surgery—sharp, methodical, ruthless—an invitation to talk more was about as rare as an I love you. Connie blinked once before she smiled.

“Thanks, Mom!”

“Ask your questions, Connie” came the short reply, which Connie translated to be a solid you’re welcome.

“I… I have tons of little questions,” she began uncertainly, chewing on her lip, “but I think they’d all be answered if I just asked you one big question.” And she expanded her fingers in her lap as if to realize the breadth of the thoughts swarming through her head like bees. She’d gone to bed thinking about Steven, and she’d woken up excited for the opportunity to see him again.

Eyes still searching the empty road for obstacles that hadn’t yet materialized, Mom jerked her head as if to say, Go ahead and ask it then.

So Connie took a deep breath and did just that: “How did he… how did he get like this?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew that they didn’t cover half the sentiment she was trying to convey in them. She was asking how he had ended up in the dialysis center, yes, and yet, she wasn’t asking just that. What she was really trying to get at—in so many words—was how this kid, this specific kid, found himself on the other end of a diagnosis that no decent person would wish on his worst enemy.

Steven Universe was the type of kid you’d meet on a playground after you’d fallen down from the monkey bars and needed a hand to get back up again.

Not the type of kid you’d expect to find in a hospital swarming with tubes and wires.

He was loud and he was playful and he was good, and those weren’t things that were supposed to be shackled to a machine three times a week.

So maybe what Connie was trying to do was piece together the correlation in it all.

Him.

The disease.

His unwavering smile.

The machine.

He was a contradiction, an oxymoron, a particularly hard equation she wished to solve.

If only her mother would give her the unknown variables.

Mom sighed, and the shadows underscoring her eyes seemed to solidify into harsh lines.

“Loaded question,” she said heavily, “but I can work with it.”

But before she began to work with it, per say, Priyanka raised her tumbler to her lips and took a long, reverent drag of coffee. Connie could see the cords in her throat pulling the sweet substance down, down, down.

She had been reading Homer lately—the Iliad this time, rife with glorious, bloodstained battles that were only palliated by the quieter intimacies of a fireside, a prayer, an embrace—so maybe it was no wonder that the image of a libation bearer came to mind.

A devout hero—an Odysseus, an Achilles, an Ajax—drinking the second sip of wine after he had poured the first to the gods in an invocation for strength.

For the courage to press on.

Priyanka set her cup down.

Squared her eyes on the road that unspooled through the dark like a ribbon—silky, its ends disappearing into the deep blue.

And began.

“It all started with Rose Quartz, Steven’s late mother, and she was the most infuriating woman I’ve ever had the privilege to know…”

◆

“I was just a resident at the time, shadowing Dr. Howard—you know, that old geezer colleague of mine who thinks your name is Cindy.”

Connie chuckled at the wry reminder. “Yeah, I just stopped correcting him after awhile.”

“Prudent choice.” Priyanka briefly returned the smile. “But anyways, I was just a resident, and I’d been helping Howard with some of his cases when Rose Quartz showed up for her monthly checkup and—in spite of everything that was wrong with her body—told us she was pregnant. I can remember it like it was just yesterday, Connie, how her hand tenderly tucked itself against the natural curve of her belly, as though she could already see a baby bump forming.”

Mom’s steady gaze on the road finally broke.

Drifted to the roof of the car for an infinitesimal second.

Distracted by a long passed memory.

“I’d been familiar, if not intimate with her case for a long time by then… and I was disgusted.”

“Alright, Steven—you know the drill. Hop up onto the scale,” Mom instructed without looking at him, scribbling something on her clipboard. Connie, standing just next to her mother, leaned up on her tiptoes to see if she could glean something from the chicken scratch symbols, and she thought she could make out the word pale.

Which—Connie glanced at Steven now, who had dutifully stepped onto the gray block—was an observable feature in him she concluded with no little unease. Even against the ultra white of the hospital gown, his complexion seemed to be ashy in comparison, and every bruise he had was inclined to look darker because of it.

The monitor flickered and produced a number.

118.4 pounds.

Mom wrote something on her clipboard again, and the little frown that hung itself on her lower lip told Connie everything she needed to know, and yet, precisely nothing at the same time.

“Aww,” Steven said, tsking playfully. “It’s an even number.”

“Do you have something against even numbers?” Connie asked as he reengaged the floor once more with a totally unnecessary but very cute hop.

