Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On May 4, 2012, the sky breaks.

Connie unsheathes her sword and charges right into the bottleneck. She is nineteen years old and she commits her first kill 49 times over. Maybe more. She wasn't exactly counting.

On May 4, 2012, the battle is over.

On May 5, 2012, Stevonnie joins search and rescue. Not one person can be left unattended even if they can't be saved anymore.

On May 6, 2012, Connie goes back to school.

Back to school. Only by the loosest definition of the word. She knew what was coming nearly a month in advance, that's how it is when you work for intergalactic empires with walking probability calculators in the citizen body. She had her finals done before May even came around. From then on, it was only a waiting game.

Except there wasn't school to come back to.

Not with the invasion Manhattan was still reeling from.

Not with the mass evacuations that had happened.

Not with the droves of Chitauri bodies littering the broken streets. And later still, the illness that came with them. She had been safe with the fire she'd put in her throat, the ichor that mixed in her blood as Stevonnie. But others would not be so lucky.

In the end, they had to burn it all. Fallen soldiers turn into flowers that turn into blazing cerise fire while masked Gems look on (even if they couldn't catch the illness, they could still spread it.) Steven's eyes scatter pink in the light of it all. The lucky photographer might just win an award.

Connie drops her duffle bag amidst everything she hasn't packed yet, collapses onto her dorm bed, and doesn't think about the taste of fire and iron and the sky that breaks.

Chapter Text

"Connie?" Doug knocks at the door. "Are you up?"

"Yeah..."

"Are you going to come out for lunch?"

" 'm not hungry..."

"That feels like a lie, sweetie."

A pause.

"Yeah, it kind of is."

"Well in that case, I'm coming in."

Doug walks into Connie's room with a bowl of momos.

Connie's face is stuffed in her pillow, but at least she peeks an eye out when he comes in. "Are they apple ones?"

"Fuck around and find out." He puts the bowl and chopsticks on the desk.

"Appā, that's not-" her voice breaks with a laugh, "-that's not how you use that phrase."

"Well it's how I'm using it." He sits down on the bed. "You look kind of upset. What's up?"

There's a shuddering breath muffled by pillows.

"Come on. Talk to me."

A vague mumble.

"I can't speak pillow talk, Connie."

"I won't be able to take my summer classes..."

"Come again?"

"My scheduling is ruined... RUINED, Appā. I have to readjust everything..."

"Would eating some momos make you feel better? We made three flavors, but I accidentally made them all look the same, so I can't tell which is which. It's momo roulette."

"Okay."

Chapter Text

Blue Zircon Facet-BD6 Step-F9X is having a... well, not a bad day. Just... a day.

Things have been, well, interesting, since she lost the Homeworld election. After she spent some time to reflect on her loss (read: languish in sorrow and consider expediting her journey to the cerise sky), she did what all the trendy folks did these days when they got ran over by their 3rd Era problems- soundly warp herself to Little Homeworld and try to find a purpose again.

Information literacy and human philosophy classes had been engaging, but failed to truly solve her problem. So she signed herself on for another type of solution- a purpose assigned by a Diamond. There was no shame in it. Gems crave order- and with that, orders.

Asteria Diamond had taken an interest in her.

He'd remembered her, of course he had- a Diamond's memory is a broad thing indeed, but she had not realized that the arbitrary Zircon that had once been assigned to him as the defense of "Rose Quartz" would make any particular ripple out of all the literal trillions of other Gems he needed to catalogue on a daily basis.

But she had.

With no small amount of recognition in his eyes, he quietly assigned her as an on-call legal counsel, and as a research assistant for her daily work.

Dr. Fryman was an... interesting human.

He was brilliant, there was no denying that. His ability to gather and compile information rivaled the best of Gems, and she had read his work, of course. He was, piece by piece, inventing a science all his own, simply by studying the Gems around him. But, unfortunately, the mania of his work was not without flaws. He would, at times, forget his own needs, or have difficulty properly filtering the knowledge he gathered.

So that's where she came in.

She'd been given enough of a crash course to know when to remind him of mortal concerns like sleep or sustenance, and she would engage him on his information, gathering the subtle grain of truth from all the sand of information they consumed. Simple work, compared to what she had been made for, but it was engaging, it was rewarding, and it was purpose.

(Purpose that occasionally segwayed into impassioned rants echoing through the meager walls of a lighthouse while their Diamond looked on with weary eyes, but purpose nonetheless.)

She had forgotten, however briefly, she had ever been a lawyer, until the file came.

To Dr. Ronaldo Fryman, PhD,

to Blue Zircon Facet-BD6 Step-F9X,

and whomever associates join you for the following task,

given directly by His Radiance, Asteria Diamond.

The following information, classified,

pertaining to the ongoing preparatory investigations of

the Chitauri invasion

and the independent actions of the jotunn, Lokki,

are yours to review, analyze, expand, and extrapolate

to the highest of your standard and satisfaction.

Chapter Text

In the kitchen, they are Sten and Vendan. Still always within arms reach of eachother- it'd be weird, somehow, if they weren't. They're sharing a French toast (the stupidly decadent kind made with chocolate swirl bread), really going at it with vaguely intimidating synchronicity.

It's Vendan who sees her, vibrant eyes camera-shuttering in vague acknowledgement, but Sten who speaks to her first. "Morning."

"Your parents already went to work," Vendan answers to her unspoken question. "You've woken up late."

Sten idly pushes another plate of French toast in her direction and god damn, it's got cream and blackberry sauce.

Connie can't tell if Steven or one of them made it, but it doesn't matter because it's good. "Are we gonna be seeing more of you now that you can..." she gestures vaguely at their separated state, "...without dying?"

"You might, I suppose." Sten inclines his head with a slow, catlike blink. "But we'd still rather be Steven, most of the time."

"But it's nice, sometimes," Vendan continues, "to be able to see eachother- I suppose."

"Well, don't go falling apart on my account," she mumbles past her stuffed mouth. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Yes, well-" Vendan stands to take his and Sten's dishes, silently going off to the sink without preamble.

"-we love you all the same ways Steven does. We don't..." Sten smiles, almost, as he leans tiredly against the kitchen island. "...we don't mind you seeing us like this."

"We don't mind being like this, with you," Vendan clarifies, eyes still determinedly focused on the sink. "It's almost... like we're still Steven. It's... hard to articulate."

"Like..." Sten pauses. "Steven is... everything. Everything we are, everything we are to eachother. The center of everything. You're part of that center, I guess? Does that make sense?" Sten laughs to himself. "Maybe not."

How dare.

How dare they get all sweet like that.

"Fuck you," she bites past her breakfast. "How dare you say something so stupid soft while my face is stuffed with this ungodly sinful French toast."

"Our dearest," Sten's song trills, "Light of our eyes, stars of the night."

"Fuck you."

"We love you too."

"I Will Stab You With This Fork."

Chapter Text

Crimson Carbide Facet-AD1 Pavillion-1 aka Connor Amaranth Adamas Briar Universe aka Steven Universe.

Bismuth's had to room with Gems before, but not like this.

He's not a bad house guest. He tends to himself, keeps quiet (mostly), maybe a bit too quiet. He looks like he's afraid to speak, sometimes- afraid of his words, afraid of his song, afraid of other people's response. Nothing she's not used to. She remembers the deepest belly of the War, the Gems that they would find perfectly intact but fragile in the mind from Homeworld's loving care.

(Homeworld may have changed, but her memory has not, and she sees the echoes of old cruelty in him even now.)

Maybe it would have bothered her less if he didn't look so much like Steven.

He looks so much like Steven, in all the ways that Steven looked so much like Rose (like Pink Diamond). A broken mirror to the past- Connor is a scraggly, battered echo somewhere between the Steven she had fought in her forge and the Steven half-dead from Spinel's rejuvenator.

Scars snake like veins of white marble on his stony face, the stiff, shaking set of his arms, the facet of his gem. He wears noise cancellers near constantly now- the din of song emanating from Little Homeworld is still too strong for his fledgeling senses.

She looks at the tired flicker of his eyes, and mentally notes to tell Steven that Connor hasn't been sleeping as much as he should.

His claws have mostly grown back, at least, which can probably be called an improvement, and just the other day he managed to have a full conversation with her. It's slow progress, but it is progress.

She doesn't ask why the kid is with her, and not Garnet, Amethyst, or Pearl. Or Greg. She trusts Steven to have valid reasons for it, and she's not gonna ask Connor what his deal is. That's his therapist's problem, not hers.

"You up to start workin' the forge today?"

He actually almost perks up at that. He'd wanted "training"- it was one of the first and few things he'd been brave enough to ask for. Training for work, for combat, and she suspected, ultimately, for his Diamond abilities. Steven had taken one look at the kid and gently suggested that Connor build up the physical resilience to handle his own power. So blacksmithing it was.

"Will we be making weapons?" There's a comically dangerous glint to his eyes, now. "Will we be making swords? "

Not with that look on your face, we ain't. "Tool repairs first. You don't got the know-how to start buildin' anything from scratch."

"A knife."

"No."

"One knife."

"What do you even need a knife for, kid?"

"Justice," his dead song whispers cryptically.

"Pretty sure we'd disappoint Mr. Diamond Dad if he found out I let you go full warsong."

The fire leaves him at that. "You're right," Connor nods with vague agreement as he slumps back into his seat. "One justice."

"Connor, no."

"As a treat."

Chapter Text

It must be nearly a month, now. He can't quite tell. These stjärnätare, these "Gems", they are timeless creatures, in a way that made the longevity of Asgard seem like mere mayflies in comparison. The mortal passage of time is no concern of theirs, except to tend to the concerns of mortals.

Loki supposes he is one such mortal, now.

His glamour must have finally broken under the force of the Diamond's song. He'd never truly seen his own form before then, but now he's forced to shoulder its presence every time he accidentally catches against a reflective surface. Blue as winternight, horns on the helm of his skull accentuated by swooping runic ridge-lines. His eyes are still green, strangely, as opposed to the copper-reds of the ice jotunn.

He hates it. But at least there aren't any mirrors in his... box to accidentally catch himself in, reflective surfaces aside.

A box, not a cell. Box, because this strange white enclosure is a great, featureless void without doors or windows, unless willed into existence by his guards. The floor is (he suspects deliberately so) soft enough to lie on when he should want it. He is given odd fruits to satisfy his hunger, and the means to tend to himself as needed.

The walls are nothing, but he feels eyes behind them always. And the dress code certainly leaves something to be desired.

He shouldn't be complaining, he knows. It's imprisonment- choice is for the freeman, and freeman he is not. Even still, Gemkind's… regimented aesthetic is rather jarring, compared to his memories of even the Asgardian dungeons.

His wardrobe has mostly consisted of a loose, short sleeved shirt and trousers, odd sorts of bracelet things on his wrists and ankles, and not so much as a sandal in sight. Came in odd colors, too- strange pearlescent sets of white, yellow, blue, and pink.

They talk to him sometimes. The guards. The wall becomes like a clear glass, and they speak, knowing he might listen. They speak of the outside world- of Gems and their unfathomably vast empire, of the little lives of humanity, of the distance of Asgard.

And then there was... sometimes, they really do talk to him. Others, not the guards. They talk to him about him. His life, his childhood, his thoughts. They don't quite talk about the invasion, not yet, but he suspects they are ferverently implying it, hoping to tease the information out of him amidst everything else he speaks of.

If they want to kill him, they should do it soon.

It would be better than this, waiting for a fate that never comes.

Chapter Text

"You remember Vairam."

"Oh, right. Stevonnie's kid. How is he?"

"He's... he's okay, for now."

"Did you find a foster for him?"

"Maybe. That's... that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Oof, that's a nerve-wracking sentence to hear in a marriage."

"..."

"Steven?"

"I was thinking, uh... maybe we- I could be the foster? For Vairam."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"We can't return him to the human system. You know that. And I... this is unprecedented. There's no way of knowing how this child will develop, I need to keep an eye on him."

"He's not a science project, Steven. That's a kid."

"I know."

 
"You're really young to be doing something like this."

 
"I- I know, I know, but it's not like I'm walking in blind, here. I make my own schedule and I hardly need to sleep. If it's time and attention he needs, I can give it. I've basically got a trillion kids already, what's one more?"

"...I'm really young to be doing something like this."

"I'm not asking you to."

"..."

"I know you've got college. I know that kind of stuff is a full-time job, more than a full time job, and I know how important it is to you. I'm not asking you to put that on hold. He'll have your name, but if that's as much as you want to give, that's okay. I'm not asking you to be his mom. I'm just... I'm just asking if you're okay with me being his dad."

"You really thought about this, huh?"

"I put him through this. The least I can do is own up to it."

"It's more than that, isn't it?"

"...He called me baba. He said- he said I was his-his-his-"

"Oh, Steven."

"I couldn't just give him away, Connie. I can't do that to him, I- I just can't."

"This isn't just the guilt talking?"

"Stars, no. He's not- he wouldn't be some kind of burden, he doesn't deserve that."

"...Okay. Go be his dad."

"Connie. Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"You can't not dad, and I'm not going to stop you. If it makes you happy, then... I'll be happy with you."

"If you're sure about this."

"You better not forget about me while you're going Diamond On Main over your weird zombie baby, okay?"

"I would never."

"Yeah, you better not, or I'll steal the voodoo child from right out of your hands-"

"Please don't-"

Chapter Text

Hey Tony.

I think this is a bad time. But it's always going to be a bad time, won't it? There's no- there's no good time for this, is there?

What I want to say first is that this isn't your fault- not really?  I know, I know- it's so cliché to say something like "it's not you, it's me", isn't it?

But it... it really is me this time.

Because I realized something.

You have to choose between me, and Iron Man. You always have. I'm realizing that... that's not fair. Not to me, but... to you.

"I am Iron Man."

I can't make you choose between me and who you are.

God, I...

...I really thought we could make this work.

And then New York happened, and I saw you, and I...

Every time you put on that suit, that's what you're ready for. That's what you're prepared to do.

...I'm not strong enough. I'm not strong enough.

I'm not strong enough to think about how you every time you put on that suit, you might not come back.

I... I love you Tony, I really do, and maybe I always will, but I can't. Not like this, not anymore.

This isn't goodbye, but it's... it's stepping back. Stepping back, so that someone stronger than me can take my place.

I'm sorry.

I hope you'll be able to forgive me for it one day.

Chapter Text

You'd think that hiring his first client as a secretary would be the weirdest shit that's happened to Foggy this week.

Apparently Fucking Not, said the universe.

The actual highlight of the week- maybe month, maybe even year- is where a very unfairly sized actual pink lion sort of manifests in the Nelson and Murdock Law Office like a bad acid trip. Which would already be weird enough on its own, except there is, in fact, an equally unfairly broad person riding said lion. Also pink, with a vivid sort of stone nested in their belly.

Dark eyes- dark, dark eyes with pupils like actual crosses, actual diamonds, fuck.

He can't even be mad at Karen for her stunned silence.

It's not every day the literal alien overlord of Earth, the Diamond himself, touches down in one's office.

"Uh, Matt?" Even knowing that Matt can't see his semi-discreet glance in his direction, Foggy finds himself doing it anyway. Even if his friend is blind, Matt always had a knack for knowing someone was in the room, but he doesn't say a word at the sudden presence in their office. His only acknowledgement is the lopsided tilt of his head he gets when he's trying to figure out what's in front of him.

Though that might not be too strange, in retrospect. The sudden sound cocktail of Giant Magical Steed likely isn't very easy to interpret.

"We've got a client in the office, Matt," Foggy gently points out.

Matt vaguely inclines his head in the general direction of the Gem. "Apologies. I couldn't properly hear you come in."

"Oh." Asteria Diamond tilts their own head in turn with some measure of pause. "You're blind."

"That gonna be a problem?"

"I don't see why it would be," the Diamond answers bemusedly. "Your sight has nothing to do with your legal competence."

This one. Foggy thinks he'll like this one.

"I'd bow or something," Foggy dares to joke, "but I'm sitting in a chair, so-" he opts for the old memory of a Diamond salute instead. He might not have gotten it quite right, but they laughed, so score.

"Excuse me," Matt just barely interrupts, "but I- are you a Gem? I've never met one, but your voice, it has an odd sort of tone to it."

"You've got a sharp ear," they smile. "I am a Gem. I think your friend knows which Gem, in fact."

"Your Radiance," Foggy coughs awkwardly.

Karen suddenly comes back to life at that. "Do you, uh-" she stumbles, "-would you like something to drink? Do you drink? We've got coffee, tea, juices-"

"It's fine," the Gem near laughs, a hand shyly raised to stop her. "Save the drinks for someone who needs it."

"Well," Matt cuts back in like he wasn't laughing internally at Foggy's social suffering, the bastard, "Asteria Diamond. Not that it isn't a privilege to hear your voice, but I do have to wonder what you're doing here."

"You recall Loki."

"His collateral is right outside our window, it's rather hard to forget." Matt smiles in a sort of teasing way. "Well, hard for my co-workers to forget."

"I'm trying to assemble a defense for him."

"Loki," Foggy tries to make sure. "Loki, who you fought in an alien invasion."

"It must seem odd to you-"

"Just a bit-"

"-but even someone like him is subject to the due process of law," the Diamond continues. "And I suspected from the beginning that Loki had far less control of his actions than he claimed."

"You think he's innocent?" Matt presses.

"Not innocent," they clarify. "Whatever else, the invasion could not have occurred without his involvement. I'm just of the very strong opinion that he's not as guilty as he appears." A blink. "You'd be compensated for your counsel, of course. There's also a larger investigation concerning the events surrounding the invasion, as well, which you'll have access to."

Oh no.

He can already see the wheels turning in Matt's head.

"Why don't we get back to you tomorrow?" Foggy compromisingly offers.

=<>=

"We should go for it."

"It's Loki."

"Damn big case."

"For Loki. Who's probably going to go down as the most high profile terrorist of the century."

"Alien trial, Foggy. We'd be the first lawyers to represent an alien in court. Hell of a resume line."

"...You got me there."

"And we're being paid."

"I hate this."

"Besides, like they said- we aren't trying to prove him innocent. Just trying to get to the bottom of things."

"I hate this, and I hate your smug blank stare, and I will call the number they gave us tomorrow."

"Hah."

"Fuck you too, Matt."

Chapter Text

This dream is strangely empty. Simply the blank, swirling mindspace of empty Gem thought.

It gets darker, the longer he looks down. There's something there, under the surface, moving, it looks like...

Steven forces his hands down past the surface and sinks down into the black.

Down, down, down, down. Deeper down the dark he goes, with the tracing light that follows him there. Strange, sharp lines growing at unnatural, weightless angles. Angry, clustered things of crimson and dark and

pink.

And he sees Connor, buried under brambles, ichored tears bleeding from his wide eyes, mouth choked by the horrible roots sprouting out of his gem.

With a resigned sort of fear, Steven goes down into the thorns.

=<>=

This one is small. So, so small.

Connor, at least, could charitably be called a teenager, but this one, this one could only be called a child. A small deprived thing that Steven knows, distantly, probably resembles himself at a far younger age. A child with too big clothes and far too many scars, who shakes afraid.

