You’ve been busy. And not busy in a fun way. More of... busy in a... well, it’s hard to describe, but it certainly isn’t fun. Maybe you should start at the beginning.
When you were six sweeps old, you played a game. You were never very good at games. You weren’t good at a whole lot, really. But you had a passion for it anyway, and that’s what really counted in the end, wasn’t it? You didn’t have much confidence back then, either. You’ve come a long way, in that sense. But that’s beside the point-- focus, focus.
When you were six, you played a game and you won. Most games give you a digital sticker, or maybe some experience points when you win. This game gave you a universe.
Or... it would have. But it didn’t. Because you and your friends were much, much worse at games than you originally thought. And then everything went downhill.
When you were six, you played a game and you won and you created a universe and you died. But that isn’t what you’re here to talk about. Not really. Focus, Tavros. Focus. You played the game and you died, and you went to the dreambubbles, where you stayed for a few sweeps and you enjoyed just... existing.
And then you woke up to an unpleasant beating in your chest, and a dull whir of machinery, and you knew that you were misplaced in the universe, from that moment on. You felt lost in the way that one does when they’re finally comfortable with everything that they are, and then they have it taken away from them.
Your death wasn’t just. It wasn’t heroic. Nothing was gained from your death, just as nothing was gained from your unlife, this awkward space between troll and machine that you now occupied. There was no progress to be made in living. Or so you thought.
At first, you thought that the cruelest part of all of this was that your Aradia and your Feferi and your Equius brought you back at all. They never asked, and you never gave permission. Instead they ripped you from your dreams and they shoved you back into a life that you never wanted.
It wasn’t until you began wanting it at all that you realized that living wasn’t the cruel part. No. The most agonizing part of this was aging, and doing so quickly. As a bronzeblood, you were destined for a short life from the moment that you came into existence. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.
You began to like it even less as you met so many amazing people, made so many wonderful friends. And you fell in love. Hard.
That’s what you try to focus on when Tex-- oh, Tex. They’re crying now, and you look at them and you feel such a swell of love in your heart. You want to wipe away their tears and kiss them and so you do just that, and you hope, you hope, you hope with all that you have. You hope that nothing will go wrong. You hope that everything will be okay. You hope they know how much you love them.
Nasty is there, too. But as soon as that thought is in your mind, you’re pushing it out again, trying to focus on your matesprit, not the troll that has been stubbornly staying in your pumper, despite all you’ve done to push him out. Only fitting that, in spite of it all, he’s there when you--
die.
And then you wake up. Or it feels like you’ve just woken up. You’re being rushed out in a confusing blur, and your head is still groggy and there’s a new, strange sensation in your back and your legs-- what? Your legs?
You don’t have time to dwell on it, because you’re being pushed through timelines and before you know it, you’re all alone. You stumble over your own feet and you trip, fall, get up again, and hope that this time you’ll stay up. But you don’t.
It terrifies you. You feel your entire world closing in around you. Tex and Nasty were just there, you swear that they were just within arm’s reach, but now they aren’t, and you aren’t sure if you can make it without either of them. You can’t stand and it feels like everything’s going wrong all at once.
This stretches on for an eternity before you’re brought back to reality, with Tex’s arms wrapping around you.
That was a few nights ago. Since then, you’ve spent time recovering, trying to get comfortable with the new you. The new god you. That’s a weird thought to have. But it’s accurate nonetheless.
You’ve had to redecorate your wheelchair a bit, given that it now has to be fit for public consumption. Your legs... they are your legs. But you aren’t quite ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It’s going to take time, that much you know, but now you have... well, forever.
So yeah. You’ve been busy. And now you’re sitting back, and opening your husktop for the first time in a little while, ready to face whatever has happened in your absence.
a22hole replied to your post: I MADE THIS BLOG THE DAY BEFORE THE LAST ON A...
lmao a greeter iin thii2 day and age?
PUT A SOCK IN IT. IF IT’S NOT A THING, IT IS NOW. I’M BRINGING IT BACK. I DIDN’T HAVE A BLOG BEFORE WHICH MEANS THAT I CANNOT PARTAKE IN CRINGE CULTURE, THEREFORE I AM TRULY THE HERO THAT IS NEEDED TO BRING BACK DEAD TRENDS AND BEAT DEAD HOOFBEASTS WITHOUT EVEN BEING AWARE. THE BLIND LEADING THE CYNICAL, TRULY.