He had to think about it for a moment, dark eyes tilted towards the ceiling, head cocked to the side.

“Nah,” he finally shrugged. “I guess I just find odd numbers a little more… exciting, you know?”

She giggled into her hand. She’d never heard it put like that before.

But out of the corner of her eye, she watched as an unspoken conversation passed between Amethyst and her mother.

When Amethyst frowned, her plump lower lip poked out.

“You were… disgusted?”

It was a strong word to describe a pregnancy.

The miracle of life and all that jazz.

“Very much so,” Mom nodded. In the now graying dusk, her face had gained a pinched quality to it, as though she had swallowed something particularly nasty. “Because she knew damn well that pregnancy was dangerous for her, dangerous for any baby she ever wanted to have, and yet, there she was anyway. Glowing. Steven’s father—Greg—was sitting next to her, and he looked like he was about to throw up or pass out one.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I understand.”

“No,” Mom shook her head. “I don’t imagine you do. She had Type 1 diabetes—had had it ever since she was a teenager—and it wasn't even just normal diabetes! Even though she did x, y, and z to take care of her body, and even though she visited Dr. Howard so often they could call each other by their first names, it was still abnormally stressful on her body. Howard diagnosed her with diabetic kidney disease when she was only twenty-three.”

Mom dragged a frustrated hand through her graying hair.

“I was so mad at her,” she said, her voice strained, tight, fervent. “I thought… I thought she was throwing her life away.”

With Steven, her mother was strangely gentle.

Her words were still sharp, but her actions belied their sting in a way that Connie hadn’t taken the time to notice yesterday as absorbed by Steven as she’d been. She took his temperature and clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, smiling a parenthetical smile when he smiled up at her. She checked his blood pressure and was noticeably conscientious as she slid the inflatable cuff up and down his arm.

She and Amethyst bantered back and forth like two sailors home from sea.

“So how’s old Greg doing? Still washing the same five cars of the fifteen people you guys have in Beach City?” Done with recording his temperature and blood pressure on the chart, Mom was now fiddling with the dialysis machine, bringing it to life with some mighty expert button pressing and knob turning. It began to beep steadily.

“You know it, homegirl,” Amethyst grinned. She was already sprawled in the chair next to Steven’s bed, arms behind her head, legs tucked up on the bed. “I think his rotation’s next, so ya should be seeing him soon.”

“Nope,” Steven corrected her. “It’s Garnet’s.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s me and then it’s Garnet and then—“

“My Dad and Pearl,” he finished with a slight flourish of the hand.

Mom shook her head at the mention of Pearl—whom Connie did not know from Eve along with all these other people—a wry smile crooked at the corner of her mouth. “If it was up to Pearl, she’d have all four rotations.

“And then, like, she’d make up a fifth one just to make sure she had every potential shift,” Amethyst said, not without some mischievousness tucked away in the subtleties of her scratchy voice.

The three conspirators shared a knowing laugh, and Connie made a brave attempt at a smile that faltered the more she tried to hold on to it. Water slipping through her fingers.

“She must have known how I felt because she pulled me aside once we were alone. Dr. Howard had gone to check on another patient, Greg had gone to the restroom, so she took me by the hand and made me sit next to her on the examination table.”

And it wasn’t that she was jealous of her mother.

Far from it.

That would be absurd.

No, the something that was gnawing at her chest felt a little more nuanced than that.

There was an intimacy that her mother shared with Amethyst and Steven.

She had long been a part of their strange, little world.

And Connie was on the outside looking in, her fingers pressed against the glass.

Observing the microcosm they had created between them.

Wondering what it took to be let in.

(Okay, maybe she was a little jealous.)

“You hate me, she had said. And I think I may have just glared at her, or if I did say something, it wasn’t very kind. I remember that I couldn’t look at her. I stared at my lap, at those godawful green scrubs that residents had to wear, and my fists were clenched on top of my knees. Maybe I’d been prepared to punch her.” She chuckled lifelessly. “Who knows?”

“What did she look like?” Connie asked as her mother took a deep, steadying breath.

A not quite smile turned the corner of Mom’s mouth.

“She was a very beautiful woman. Tall and big. Gorgeous pink curls—she liked to dye her hair—spilling over her shoulders.”

A not quite frown upended the not quite smile.

“Steven looks a lot like her.”

It was a fitting conception , Connie thought.

Steven as beautiful.