The one who kneels beside the child, this one is most certainly a Gem. A strange figure in imposing blacks, tall and broad as Jasper. An image of strength, but a child's one- still awkward in proportion, in bearing. A toy soldier, if Steven were more cruel. (Colored near exactly like Pink was, once, with even her sharpness of face. Connor would hate the comparison.)

His eyes are not for them, not yet.

"Do you know me, Connor?" A third figure, huddled away from the others, who shrinks back as he hears his name. "It's a bit much, isn't it, the first time around." He dares, almost, to walk closer. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

And he does. Connor's eyes are frightened, wild things shining through the blinded window of his hands.

"Good, good. Now," Steven asks, turning to the others, "do you know them? "

"I- I- I-" Connor's song hitches, looking to the larger one, the Gem. "-thorns. Thorn. I keep me- he-he-he- keeps us safe when they..." his song breaks to a stressed, animal sound. "Please, don't get rid- don't hurt us, he was only-"

"I won't hurt him. He's you. They're you. Both of them- the pieces both human and Gem that create what you are. A fusion." Steven moves to sit by Connor. "I'm a fusion, too. So let's have yours and mine get to know eachother, shall we?"

"Thorn." Vendan takes in the young Gem's sharp, growling song as he walks closer. "A fitting name for you, thorn child. I am Vendan, should we ever meet."

Sten, in turn, looks to the smaller one. (Small. Very, very small. Best to be careful.) "You seem to be a more thoughtful kind, aren't you? The tricky sort." The child looks to him, as if afraid some ruse has been discovered, and Sten almost smiles. "A little con, indeed. Well met then, Con."

"There's a third," Thorn bites. "A voice, she... punishes us."

"Does it have form?" 

He hopes, he desperately hopes that this is not what he suspects, and yet...

"Rose," Con whispers. "She looks like Rose..."

Vendan's face smooths even more, if such a thing could have been even possible. Utterly blank. His gaze fixes upon Thorn's gem. "I see."

Sten takes Con into his arms and back away- away from Thorn, away from Vendan, away from what he knows will follow. He looks down at the boy in his arms. "You should probably look away."

"Please," Con near begs, "Don't hurt him."

"We won't. We'll try to keep it as quick as possible."

Vendan's song rings clear, with no room for argument or resistance. "Command run legacy notation data reboot two."

Thorn's eyes narrow- not the crosshairs of a Diamond, but an angular, catlike slits. "What are you-"

Con and Thorn's songs cut to screams as Thorn's gem pulses angrily. A light grows out of it, tangled shining brambles, lined in nettle and thorn, a shrieking, stuttering song like a woman's wail.

And it is the shape of a woman, a wraith of a Gem, a ghostly wrath made manifest that hovers above them all like she had the ground to judge their actions. Hers is a corrupted memory of forgotten song, an orchestral storm of wrathful shrieks, the dry crack of dead branches underfoot.

Vendan smiles, and it is a cruel, seraphic thing that bares all his fangs, harshly flexed forward.

"Hello, mother dearest."

Chapter Text

Connor is twenty years old, and now he will never be anything else.

For the first time in- stars, he can't even remember how long- for the first time in a long, long while, the voices in his head are entirely his own. Their own. He has names, now, for the swaying, give-and-take conversation that murmurs along his mind.

His pieces look different than Az's. Sten and Vendan had been strange inverted mirrors of eachother, a fearful symmetry worthy of a Diamond. Con and Thorn had been... different. Neither of them were quite immediately recognizable as pieces of himself.

Then again, neither had been 'Mom', but there it was.

Old files, Az had said. Pieces of memory and stray code that she had not been able to totally erase in her death. And so the paranoid, self punishing, trauma-induced voice in Connor's head had used those stray files and given itself form. Lovely.

Vendan had quietly judged the files to be beyond repair, and burned it all. Four and a half billion years of data, gone, all because Connor's dumb fucking inner demons couldn't just stay metaphorical like a normal person.  Rose Quartz was gone forever- and with her, all of her knowledge, her experience, her prowess and control.

Yet another thing that now separates him from Asteria Diamond. The shadow grows longer and longer.

Connor tries not to be mad about it. His failures are not the fault of someone else's success, he knows better than that. And Az is... he can't say good, not the way Greg or Connie had been, but...

=<>=

"I will never abandon you. I will never hurt you. I will never use you. I will never lie to you. And I will never-" something in the strange Gem's song breaks then, and to this day Connor still wonders why, "let anyone get away with hurting you, ever again."

=<>=

...but Asteria Diamond had made no promises to be good. Had made no demand to be loved, to be trusted. He had only ever offered his hand, and Connor has, so far, been given no reason to regret taking it.

it's just... frustrating.

So, so, frustrating to see in this Diamond everything he could have become, everything he should have become, and find himself wanting.

They're the same. They're the same.

So why am I so weak?

Connor takes an angry bite of his sandwich and tosses another damn pebble off the cliffside. He's lighting up again, he knows. Not really worth it for rock skipping, but honestly? Fuck it. It's satisfying to watch the little bastards sail into the tree line.

There's a sound beside him.

He takes a wary look to his left. Ah. A wolf. An Entire Wolf Is Just Standing Two Inches From His Face. Lovely.

...Wolves are a lot bigger in person than pictures suggest, Connor decides.

"What?" His song rings flat. "You wanna square up?"

The wolf only shuffles forward, leaning down to sit beside him. Alright then.

"If you want my lunch, you can't have it." The wolf only tilts its head. "Okay, you can have one food." He takes out a strip of bacon jerky. "One."

Sparing an almost grateful glance, the wolf delicately takes the offered thing from Connor's hand.

"This better not be like feeding seagulls. You better not come back with-with-with like, ten of you."

The wolf offers no answer except contentedly thumping its tail on his leg, the bastard.

"Rude."

Connor throws another rock off the cliffs, and watches the wolf's eyes follow it.

Chapter Text

Lion chuffs.

Vairam lets out a breathless, hissing laugh.

Lion yawns, smacking his mouth together.

Vairam makes a vague, toneless noise, clapping his hands together.

Lion sticks his feet in wayward tissue boxes and goose steps away in his new boots.

Vairam sticks his head in a box and solemnly marches off the couch.

"MORION NO-"

Chapter Text

"What's the status on our other operatives, Romanoff?"

"Barton's still recovering from home."

"Rogers?"

"Back to his functional retirement, but willing to be called again."

"Banner?"

"Back to Little Homeworld. It's not yet known what his stance is on future calls, but he seems to be willing to answer, for now."

"How about Stark?"

"...I have some concerns."

=<>=

"Sir, your 1 o' clock."

Oh shit, "-cancel that!" Tony calls out. "JARVIS! JARVIS, cancel that, please, I don't care what excuse you use, I am absolutely not ready to deal with that today-"

"I'm afraid they've already arrived, Sir."

"Fuuuuuck." Tony collapses backward onto the couch with some kind of graceless dying animal noise. "Tell her it was like, an emergency or something. Literally Any Other Time Than Today."

"Already coming up through the elevator, Sir. It's a bit late for that."

"Stall. Stall so hard, I-"

"Doctor?" Asteria Diamond's song echoes into the penthouse.

"Hey there Stardust!" Tony turns to the Gem with Stark Brand Smile #3- Happy To See You, Not Happy To See You Here. "You're early today."

"Should I- should I not have come?" the Diamond takes in the state of the space. It isn't trashed- Tony's a gracious host, even to his own lonely self, and by God he will not languish in a space that looks as shitty as he feels on the inside. But there's a mechanical apathy in the neatness today, as there has been for nearly the past week.

=<>=

"He's dropped off of public appearances almost entirely. His few sightings have been tired, almost erratic."

"He hasn't been coping well with New York?"

"I don't think he's been coping at all."

=<>=

Tony laughs, and even he knows it rings hollow, but what else can he do. "You're already here. Come on in."

It's a thing they have. They have a Thing. Set a time, set a place. They meet up, and for what? Anything really.

Avengers talk- she's surprisingly uninvested in that particular topic. He feels like he should be selling it more, but frankly? He'd rather not think about the Avengers right now.

SHIELD talk- he gets the feeling that Asteria Diamond doesn't like SHIELD all that much. Never has he heard an organization be so politely, indirectly insulted. Maybe. He's not quite sure, but- something in the tone of her song. She doesn't trust them, and rightly so. (Good- neither does he.)

=<>=

"He also suddenly broke off with Pepper Potts. They've stopped making appearances together. He's stopped mentioning her by name in social media, and she's stopped mentioning him by name in company statements."

"Potts- current CEO of Stark Industries?"

"And his long-time girlfriend. Until, I suspect, about a week ago."

=<>=

They talk business. They talk prosthetics- Gemkind has been doing prosthetics for literal thousands of years, but organic compatibility is another story entirely. So who better to help supply prosthetics for the New York casualties than the leaders in human technology. (The thought of having any sort of access for technology that's been developing independent for billions of years makes him almost giddy.)

...They talk New York.

=<>=

"You think he's spiralling."

=<>=

They just... talk.

He finds himself promising to show her his favorite 3am food trucks. She promises to fill his fruit basket with Asgardian apples.

He offhandedly mentions introducing her to the bots in the shop, wondering how it compares to Gem AI. She offhandedly points out that Gems are themselves AI, and he tries not to be too visibly fascinated by the implications.

(She asks if the name Iron Man has anything to do with that one Black Sabbath song she remembers, and he wonders if remember means I Remember Hearing About It or I Remember When That Came Out.)

Her eyes trace the idle tap of his hand against his arc reactor, and he wonders if she ever thinks about how that little thing had the power to vivisect a Leviathan ship.

His eyes definitely don't trace the idle, rolling flex of white claws, and he most certainly doesn't think about how they tore apart the helicarrier walls.

They do not talk about Loki, or kill counts, or wars, or the sky that breaks.

Gems don't sleep, not really, not in any human sense- but there is a familiar look on this Diamond's face that says, honey, I can't sleep.

He calls her stardust, and she laughs as she calls him starkiller. 

Iron is the grave of stars, the beginning of the end. Stardust, the bloody remains of their bloody murders.

He takes the scotch at his side, and pushes it to her instead. He pours himself another.

They are both of them starkillers.

It's a dramatic thought, selfishly self-deprecating, just this side of terror.

Cheers. He can drink to that.

=<>=

"I think he's vulnerable."

Chapter Text

Connie opens her eyes and looks at the time.

10:30

She closes her eyes again.

They snap back open. Wait, fuck, I'm late for school-

She pauses. There is no school to be late to. School was cancelled. She slowly falls back into bed.

Wait, fuck, I'm a mother- wait, no, that's not right either. That's Steven's kid, not hers.

She stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to remember what she was supposed to be awake for.

Her eyes start to drift shut.

"FUCK!" She vaults out of bed, slapping on Steven's old varsity jacket and grabbing the car keys. "DAD'S DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT-"

Chapter Text

He does look a little like Steven did as a baby, Pearl supposes.

Well, not quite. His skin was darker, his hair not so tightly curled. His voice, too, just slightly different. It does not have the same trill of song, and maybe it never will.

Alright, maybe he doesn't quite look like Steven. Objectively, that is. The child is both his and yet not- in many ways, there is nothing to resemble Steven- but still, she still can't help but see the parallels.

Maybe it's just a baby thing.

Maybe she just misses this. Children.

She had never raised Steven at this age- none of them had. Even still, in the throes of their grief, they had visited Steven. Not often enough, it seems, for them to ever really stick in his memory until they had started finishing the house. They had left Greg to fend for Steven almost entirely on his own, snatching the child away by the time he was old enough to obey them.

They really were so cruel, once.

(Maybe its a good thing, that Morion doesn't look too much like Steven. Maybe it will make it easier for him not to inherit all the things people have pushed into his father's shadow.)

She looks at the clock. It's been an hour, now. 

She's been alone with the child before, of course. Greg, Vidalia, the Maheswarans- they have all, at some point or another, briefly trusted a Gem with the child, or had one watch him for the day.

But Steven had been back, today.

Steven had trusted Pearl, to be left with his child.

He had trusted her again.

Off all Gems, he had trusted her again. Such a little thing, and yet...

She feels the graceless fountain of tears well up in her eyes at the thought.

"Buh?"

Morion pats his tiny hand right over her tearing eyes, an honest concern on his round baby face.

"Bur!" He ineffectually nudges at her tears. Don't cry, Pearl. 

"I'm fine, Morion," she finally says.

He slaps her eyes once more for emphasis.

"I'm not sad," she clarifies. "I'm just-" she smiles, then, all weakness and porcelain and tears and pride. "-I'm just very happy."

She doesn't know if he really understands, if he even can, but he smiles like he does.

And then slaps her on the gem.

"Alright, that's quite enough."

Chapter Text

Taking the Gem Empire (Gempire, if you will) paycheck is either the best idea Matt's ever had in his life, or the absolute worst, and Foggy can't figure out which one it is yet.

It's definitely an interesting one.

There was already a human on the investigative team, one Dr. Ronaldo Fryman. He was certainly a character, to be sure, but he could gather information from the deepest parts of the web like no one's business. 

Then there was the Zircon- a Gem type apparently designed for investigations and legal work. She was flighty, high strung, and a thousand other synonyms for anxious, but scarily quick on the uptake when comparing human, Gem, and aesir laws.

Foggy doesn't exactly want to jump to conclusions, but he feels like maybe Asteria Diamond is in the habit of employing suspiciously competent weirdos. (Which probably says something about him and Matt, but whatever. He's known from the beginning the both of them were crazies.)

Speaking of Matt, he's certainly been having a time. 

He's got this- Foggy can't quite call it nervous energy, but Matt seems a bit more, well, lively than usual? He's always been so choreographed, so ramrod straight in his postures unless he was being casual. He'd said, some time back in college, that sometimes the sound of his own idle movement bothered him, so he tries to keep them to a minimum.

But on the Gem job, Matt's been practically buzzing with some kind of energy that kept on going until they made it back to the office. At this point Foggy's kind of worried.

"You, uh-" Foggy taps Matt on the shoulder. "-you okay there?"

Matt startles just a bit, he always does when someone touches him. Hard to prepare for what you can't see coming.

"Yeah, I- I'm alright." There's a furrow in his brows- he's probably squinting under his glasses. "Why?"

"Gotta be honest with you, you seem kind of, uh- keyed up? If this case is stressing you out, we can always step back a bit, y'know? The Diamond said the trial's not gonna be for another two months or so. We got time."

Matt tilts his head. "Oh, you-" he laughs a little. "Oh, no, it's not stress, it's..."

He trails off, uncertain. He starts feeling for the wall, and leans back against it. Foggy waits for him to speak.

"...after my accident," Matt starts, and all Foggy can think is oh boy, it's one of those days, huh, "it wasn't just my eyes that got affected. My, uh..." he motions vaguely at his head. "...my other senses kind of went sideways, too. They didn't get worse or anything, but it's all sort of... raw? And Gems-" he taps his cane against the ground. "-what's that word for the really good TVs? Like the really good resolution?"

"4K?"

"Yeah. Imagine if everything was 80s television. Gems are like walking 4K. Just kind of-" Matt does a spastic gesture with his hands.

A silence.

"Matt, I think that's called sensory overload."

"Really?" Matt blinks under his glasses. "Huh."

"Matt. My good bestest friend Matthew Murdock. My partner in crime. My avocado at law." Foggy pinches at his brows. "You are not telling me you've been willingly exposing yourself to sensory overload for like, the past week."

"Well, since you asked nicely, I guess I won't tell you."

"Matt. Matt you fucking dumbass, why would you do that to yourself?"

Matt shrugs. "Tingly."

"Get hobbies. Read an audiobook."

"No."

"Sensory overload, Matt."

"It's not sensory overload, it's-it's just more of a vague I'm-on-fire sensation-"

"That's what sensory overload is, you idiot-"

"Wow, rude-"

Chapter Text

"I don't know what to do with it," Bismuth sighs.

A tower of stone stands above them. Rose Quartz, sword piercing the sky, shield at her side as her image twists from out of the rock she was made from.

Her shadow is taller than giants.

"It's beautiful," Pearl finally whispers.

"It isn't finished."

She can see it- the way the cloudy curl of Rose's hair drifts and breaks like ocean waves into the stone. The still rough shape of her etched claws, the unsmoothed ruffles of her gown.

"Will you finish it?"

"I-"

Bismuth's eyes catch on the engraving on the base.

"I..."

It's broken, she realizes. Rose must have...she must have tried to destroy it. She wonders who put it back together. Was it Steven? (What must he have felt, then, reading betrayed songs of devotion in the shadow of Rose Quartz?)

"...I don't think I can," Bismuth barely chokes out.

"We can't just leave it here," Pearl softly reminds her. "You can't leave this... hanging over you."

"I know." Pearl's hand is a small, delicate thing, but it is a grounding presence on her arm all the same. "It just doesn't feel right any more, to be workin' on it."

"What were you even planning on doing with it?"

"I was-" Bismuth laughs, almost. "-after the War was over, I was gonna tear this whole mountain down. Leave this in its place. I wanted to build a new home in the new world she was gonna make."

"And now?"

"Can't exactly tear it down. It won't erase what happened here." She shrugs a little despairingly. "I spent 92 years workin' on this, and now I can't even show it to anyone."

Pearl gets an odd look on her face. "Well, that's not exactly true..."

"You're not seriously suggestin' I put this thing to the public?" Bismuth's song rings flat.

"It could be a monument," Pearl haltingly suggests. "To everything the War represented, both good and bad."

Freedom and illusion.

Devotion and betrayal.

Love and loss.

Bismuth looks up at the insurmountable image of a Diamond, interrupted. "I'll never be able to finish it."

Pearl looks up at Rose's face. Her expression is resolute and unreadable- there could be a thousand faces and histories, each one different to a thousand eyes, and she will stand unanswered to them all.

"I think it's exactly as finished as it needs to be."

Chapter Text

A mother's love is a painful parting gift, and Connor is marbled in thorns.

Harsh, swirling brambles radiating out of his gem. Past his chest, past his shoulders, down his arms in wandered, curling vines. Artful scars of a more gem nature, to match the more human gouges already along his spine, his wrists, his throat, his face.

Asteria Diamond did not look particularly surprised to see it. Mindscars, he had said. A damage to the mind, the gem, it could create such strange, painful patterns.

Another day, another break.

Az tugs at Connor's shirt, turning a clinical eye to the thorns nested on his chest. "It still hasn't healed."

"It still bleeds, sometimes," Connor admits.

"But no relapses?"

"Not since you..." Brute forced Mom out of the system. "...not since Mom's been gone."

"Even still, this seems to be a slightly slower rate than even a baseline human. Have you been taking the ichors I've given you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the-only reason I've been healing at all."

Az's responding hum is a long, drawn, purring sound that probably isn't meant to dance around Connor's skull, but dances all the same. "Lift your shirt off. Stand around and stretch. I need to check that the scarring hasn't gone into the muscle."

It's just as awkward as it sounds, parading around shirtless in front of one's alternate self.

"Y'know," Connor tries to casually inject as he stretches his arms, "I'm no-t sure if you not even feeling a little awkward staring at me like this make-s-s it less weird or more weird."

"It's only weird if you make it weird." A blink. "Unless you would have wanted to go to a doctor for this."

"NO!" Az raises his eyebrows, leaning back at the violent burst of song, and Connor strangles his mouth in his hand. "No, no-no-no-no-" he breaks the loop of his dead song with a sharp hiss. "No... humans. No doctors."

His claws dig into the wood of the table.

"Please," he whispers, "don't."

Az moves to stand, wandering closer towards him, and he wouldn't he wouldn't he wouldn't he wouldn't

(but he could)

"I just noticed," the Diamond murmurs. "You've gotten taller."

What. "What?"

"Only an inch or so." Az tilts his head. "I'm only seeing it because the way you lean on the table is a little different now."

Of course. His first thought after being yelled at, and it's oh, you got taller. Connor laughs under his breath. "Stay on topic. I want my shirt back."

"Oh! Right. Yeah, put it back on if you want." Az sips at his mug as Connor shrugs his shirt back on. "Neither sets seem to have affected your mobility, but that might change when we put you through more intensive training. The scars along your spine are a bit yikes, though, gonna have to keep an eye on those. I don't like the divots sneaking in between your bones."

"It's like I'm missing code or something." Connor falls back onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. "I think Mom might've taken some stuff with her when we kicked her out." He looks back to Az, who already has a pensive sort of kicked-puppy frown on his face. "Don't," he whispers. "It's not your fault."

"I know, it's not that, I just-" a stressed note pitches out of Az's song. "I wish I could've done more."

"It's not your fault if I can't live up to you," Connor laughs desparingly.

Ah.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Az kind of looks like he's going to cry, now.

"Don't do that," Connor mutters. "It's true."

"You know," and Connor kind of hates the indecipherable break in Az's song that seems to exist just for the two of them, "you know you don't- you don't have to... catch up to me. I'm not... I'm not someone you should be living up to."

"I want to."

"Don't." There's a haunted, shaking edge in Az's words, now. "Don't put me up there. Don't do that to yourself."

"...Az-"

"Don't."

He almost wants to argue it- that all encompassing echo in his brain that sings be faster, be stronger, be better. But there's a newer song- new and small and fragile- a sneaking suspicion that trying to argue for it just might break Az's heart. It's a weak whisper, but it cares for some reason he can't understand, so he lets his words die in his throat.

"I just..." Connor's dead song grows quiet. "I just wish I had what you had, sometimes. The strength you got to have. The life you got to have."

There's a silence then, and Connor wonder's if he's said the wrong thing again.

Dark, wide crosshairs in his eyes, Asteria Diamond throws his head back against the couch and laughs.

Connor sees red- red and white and black. Vibrant like Lace Amethyst's stripes, round like the scars on the euhedral Jasper. Gouges, they curl in clustered crescents like roses on the back of Az's neck, not quite hidden by the collar of his shirt. He isn't wearing his vest- the fabric on the back of his shirt catches on some stray corner of the couch, pulling it down just slightly, and Connor can see the suggestion of just how far Asteria Diamond's mindscars run.

He sees the freckles on a Diamond's skin- freckles that would never have come naturally to a paragon Diamond's form, that would have never come from the human side of his family, the way some of them color exactly like the gouged, unnatural roses on his back.

A Diamond still laughing.

"No," Az finally whispers, a smile that speaks of everything neither of them should ever have had to learn to understand. "No, you don't."

Chapter Text

Priyanka frowns down at the Morion. "How old did we estimate him again?"

" 'bout a year," Connie replies.

"Hmm." She moves to the drawer. "We should probably give him a haircut, then."

"His hair's not that long."

"Just a trim. He needs to learn how to deal with haircuts." She pulls out the scissors. "Connie, could you hold him?"

"Alright." She lazily stretches toward him. "C'mere, tiny weirdo."

"Ninininini..." Morion reaches out to her, pawing at the air as she takes him into her arms. "Ni!"

"Yep, that's me probably." Morion baps her on the face. "Wow, rude."

"He slaps everyone," Doug snarks. "I think he's trying to mimic the way Steven pets him on the head."

Connie snorts.

Priyanka spritzes Morion's hair with just a bit of water, moves the scissors forward...

...and watches the blades quite literally disappear with a pink glow. Priyanka yanks the scissors back.

What. "What."

Doug pokes his hand at the hair. Nothing. Priyanka brings the comb and gives the hair an experimental brush. Still nothing.

She brings the scissors back. As they move to the hair, it glows pink again, and Priyanka can't pull her hand away in time to keep the scissors from disappearing entirely.

"Well." Doug blinks bemusedly. "This is a predicament."

Connie experimentally hovers her own hand through Morion's hair, and the glow right then is just the same as Steven's hand on Lion's mane. She sinks her hand down until she catches on familiar plastic, and re-emerges with a pair of scissors.

"Call Steven?" Doug asks.

Connie nods. "Call Steven."

Chapter Text

There's a human in the forge.

Connor had only really realized it when he was past the threshold of the workshop.

Human.

Human human human human, this place was supposed to be ş̸͙̮̻͈̱͖̮̍͆̅͂̄̅̾̈́̈ả̵̙̺̝̘͙͓͚̺͕͙͊̿̃̔̌̈́̏̚̚̕͠͠ͅf̸͖̲̠͙̈͊͂ͅḛ̴̟̩̦̗̞͎͖̜̦͖̤͗̓̌̽͌̏͜,̵̪̻̰̠̮̅̓͐͒͒̋̈́͛̍̋̍̈́̚ ̷̙̽̓̌̈́̿̔̇̌ĭ̶̢̦̔̈́͂t̷̢̨̛̯̘̞̣̓̿̽̕'̵̪̬͎͋̑̈̐̀̊̎̓̕̕̚ṡ̸̢͈̖̹͕͕͉̦̙͓͙͈̻̅̀̑̕ ̷̛̖̀̇̉̿̄̓̇̐͂͊͝ņ̷̠͇̹͚͖̻̔͒̋́͘͘͘ ̷̨̳̘̹̪͈͖̝̜̅̑̉̍͂̆̒͒͝o̴̡̟̩̬̩͕̣̙͙̻̩͈̺̓̈́̈́̏̈́̚͝͝͝ ̸̭̻͔̣͍̰̗͎̲͠t̵̨̛̺̲͉̱̣̤̭̻̮̓̈́̃̉̏̐̾̓͠ ̷̨̛̺̜̳̼͈̩̬̭͉̯͍̳ ̸͖̩͚͇͎̤̯̯̺̔̅͛̓̚͜͝s̷͈̊͑̒͘ ̵̰͙͉͓̠̯͓͐̓͂̚a̷̛̪̖͚͓̗̫̟̬͗̌͌͐̄ ̵̞̝̜̹͐̃̅̀̋̃ͅḟ̵̜̼̣̞̃͌͆̊̀̑̇͜ ̴̢̜̭̤͇͉͈͇̺͚͍̩͚̠̈̾͐̒͗̈́̑̚e̷̢̡͚͚͕̱̻̲̼̻̮͓͙̺̳͗̚

Connor crosses his arms and only hopes his face conveys enough annoyance to make up for the dead voice of his song. "Humans should not be here.”

Olive skin pries at softened metal. Lava turns her eyes to gold flecks under the red hair she blows out of her face. "What's it to you, human?"

"Do not mistake me for one of your kind." He doesn't bother to muffle the low hiss rising from his song, claws curling into his crossed arms. "I'm just as Gem as anyone else here."

"A bit human looking, for a Gem." The woman hums idly, a hand reaching for the... gauntlet? Some metal arm piece placed off to the side. She eyes him appraisingly. “What’s up with all those scars on ya? Thought gems didn’t get injured like that.” She clicks the metal arm into the empty socket that remains of her right shoulder. “Not like humans.”

Connor scoffs. "You kidding? Half the gems in Little Homeworld are walking scars- you think all those horns out there are natural? I'm just another chalk on the walls." He gestures flippantly at the raking river of scars marring his own gem. " 'sides, I'm not exactly in top shape here. I can't help my thorns."

The human breathes out a laugh as she rolls her metal arm further into place. "I feel that," she chuckles sadly. "You got a name, then, walking scar?” 

Connor narrows his eyes. “Yours first.” 

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Cinna. Cinna Monterey.”

“Crimson Carbide- but I'll play human," he flatly concedes with the dead tilt of his smile. "Connor's another name of mine, if you like.”

Cinna places her hammer down and offers her prosthetic arm out to him. “It's a pleasure.” 

The hand lingers, in the air. 

“I-" There was something- a movement, a way he should respond, but he can't quite remember it. "-I-I, uh, don’t remember how to do this. Human gesture.” 

Cinna chuckled quietly. “Here, I can show you.”

She took one of his hands from its tense position along his chest and placed it in her own metal palm. “Sorry about the chill, can’t really do anything about the tungsten.” Cold joints curl around his hand, slowly shaking it up and down in a coaxing manner, golden eyes following patiently as he caught on to the action with halting repetition. "There you are. One human gesture, free of charge."

"Hmm."

Satisfied, or something like it- he never could quite tell, with humans- Cinna steps back. She takes the hammer again and starts pounding down at the softened metal she'd been toying with when he first saw her. “So, what are you doing here so early?” she calls conversationally over the sound.

“Nothing you should be worried about,” he flatly replies.

Flat, untoned, dead. He'd never noticed how dead his song was. He's never had to talk this long to someone other than Az. Az had never made him feel dead. Connor's voice would roll along to the Diamond's song and his own would almost seem alive again.

He'd forgotten how broken his song was all on its own. Broken and chordless and dead dead dead dead-

“-feels like I should be worried,” catches the tail end of Cinna's sarcasm.

"It's nothing," Connor soothes unsoothingly. “Bismuth just isn't letting me make a knife.”

“...Yep. Definitely worried.” Cinna looks down at her metal. He can see what she'd been working on now- the beginnings of a rudimentary blade. Elegant enough to almost make him forget the human company he's keeping at the moment. Connor stares at it for what is probably longer than appropriate.

“She’s letting you make a knife,” he notes jealously.

“Technically, it's a dagger,” she smiles wryly. 

“Can I have it?”

Connor reaches for the hot metal, his skin starting to glow and turn an almost reddish pink.

Cinna rushed forward and took the knife. “Nope!”

Connor frowned and tried to grab it from Cinna’s hands, missing. "Come on." His song may be dead, but his smile teases, or so he hopes. "Just a look."

“I feel like Bismuth has a reason for you to not have my knife!” she yelped. 

Connor growls- a low, basal sound he feels in the back of his rolling, roaming eyes. “I'll just make one later then.”

Hold on.

He gives the human another look over. She's holding the knife in her flesh hand. “How exactly are you holding that? That should not be safe for a human.”

“For a human. But I'm only halfway.” Cinna slowly threw the knife into the water, watching it hiss and steam. She holds her flesh hand up. “Half human-”

She raises her hand up in front of her, golden eyes gleaming as flesh turns to fire.

“-half fire.”

Oh, this one.

He just might like this one.

"Well," he almost smiles, a sharpness on his tongue, "where'd you get a trick like that?"

"Mom fucked a burning man back in Oregon." Flames dance along her burning bones. "What about you, Knives? What's got you lookin' so down to earth?"

"Who knows?" He leans back against the forge's doorframe. "Dad must've fucked a rock."

"Fine, don't tell me."

"No," he insists with a hollow smile. "Why would I lie to you, total stranger? When a mommy Gem and a daddy Gem love eachother very much-"

"OH MY GOD I WILL PAY YOU TO STOP."

The sheer cringe on her face, it's too much.

=<>=

And he's laughing. This knife crazy, thorn scarred gem, he nearly knocks his head on the wall as he laughs.

It's this stilted, halting sound, fitting to his stilted, halting song, but it almost... it almost sounds alive, if only for a moment.

When was the last time he'd ever laughed? Had he ever laughed? Cinna feels, suddenly, that she's seeing something new and unsure and very, very fragile.

I haven't made someone laugh like that since-

NOPE. Don't go there. Don't think about it. Don't think about old friends and old lives and all good things swallowed by the sky that breaks.

She scoffs, testing the balance of the dagger as she twirls it in her hand. "Fuck off, man. Take you and your bullying somewhere else."

Connor just laughs even harder.

Chapter Text

"Do you understand why you're here?"

"For my part in New York's battle."

"And do you understand the restrictions you have been given during your stay?"

"Well enough."

"Do you understand why they are in place?"

"...I imagine as my punishment."

"You are not here to be punished."

"Aren't I?"

"What purpose would it serve?"

"Retribution, perhaps. Payment. Revenge."

"I shudder to imagine the Asgardian system, if these are your expectations. Punishment is an impracticality the Empire cannot be bothered to partake in. These arrangements are here for your safety."

"My safety."

"Don't play coy, Loki. You're smarter than that. Your actions have put quite a target on yourself, and it would not do for anyone else to get their hands on you before we're quite through with you. Including yourself."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your history of self harming tendencies under emotional stress has not gone unnoticed."

"..."

"You didn't fall off the Bifrost, Loki. You let go. Under most definitions, that would be considered a suicide attempt."

"..."

"...It seems I've given you some things to think about. I won't pry further. We'll continue this conversation later."

Chapter Text

"How'd it go, buddy?"

Thor simply sighs, forlornly staring down his coffee mug like it just killed his dog in front of him. Do they even have dogs in Asgard? Maybe horses. The Coffee Mug Has Murdered His Favorite Horse.

"That bad, huh?"

Tony attacks a Pop-Tart as he waits for a response. No, he didn't microwave it. No, he didn't toast it. He's just eating it right out of the wrapper like some kind of heathen. Deal with it.

Besides, his eating habits (or lack thereof) aren't the important part. The important part is Point Break moping around like Christmas is forever cancelled.

"They didn't let me see him," the prince mumbles.

"That's rough, buddy."

"They won't even let Mother see him," Thor goes on.

Internally, Tony isn't all that surprised, to be honest. But that's probably not exactly what Thor wants to hear. "They aren't letting anybody near him, Point Break. Nobody even knows where they're keeping him."

"I just-" Thor hesitates with a sip at his mug. "He's been dead to the world ever since the battle, and I... I have heard stories, of the Diamond's wrath." His hand grips the cup just a bit too tightly, but that's why Tony picked out the sturdier one for him. "I worry how my brother fares under the Empire's care."

"C'mon," Tony scoffs, "you've met Asteria Diamond. Does he really strike you as the type to get mean?"

"He doesn't, until he does," Thor whispers.

They do not talk about songs that threaten to shake flying fortresses out of the sky. They do not talk about claws that tear through bone and iron and stone. They do not speak of whispers that command Leviathans to fall.

Tony looks off to the side, and pretends the cup he puts to his mouth is what keeps him from speaking.

"Cruelty just isn't their style," he finally says. "Sure, the Gems are a bit freaky, but they're pragmatic. Whatever they're holding Loki to, they've probably got a good reason for it."

"It does not mean that Loki will not suffer."

"Yeah, it doesn't," Tony concedes. He politely avoids saying that Loki kind of deserves no special treatment. "But it does mean that Gems are willing to be reasonable if you give them a good reason."

And Tony does not like the hopeful sort of look that passes over the aesir's face at the thought. God, I hope I didn't just start a political incident two weeks from now.

He could probably be handling this conversation better. He should be handling this conversation better, really. More charming, more sympathetic, more mindful of the consequences. But thinking about Loki is thinking about New York and thinking about New York is thinking about screams and falling chariots and oil slick blood on unyielding teeth, alien flesh that burns all too human, the eerie shriek of warsong and the sky that breaks-

"You know the Diamond," Thor speaks with just a bit too much hope. "How would I ingratiate myself to him?"

Oh. This is worse somehow.

"Uhh..." Very elegant response. "Excuse me?"

"How might I gain his favor, as you have?"

"I haven't- I haven't gained their favor-" Tony does not sputter at the idea, He Does Not, "-what am I to you, some kind of knight at a lady's hand? Jesus."

Thor blinks bemusedly at his (very reasonably offended) outburst. "You've told me yourself that you often visit at eachother's chambers."

"That's- what-" Wow! This is somehow Even Worse! The Worst! Thanks! I Hate It! "-why would you- no! That's not-" Not helping your case here, Tones. (Shut up, brain Rhodey.) "We don't visit eachother's chambers, first of all-"

"Isn't that place in the Tower your chambers?"

"That's- that's a penthouse, it's like a house, it's not my bedroom, Good god-"

"You still visit often-"

"I do not, I am not doing that- that- she hangs out with me, not the other wAY AROUND-"

Chapter Text

"It might do you some good to get a bit more acquainted with Dr. Stark."

"You said you weren't recruiting him."

"I didn't. He signed himself on. Already building up the old Stark Tower into the Avengers Tower. Even building you lot custom rooms."

"That's a bit more... industrious than I expected."

"He might be a partier, but Stark Industries is a world leading company for a reason. He's got a good head on his shoulders, if he stays invested in what catches his attention. I suspect you can help with that."

"You want me to be his minder?"

"I want you to be his friend, Rogers. He doesn't have many. But if you can manage it, you'd have a fine friend, indeed. You could use one in this brave new world."

"You didn't call me over to send me on a playdate, Director."

"He doesn't know war, Captain. Not like you and I. I'm worried he hasn't been coping with Manhattan well. It might do him some good to have a war buddy. Seems he's been a bit lonely as of late."

"We didn't exactly get along early on."

"You got better at it, though."

"You really think he'd give me a second chance outside of work?"

"Seems he'd be open to try. And he's been getting a bit friendly with all sorts. Stark's been keeping a certain Diamond's company as of late."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"I'm only telling you that Asteria Diamond tends to inspire concerning levels of devotion from his flock, Gem or otherwise. I'm only telling you that His Radiance has a known fondness for humans, a habit of collecting people, and that he's taken a sudden interest in Tony Stark. An interest that isn't entirely human."

"...What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, yet. I'm just pointing out that for someone who might want a stronger controlling interest on Earth, Tony Stark is a very pretty game piece to collect. And Stark is very vulnerable to being collected, right now."

"..."

"I'm just saying he might be a little less vulnerable if he had some more friends. That's all."

"I see."

"I'm sure you can read between the lines, Rogers. That'll be all today."

"...Yes, sir."

Chapter Text

He remembers so little, he knows.

He remembers his father, passingly. He must have known the man- must have known his face. But he has no memory of it, not really, just these... faded impressions, like forgotten footprints on a well-worn trail.

There was a van. It is familiar somehow, but he can't recall how.

He remembers a house, on a beach, and he remembers...

...Connie.

My Connie.

My Connie.

He remembers her somehow, in a way he remembers little else. Large dark eyes, her face hidden under sunhat, the long dark hair that curled around her shoulders. He had idly thought that she must have been pretty, in that human way whose meaning always escaped him.

And when he was in Little Homeworld he saw her. He saw her, tall and strong, sharp scarred angles and callused hands on the grip of her sword and she was beautiful.