Steven was sharp, intuitive, more so than she had ever realized in the twenty or so hours she had known him. With an embarrassed jolt, she caught him staring at her from the top of the bed, his brown eyes softened in sympathy, in what was surely understanding.

The intensity of his gaze intimidated her, and she looked away, looked down at the pristine hospital floor where the scuff marks caused by beds and shoes and machines were the only scars that marred all the white.

She was being seen.

It was a foreign sensation.

“Hold up a sec, guys!” Steven said, interrupting the laugh session. “We gotta fill Connie in on who all these names are!”

“Heck yeah,” Amethyst consented with an almost serious nod. She grinned at Connie from the other side of the bed. “If you’re gonna hang around, Connie-Con, you’ve gotta know the whole cast!”

Connie-Con, huh?

That was a new one.

She couldn't help but offer a shy smile in return.

“Well, while you exposit, do me a quick favor and pull on your masks,” Mom said, adjusting hers to her lower face in an instant and throwing them each one. “I suppose we’d better get this ball rolling.”

Connie caught hers by the tips of her fingers and wrapped it around her ears in a few delicate motions.

Steven was still staring at her—she flushed to notice—and even though his mouth was now hidden, his wide smile could never be as equally as concealed.

“And then—I’m mortified to admit this now, Connie—I let it rip. I read her the Riot Act and enumerated every single reason she had to be ashamed of herself. Her body couldn’t handle the stress. She had put herself at a statistically liable risk for all sorts of complications. Hypertension. Cardiac arrhythmia. Severe anemia. Death by multi-organ failure. Not to mention what her condition might inflict on the baby!”

“You never did have the best bedside manners, did you, Mom?”

Mom couldn’t do anything but accept the criticism with a bitter smile.

“No,” she agreed grudgingly,“but for all the pansy hand holders in the field, I feel strongly obliged to contend that there should be at least one person who’ll tell you to it straight, no honey nonsense, no sugar. And Rose, despite all I said, despite every hurtful word I leveraged her way, did nothing to stop me. She just sat there and took it, a small, sad smile on her face—which made me even more angry, mind you.”

Mom took a hand off the wheel to indignantly stab it into the air, stiff fingers splaying towards the road.

“What business did this woman have smiling when I was confronting her with the fact that she was probably going to die? I wanted to shake her. I wanted to interrogate her. I wanted to know why .”

“So basically, I’ve got one cool dad and three great moms,” Steven said before jerking a thumb at Amethyst. “This is Amethyst, and she’s, like, the fun mom. We goof around a lot.”

Amethyst nodded approvingly at the description, her long, rather messy bangs shifting from behind her ear to cover one of her eyes.

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Steven,” Mom interjected, very much in doctor mode now, “prepare yourself. I’m going to flush your lines.”

“Roger that, doc,” Steven replied and leaned back on the pillow as she gently peeled back one of the shoulders of his paisley studded gown to reveal what Mom had yesterday explained to be a central venous catheter, or CVC for short. It was a thin tube that had been surgically grafted into a vein just below Steven’s collarbone. On the surface of his skin, it extended into two, short tubes called lumens that would be used to connect to the dialysis machine. Connie watched mesmerized as her mother quickly and skillfully relieved the lumens of their clamps, squinting at them with a searching gaze as though looking for any flaws in them, and huffing in satisfaction when she seemingly didn’t find any.

She was so distracted by this process that she didn’t realize that Steven had continued on with his introductions until what had been a vague buzzing in her ears materialized into his cheery voice once more. “—one we were talking about earlier was Pearl, who is the strict but very loving mom. And then there’s Garnet, who is just, like, cool; there’s really no other word to describe her, and like, finally, my dad, Greg, who is kind of the best. And that’s the family!

Connie recovered her wits quickly enough to laugh. (Was Pearl the cool one, or was she the strict one? She hoped she’d never be tested on the specifics.) “That’s a pretty cool setup you’ve got there. Stick it to the nuclear family unit!”

“We’re a nuclear family unit,” Mom inserted dryly as she flicked the tall syringe she was holding. It was filled with some kind of clear liquid—some sort of solution, Connie supposed.

“I dunno what that means exactly,” Steven smiled, all sheepishness, “but yeah, it is pretty cool. I mean, most kids only get to have one mom in their lifetime, and I’ve gotten three. They’re the best.” He slid his hand downwards and poked the tip of Amethyst’s boot. “I don’t know where I’d be without any of these guys.”