And he idly thought he must of loved her, once.

My story my constant my steadfast faith my lord of the universe.

My lord and my universe and mine.

And for a moment he had loved her so much he had forgotten she was tall and deadly and so very human. He had forgotten he should have been afraid of her.

"Steven?"

How strange. She had seemed so unreachably tall from a distance but here, standing in front of her, it is... less intimidating than he expected. 

Perhaps we've grown again.

Perhaps you wanted to be taller for her.

He wonders what would happen if he-

"Wait." She splays a hand on his chest, stopping him. "You're not Steven." She looks down at him, a considering look in her eyes. Then an understanding. "Connor. You're Connor, right? Steven told me about you."

"I-" 

Handle yourself, Con.

Handle your self, Thorn. Good lord.

"-yes. I'm-" not Steven not Steven I am Steven Universe "-Connor, yeah." A claw idly picks at a fraying sleeve. Maybe he should cut his sleeves off. "That's me, I guess."

"Do you-" she hesitates, almost. It's unlike her- she's never hesitated, not with Steven him. "-do you remember me?"

"Yeah. I... I think I do."

"Oh." She flounders, for a moment. "Are you... busy right now?"

We're supposed to meet Bismuth in ten minutes. 

"No," he lies, like some kind of liar. "Why?"

"We used to hang out. We were friends, if you still remember that. It's gonna be really awkward," she laughs, "but... maybe, if you wanted, we could try being friends again?"

Friends?

Friends. I remember friends, I think.

I don't think we had that many.

I don't think we have any left.

"Are we-" his dead song skips for a moment, "-are we friends?"

"Only if you want to try."

Oh.

No friends.

Just the one.

Be careful.

You be careful.

"Yeah," he almost smiles, "I-I-I'd- I think I'd like that."

Chapter Text

What the fuck is that.

There's a Thing on the table. An oversized animal-ish Thing.

Panda.

Duck.

Panda-duck.

Duck-panda.

Duck...n...da. Danda? Bear duck animal thing.

Left platypus.

Left platypus.

Left Platypus is a large and purple beaked toy animal and it was definitely not on the table yesterday. Or maybe it was. He did just move into this place, a minor upgrade from being Bismuth's weird roommate.

It's still right next to the forge. Because Connor wants knife access, even if he's not allowed to have knives. (Especially if he's not allowed to have knives-)

BACK TO LEFT PLATYPUS. Stars. He can't stay on track for a second, huh. Might be a problem. Might need to talk to a therapist about it.

Left Platypus has a little note taped to its head. Gem shorthand. Ew.

Does he even realize we can't read that?

Might be encouraging us to learn it.

Ew.

Az certainly... tried. Though some days Connor wasn't sure what Az was trying to accomplish with him. All this effort is just a bit... odd. And he cares? He cares for some reason, about strange little things.

Az cares about wounds that don't heal on their own. (He can just take ichors, he's fine. He'll just have to learn not to get hurt. He's already used to the pain anyways.)

Az cares about dead, stilted, broken songs. (Connor had dared to ask how to 'fix' his song once. Az had said not to think about it like that. He had said, instead, that Connor could learn to speak with the song he had now, instead of straining himself. There's a guitar propped up on the wall of his new house next to a percussion box.)

Az cares about things Connor doesn't like. It's almost ridiculous- Connor can just say I don't want to do that and Az will simply blink and take the statement as is. (He does not simply force Connor to do things. Connor doesn't know why this keeps surprising him.)

Az cares.

And Connor doesn't know what to do about it.

Which is probably why Connor has been dissociating in the general direction of Left Platypus for 15 minutes, paralyzed by a rabbit hole of unknown implications, instead of actually reacting like a normal person.

Az will probably ask what he thinks about it. A shame, since Connor is desperately trying and failing to come up with any coherent feelings toward the Left Platypus other than confusion and vague associations.

He could probably say he hated it. Stab it for good measure. He's supposed to be expressing opinions more often after all. He wonders what Az would think of that. Would he be upset at the destruction of the gift, or vaguely proud of Connor's sudden boldness?

Connor cares about what Az would think, he realizes. He'll be doing the most... mundane shit, and out of nowhere he'll think wonder what Az would think of this.

He keeps going back to the thought that maybe Az would be proud.

It's strange. He remembers feeling that way about Greg, once.

AD

What did you think?

thanks I hate it

Oh.

I could give it to someone else, if you wanted. You don't have 

to keep it if you don't like it.

No. fuck you, i'm keeping it forever.

Alright???

AD

[LeftPlatypus.png]

Connor, why does it have armor?

His name is sun tzu and he will lead us to victory

Chapter Text

"I didn't know you needed glasses."

"Oh, I don't." Stark- Tony, looks back to Steve, tapping absently at the frame of his glasses. "This thing here? It's JARVIS."

"Your bot?" 

"AI. Artificial intelligence. Well-" Tony backtracks just slightly. "-technically more of a user interface in JARVIS' case. He's designed as more of a gateway to all my resources. Databases, bank stuff, yadda yadda."

"Like a butler," Steve half-scoffs.

"I actually did name him after Dad's butler, so you aren't that far off."

Wait. "JARVIS. Jarvis..." Steve blinks. "Edwin Jarvis?"

"You knew him?"

"Only in passing. I used to think he was Howard's lab assistant." (And boy, wasn't that embarrassing. It took him a frankly humiliating couple of minutes to wonder why he was randomly asked how he liked his coffee and drinks before he figured it out.)

"Well you're not wrong. He was the Stark household's assistant everything, really." Tony snickers disgracefully. "And he was my first lab buddy, too." 

"Looks like he still is," Steve remarks with a pointed glance to Tony's glasses.

"Hey. He was a good lab buddy," Tony smiles wistfully. "Don't blame me for wanting to hold onto that."

You're right," Steve admits, Peggy's picture still weighing down his pocket, "I guess I can't."

Chapter Text

The wolf has taken to following him around sometimes, even if he doesn't have anything to feed it. Connor doesn't know if he should be annoyed about it or not.

At least it hasn't tried to break into his house yet. He's not ready to deal with that.

But hey. It's not like it's a bad thing, having a wolf around. A gruff, scarred Gem trailed by a massive dog-looking thing tends to create a bigger bubble of personal space, and sometimes... sometimes it's just nice to pet a dog. Wolf. Wolfdog?

The longer Connor thinks about it, the less he's sure that the wolf is an actual wolf. At least not all the way? It's got a red sort of tint to the brown of its fur, and it holds its head higher, the way a dog would. Maybe that's why it lives by itself- too wild to be taken as a dog, too tame to live without the presence of people.

...It's probably pathetic to be relating to a random animal he met in the woods.

Whatever. It's not like there's anyone around to judge him for it anyways.

The wolf tilts its head at him.

Connor points his hand at it with a clicking noise. "Bang."

The wolf tips onto the ground and rolls.

"Good boy."

Chapter Text

Congratulations to you, my Captain,

or rather, my Lieutenant,

and your promotion of ranking to Lieutenant Admiral.

Now, this doesn't change your job all that much. This is really just to give you a proper place in the system.

A formality, I suppose. Mostly a means to give you the appropriate access and command of the Empire's assets without our direct interference. We won't expect you to be commanding fleets anytime soon, obviously. We know you wouldn't want that.

You'd make an admirable effort, I'm sure.

But let's be honest with ourselves- you'd only dull yourself out with the job.

I should probably come out and say that this actually wasn't my idea. Wipe the look off your face- we all know you were thinking it. Nepotism's pretty redundant when the entire collective nation is pretty much all our kids, after all.

You actually have a certain Emerald to thank for this. Shocking, I know.

It almost sounds like she respects you, in some abrasive, rivalistic way. Or at the very least obsessive. She goes on for hours and hours, and from what we've heard it's almost mutual. Is there something you'd like to tell us, Lars?

I'm kidding. (Unless...?)

But enough of that! The important parts- you are promoted, don't worry it's just for the paperwork, you deserve it because you're good at your job and also I love you.

That last part doesn't have anything to do with the promotion. It's just true. I feel like it's been a while since I've told you that.

I haven't visited. Yikes on my part. Sorry about that. Last few months have been a real dike to my schedule thanks to that whole Manhattan business. Did anyone tell you about the Manhattan thing? It should have been covered in the broadcasts by now, but I can't assume you tune in on the job.

Aliens (different aliens, not us this time) tried to yoink New York. Didn't work out for them. They did not succeed. I ensured it.

I have killed almost 200 people over the course of two hours. The wars are starting to blend together and I don't know how to feel about it, Lars.

Clean-up was real spicy work. We were finding bodies for weeks.

And then there was some... other stuff that happened, afterwards. It's a bit wild, I might be losing it, But At Least I've Got A Lid On It Right Now. I'm mostly in the West Coast at the moment working on Projects I Can't Talk About Yet. Should be resolved before summer's end. Look out for some really weird human science news in like a month or so.

You don't need to come back to Earth right now. I should in fact specifically advise you against it.

The humans are still freaked out from the invasion, so anybody dropping in out of the sky right now is going to make them nervous. Sorry to kind of kick you out of the house, but it's only for a little while until stuff calms down.

There's going to be a summit, discussing the invasion. And a trial. That I would like you to be there for. All the fancy boys of the gem fleet have to be there and that includes you now, Lieutenant. 

Gotta be honest, not looking forward to it. Sure, the Empire's first international trial is objectively fascinating, but we will also have to sit there and not leave, the whole time. Don't like it.

But hey. It'll be nice to see you again. Thor will be there, if it helps. We're not implying anything, I don't know what you're talking about, we just know that might sweeten the situation for you. 

Maybe he'll have more of that supposed Asgardian mead you don't like to talk about and you can go off and have a real party.

I'll see you later, Stars.

Chapter Text

When Vairam was very, very young, Baba wasn't around all that much.

At least, that's what he'll hear later on. After all, he was very young- too young to really remember.

And no matter Steven's particular anxieties about that fact, Vairam never once felt any particular stinging sense of absence on his part. Baba was around plenty enough times, and it would only occur to him many years later that maybe it wasn't exactly normal to wait for one's parents in the middle of the night.

But as far back as Vairam can remember, and even earlier than that, he remembers waiting by the temple for his baba to come back. And in those early days, he often waited at night.

He didn't really need the sleep, after all.

He's one year old and he turns to the sound of Lion's warp like an old friend, eagerly clapping his little hands on the table.

"Vairam?" Steven squints tiredly in the child's direction. "Are you still up?"

Vairam brashly waddles forward on legs that can't quite keep up with him, crashing into Steven's waiting arms.

"Alright, alright," he laughs, taking Vairam up into his arms. "I missed you too."

Vairam pats at oddly human tone of his skin.

"Oh, right. Sorry." With a sigh, he falls back into himself- olive tone fades to pale pink, the roots of dark hair growing back to their natural rosy curl. "Forgot to take off my work clothes, huh?"

Vairam tugs at the beanie still parked on his head, helpfully blinding him as he vaguely wanders in the direction of the couch.

"Vairam, why."

"Biii!"

"Mm." He crashes gracelessly onto the couch cushions as his son conveniently remains unruffled. "Fair enough." Vairam keeps tugging. "Hey."

It's a stubborn, insistent grip like only a child can manage, jostling Steven's head about until he's finally free of the accursed woolen object.

"You really wanted that beanie, huh?"

Vairam flaps his little baby arms until the beanie flies free. The two of them absentmindedly watch the rather impressive trajectory. It lands exactly on the microwave. Steven is almost proud.

"Touchdown," Steven laughs.

Vairam starts squirming in his hold, and Steven wisely lets go. The kid starts crawling all over his prone body until reaching over past his head.

Steven turns over onto his belly, trying to keep a better watch, but apparently that was a mistake because Vairam promptly attacks his face with tiny hands.

"What are you doing, Vairam?"

Vairam scoots closer, hands slowly migrating away from Steven's face and eventually onto his hair.

"Is that what you were after?" Steven wonders. "Alright then- as long as you aren't trying to tear my hair ouuuuuuuuuuuu-"

=<>=

Steven?

He's haphazardly laid out on his stomach against the couch next to Vairam with a spaced-out sort of look on his face, but he looks vaguely up at her when she shakes his shoulder. "...C'nnie, wha... wh' are you doing up so late?"

"What are you doing all zoned out on the couch?"

" 's nice," he mutters against the cushions. All the while, Vairam still paws at his hair.

"You're a cat," Connie concludes. "That's what you are- just a giant pink cat who likes sweater vests."

" 'n you're up in th' middle 'f the night..."

"Because I missed you," she says sweetly. "How will I sleep without my giant purring serotonin machine?"

He breathes a soft laugh. " 'f course, what else am I good for?"

"Get over here." She pulls him up up from his prone position to lean against her side while Vairam insistently parks on her lap. "Watch and learn, kid," she whispers down at Vairam.

She cards her own hand through Steven's hair, instantly rewarded with deep, sleepy purrs. Vairam giggles at the sudden sensation.

That's how they finally sleep- her callused hand rested on the back of Steven's neck, his purring song at her side, Vairam nested between them.

Chapter Text

Connor's song has this flat hesitant note- like a dog unsure if it can have its treat, a child waiting to be corrected. He looks out at the assorted assembly of bladed things- knives, spears, swords. It's the swords he lingers on, a manic kid-in-a-candy-store gleam in his eyes.

"I can... I can have these?"

"You can test them out," Connie gently corrects. "You've never been in any real fights before, right? And your Gem weapon hasn't manifested properly yet. So we gotta figure out your style." She gestures at the rack. "We can run through the set, figure out which one works best for you."

She has her own suspicions, of course, of what would work for him, but she doesn't say them. Steven had stressed to make as many things Connor's decision as possible, even if she already knew what he was going to want. He needed to learn to figure himself out.

So she silently watches him go straight for the swords, settling on an angry looking blade that shone like fire. He balances the blade between his hands, casting a not-quite-novice eye on it. "Did Bismuth make this one?"

"She made the whole damn set back in the War," she replies, idly testing a spear in her own hands. "These guys were actually for helping a Gem figure out their natural weapon, which is why they're kind of generic."

"I like this one," he admits as he swings the sword experimentally.

"You like how it looks, huh?" She moves to take one last piece of equipment of the rack. "Then let's see if you like how it feels."

She pulls up an odd device. It settled somewhere between a shield and a mannequin- this vague, man shaped object with a jointed pole in its back. She grabs the far end of it and swings it experimentally, watching the "person" on the other side move with her.

"Try and swing at the guy here. I'll keep it moving like a person." She tilts her head in an almost teasing way. "Try not to break Mr. Guy, though. I don't need you on full Diamond mode- just gimme some practice swings to see how the sword feels."

He's got no polish, that's for sure, but he's got a bit of a Diamond's swiftness to make up for it, and a good (if not slightly feral) eye for blade work. He treats his blades, Connie notes, like they were no different than the claws on his hands. Just another part of his body. It's not a bad instinct.

He even manages to strike Mr. Guy once.

"I think this one feels... right." His claws tap nervously on the handle. "I know you said these aren't meant for anyone, but... could I keep this one?" Connor almost looks down so longingly at it, and Connie tries not to laugh. The expression was just... so much like when Steven first ran into Lion and was puppy-eyeing the Gems left and right to keep him.

She gives her own critical eye at the blade. "It's too light, and the handle is too small. It fits you okayish now, but looking at Steven... you're gonna grow. We'll need to get it adjusted sometime down the line. But..." she concludes indulgently, "if you want, you can keep it."

Connor's nod is eager, but nervous. "Uh-" he looks back at the collective pile. "-do you think I could keep some of the others in my gem?"

Dear diary- it has been zero (0) days since Connor has tried to yoink a pointy object.

"You might want to leave the collection alone. They're all generic and unfitted, and a poorly fitted weapon is always bad in the long run." A blink. "I didn't know you could store stuff in your gem now."

"It's... new." Connor paws at an old scar on his neck. "I've been practicing in my own time, y'know? I-" He looks aside, a redness streaking across his face. "I haven't told anyone else."

Dear diary- it has been zero (0) days since Connor has been paranoid about telling Steven things.

"Hey, hey!" she quickly reassures. "It's a good thing that you can do that now! You'll have to tell Steven, though, so he doesn't still think he has to teach it to you."

"I didn't-" Connor lets out a frustrated sigh. "-I didn't wanna tell him. I wanted to just... have a nice place to keep my knives and stuff."

"I'm pretty sure it's less the knives and more that he's worried you're stealing them from somewhere."

"I'm not stealing them!" Connor insists. "Anymore." As she raises a skeptical eyebrow at him, he blushes at the unspoken accusation. "I buy them! With money. I gotta few jobs here and there..."

"Connor," she sighs. "You really shouldn't be keeping stuff like this from Steven."

"Mmmmm..."

"I don't mean that in some Steven has a right to know way, I mean just- practically. If you don't let him know about these kinds of things, he'll start stepping all over the plans he doesn't know you have. Imagine if he pulled you off planet for something on a work day!"

Connor throws his head back with a hissing growl. "I know," he finally admits. "I just-" he balls his hands up, "-it's just so smothery, sometimes, how protective he gets."

You could tell him. You know exactly why Steven acts like that.

Sure, she answers to the shitty voice in her head. And I'd be giving Connor fucking nightmares over shit I don't even really know about.

"He's not going to know any better unless you tell him, you know," she softly replies instead. Connor scoffs. "Hey, I mean it. He'll back off if you ask- but only if you ask."

"You're right," he grudgingly nods. "I'll... I'll tell him about... all this stuff." He sounds so defeated at the prospect.

"Hey," she nudges at his shoulder. "You're only doing yourself some good."

"I still feel like a fucking child," he half hisses.

"You're not being a kid," she reassures.

Hold on.

She pulls back with a blink.

"W-w-what?" he twitches nervously under her sudden expression. "What is it?"

"You got taller again," she realizes.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you almost come up to my shoulder now." She teasingly jostles at the untidy curl of hair that's slowly started to grow into a wine red color. "Look at you. You're a real boy."

"Y- You think so?" he stammers, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Yeah," she says sincerely. "It's a good look for you."

And it's a soft, heartbreaking thing to see the fragile sort of happiness that enters his eyes.  "Connie-"

His soft song suddenly trails off with a melancholy expression.

"What is it?"

A stuttering smile wavers over the inhuman blush of a rosy face, and Connor laughs. "Nothing. Just- thank you."

Chapter Text

"Why does this keep happening to me?" Oliver dares to ask himself.

"What keeps happening?" Peridot asks from a too-short distance.

Oliver vaguely gestures around him. "This."

He's barely been sitting down for ten minutes, and now there's about ten different Gems vaguely clustered by him.

Once is a coincidence.

But happening every time he lingers anywhere for more than five minutes is kind of sketchy.

At this point, he's starting to get a little freaked out.

Well, I thought it was incredibly obvious." Peridot adjusts her visor a bit smugly.

(What if we punched her.)

[Please don't. She would die.]

(One punch.)

[No.]

"If it was obvious to me," he instead diplomatically points out, "I wouldn't be asking."

"Hm! A fair point!" She adjusts her large, salmon colored bowtie. "The most prominent reason, I imagine, is your passive radiation. Gems feed off of the radioactive energy of light and stars, after all."

"So what, I'm some kind of walking Hot Pocket?"

"I have no idea what that means," Peridot cheerfully answers, "but sure! You're basically a snack!"

"Wow," Oliver says with as much non-enthusiasm as physically possible, "I would pay you money to never call me that again. Besides, I can't be that nourishing."

"Well, that does bring us to the other part. How do I put this..." Peridot rubs her chin thoughtfully. "You're big and strong and friendly and very smart. Gems like that. Those are very pretty qualities to have."

"I'm... pretty."

"Yeah!" She squints with some realization. "Oh yeah, humans use physical appearance for that. Gems kind of... don't?  Physical appearance can indicate personality and mental health to an extent, but other than that it's not worth much. I mean, we're Gems. Any one Gem has like a million lookalikes out there. It's all about the mind, with us."

"I'm Gem pretty."

"I mean-" Peridot scoffs as she gives him a sweeping look, "-you're not really my type, but yeah. I can see it. You do have a well-known appeal in Little Homeworld."

So pretty much every Gem in my life either wants to eat me or date me.

Huh.

Oliver decides to keep eating tacos instead of coming up with a response to that.

Chapter Text

Little Homeworld

@littlehomeworld

A different day, a different Gem!

(o) Little Homeworld  [#] Joined January 2007

0 Following  3.5 Mil Followers

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

Hey gang Connor🗡️ and Cinna🔥 here for the day. @ us good memes and shit.

[A picture of Connor and Cinna. Connor is halfway out of the frame with an incredibly dead expression. Cinna's arm is on fire.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 Bismuth won’t let us commit sword making sins in here yet, but Bismuth ain’t here right now is she.

[A picture of Bismuth's forge.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 OH NO MOM FOUND OUT

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 We have escaped with knives >:3

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ This is Briar Pheonix

[A picture of one of Connor's knives.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ This is Broken Dreams

[A picture of one of Connor's knives.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ This is Cookie Cat

[A picture of one of Connor's knives.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ This is Red Blossom

[A picture of one of Connor's knives.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ This is Dave

[A picture of one of Connor's knives.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️

[LeftPlatypus.png]

SirDippingSauce @MysterySauce

@littlehomeworld How. Did you get one of those?

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@MysterySauce 🗡️ his name is sun tzu and he will lead us to victory

CasuallyCommitingSin @DiamondfXckerAnon

@littlehomeworld What is it?

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@DiamondfXckerAnon 🔥 God obviously.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 We have acquired Pizza.

[It's a picture of an everything pizza and a very charred looking pineapple and bacon pizza.]

(tips hat) M'Diamond @MDiamond

@littlehomeworld Is that fucking Pineapple.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@MDiamond 🗡️ Do you have an issue with the flesh eating fruit.

(tips hat) M'Diamond @MDiamond

@littlehomeworld THE WHAT.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 Oh! We forgot a knife! This is the Bone Dagger. It’s made from my bones :D

[A picture of one of Connor's daggers. It’s just a dagger, but it's very obviously made from bones.]

definitely a human @gnomecentralstation

@littlehomeworld Wh. What do you mean by your bones.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@gnomecentralstation 🔥 Lost my arm so we made the arm bones into a dagger.

🗡️ It is now my bone dagger given at the forging of our friendship.

I owe no one money @ISOlamps

@littlehomeworld That’s some edgy metal shit right there.

SirDippingSauce @MysterySauce

@littlehomeworld Wait Cinna are you a gem?

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@MysterySauce 🔥 Nah, totally human 100% Oregon grown human. Totally. Yep.

How Do I Change The Twitter @littlehomeworld

🗡️ who the fuck is in my house

How Do I Change The Twitter @littlehomeworld

🗡️ YOU.

[A picture of a large, reddish wolf sleeping on a couch.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 Mistakes were made. ;;

[A picture. One of the fountains in Little Homeworld, but on fire.]

KeepBeachCityWeird @KeepBeachCityWeird

@littlehomeworld HOW DOES THIS EVEN HAPPEN.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@KeepBeachCityWeird 🗡️ Sheer force of will.

That's My Wife @firstknight

@littlehomeworld Who...let you two have the twitter for the day.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

@firstknight 🗡️ Peridot.

That's My Wife @firstknight

@littlehomeworld Oh my god.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 Wait a minute….

[A picture of Asteria Diamond in the distance.]

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🔥 OH NO DADS HERE.

SinnamonBuns @littlehomeworld

🗡️ STOP CALLING HIM THA

Little Homeworld @littlehomeworld

This matter has been resolved. Our apologies.

m'diamond @DiamondfXckerAnon

@littlehomeworld <> m'diamond

Stark Naked @IronDaddy

@littlehomeworld <> m'diamond

Don't @ Me @GemsAreFurryBait

@littlehomeworld <> m'diamond

(tips hat) M'Diamond @MDiamond

@littlehomeworld <> m'diamond

Chapter Text

Connor doesn't know what he was expecting when he picked up on the fact that there was someone in the house. Bismuth was pretty good at leaving him alone when he wanted, and it's not like Cinna knew where he lived. Maybe her girlfriend did. Fucking Moonstone. God damn gremlin.

Moonstone could steal from Asteria Diamond's fridge and live. Her depravity knows no bounds.

Or maybe Asteria Diamond himself was there. Az did that sometimes. Connor would walk into the main space and Az would just be There. Sometimes not even for any particular reason other than making breakfast. It was... nice, kind of, that someone cared enough to visit just because.

It had never yet meant anything bad that someone was in his house. And yet...

And yet.

...Some days, he's never quite sure he got out.

So he steps out of his room, a little too surprised for his own good it doesn't open out to a cell, and goes out to the living room.

...

The god damn wolf is on the couch.

"My stars," Connor whispers. (God. My stars. He's turning into Az. Ech.) "How? How do you even know where I live?" His claws twitch as he extends an accusing hand to the wolf. "How did you get in my house? "

The wolf thumps its tail on the couch and says nothing, because it is a wolf and thereby incapable of speech. But it looks distinctly satisfied with its own cleverness.

"What, do you just live here now?"

The wolf scratches itself for a moment, and then goes back to chewing... whatever it's chewing.

"Let me see what you have."

The wolf lifts its head, revealing the leather handled knife in its mouth.

"Hey!" At Connor's shout, the wolf stands on the couch, shaking its knife wielding head playfully. "No! That's mine!"

He reaches for the blade and the wolf leans back and leaps off the couch, throwing itself about in some kind of... childish knife dance.

"Why," Connor hisses. "Why do you do this."

The wolf wags its tail and paws at him, before running off elsewhere in the house anyway when he tries to go for the knife.

Connor runs after the big bastard and pretends he's not almost smiling.

Chapter Text

The rolling run of Quartz soldiers has covered the field in fire.

The ash of this wretched world crackles under her heels and mars her face. The broken bodies of the natives, trampled with red ichored rivers, leave the scent of iron on her tongue.

She feels, idly, the crunch of a shard shattering even more under her footsteps. Smoke billows around her shoulders.

The sky is red tonight. The moon, blazing white. Clouds ripple and shudder with the force of violence below, like murmurations of butterflies. 

She sees her.

The Antigem. The Rebellion.

The Shatterer.

Rose Quartz stands tall amongst the throng of her rabid, defective followers, resplendent in her war dress, the petals of her skirt swirling with her movement. Wild and regal, the curls of her hair flaring behind her as though it were a crown. Her shield raised high as a halo behind her, the rows of white fangs flexed forward with her battlecry.

Her sword, the sword- the Diamond damned, Diamond damning sword- clutched tightly, a thorn sprouting out of her side.

She, the soldier who sees the image of Rose Quartz, is a dying, desperate laugh, the wild animal sprint towards her greatest and only enemy.

You.

Because of you.

She claws past a Lapis.

Because of what you did to my colony.

She tears out the neck of a native warrior.

Because of what you did to my planet!

She shatters a Pearl.

Arms outstretched, she lunges, she grabs Rose Quartz's sword.

Because of what YOU-

She takes its hilt into her own hands and drives it through Rose's gem.

...did... to my...

"My Jasper..."

...My Diamond...

"My Diamond." Her song is as frail as the disbelieving freckled hand that shakes toward the blade, as strangled as her grip as she wrenches it away, as paralyzed as the way she watches her Diamond sink to the ground. "My Diamond."

"Jasper," he still breathlessly laughs as he blindly reaches towards her. "My Jasper."

On the skies, he's smiling even now. The tired, dizzy smile of a long day and a fight hard won, growing wearier by the second as his life spills out of him. In the deluge of flowers growing out of the ground in these horrifying waves, timed to the dying anvil of his heart.

And still, he reaches for her.

And still, she takes his hand.

"It's okay," breathes the weary rhythm of a Diamond's song. "It's okay..."

Flowers trail out of his mouth as he laughs.

"It was only fair."

His fire overtakes him, burning his body into a blaze of scattered flowers. Roses, roses, roses red and white and pink and stripes of orange and green caught up in the firestorm of a battlefield that no longer exists and turns to a white storm of butterflies that dive down and smother her eyes and she

wakes up.

Chapter Text

Loki (last name pending for various legal and sociopolitical reasons) is tall, but only humanly so. Not so tall as his 'frost giant' species would suggest.

He had looked quite human in the Germany footage, but all pretense of humanity has fallen away now. He is a lanky, gangly person with blue, ridge-patterned skin, the barest suggestion of horns growing beyond his black hair.

This alien is just over a thousand years old. By human standards, unfathomably old.

By the standards of his own people?

...This is a child. A teenager, but still a child.

Foggy can kind of see it, in the wide green eyes that stare almost accusingly back at him. There is something scared and young.

(God, he hates cases with kids.)

"I was under the impression," shakes a voice with a confidence it clearly does not feel, "that the humans were not allowed to know of my location."

"We don't know where we are any better than you, sir." Matt 'looks' around the room as he swivels in his chair. "We won't be able to pass on anything useful to anyone who asks.

"Not that we would," Nelson reassures. "We might be humans, but we aren't exactly here on human payroll."

"Then why are you here, if I may ask?"

"Oh, you know," Nelson sarcastically hints, "just a certain mutual friend of ours."

Loki's suspicion take a backseat towards a sudden clarity and an almost fearful respect. Now you get it. "What does Asteria Diamond want with me?"

"He doesn't really want anything from you, per se," Matt clarifies, "other than your cooperation with us."

Loki sighs, rubbing at the odd braces at his wrists. "Very well. If I must. It's not as though there's anything better to do with my time at the moment. Although," he interrupts the two with a slyly raised hand, "that still doesn't tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

"We're lawyers," Foggy answers with no small amount of pride, "hired to represent you in your upcoming trial."

"My..." Loki looks between the two of them, as though searching for some unspoken trick. "...my trial."

"You didn't think they were just going to kill you, did you?" Matt aks.

Loki's nervous silence is answer enough.

(God, he hates cases with kids.)

"I don't know how things are back home for you, but, uh-" Foggy swipes a hand through his hair, "we don't do that here."

"No matter your crimes, you're being put through the due process of law like everyone else," Matt clarifies.

"I'm not sure what there is to judge," Loki quietly confesses. "It seems I'm already guilty."

"That's not for you to decide," Matt gently corrects.

"If you say so."

"So!" Foggy straightens out the case file. "Any questions before we get started?"

A silence.

"What exactly is a lawyer?"

Chapter Text

Not to be ungrateful, but Connie kind of hates being in her parent's house.

Which is not to say that she hates her parents. That was one time when she was like 11 and it never happened again, because she loves her parents very much and they love her too and that was it.

But she hates being in her parent's house.

Mostly, she hates sleeping in her parent's house. In her old room. So a lot of times, she ends up staying at the Temple for the night.

Not in Steven's room. Opening Steven's room requires being Steven, unless SHELL was feeling particularly charitable. And she did, sometimes. SHELL would open up the garden, directing Connie in minor tasks SHELL could not quite manage as a disembodied being. It was nice, to be occupied, to play at being useful. But she had never offered to let Connie stay the night in the Empyrean, and even if she did, Connie wouldn't take it.

It would only remind her of Steven, conspicuously absent.

(He had offered his hand. She could have gone with him. She had smiled instead, and said that someone had to make sure Little Homeworld didn't fall apart while he was gone.)

So she sleeps in a guest room, instead. There are guest rooms, now. Going up to Mr. Greg's room, there was a little side panel to be pressed on the wall next to the door, and that panel could change which room one walked into. A bit mind bending, like the Temple itself in miniature. 

The doors of the individual rooms slide into existence upon being selected. They're painted now, after the first five accidents of walking into the wrong room. Not naming any names. Pearl.

Greg's door is painted all surreal and cosmic, just like his album covers. If he never became a singer, he sure as hell could have been a painter.

Vairam has his own room, though he doesn't do much sleeping in it. It's painted, but only barely, with what little his tiny hands can reach.

One of them is Connor's. He has never stepped inside it, and probably never will.

(She knows, distantly, that one of these unpainted doors will belong to Lars when he comes back, and that any one of these would be Jasper's, if Jasper ever wanted it.)

Connie's door is painted with swords and falcons and dragons and clover. It's new. It's not like she's had much else to do over her aborted summer.

(She eyes an empty spot, and wonders if she could draw a Chitauri soldier on it.)

It's her door, but it's not really her room. On a good day, the Empyrean is her room too, but it's... not unbearable, exactly, to sleep there without him, but still weird. So she sleeps in this room behind her painted door, in some strange summer limbo instead.

She'll wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, to the sight of a large, round faced cat with curling rosy hair nestled against her chest. The purr of a Diamond's song echoes down to her bones, and the gem on his belly gleams in the moonlight. She offers her hand, and her wife leans into the touch with a soft chirp.

Not all nights. But tonight, for now, all is well.

Chapter Text

Sweet Boi

He

heeeeeeeeeec

hey.

no i'm at school

Ohhhh starszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzI"M SORRY I AM TEERRIRIRIRIRIIRIRIRIBLE.

steven that was a joke, i don't have school right now.

You g

g

g

g

g

got me.

you

you ok there sweetie

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Probably.

I belive so.

NoNoNoNothingNothing is out of the ordinary.

strawberry you look like you're having a stroke over text

I am not drunk.

stroke.

I am.

I am.

There wasssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss a bi

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the portal. had a POWER SURGE?

interDimensional puppy door can have a little [POWER SURGE DETECTED]. As a trea

t.

but you're ok

Yeah But I Tanked It. This is fine.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

listen.

k

Lisisisten.

??Go on??

I Ị̴̢̨̻̳̯̝̭͇̭̥̥̝̗̱͋͆͂͗̇̓́̎̔̍̌̆͗̉̾̅̈́̓́͌̈́̈͒̾͛̄͘̚͝ ̶̛̛̖͐̽͑̋̅͗̒̈͋̿̇̊͊̔̽̽͒̽̔͌͊̋̃̎̃̉̎͑̎̌̄̃͋̈́͑̑͗̓͑̍̏͘͝͝͝͠Ẇ̵̧̨̧̨̨̟̪̼̻̞͙̠̺̝̦̣̠̦̯͉̙̱̩͔̱͔͚̙͚̙̼̯̞͉͇͔̋̒̿͐̇̈̔̓̆̿̃͗͗͋̈̄̈̈́͗̆͘͠͠ͅỊ̸̡̡̡̧̠̼̹̲͉̯͍͕̥̝̠͙̪͔̙̲̫̣̺̟̙͍̫̟͚͔͕͇̞̦̣̰̬̖͎̙̯͛̋̃̾͋̓̍̅͋̈́̑͘ͅL̴̢̡̢̧̨̨̤̹̤̻̩͓̤̠͈͈͕̳̞̫̜͇̹̙͚̣̫̫̬̺̹̞͓͔̝̳̹̞͕̝̥̟̯̯̼̒͆̒͒̿͗͑̑͌̉̌͑͑̂̃̀̎̽̊̋̍͋͛͗́̽̾̚͝͝͠ͅḺ̷̨̛̛͓̩̲͎̼̹͔̩͕̄̽̒͆͆͒̿̆͛͐͘ ̷̡̢̢̧̢̛̪̮͎̹̳̭̭̥͍̰̤̦̼͖̪̯͈̦̗͉̯̖̘͍̩̣̭̥̟̪̩̯̩͍̫̹͔̰̟̝͕̮̩͉̑̒̌͌͆̉͐̅̍̊͛̾̔̈́͗̂͛͑̊̈́̓͌̒̋̚͜͠A̸̧̨̨̛̛̩͉͙̪̹͈̩̰̟̗͚͔̱͔̪̥̰̦͐̅̏͒̆͆̏̍̅̔́̅͋͐̆̈́̀̽̏͑͂̔̽̋̆̑̊̔̈́̈́̓̅͒̃̌̌̕̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͝Ļ̵̡̨̧̢͙̘̤̗͈͙̱̻̲̬̰̫͖̤̬̪͕̮̠͈̤̟̮̣̲̲̝̩̳̤͠ͅW̸̨̡͇̺͔̼̳͈͉̰̣̳̯͙̙̫͖̞̭̰̤̗̦͕̲̰͉̮͂̓̿́̐̿̑͌̓͋̓̏͑̇͆̿̏̊͂͐́̎͗̑̿͌̀̅͆͆̍͑̈́̽̓̊̓͌̃̐̿̓̎̋̍̕̚͝ͅͅͅA̴̧̧̧̡̡̡̨͍̫̞̘͎̙̝͙̭̗̱̠̼̠̖̳̜̩͇͔͖̬̩̼̩͕͔̭͖̞̰̮̦̝̺̲͇̥̋͌̿͋̆̅̈́͒͂̑͐̾̓̕͘͝͝Ÿ̵̡̨̘͕͙̰͖̪̰̬̳̰̩͔́̉̾͂͌̃̀̐͂͂͆̅̉͂͐̃́̓̊̌̉̕͝Ś̴̢̡̫̺͈̯̳̜̖͕̟̲͉͙̼̭̼̲̪͚̱̟̞̟̘͔̣̘̼̻̘̜̥͓̜͖̭̗͎͍̰̻͇͍̞̥̬͋̃̈̊͋͐̽͋̆̍̊͒͊͐̏͒̋̏̎̐̒̂̂̂͊̅̍͌̑̔̄̊̈̂̃͗̒̏̚͜͝͝