Amethyst made a big show of pushing him away, but her brown eyes were bright with something other than the grin haphazardly slapped across her round features.

“Ugh, shut up, little dude. You’re making me emo.”

“Oh, no!” His eyes widened in mock disapproval. “We can’t have that, now can we? That’s Lapis’s thing!”

Amethyst and Steven’s belly laughs shook the bed.

“And you know what she said to me?”

“What?” Connie asked when her mother wasn’t immediately forthcoming, seemingly lost in thought.

“She squeezed my hand just like this”—Mom reached over and enveloped her entire hand, their fingers intertwining, warmth passing between them like a third touch—“and told me that she didn’t expect for me to understand, but she’d long made peace with the fact that she wasn’t set to have a long life and that before she died, she wanted to bring someone in the world who could enjoy all the things that she could not.”

“That life was supposed to be an experience, not a curse.”

“That if she passed away tomorrow, Greg and all of her friends would be left with nothing but memories, and memories were like petals. They were pretty until the crumbled to dust. She wanted to leave them with roots. She wanted them to have a chance to grow.”

Roots and petals and the potential for growth.

Connie immediately thought of the sunflower fields near their townhouse, how the tall stalks bloomed in the sun.

How all the yellow looked like spun gold.

“I told her she was stupid. I told her that she could have had a relatively long life even with her condition. She could have lived to forty, maybe even fifty!”

Priyanka laughed. It was a harsh sound, like metal clanging against metal.

“And she told me that once I got the giant stuck up my butt seen about, I’d see what she meant one day.”

“Did you?” Connie prodded after a long moment of silence. “Did you ever see what she was talking about?”

Mom’s syringe hovered over one of the lumen for the briefest second before she injected the solution into its exposed opening. 

She had been watching Amethyst and Steven.

The way they looked at each other.

As though they had everything to lose if they lost each other.

“I did,” she paused, reconsidering. “I do. Greg and all the rest? They’d be lost without Steven, unanchored.” 

“That’s how they were for a long time after Rose died. I was there when it happened. I saw all their faces. I hope I never have to see it again.”

“How did she die?” Connie wished she could have taken back the question the moment it left her mouth. Her mother’s grip immediately tightened on the wheel, and the resulting paleness clamored up from her hands all the way to her face in the very way poison ivy slowly overtakes white walls.

“We had to do a c-section, and her blood pressure was rising too rapidly for any machine or doctor alike to keep up with it. We delivered Steven, let her see him, and then started to work on her… but it was no use. She went into a diabetic coma and never woke up.”

They were approaching traffic and the city now. 

The sedan rolled to a stop behind a line of other early risers.

It wasn’t a nuisance for her mom this morning so as much as it was a reprieve.

Priyanka dipped her head and inhaled sharply, her black hair dripping, framing the sides of her face. Connie could no longer see her expression.

She didn’t know if she even wanted to.

“We pulled the plug two weeks later.

“I wish they could make a more flavorful saline solution,” Steven grimaced as her mom injected the replenished solution into the other lumen. “It tastes like salt.”

“Hence the word saline,” Mom remarked drolly.

“You got me there, Dr. M.”

With that tedious necessity out of the way, the process went far more quickly. She connected two tubes from the machine—or Steven’s robokidney as Steven slyly called it to the groans of everyone involved—to the now flushed lumens. The red tube accepted unclean blood into the machine, and the blue tube distributed filtered blood back into the body. It was a precise system and a slow one.

Since the lumens weren’t exposed anymore, they took their masks off and found themselves free to do whatever they wanted to for the next three hours, so long as Steven remained relatively still  that was.

But he was a pro at this, had been for months now, and after Mom went away to tend to another patient and Amethyst wandered off to the cafeteria, Connie pulled The Unfamiliar Familiar out of her backpack to pick up where she’d left off yesterday.

“With or without voices?” She asked, thumbing through the pages until she found her bookmark (a crumpled straw wrapper).

“What kind of question is that?” He snorted. When he did, the tubes nestled against his chest gave a little jump of indignation. “Voices, of course!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She deferred with playfully raised hands. “I was just being thorough.”

“You remind me of Pearl when you say that,” he said. “I’d love for you to meet her someday.”

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses.

“I’d like that, too.”

She wanted to meet everyone who made Steven… well, Steven.

The early sun was just beginning to creep towards and above the horizon, bringing with it the varicolored shades of dawn. A muted pink. A slowly simmering orange. Gold shot through all of it. 