 ̴̨̧̧̛̛͉̬͈̯̠̣͙͔͖̘̬̰̗̦̫̘̻̬͙̗̫͚̬̰͚̝̮̘̬̠̜̰̙̲̫͖̖̺̖͑̊̎͆̾̌̉͒̍̅̊̋̾͂͐̾͋̍̿̈́͊͊̈́̈́́͋̎͊̊͆͗͛̏̽̏̾̀̊̍̆̂͘͘͘̚͠͝͝ ̷̡̨̢̛̫̬̹̤̣̼̱͓̭̤͍̹̮̜̘̳͎̪͖͍͈̤͎̣̠͉͖̞͙͙͎̘̣̩̻͈̼̜̲̳͔͆̐̑̽͋̈̄̐̃̓͋̈̅͐̓͑̆̂͛͂̒̉̍͒̏͌̒̾̕͜͝͝ͅ ̴̨̺̣͖̼̳̥͔͈͍̗͕̣̩̼̣̼̪̪̬̺͋̄̇͋̍̂̈́̋͒̓̓̉̐̈̕ ̸̧̛͇̘͚̖͉̙̺͚͈̥̟̙̫͓̳͈͈̙̹̰̼̫͎̻̗̰̹̟͓̯̦͋̈́̒̔͛̄͊́͋̿͗͛̿̍̿̌̃͆͊͂̽̈́̃̈́̄̊̀͑̏̚̚̕͜͜͝͝ͅ ̵̨̡̭̟̳̞͙͕͉̮̫͔͖̯̪̺͔̙͖̱̠̜̙̄̾́̏̑̏̓͆͒̏͘͝ ̴̢̧̡̫͔͖̯̠͚͖͔͚̤̺̹̬̹͚̠̖̝̥͉̟̜͙̼̥͕̮̟͚͈͍̰̤̩̺̤̩̠͍̗͚̈͛̈́͂͑́̽͛̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅ ̶̛̻͇͉̤̤̝̼̺̩͔̖̔̾͑͋̋͑̅̈͌̎̃̍͑̇̆̌̐͌̽͛̄̅͂̈́͛͑̿̈̒͛͆̓̇̏̇̇͘͘͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅ ̷̧̨̧̡̬̠͉̦̪̜̺̰͈̥̠̩̲̞̥̞̹̱̪͔͉͎͖̰̖͎͔͕̝̰̦̙̘̗̰̹̝̒͑̎̏͌̓̈̈́̆͆̔́̆̒͑̂̉͗̓͌̈́͋̓̄͂̎̈̚͜͝͝͠ͅ ̶̧̡̢̯̼͉͓̠̜̞̜̟̲͚͙͚̝̬̥̔̍͊ ̵̢̨̣͓̘̻̞̜̰͔̝̠̞͈̮͕̲͋̄͑̓̄̿̾̏̂̉̐̑̄̑͂̏̊̌̓̈́̽̄͐̽̔̆̔̉̔̿͆̿̕͘̚̚͝͝͝͠ ̶̡̙̭̦̣͕̹͌̓̄̋̇̚͝͝ ̸̗̹͚͑̇̎̔̉͆̆̍͋͘̕̚͠͝ ̴̨̨̡̮͓̤̖͇̖̝͔̟̞̱̝̤͉̺͎̭͎̝̭̘͙̻͉͖̪̹͔̳̼̹̈͛͑̃͊̆̓̏̄̆̄̍̀͐̈̉̈͒̆̐̓̑̑͗̀̀̕͘͠͝ͅ ̸̬̣͚̙̬̰̹͙̠̣̺̱̳̘͉̊͑͂ ̸̡̨̯̗͔̹̭̲̦̗̞̾͑͆̀̈̉̂̓̇͆̔̏͐̋͆̇̀́̿̋̑̀̒͘̕̚̕̚̕̚͠͝͝͠ ̷̡̢̛̝̯̯̤͇̫̼͇̞̫̠̏̉͒̈́̈́̓͗̈́̍͊̄̈́̐̽̆̈́̓͆̉̉̔͐̃̈̈́̐́͊̾̍͆̚͘͠͠͝͠ ̴̡̨̡̢̧̛̘̗͓̥̤̘̖̰̭̆̈́̔̈́̆̉̃̐̑͌̽̉͛͊̊̅͊̽̄̈́̈̋͑͑̄͑̄͑̉̚̕ ̵̯̭̪͉͑̃͛͆̍͑̓̓͛͛̾͒̒̾͗͛̂͒̐̃̚̚̕͘͝͝

 ̵̛͙̫̼̩̰̳̫̭͇̰̜̠͚͆̑̽͛̉̊̂̍̄͆͐͘͠͠ ̵̡̧̨̗̖̼̗͍̲̫̣̫̼̥̟̹̮̪̘͚̄́͌̈́̒̃͆͑̈͂͌͐̄́̍͋̕ ̸̡̧̨͖̘̹̖͚̘̥̮̖̮̦͔͕̮̞̗̣͔̭͓͇͑̈́̈́͗̅̋̊͂̕ ̴̧̛̙̗̬̮̞͓͓̪͉̰̪͙͔̟̬͎͙̯͎̼̍̾̏̔͑̂̔̀͂̒̑͐́̿͋͘͝ ̴̥͎̻͍̓̈̏̊̓̈ ̷̧̬̯͍̱̞̮͎̙̞̜̳̫̗͙̘̽̃̋̓̓͗̈́̇̊͆͂͗̐̅̿̇̂͜ ̷͕̳͎͗̔̓̌͐̎̆̓ ̷̨̨̨̩̬̟̬̼͚̿͂͛̏̍̔̌̀̀͆̔̆́͂ ̵̧̢̛̗͎͔̤̥̮͍̣̝͖̭͇͕̞̻̠̼̯̮̇̒̓͌̍̋̾̍̾̂͐̋̒͌͛͐̈́̕̚͜͝͠͝ ̵̡̡̨̧̝̪̣̝̙̗͖̻̯̤̠̖̞̪̻̳̯̪̯̠͎̙̝̖̀̎̾͒̏͌̕ ̴̛̮̞͓͆̔̌͌̓̇͌̋̐ ̷̝̙̎͆̈́͌̀̅̾̍̍̃͌̔̓̃͐̂̅̌͗̄̔̓͌̊̏̚͝͝ ̶̛̱̱̼̣̺̥̠̹̲̯͖͛̽̎͑̓͂̈́̋̈́̇͋͋̂̿̈́͛̚͜͠͠͠͠͝ ̶̧̻̦̤̼̞̰̝͙̳̮̗̹̥͕͙̅͛̊̊̑̅̊̐͋̔̚ ̶̡̢̘͓͖͇͈͈̼̬̲͔̟̍̅̄͆̉̓̈́͌̔̓̒͑̏̇̋̇͆̒̃̿͛͐̒̅̓̚͝͝ ̴̡̡͇̯̥̥͍̟̥̪̹̭͎̖̲̯̼̐ͅ ̵̢̝̘̼̲͇͔̥̠̞̖͚̹̠̬͓̼̗͍̹̌͊̃͑̚͘ͅ ̶̢̢̧̜͖̹͚̗̱͈͔̤̟̻̖̻̤̯̺͎̟̗͆̄̂͑̆͂̽̽͋͌̊̾͗͐̓̚͝ ̸͕̗̟̈́́͆́̆͊͋̓̕͠ͅ ̷̛̩͉͇͉̩̥͉͆̈́̓͆͆̔̒͒̃͛̂̅̅̎̑̿̈͛̿͊͆͘͘̕̕͝ ̸̜͙̞̜̰̦̤̖̟̣͚͔̙̠̤̜̥̫͔̭͑̽͋̄̕͜ͅ ̴̢̛̬͚͉̈̍̌̿̍̍̅̒̂̊̌͊͛̾͝͝ ̶̡̢͓̝̗̙͇̯̟̯̩̯̪̗͓̯̟̌̆̋̽̿̓̆̈́̎̈͗͒̌͋ͅ ̴̡̨̝̺̝̝͓̥͙̝͍̣̲̜̙͍͈̅̈́̔̅̒́̓͑͐͌̈́̊̔͒̒̉͑͂̎͐̔̈̒̚̕͝͝͝ ̴̢̡̡̡̧͍̞̘̭̹̪̤̆̽ͅ ̵̻̻͙̣̥͉͙̤̯̙̠̉͑͘͝ ̷̨̥̖̝̘̰̰̝̪̲̹̦̘͖̾͆̃̿̽̋̆̊̆̚͘͜͠͠ͅ ̵̧̲͇̬͈̯͖͎͚͓̼̙̰͇̘̪͇̟̳̠̹̻͆͌̓̈́͌͆̌̿̂̏͆͗̑̊̂̿̐͑̉͌̿̿̕̚͘ ̸̨̝̤̥̥̗͍͖̹̗̰̩̖̳͚̘̲̪̫̤̲̫͇̼͌̈́̊̆́͋̈͐̈́͆̎͂̊͜͜͠ ̸̛̛̛̦̱̦̟̼͓̮͉͔͉̬͚̻͍̻̗̘̟̻́̐̂̉̽̿͗̆͌̓̔̀͆͐͑͊͆̄̊͌̂͘͘͝ ̴̡̮̺̣̰͙̜͕̭̗̦͚̤̬͕̖̰̞̟̝̦̃͆̈́͗̈́͊͂̍̊̌̆̿̊̄͂͒̇̔͘͘͠͝ͅ ̷̠͉̰͇̥̼̖͗ ̷̳̙͈̯̿̋̈̊̂͂̓̾̚͝͝͝ ̶̛͉͖͇̝̫͋̈́̾̌̎͑ ̷̛͕̪̺̖͇̭͕̭͈̜̖͉͓̏̾͌̆̋̓͑̎̈̽̕ ̵̪͍̎̑́̿͑͂̏́̈́̑̓̆̎̿̔̈͊̓̉͐͘̕̕͝͠ ̸̢̡̧̡̢͔̙̲̖̜̱͍̥̱̭̫̹̟̩̦̘̂̏͜͜ͅ ̴͈͍̫̣̞͇͖̱̞̥̞̟̥̬̮͚̓̈́̔̋̈́͑̕͜ͅ ̶̡͕͕͇̏͆̿́̿̓̍̈́̓͌́͊̚͜ ̷̡̡̢̛̼̖̭̼̱̞̣̺͖͉̪̼̲͉̤͖̙̦̉̓̊̈́͛͋̂̃̍͘̕͜ͅ ̵̨̨͓̲̝͖͍̞̘̹̩̻̼̲̪̝̞͕͎̹̺̝͇͙̩̹̘̍̐͌̀̈́̒̔̇̉̾́ ̶̧͍̫̘͔͋͐̿͆͊͌̎͂͊́̔̈̆̾̈̈́̑̉̅̓͌̚͘͠͝ ̷̛͈͍̝̠̪̲͍̰̲̇͗̎̒͛͌͆̔͛̒̇̇̊̍̈́͋̿͂̈́̇̈́͗͘̚͝͝͝ ̴̛̬̝͔̠͖̩̻̮̠̰̯͐̎̐̍̈̾̏͋̍̓̍͗̕ ̶͈̉̎̽̉̽̾͑̊̌͂͒͒ ̸̢̧̦̝͍͍̟͇͖͎͎͈̻͚͔̼̪͇͉̩̫̘̳̣̣̗̫͓̈̾̽ ̵̟̗̗̃͐̓̓̎͂ ̷̧̰̙͚̬͉̰̲̝͚͉̩̺̹̲̯̪͕̺̮͓̳̼̓͗̊̿͊̄͐͒̈́̆̎̾̂̑̆͋̕̚͘͠͠͝ͅ ̵̨̦̤̰̗̭̼̼̤̞͓̤̙̜͓̯̤͔̯͖̟̓͗͐̄͂̎͊̍̓̋̂̋̇̚̚͝ͅ

oh my god you're not even texting me are you

ARE YOU FUCKING POSSESSING YOUR PHONE???

and  ̸͈͋͠ ̵̡͖͋͝ ̴͓͍̕ ̵͐̎͜ ̸̰̂͘ ̴͇̈́ ̶͖͎̂ ̴͎̥̇̚ ̸̮͉̋ ̶͓̥̔ ̵̫͍̆ ̶̹̑̈ ̴͇̦̎̃ ̶̟̝͠ ̶̼̆̈ ̷͖̭͛̇ ̷̧̭̈́̌ ̷̝̣̚ ̴̡̱͑ ̴̳͚̒ ̴̩̞̆͒ ̶̗̾͠ ̵̳̚ ̸̟̪̀͊ ̵̰͓̉̉ ̷̛̙ ̴̰͛͛ ̶̘̄ ̴̙̇ ̷͙̿ ̴̝͘ ̸̞̘̈́̾ ̸͖̓̈́ ̶̡̛̑ ̴̿͂ͅ ̸̱ ̴̛͇͖̂ ̶̪͛ ̵̺̺̆̽ ̸̯̝͘ ̴̞̻̏͂ ̸͍͖̓ ̴̥̄͝ ̶̱̾̈ ̷̥̅̆ ̷͚̒ ̴̗̟͗͌ ̴͓̉͜ ̶̹͠

AND I LOVE YOU

no u

YOURE LITERLALU AMAZI H AND

I WOULD DIE FOR YOUR

BEAUTIFUL SMSKAKSZZZZZZZ AND I CHERIS

YOU AS A FRIEND AND I LOVE 

YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH YOU

HAVE NO CLUE I CANT WAIT TO

HAVE SPACETRIES QITH YOU 

AGAIN YOU EONDERFUL HUMAN 

BEAING

i love you too you beautiful idiot, now please go run your pent up portal 

zoomies out of your system before you say something you'll never recover from

There are nono;no regrets

say that again in eight hours

Wow! Mortifying

hah

told you

Seriously though. 

I always want to see you.

i am wearing your old jacket as a hat right now

Fashion queen. Even better.

i miss you too

You could always come with me, you know.

Gravity Falls is pretty nice! And full of Weird Science.

but then peridot would burn little homeworld to the ground

Peridot would never.

She would at least invite us, first.

I don't want you to be stuck there all sad.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh

But Science.

i don't wanna science i wanna 

KISS AN ALIEN

These are not mutually exclusive.

you're right i could kiss for science

For science.

seriously i'm fine

i'm holding down the fort

it's fine

Alright, if you say so.

i will watch your unruly son like the magisterium

Vairam is very well behaved????

the other one

Connor is not my son???

sure jan

Jan???

Chapter Text

It is the law of nature that all things must die.

A Gem, left to its own devices, is a peaceful exception, and even then, a damaged state can be proven reversible for so many. Maybe that's why Connor had forgotten.

(He had forgotten that things could die.)

The wolf had lied down under the trees of the hilltop where they'd first met, curled up like it had simply fallen asleep.

The blood on its neck and legs spoke otherwise.

Maybe it had run into an unfriendly pack. A deer hunt gone wrong. Maybe it had simply fallen on a too-sharp rock.

The end result was the same.

It had come all this way to die, waiting for him.

An old, familiar anger rises up from out of his gem... and that dies, too. What good is his anger, now?

There is no prison to dream escaping from. No doctors, no guards, no humanity that can be resented for what has happened here.

There is no revenge.

There is no one to blame.

(They weren't even friends.)

So why does it feel so sad?

Why is he crying?

...Why does it feel like he's about to die?

Chapter Text

Well, fuck. "Oh, it's you," Connor hisses from his hospital bed.

"Yes." Az blinks from his perch beside him. "It is me."

"I'd rather go back to sparring with the Jaspers, thanks."

"Connor, you literally can't even stand." Az runs a knuckle between his brows. "And a grand total none of you knew how to hold yourselves back."

"M'fine," Connor grumbles. "It doesn't even hurt that bad."

"And that's why you're here in a hospital bed, and why seven Jaspers just so happen to be put through remedial human interaction courses," Az notes flatly.

"It's not like they knew." Connor blows some errant wine red hair from out of his face. "I don't exactly look like a human anymore. Gimme some credit, I can at least throw a punch like a Gem."

"But you still can't take a hit like one." Az leans back in his chair. "I'm not gonna make you get into the why of why you thought this was a good idea, but you've got to be smarter about this."

My fucking dog died and it wasn't even my dog and I'm straight up going through the five stages of grief over a fucking hobo animal I found in the woods. Fuck you. Let me tank some punches.

"Your body can't keep up with you yet, you know that." Az sighs. "Stars, Connie's gonna have a fit."

Nope.

No, no, no, no-

"You leave Connie out of this," Connor growls, trying to keep the shake out of his song.

If anything, Az almost looks unimpressed. "If you wanted Connie to stay out of it, you shouldn't have gone hurting yourself like this."

"I wasn't trying to hurt myself!" Connor near shouts. "I- I just-" His song collapses into a set of incoherent, clicking growls.

"I'm not asking you to justify yourself, either." There's a pause, and a blank shift in Az's face as he tilts his head. "And I should probably point out that we aren't particularly upset with you," Vendan clarifies.

"We can understand the confusions that come with stronger emotions," Sten adds.

"And we will not punish you for it," Vendan finishes. "We only want you to understand that what you did was unwise." Steven leans back into his seat. "It's okay to have feelings, even bad ones. But I'd rather you didn't hurt yourself in the process, alright?"

It's okay to have feelings, even bad ones.

Connor knocks his head back against the pillow again. "Whatever. Fine. You still didn't need to bring Connie into this." I don't want to see the disappointed look on her face when she finds me.

"Oh, this isn't really about the fight. Something's missing in your natural programming, keeping you from using your own healing abilities properly. We might have to supplement it, give you something, or rather someone, to harmonize with. That's why I'm thinking of Connie. I'd offer myself, but..." A knowing smile, almost resigned. "You and I both know you don't trust me quite enough to try."

Okay.

Okay.

"Can we get this done quick, at least?" Connor moves to sit up. "I'm running late for my jobs."

"You got a job?" Fuck. Forgot to tell Az about the jobs. "That's... good, I guess. You'll have to call the day off if you can. This might take a while, and I don't know what shape you'll be in afterward. We're kind of hacking at your code, after all." Az uncrosses his legs, not quite moving to stand. "And we might want to take this elsewhere. The Empyrean back at the Temple can handle any backlash we might generate, but..." He deflates just a bit. "...your own house would be fine, if that's... what you want. I know you're still uncomfortable with... our house."

"Your house works, Dad." Connor makes his own move to get out of the bed. "Still wanna get over it quick, though." Az has a sort of frozen look on his face. "What, what are you-"

Wait.

Wait, shit-

"Oh shards, sorry Dad- wait- fuck-"

"No, it's-" The diamonds of Asteria's eyes shutter mechanically. "It's fine," he finishes in a small voice.

Lion peeks his head out of the divider curtain.

"We-" Az coughs into his fist. "We should go."

"Yeah, y-yeah, let's just go."

Chapter Text

"Can I have a blade?"

"And here I was told you already had one," Az almost smiles through the emptiness of his Temple room. "Are you gearing to start a collection or something?"

"Still trying to find the perfect fit," He admitted as he looked at Dad Az. "So, uh... how do we start? The healing thing."

"Yeah, gettin' to it." Az finishes tapping at his phone, stowing it away in his gem. "Just telling Connie where to meet up, and getting Greg to clear out with Vairam. Best to, uh... keep away as many sensitive minds as possible from the potential backlash."

"Vairam?"

"Oh, yeah. Guess I haven't told you about that. Vairam is... my son." A blink. "Sort of. It's complicated."

"Huh." He takes a look around the room, currently taking the form of an endless cerise sky. "You said this room can make anything?"

"Within reason," Az laughs, like Connor just stumbled in on a private joke. "As long as no one asks for something conceptually impossible."

"So, could it..."

Az sobers then. "It can't bring Rose back. It would only be an image of her."

There goes that plan, then.

The door opens up again, and a tall shape steps into the room. "What's up, Stevens?"

"Connie!" Connor even smiles, almost. "Hey!"

"Yo." Connie saunters in on her long legged stride, absolutely murdering the last bit of a jerky. "What are we on today?"

She doesn't know yet. "I got... hurt."

Az smiles in an easing fashion. "We'll say that Connor's power hasn't quite caught up with his current limitations, and leave it at that."

"Oof." She spares a look back to Connor himself. "You okay?"

I am now.

Oh, don't be dramatic, Thorn.

"Yeah, uh-" Connor's claws flex into his clothes. He should cut his sleeves off. "I'm okay."

Az idly waves a hand. "Sorry to call you up for my wacky Diamond science, but you don't really have to do much. Just, uh... try to vibe with us? Talk, hum, or whatever. We're trying to jumpstart Connor's code, get him to heal himself. If it works, it works, and if it doesn't, we'll know to try something else."

"Fair enough." She reaches a hand to Connor. "Do you think physical contact might help?"

"O-o-o-okay."

Could stand to be less shy about it, Con.

You're blushing.

You're blushing, get off my dick.

Good lord. Do you even ha-

WE COULD STAND TO BE LESS SHY AROUND CONNIE.

You're the one holding her like a china doll, not me.

He takes her hand and hopes the rising heat on his face isn't too obvious on his inhumanly pink skin.

They sort of stand awkwardly there for a moment.

"So," Connie starts again, "should we sit down, or-"

A cluster of cushion chairs appears.

"-Ah. Thanks SHELL."

She turns back to Dad Az. "Should I sing or something?"

"You don't have to," Az responds back from his still standing perch. "What you've got going seems to be working well enough."

Connor frowns. "What do you-"

And something clicks into place with harsh ferocity in the corner of his mind, a dizzying mental crunch echoing out of his gem. He feels a slithering, odd warmth crawling in his body with all the tenderness of slightly well intentioned spiders- the feeling of flesh and bone stitching back into place.

He suppresses a shiver. It felt so much less creepy when Az did it.

"Huh," Az hums to himself, like he's surprised it even happened. "The jumpstart worked."

"I guess I'm magic jumper cables now." Connie laughs at her own little joke. "Kahaani Maheswaran, First Jumper Cable."

"Ah yes," Az flatly replies. "My dearest, my light, my most darling First Jumper Cable."

Dearest??

My???

Connie half bows mockingly. "At your service, My Diamond."

Asteria dramatically clutches a hand to his heart. "Who else could it be? Who else but My Connie could possibly restore the wayward song of my soul?"

My Connie.

My... Connie.

MY CONNIE MY CONNIE MY CONNIE MY CONNIE M̸̳̪̈́̌͋̀͝ͅÝ̴̩̥̘͙͙͚͓̬̑͛̆͗͋̒̑̈́̃̌̐͆ ̷̡̡̞̰̦̥̙̞̉͋͒̒̿͐̆̂͝ͅC̷̢͎͓̻͍͈̣̮O̷̢̧̘̖̺̫̬̯͕̱̱͖̝̍͐̂͠Ņ̷̢̨͚̰͉̩͖̗̗̝͍͇̺̾͗̓̀̅͋̑̕Ṉ̸̨̮̼̖͉͖̞͙͇̫͚̥̰̄̓̌͐̄͐͘I̷̻̖̍̾E̸̡͚̫͙̳̪̪̙͓̯̔̃͋̕

Connor's gem lights up. A rose, almost red glow cloaks his body, a thorny set of crystal creeping on his hands, and before he can even think about what the fuck is happening to him right now, Connor walks right up to Asteria Diamond and punches him across the face.

Chapter Text

Steven hasn't moved. He hasn't even touched Connor's hand, still sort of clutched on his collar. Little more than a statue, a face carved from stone.

Connie wonders if she shouldn't have left her sword by the door.

=<>=

He is, objectively, aware of what must have happened. But he doesn't feel the pain, not really. He hears a quick sort of crunching noise, dimly aware of the familiarity of bone fractures crackling back into place.

Connor... punched him.

...Connor punched him.

Crimson Carbide.

[THIS GEM ASSAULTS THEIR DIAMOND.]

[AN UNINTENDED ACT. DISREGARD.]

[THIS DIAMOND CHALLENGES THE RIGHT OF COURT.]

[AN ACT OF IGNORANCE.]

[INTENDED, NONETHELESS.]

A white glow starts to enter the diamonds of suddenly pink eyes.

=<>=

If he lets go of Asteria Diamond, he's probably going to fucking die.

But the longer he holds on, the worse it's going to be when he doesn't.

Fuck.

He just punched Asteria Diamond.

He just punched Asteria Diamond.

...Asteria Diamond is going to hurt us.

=<>=

He hurt us.

He thought to take her.

He hit us-

-to take what is m I N E

Still.

Still.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Stop.

Think.

Act.

He turns back to Connor, mind still too uneven to create an expression on a blank, wide eyed face, and just barely grabs the hand still holding his collar.

=<>=

Connor's free fist is dripping ichors on the floor, flowers growing in defiance with every drop. Steven's eyes are still pink, and he still hasn't quite let go of Connor's other wrist.

A Diamond on a Diamond. A brittle standoff, indeed.

Connie moves closer, just barely, repositioning herself to intervene if she has to. But she can't move in yet- not while she might tip the scales of a mental entanglement that is looking a little too inhuman at the moment.

=<>=

"Please let go," purrs a song against Connor's mind.

He almost sounds calm, but Connor knows better.

He knows better than the diamonds of eyes still blazing white, on the downward twitch of a brow, subtly and sharply angled. On white, curled, daggered claws flexed just enough to gently snag on the fabric of his sleeve.

He lets go of Asteria Diamond's shirt collar, wishing he wasn't shaking like a feeble deer in the headlights. The rising pressure of the room disappears like the last act of a shitty magic trick, and Connor finally starts breathing again like a fucking person.

=<>=

Steven rolls his neck, willing away the last of the injury. "That was new, I think." He wipes the last trace of blood from his face with a gesture of the thumb, absentmindedly cleaning away what it picks up with a wide scrape of a barbed tongue. "A decent punch. Workable. Form was a bit off, though." He looks back down at Connor's still dripping hand, picking it up before Connor can back away. "You're bleeding." The blood is only Steven's, though, so it fades quickly enough, wiped away by a minor sweep of his own hands.

"Connor," Connie starts, "you wanna talk about what just happened there?"

"Yes, that was-" his eye, from the side where Connor punched him, twitches a little unhinged for a moment. "-odd."

"You-" Connor stops as the rose glow of his body spikes again, waiting for it to go down. "He called you My Connie and I- I felt like-" he rubs at his own hand, still sore from a poorly thought out punch. "...I don't know. I don't know what happened, I don't know why I was so angry, I just-"

"-felt like she was your Connie." Steven runs a hand across his face. Diamond brain. Lovely.

"Wait, what? " Connie looks between the two of them. "Connor, you really...?"

A shameful red creeps on Connor's face as he shrinks in on himself. 

"Please, I-" It hurts, the way he honestly flinches as they draw closer. "Please, I didn't mean to, please don't-" Please don't hurt me.

"Connor, I- I said... I would never hurt you. Even if I got mad. Especially if I got mad, I-" Steven's song breaks into a wavering sigh as he leans back just slightly. "-I'm sorry if I made you feel like I would have broken that, I... that was my fault. I shouldn't have done that."

"We're not going to hate you for an honest mistake, all right? But..." She pauses. "...listen, Connor. There's some things we're going to have to talk about, now that we... know."

Connor looks off to the side, a stubborn pink still scattering across his eyes.

"Steven and I are... married. He's my Steven. I'm his Connie. We've been together for...  it must be nearly ten years, now. And..." She looks back to Connor. "...Connor, we're friends. We were friends back then, when we were kids, and we're friends now, but... I still barely know you. I can't be your Connie. If that's what you want, you can find someone someday. They'll be yours, and you'll be theirs. But it can't be me."

"...Okay," Connor finally says with a shaking whisper.

"Hey." She takes his hand. "This doesn't change anything, okay? We're still friends, alright?"

"Seriously," Steven adds. "We aren't gonna chew you out over this. Diamond brain stuff is... difficult. I get that. We get that."

=<>=

When Connor raises his head to look back at them, he smiles. A wide, closed smile pushing a squint into too-earnest eyes, and it looks exactly like Steven in all the wrong ways.

"It's okay," he says, and his song is back to being just as dead as before. "It's fine. I'm fine. I just..."

He walks out as the door opens up for him.

"I just need to think about some things, that's all."

Chapter Text

"Connor, do you want to be here today?"

His eyes are as flat as his song today. (Diamond eyes, but not quite. Snakish looking things, unsettling to watch simply constrict into smaller diamonds than true crosshairs.) "What are you talking about, Bismuth?"

"C'mon man. This was supposed to be your day." She frowns as she looks as him. "You wouldn't shut up about all the knife shapes you wanted to run by me all week, and now we're here and you don't got a Diamond-damned note out of ya. You doin' alright?"

"I've just had... some things on my mind, is all."

Connor's song has always sounded a little dead- and there's nothing really wrong with that, he can't help it. It's just one of those things that make Connor, well- Connor. Bismuth can appreciate that. But he's always had one hell of an dramatic face to make up for it- that's Connor, too.

A face carved from stone? That's just... not.

She leans back against her anvil. "If you wanna take a day off, that's fine."

That almost sparks some protest out of him. "I would rather not-"

She stops it with a raised hand.

"Seriously, boy, we got delicate work slotted for today." She gives him a quick sweeping look. "You look like you gonna murder the next thing that pops in front of ya, that ain't gonna work out."

"I can still-"

"Connor. You've always been puttin' in more hours than you've really been asked to. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. But you're lookin' kinda out of it, and that can be dangerous on the shop." She claps a hand on his shoulder. "I mean this in the nicest way possible- go home, you look like slag. Get some Diamond damn sleep for once, I know you haven't been."

"...Okay."

"Hey." Her hand trails down his arm. "I ain't doin' this t' kick you out, or make you stop workin'. You can take your pet project stuff home if you want, hammer 'em on your own time. But I ain't puttin' you to work when your gem's not in the right place for it, alright?" She claps him on the back. "Go home. Eat a sandwich or somethin', you've been shootin' up like a sky-damn reed."

Connor almost smiles, a closed mouth, squinting, boyish thing, as he swats her hand away a little easier than he used to before. "Fuck off, mom."

"Yeah, yeah." Bismuth goes back to her hammered hands, dunking them in lava to get back to work. "May you ever return to your hearth, you little bastard."

Connor's tired smile scoffs with a dead growl of song as he leaves. "And may you never return to the earth, you old dull rock."

Chapter Text

Eats Fire Sets Fountain On Fire Bones Are On Fire Please Call The Hospital (Exact Words From The Gem Himself)

Damn bitch did you clock out early today or some shit?

I was so down to knives with you in this chili's tonight

guess you just wanted to do that yourslef

rip

The Crimson™ King™

Connor whenst the FUCK

are you today

this is Cinna

By The Way

i'm realizing just now that you probably don't know this number

(but i know yours, no homo)

That One Guy With The Sword From The Ranma 1/2 OP But Pink

oof

could have used your Schrodinger's Bones at work today

I'm not buff enough to carry this heavy shit yet

you'd think being a cyborg would make me Stronge™ but tungsten arm is Babey

weakass stump ain't used to it still

A Strong Case For Gem NT Being Autistic Because I'm Pretty Sure Knives Are This Guys Special Interest

connor

connor

connor i made a knife, are you proud

are you proud daddy uwu

...

oof

you really are just OUT, huh

come on dude, i made knife For You

we were doing that shit trying to find the balance for your handle

Come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

you love knives

get in on this, this is Crimson Carbide Bait

Jon Snow But Tall And Less Sad Looking

Connor.

Connor

Connor

Connor

Connor

Connor

Crimson Carbide

Are you ok?

Chapter Text

AD

Bismuth says you have not shown up to work today.

I suppose that's not a bad thing?

At least you're better than I am about getting a break, haha.

Did you run into any of the Crystal Gems on your way out?

Sorry if you did. I told them to clear out, but I was planning on

warping you directly out

of the room so you didn't have to deal with any

accidental encounters.

I still haven't told them about you yet.

Bismuth is the only one who knows.

I haven't even told Dad.

I wanted to leave that up to you, when to tell them.

If you... ever... wanted to tell them.

If you don't, that's okay.

I know that being around them is hard for you.

That being around me

Anyways, that choice is yours, I won't push you one way or another.

But I'll still be there with you.

You don't have to respond right now.

I just wanted you to know.

Chapter Text

Missed Call

Connie

Voicemail

Connie

Connie

no ones heard from you for a few days

you ok

there's

a lot more gems than expected asking about you

looks like you made some friends

haha

i'm still here for you, ok? we're still friends. that doesn't stop just cuz we had an awkward

moment, ok

seriously if you need to talk

or something

that's ok

i think steven's starting to get worried

i'm starting to get worried

god, now i know how steven feels all the time

Chapter Text

Connie

uh

real quick

i think steven's going to try and see if you're still alive in there

NO

I can't stop the Diamond express, pal

AD

Hello, this is Asteria Diamond.

In case you got rid of my contact.

I have no idea what's going on with you at the moment.

I've been told that you've missed your last therapist thingy.

And that you haven't been picking up messages.

Or getting food.

Or going out...

Have you been eating? Or sleeping?

Please, have you been taking care of yourself at least, I

i'm sorry

i

please

I'm fine.

oh thank t

Yes. Good.

You are ali

ve

you're stillllllllllllllllllllll

That's good. Thats fine i don't know what i would have d

You did not need to hear that. I'm sorry.

...It seems you should be low on food by now.

Do you have food in the house?

Yes

Do you have food that isn't designed for an apocalypse.

I feel, somehow, the answer is no.

you're right

So if

hypothetically.

I came by with some Marginally More Fresh Food Objects, would that be okay?

We don't need to talk I just

I need t

Sorry.

Fine.

Chapter Text

"Asteria Diamond."

If Steven flinches at the sudden formality, neither of them acknowledge it. "I-I-" He brings up the bags from his gem. "I brought. Things. I will... put them away for you."

"Fine." Connor pries himself away from the door like it's an agonizing task, walking back into the house with only the slightest shake in his shoulders.

=<>=

Asteria Diamond steps into Connor's house like he still isn't sure if he's allowed inside. (He is, but barely by a thread. Maybe he can tell.)

It's a house he's been in many times before, but this time he almost wanders in a lost way as he makes his way to the kitchen. It's strange- Asteria Diamond has always had an unsettling, dancer's grace in his movements, but there's a stagger in it that wasn't there before. (Like he's hurt. Has he been sleeping? It's concerning. Connor hopes, briefly, that it's not his fault.)

It's blended into his song, too- the way Asteria awkwardly starts pointing out the different things he's brought, as he puts them away. "Mostly it's just fruits and vegetables. There's some gemfruit, too, if you're not feeling up to really cooking up anything. Got some bread stuff from Spacetries. I thought maybe you'd..." he trails off for a moment. "...want something a little sweet."

=<>=

And he looks at Connor, really looks at him. He's grown again- and maybe Steven wants to be proud, but Connor looks so tired.  Worn and weeping, but still alive.

Still alive.

So tired. So, so tired.

He frames a hand over his face, leaning back on the counter like it isn't the only thing keeping him from falling.

=<>=

There's this disturbed, hitched note coming out of the Diamond's mouth. It bubbles like laughter.

"If you're going to laugh," Connor helpfully notes, "I should warn you that Thorn wants to punch you in the face for it."

An eye, peeking through his hand. "I almost want to let you," whispers a sudden, hysterical tilt of song. "Maybe it would actually hurt less than-"

The odd, disturbed note bubbles up all over again. And then silence.

"I keep losing you," his song wavers. "I keep tricking myself into thinking that maybe I did something right and then-" A long, wavering sigh, almost like a sob.

"...Losing me?"

Asteria Diamond freezes.

=<>=

I keep losing you.

I keep losing you.

Why did he...

Why did he say that?

What is he forgetting?

=<>=

"I..." Az lifts his head to look down confused at the hand that held it. There's a shake, now. "I- I see..." His song is staggered, halting- like his words are unrecognizable, even to him. "...so many things that hurt you. I see so many ways that you d-d-d-"

A blank clarity suddenly passes over Az's eyes.

=<>=

A different Diamond, a different time.

Another Diamond, Asteria Diamond- and a despair so strong it tore through time.

For Connor. Because of Connor. Because...

Because you...

=<>=

"...you die." Az looks almost surprised with himself, saying it. "You die. I keep seeing you die, and I can't... I was too late to stop it? But always just in time to watch. I don't-"A laugh and a smile, brittle as diamond. "How messed up is that?"

"What happened?" A sudden lively note enters Connor's dead song. "What happens to me?"

"I can't-" Az looks confused, uncertain, terrified? "-I don't I don't I don't-"

"Dad, please." Another god-damn slip, but Az looks back up at him all the same. "You have to tell me."

=<>=

There is nothing that can Order a Diamond. Except, perhaps, another Diamond.

And Connor's song, dead and inexperienced as it may be, is a Diamond's song nonetheless.

You have to tell me. You have to remember.

Like a spade digging up the grave of something long buried, cutting right into his mind.

=<>=

"I remember you..." Az says distantly, "...there was a-"

=<>=

The palm of his hand drags harsh across his brow. Why does it hurt so much, what did-

=<>=

"I can't- I can't remember, I- You died... I think that actually happened, I was-" Az looks down at his hands. "-I held you as you died... there was..." His grip on the counter slips, and he falls just a little more, a daze in his eyes. "...so much blood..."

"Hey, hey, hey-" Connor moves forward. "Come on, Az." Connor tries to nudge him to move. "Maybe you should sit down-"

=<>=

He shakes his head past the memories. "No, no, no, no, I can't, I-" It's too much, this is wrong, this is wrong-

81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88.

"I can't just leave you when-" I don't understand, why is it like this why am I like this why am I so scared 

89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

"I was supposed to-" remember, so why does it feel like this, why is it too much, why does it hurt, WHAT DON'T I REMEMBER

97. 98. 99.

99.

99.

99.

99.

99.

99.

99-

"I can't leave you holed up like this, I can't-t-t-"

100.

"-it's my fault, what if-"

100 100 100                    G̷͘̚ ̴̂̿ K̶̀̓  ̵͂̇B̶̄̓

What if I lose you again? I'm doing it again, aren't I?

If it happens again it's

=<>=

"...my fault, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Az crosses his arms against himself, eyes dark blind crosshairs. " 's my fault, my fault, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

We dug too hard.

Fuck.

We just broke him, fuck fuck

fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck-

Should Connor grab him? Give him space? What the fuck does he do for shit like this?

He can't remember. Because Az is the one who's there when Connor is breaking to pieces, trapped in memories than no longer exist, and Az doesn't fall apart like this.

And who's fault is that?