The line of cars leading into Empire City was moving forward at a sluggish crawl.

“So where does Steven fit into all this?” Connie could have made an educated stab at it by this point, but she didn’t see the need to when her mom was being so generous with her details. 

Priyanka took the opportunity to take another sip of her coffee as she composed her thoughts, exhaling softly, with subtle weariness, when she set the tumbler down.

“When Steven was born, we immediately found that he had what was more or less a minor birth defect—unilateral renal dysplasia.” And since those weren’t necessarily easily accessible words to a twelve-year old, even a precocious one, Mom took care to elaborate. “That’s when one of the kidneys is somehow malformed during the developmental stages.”

“And that… developed into kidney failure?”

She could see the pieces coming together now.

The contradiction not so contradictory anymore.

The oxymoron resolved.

The equation having a logical, rational end.

Rose Quartz, despite her best intentions, passed on her bodily demons to Steven.

Case closed.

“Not exactly,” Mom frowned, and Connie’s hypothesis crumbled into her lap.

“Through rain, through sleet, through heat, through hell, Archimedes guarded Lisa’s vulnerable body as the fever ran its course through her small body in alternating chills and sweat. Even when night drew itself around them in curtains made of sky velvet and stars, the falcon retained his faithful watch. He was her familiar, her friend, and he would never leave her… not even if she left him.” She closed the book with a resounding thud. “And that, my friend, was Chapter Four.”

Steven’s chin suddenly lifted from where it had been resting on M.C. Bear Bear’s crumpled head.

“What?! You can’t just stop there!”

“No, Steven—you don’t understand,” she laughed warmly. “I have to. Chapter Five leaves me incredibly tender, and I have to emotionally prepare myself for it.”

“You’re just taunting me now,” he accused, a pout beginning to form on his lips.

“Smart boy! I so totally am."

“Kids with dysplasia in one kidney typically grow up without any noticeable decreases in health or kidney function, so Dr. Howard and I didn’t particularly worry about it too much. Hell, we were just relieved that nothing worse had manifested in his little body.”

“Un-fair,” Steven whined, drawing the word out into the two needling syllables. “I wouldn’t do this to you.”

Connie had gleaned enough about Steven’s personality in the short time they had known to each other to agree with him.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she replied thoughtfully, placing her index finger on her lower lip. “You’re too kind, but more importantly still, you have very little impulse control!”

“Hey!” He laughed indignantly.

“Not that that’s a bad thing per say,” she continued pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him, “but it’ll do you some good to wait until the next time. To feel the suspense build up in you until it reaches a breaking point! To stew and simmer in these characters until I relieve you of the heat.”

She leaned forward out of her chair and booped him lightly on the nose.

She’d make a fine reader out of him yet.

“So…” Steven began tentatively once Connie withdrew. She was leaning over now, replacing the thick book in her bag. Her slender fingers paused on the clasp, and she pricked her ears, equal parts curious and hesitant to hear what he was obviously struggling to say. “So there’s definitely going to be…. there’s definitely going to be a next time?”

“But Steven… Steven defied those favorable odds—every statistic and report that said he was going to make it through life without any kidney related complications. When he started to undergo puberty about a year ago, the natural changes in his body caused him to develop a severe urinary tract infection that injured his functional kidney.”

“I did everything I could to try and clear the infection up, but the damage was irreversible. Eight months ago, I diagnosed him with chronic kidney disease and put him on the transplant waiting list.”

“So it was random,” Connie whispered to herself, staring at the hands she had splayed on her lap. She clenched and unclenched them. “It was just chance.”

“What was that?” Mom asked, having heard but not understood her.

“So we’re waiting,” she amended herself quickly.

“Or, well, I’m waiting,” Priyanka said pointedly. “While we’re on the subject, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, Connie.”

She did not hesitate.

“Definitely!” she assured him. Concise. Clear. Genuine. “It’d be cruel to leave you on a cliffhanger, wouldn’t it?”

But he wasn’t entirely convinced because he clutched M.C. Bear tightly to his chest and asked, “I mean, are you sure? Not that I don’t doubt you or anything, but you don’t have to spend your summer in a hospital, you know.”

He looked away, his dark eyes clouding, impenetrable.

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“Steven is a special case to me, but that doesn’t mean that he has to be a special case for you, honey.” She was being uncharacteristically gentle, vulnerable, and Connie nearly recoiled against her seatbelt.