We weren't trying to hurt him, I just wanted...

Diamond damned Diamond brain can't stay subtle for a Diamond damned second-

WELL I'M SORRY I DIDN'T KNOW WE HAD THE PSYCHIC SUBTLETY OF A  F U C K I N G  JACKHAMMER!

And even the internal argument that makes up Connor's head can't stay locked inside his own head because at Thorn's graceful little shout, Az fullbody flinches all over again, the glitched loop of his song hitching with a desperation, the blindness of his eyes growing wild.

Well, shit.

Well, fuck.

...

Stop.

Stop.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Stop. Think. Act.

Connor scoots closer, and slowly takes Az by the shoulders, nudging the Diamond's arms apart.

Fuck it. Time to be Steven.

With one smooth motion more used to swinging hammers than literally anything else, Connor pulls Az into a hug.

It's not a friendly hug, and it's not a human hug. It's a twitchy head buried into Connor's shoulder, it's the inhuman amount of pressure of his thorn-scarred arms wrapping around Az like a snake, and it's way longer than any sane person could deem socially acceptable.

It's enough.

Just this once it's enough.

=<>=

There's too many there's too many

stop it stop it stop it please it's TOO MUCH

and then a weight settles on his shoulders.

No words. No thoughts. Just... there.

=<>=

"...Connor-"

Az almost pitches to fall as he leans away, but Connor catches him in time. "Hey there, Dad."

"What... what are you-"

"It's okay." He doesn't know what weird half-buried memory has him running a hand through Az's hair, but he ends up doing it anyway. "It's okay."

"I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"I still shouldn't have fallen apart like that." Az smiles, almost, in a sad way. "I just worry too much for our own good sometimes."

...Here's the thing.

Connor is afraid of Asteria Diamond.

That's just a shitty fact. Az is probably a great person- maybe even a good person. But he's bigger and broader and stronger than Connor, and that means it's going to be a long, long while before Connor stops being at least a little scared by him.

Because he's used to being scared. (And he's been so scared for so long, he forgot it was even possible to scare someone else.)

So used to the idea that he'd always be scared of Az that he didn't realize that maybe, just maybe, he might scare Az a little, too. I keep seeing you die.

Suddenly, Connie's text makes a lot more sense.

God damn it. We're a dick.

And he looks at Az, really looks at him. When was the last time you slept?

"Go home, Dad."

There's an anxious look on Az's face now. "I-"

"Go home. You need to rest." Connor sighs. "I'll be okay. Okay?"

"Okay."

"But..." Connor traces a brambled scar along his arm. "...thanks. For checking in. And for bringing food stuff."

"...okay..."

Connor scoffs, a sharp barking uptick in his song as he stands. "Alright, you really need to go home, you're falling asleep mid-conversation." He slaps Az on the side of the neck. "Get out of my house, dumbass." Az sparks back to life with a short jump, blinking harshly to himself as he looks back up at Connor.

Looks... up.

Az blinks slowly. "You got taller than me." He laughs, almost. "Wow, that's weird."

"Wait, really?"

They stand side by side, and... Az is right. Connor is taller, just tall enough to peek over Az's head. Huh.

"That is pretty weird." Wait. "I'm not gonna grow, like- Mom height or something, am I?" Because that would suck. He'd rather look as much Not Rose Quartz as physically possible.

"I don't think so?" Az tilts his head. "You're about the height that I could have been."

"Could have? What does that-"

Wait.

Hold on.

Could have been... but chose not to.

"Oh stars, you like being shorter than Connie." Connor cringes at the thought. "WHY?"

"It just makes sense?" Az looks back, confused. "She's always been taller than me."

"But why would you do that on purpose-"

"Why are you so weirded out, I'm pretty sure half your growth spurt is wanting to be as tall as Connie-"

"You leave Connie out of this-"

"You brought her up first-"

Chapter Text

Connor

hey what was i like

I'm sorry?

og me

the one that you remember

what was i like

Oh.

The memories aren't really mine. They're from that other version of

myself, who would have known you then. I only know what he chose to

give me before he moved on.

you still lived them

Yes.

so tell me about me

You know how you ended.

And you remember how you started.

It wasn't a very happy life.

but you were there

it can't have been just bad parts

You were... happier, in the end. For a time.

It's all still so distant to me.

Oh.

is it

bad to talk about does it

does it hurt

Not like the first time you asked, no.

That particular memory was kind of intense.

big yikes

Big Yikes.

...You were older, I think, when we first met.

He did say that if I stayed in that place, things would get

worse for me

They did. I think you escaped on your own, the first time.

huh

I think you kind of blamed me for what you went through.

dead connor can fuck off, that shit's not on you

you got me out

Yes, well.

wait was i even called connor?

You named yourself, the first time around.

You chose the name Connor.

wild. time paradox name

Yes! Something like that.

But Was I Cool

Hhaha you crashed the Dondai and beat me up on a desert road in the middle

of the night.

What the fuck

With a hammer.

oh stars

You asked Connie out

oh god

right after a fight.

i hate this. i hate this so much

i want to call bullshit but i guess my embarrassing

ability to accidentally hit on married women just transcends time

and space.

That's the Universe charm! Falling in love with people over the

course of five (5) minutes.

you can't call me our like this fuck you

I'm calling us both out.

:)

never give me that smile again it's terrifying coming from you

:)

the oppressions never cease

Chapter Text

At some point in the two week mark, Connie kicks open the door to Connor's house on a Thursday afternoon. "What's up, you depressed bastard?"

Az is sort of huddled behind her, as much as a Gem as broad as he is can hide behind someone as willowy as Connie. "I am very sorry," he wavers behind her, not sounding particularly apologetic at all, "but also I cannot stop her and I was getting worried again."

Connie stomps into the house and leans down, holding up a child next to Connor. "Look at my fucking son."

Az looks back to her with mock hurt. "I thought he was my son."

"My son now."

"But-"

"My son now."

Az sighs as he draws closer. "Good afternoon, I am very sorry for my wife, and hello, this is my son. Vairam. I told you about him earlier."

Vairam is a small child- more of a baby, really, though it's not like Connor can really tell. He doesn't remember really being around kids that much.

He looks rather human, and yet Connor doesn't feel that lingering phantom pain he often does around humans. Odd.

Instead of thinking about what that means, he turns to Az. "I told you I needed some space."

"And I did tell you to give some warning if you wanted to go radio silent. But here we are."

Vairam grabs at the air in Connor's direction.

"Seems like he wants to get to know you." Az takes the child from Connie's hands and holds him towards Connor. "I will assume you will not throw the child if we hand him to you," Vendan adds.

"A-alright."

How the fuck do we hold babies.

I imagine it involves holding them.

Fuck you too, Con.

He's not quite sure he's doing it right, but Vairam isn't exactly screaming and squirming in his hold, so he'll count it as a win. "Hey there, Vairam," whispers his song with a softness he didn't realize it was still capable of. "I guess I'm your uncle Connor."

Vairam softly pats at Connor's face. "Nononononon...."

"I don't know why he does that," Az insists, probably lying to himself.

"It's because Steven shows affection by petting people like dogs," Connie cuts in.

"Thank you, Connie," Az responds flatly, "for your wonderful support."

"What's he even saying?" Connor asks. "My gemsong can't quite make it out."

"Probably trying to say your name." Az laughs at the thought. "He might even get it right by the time we leave."

"Huh." 

Connor silently promises to teach this kid how to fight one day.

"You obviously didn't come here just to introduce me to the child," Connor says instead, as Vairam keeps idly patting at his face.

"We're here because you haven't left the house in like a week and that's big yikes." Connie falls back to the couch. "Steven started thinking you died or something."

"I've been busy."

The group pointedly does not mention the haphazard pile of blades stacked off on one of the walls, obnoxiously labeled REJECTS in Gemglyph.

Az puts an eye to the rather massive pile. "At least melt them down afterwards. Don't leave them in your house to stab you when you aren't looking."

Connor hisses sarcastically at him, and Vairam giggles at the noise.

"Your stab collection aside, we're mostly here because you need, like. Actual friends." Connie pauses. "Other than us, or people that you know from work. Because clearly, sometimes, we stress you out by association."

"Other... friends."

"You don't need a new best friend overnight!" Az tries to reassure with raised hands. "You just..." he tents his hands together with a sharp breath, "...you need some, connections, I think. More people to tie you to your life, y'know? To avoid stuff like, well-"

"-Locking yourself in your house for nearly two weeks because you got awkward with the two people that make up half of your social circle," Connie bluntly finishes. "Not judging, just pointing it out."

Connor scoffs as he lets Vairam play around with his claws. "It's a nice thought, but it's not like there's many people out there with shared life experience or something."

"We get that," Connie concedes. "So I thought I might help you out a little bit, reccomend you sort of a starter friend."

Better not be a human.

Don't be like that. I'm sure she wouldn't introduce us to anyone suspect.

"Like who?" he asks resignedly.

"Well- only if you're up to it, obviously," she quickly reassures, "but I've got a cousin a little bit older than me who's coming up to transfer to an American college. She could use a friend, so... if you want? Her name is Adya-"

"Like the singer? " Connor suddenly interrupts.

Singer? My favorite singer of all time?

Only not-Connie human I tolerate?

What about Cinna.

Cinna is an outlier and does not count.

Hypocrite.

No, you.

Az blinks at the outburst. "Oh yeah." He turns back to Connie. "I keep forgetting your cousin is like, YouTube famous or something."

"Hah, yeah. It's been taking off recently. That's why she wants to come to New York- trying to get proper industry connections and all that." Connie leans in a little conspiratorially. "Her English is good, but only when she sings, so go a little easy on her."

Do it.

We barely know her.

Connie likes her. We like her.

You got me there.

"Okay, I'll bite."

"Oh, good," Connie casually responds, "because I was already putting her number into your phone while you weren't looking." She hands his phone (which he doesn't recall ever giving to her) back to him. "She already knows about me and Steven, 'cause she was there for the wedding, and she's pretty used to Gems? So you won't really have to explain any of that to her. That's why I'm kind of introducing you two."

"Try to text rather than call," Az advises. "Time zones, after all."

With that, Connie stands up, taking Vairam back with her. "We should probably leave you alone by now, so bye, I guess." She waves Vairam's hand. "Bye-bye."

"Con-non!" Vairam waves. "Baibaibai!"

"Uh... bye, I guess."

And just like that, he's alone again.

He looks down at his phone, and the new contact sitting right at the top, and falls back onto the couch.

He looks back out the window.

It's actually kind of a nice day out.

Maybe he should go out and see it.

Chapter Text

Moonstone Facet-G36S Crescent-4GK can confidently say she has a certain special relationship with Asteria Diamond.

Not a friendship- no, certainly not. Trust? Definitely not- she can proudly say that most any Gem in her life knows well enough not to trust her with a Diamond-damn thing.

This particular dalliance of theirs simply allows her delightful little moments of His Radiance's, well.... unguardedness, as it were. (His Knight would surely dissipate her if she ever caught her, but that's just half the fun of it.)

Though this time, things will be a bit different than usual.

She's decided to arrive early- very early. As entertaining as it is to watch the Diamond's eyes glow in the night trying to piece together her identity, this time she wants him to know right away exactly who he's dealing with. So she arrives in the morning. A very businesslike, human hour. Before any of his house humans wake up. (And he's been gone so often as of late. That simply won't do, not for this kind of business.)

She flies about the kitchen and sits on the counter with her wings spread out, meaningfully leaving the kitchen lights on.

It takes all of three minutes before his door opens, and all of five steps before he freezes, getting that funny trapped expression on his face he always does whenever he sees her in his house.

"Good morning, Your Radiance," she trills sweetly with her widest, squintiest smile.

"Moonstone." The twitch in his eye is back again. Hilarious. "4 AM is a bit... different, than your usual time."

"You've been away for so long, lately." She clicks her claws against the countertop. "You never call, you never write. How else will I ever see you?"

"I imagine," he says diplomatically, "that half the point of your nighttime wandering is that I don't see you until it's too late."

She flares her wings teasingly "Well, you know I always love the funny little look on your face when you don't quite catch me."

"And you've already gotten your prize."

"Oh, yes." An entire jug of chocolate milk, the best kind- stolen straight from a Diamond's fridge. "You know me so well."

"You know..." He leans against the frame of his door, rubbing a hand against his brow. "...you could literally just buy chocolate milk? It's not that hard?"

Sharp teeth glimmer against the kitchen light. "It always tastes better stolen."

"Hmm."

"But! This time I may just have a proposition for you, Asteria Diamond." She swirls the still unopened mug fancifully along the tile. "A fair trade if it were."

"It's not fair trade when you're trading me back my own stuff-"

"A fair trade! I shall leave your chocolate milk unstolen for tonight-"

"-a small mercy for your girlfriend's wallet," Asteria mutters tiredly. "Poor Cinna."

"-in exchange for a little piece of information I require." Her smile turns sharp. "What has become of Crimson Carbide?"

He actually pauses at that, blinking a few times to process her words. "What?"

"No one's seen hide or hair of that Gem for nearly two weeks, now. I suppose some of his colleagues are starting to become concerned."

At that, something stupidly soft enters his expression.

"Oh, please," Moonstone hisses with a roll of her eyes. "Not me, obviously. But Cinna's no fun when she worries, you know."

"He'll be fine," the Diamond says, all soft and caring, like she's the one who needs to be reassured of anything, like she cares what happens to that stupid scarface. (Maybe she does, but he doesn't need to know that.) "He just needed some space, that's all. He should be getting back to normal soon."

"Good." She opens up the jug and starts to drink from it.

"Please get out of my house, Moonstone."

She starts flying away with the jug.

"Moon-"

Chapter Text

EdgelordMcFluffy

ay bitch come pick up your dog

...i don't have a dog

Tell That To The Giant Fucking Wolf That Won't Get Off Of My FUCKING COUCH

connor are you ok

If this is some kind of human joke, I don't want to be friends with you anymore.

wtf

no dude your big ass fucking wolf is here

Clifford The Big Red Stab Wound or whatever the fuck you named him

Tell me where you live.

Damn at least buy me dinner first

TELL ME WHERE

"YOU."

The dumb fucking wolf sits on the couch in Cinna and Moonstone's house, and Connor stares at it, supremely offended.

"What the fuck." Connor drags a hand over his face. "What the fuck, man." The wolf thumps its tail on the couch. "You big bastard. Come here and face your crimes."

The wolf hops of the couch like it hasn't been firmly parked there for the past five hours and walks over to Connor with a lazily wagging tail. He kneels down in front of it, running his hands over its paws, its chest, stuttering over a spot on its neck.

"You stupid red bastard." He squishes its face, and there's a weird shake in his normally dead-seeming song. "You fucking..."

And golly fucking gosh, Crimson Carbide does have a heart. Because he suddenly lurches forward and hugs his big hobo dog like it's the only thing he's ever loved and holy shit, he's actually crying.

"You dumbass," breaks his tearing song, "Dumb fucking hobo, don't you ever do that to me again or I'll k-k-k-k-kill you."

Rose red fur gleams in the sunlight of the window. The wolf sneezes at some dust, and Connor laughs until pink-tinged tears threaten to fall out from his eyes all over again.

Chapter Text

AD

Interesting. Can I see a picture?

[BigRedBastard.png]

Huh. The color manifestation is different than in mine. Did you feel

anything in particular after you had cried?

i was pretty worn out? like i was going to pass out or something

You likely have a case of excessive ichor density. Makes sense since

your healing powers are still kind of wack. Making up for quality with

quantity.

this sounds bad. is it bad?

Not particularly, no? Not in your everyday life at least. But you'll

need to be really careful about crying. Seeing as ichor is literally our

blood, excessive tears can become analogous to the blood loss

of humans

do

DO WE NOT HAVE BLOOD ANYMORE

We never did! Next question.

Wait, I have more dog questions.

Can I see the death wounds real quick?

he's not dead though

There should still be scarring.

if it's healed, shouldn't it be fine?

If the scar is super big and scary, it might be obstructing

blood vessels and muscle movements.

Ah.

[Scars.png]

[Scarpaw.png]

Oh! More than one, okay.

Seems fine, we might need to take another look at the 

ones on the paw wrists later to make sure it isn't

scraping on some tendons or anything.

Aside from the colors, does he look that much

different from before?

i think he got bigger

That makes sense! Lion is like the size of a horse.

How about behavioral? Is he acting any different?

fuckin uuuuh

i guess he listens to me more? or at least he Understands

He'll still act like A Wolf, but his overall intelligence might

expand to about a human level.

Congratulations, you have a son now.

oh shards

This is your fate. Inescapable Diamondhood.

Is this bullshit gonna happen everytime i touch a dead thing??

Am i gonna have to go vegetarian????

Hah, no

This particular facet of our powers is tied to our empathy.

You must have really loved him in order for this to

happen.

I did.

...Is this going to happen to Connie one day?

Only if she dies.

She's kind of taken a raincheck on aging for now, so 

only if she...

oh.

that's good i think

i'd miss her if she died

Yeah. It's still... weird to think about.

Gotta go back to work now.

what your bullshit basement portal for the guy with

the fez

You know me so well!

i'm still calling bullshit

one day you'll tell me what your actually doing

But why would I ever lie to you, my dearest

most darling time clone?

Get back to be when the wolf starts teleporting, bye!

what the fuck does that mean

what do you mean by teleport

AZ

ASTERIA DIAMOND GETT HE FUCK BACK HERE

AZ

DAD

Chapter Text

Mystery Friend

Hey

This is CU.

whomst

!!

You're the mysterious american friend kahaani was talking about?? small world

Wild

i think connie said you are rakshesha?

If that's a word for a Gem, then yes

She broke into my house and gave me your number

omg kahaani why

i'm so sorry my cousin

Eh, i deserved it

So

uh

ADYA

i guess I'm a fan

oh no you don't have to spell it like that, that's just how i write it on the channel

Adya

yes like that

i forgot i have american watchers

Do i even count as an american? I don't think the government

knows i exist

i guess that make you 

Illegal Alien

HAHAHA

(I am laughing. is it good to type laughing? i don't

know what i'm doing)

well i don't know what i'm doing either so

Go Wild

oh thank god

ha

wait, real quick if it's not rude i swear i have a point

what kind of are you?

Crimson Carbide

oof that's a mouthful

kind of a builder/soldier thing

like uh

what is word

like quartz?

Yes! sort of

i'm just imagining giant strong rakshesha

phone tiny in giant tiger hands

says "oh thank god" in tiny voice

If it helps the image, i also have a lot of "stripes"

IT DOES

can't believe you said "oh thank god"

do you even have a god

Mm

no, i don't think so??

I see no god here (Other Than Me)

I CHOKED

!

I'm sorry!

NO I AM LAUGH I SWEAR

Oh! OK, that's good!

because i'd like to be friends

if that's ok

i guess it's probably weird that i already

sort of know you

you've never had a human friend before, huh

i mean i kind of know some humans from work

...is it really so obvious i don't know what i'm doing

A Tiny

yes

but i've never really had a gem friend before

so we're both awkward

We Are

Awkward Gem Friends

Awkward Gem Friends together