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“I mean that just as his mother was, Steven is liable to be plagued with numerous complications before all of this is, uh, over,” Mom paused, her voice stumbling over itself for the first time since the conversation had begun. “…one way or the other.”

It was life or death, she was saying.

And Steven was teetering on the edge between the two extremes.

“I know you two get along well, and I’m glad for it,” she said softly, “but, Connie, I don’t want you to get hurt. 

They were in the heart of Empire City now, slinking past skyscrapers and pedestrians and street vendors who were setting out their daily wares in preparation for the long day.

There was a drawn out silence in the car as Connie pieced her words together, thought by determined thought.

Outside the window, she caught a glimpse of the towering D.E. building, which was famous for its jagged geometry and how its glass windows were tinted gold.

“I appreciate that, Mom—I do, but I’m afraid that I admittedly look at it a little differently than you do.”

A sharply raised eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“Steven’s not beholden to statistics, I guess—to probability. You said as much when you told me that he developed a disease that not many kids his age ever get in their lifetimes. So sure, probability’s telling me that I may get hurt, or that Steven might be hurt a thousand times over before he gets a kidney… but I don’t want to think of him in terms of numbers, Mom, not when those numbers just may be wrong.”

Connie smiled sadly.

“I want to be his friend.”

Connie shook her head fervently and grabbed Steven’s closest hand. He was cold and soft.

A contradiction.

A puzzle.

An unsolved equation.

Mom’s stories helped, but there was so much more she had left to discover about this boy.

So much more to learn.

From him.

Maybe even for him.

“I want to be part of your world, Steven.” Her grip tightened on his hand, perhaps to emphasize the sincerity of her claim. “I want to be part of your universe.”

The edges of Steven’s pale mouth wobbled into a smile.

They pulled into the staff parking lot of the hospital and before Connie could unlatch her seatbelt, her mother leaned over the console and pulled her into a hug that was fierce and exacting and warm all at the same time.

After the initial surprise wore off, she leaned into the moment, leaned into the crook of her mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes against the dawning sun.

“I love you, Connie.”

Connie dug her fingers into her mother’s lab coat in response.

[northshoreblues]

LOL HELLO DUSTY ASS TUMBLR OF MINE! 

Dusting this off to say: I’m stressed. Go figure. I’m 8.75 (I just did some crazy math so now I’m feeling like being very specific with my numbers) months pregnant and it’s a very weird place to be. I just read this article that described it using the German word zwischen, meaning “in between.” The article writer was emphasizing that this time should be embraced as a spiritual, mystical moment preparing for when a woman has to has to go from this world to the next. There’s about to be a crossing-over. The journey of Odysseus was mentioned (my kind of article, as you can tell lol). ANYWAY, it’s not really this part that’s stressing me out... I’ve prepared as much as I think I can for birth. Bub’s room is ready, birthing class has been taking, and going in knowing that I really won’t know how things will go down has helped me just accept whatever happens. 

The stress is more due to finding childcare that doesn’t terrify me and bankrupt me,... and then,... other family stuff. 

My mom, dad, and sister are now in the metro. With a ton of help from my aunt, my mom and sister live up here now, but are struggling. I worry for my sister’s mental health, and my mother’s ability to find a job that she can actually do (the first one didn’t work out). I guess I just feel responsible, because if I hadn’t moved, they’d still be doing their thing down in Springfield. Not that I don’t think people need to learn how to adapt through change... but I just hate feeling like it’s my fault they’re having a hard time. I really need to let this go for my own sake, but that’s easier said than done. 

Then over the last few weeks I had to make a tough call as my dad’s guardian. He’s having a harder time swallowing his pureed diet, and they wanted to put him on a feeding tube permanently. I debated this for awhile, and at first said okay, but ended up doing some more research (because it just felt WRONG) and changed my mind. I had to sign some waiver refusing the advice of medical professionals, but it felt like the right call. He wasn’t even supposed to survive his strokes, and his quality of life is... not great. He’s trapped in a useless body. But being trapped in your body and never getting any food or liquid by mouth? He would decline fast, I just know it. I feel I made the right call, despite the risks. 

Soooo that’s my random ramble after not being on Tumblr much at all this year. I need recommendations for shows to binge while on maternity leave (also known as: Anna takes 9ish weeks off without pay in which she also has to pay her insurance premium because she hasn’t been at her job long enough to qualify for FMLA and she’s SUPER PISSED! :D)