I think part of me expected this burnout would last a long time, but it’s drawing close to a year now. I have a strong reason to suspect medications are prolonging it. Granted: I have no intention of stopping medication, but I suspect I may need to make some changes. It’s been nice not to feel burning rage/crippling despair/panic most of the time, but I also miss being able to actually... act on things! Start things! Feel some semblance of motivation, as fleeting as it is. Mostly my reaction to prompts of any kind are “nah, don’t wanna” or “so what?” which isn’t terribly conducive to anything more than day to day life. (Y’all, I can’t even reliably plan my vacation and that’s pretty terrible.)
I’m saying this in part as a sort of explanation as to why I’ve been so slow to respond to anything, or post any art, or even re-open commissions this past year. I just... generally can’t make myself do anything that isn’t a part of my daily maintenance routine. Knowing that making art (even personal art) takes 3x times as long to complete is a standout reason I’ve been refusing to reopen commissions especially, since I’d be unwilling to make clients wait more than a few months for even something as simple as a sketch. People were patient enough with “Old Me,” I don’t think most would hold out for “New Me.”
Thankfully I’m speaking to my doctor tomorrow regarding my experiences on the current medication, and maybe I can find something that works a little better. I feel like I’ve been pretty fortunate so far, all things considered, and my side effects have been fairly mild. (Though I have suspicions it’s also thinning out my hair something fierce... probably time for supplements for that issue!)
Hopefully I’ll figure it out sooner rather than later? Either way, I’m learning to accept things as they are these days.
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When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.
Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.
He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.
They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.
Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.
Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.
Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.
It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.
It's an ear.
It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-
Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.
"Hey!"
Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.
"Kaveh, hey!"
The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.
His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.
Quicksand.
Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.
His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-
Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.
"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.
Kaveh is sinking.
Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.
Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.
"Do you believe in karma?"
The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-
Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.
Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.
He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.
He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.
He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.
He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.
Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.
Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.
"Kaveh? What are you doing?"
This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."
Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.
"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.
"Do you believe in karma?"
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Zeb brings Rex to Lira San at some point to introduce him to the people there, both the Lasat who had already been there as well as the two Lasat survivors from Lasan. I have to assume that the culture on Lira San is significantly different from the culture that had developed on Lasan. Lira San is literally thought of as a LEGEND on Lasan from what we know which means it has been so long that these two cultures have probably developed in very different directions over time. So while there's probably stuff that Zeb IS familiar with on Lira San, there's going to be so much that he's being introduced to for the first time, as well.
Zeb is so excited to introduce Rex to his people, his culture, but he hasn't really ever spent any time on Lira San himself. He went down quickly to get the other two survivors settled there the first time they arrived and, for security reasons, doesn't go back until after the Empire is defeated. So he's not quite prepared for what it's actually like there. He tries showing Rex things he remembers of his culture, but everything is off or wrong somehow, and he ends up feeling like he doesn't know ANYTHING about these people or this culture and instead of being fun, it's just frustrating and devastating for Zeb, especially since Rex seems genuinely impressed by everything anyway, no matter how wrong it is. Eventually, he just snaps because he can't take it anymore and storms off.
Rex follows and Zeb tries to tell him to leave because he'll never get it and Zeb can't begin to understand. Rex says that Zeb's right, he'll never get it, because his people won't ever have something like this. Rex is never going to find some hidden enclave of the clones somewhere that have been safely and peacefully developing their culture on their own. It's just him and Gregor and Wolffe now, as far as Rex knows and it always will be. So Rex will never understand the pain that Zeb is currently going through by being confronted with a culture that feels like it SHOULD be familiar, but isn't quite. He'll never be confronted with an entire culture that manages to simultaneously bring him so much joy and relief as well as endless pain and devastation.
But this puts him in a unique position of being able to see the Lira San culture through the eyes of an outsider, without the pain it causes Zeb. He offers to show Zeb what HE sees when he looks at Lira San, to let Zeb explore this culture through Rex's eyes instead of his own. Zeb agrees, reluctantly, but it actually works. They go back through the market, the landmarks of this city they're staying in, the surrounding landscapes, the people, the language, the music. And instead of being frustrated at what he CAN'T see, he starts just enjoying being able to listen to what Rex CAN see. He can't always see it himself, he knows that it might take him a while to see it for himself and that sometimes he might NEVER see it, but for now, it's enough that Rex can see it and enjoy it and tell Zeb all about it.
They try a bunch of new foods together, they spar together and practice both the fighting styles they already know as well as try to learn local Lira San styles, they take a lot of trips out across the planet to see its different flora and fauna, they go see performances. Rex and Zeb just... spend a long time experiencing everything Lira San has to offer. And Zeb recognizes the irony in Rex having to sort-of introduce Lasat culture to him instead of the other way around, but he loves Rex so much for giving him this. He already knew how much Rex meant to him, he wouldn't have brought Rex to Lira San otherwise, but this is the moment he realizes he's going to spend the rest of his life with Rex.
In return, Zeb tries to ask Rex about the clones as much as he can. He asks Rex to talk about Wolffe and Gregor, but also about everyone he's lost. He asks about the 501st, and learns about Fives and Echo, about Hardcase and Dogma, about Tup and Jesse and Kix, about Appo and Denal and so many others. He asks about the other captains and commanders and hears about Cody and Fox and Ponds and Bly and Gree and Doom and Monnk. He asks how the clones chose their names and hears so many stories about the different ways clones got their names, some choosing them for themselves and some being given them by other clones, some naming themselves after something they loved and some naming themselves something that sounded cool at the time. He asks about hair and tattoos and learns about whether Rex ever wanted to dye his hair a different color and what everybody's tattoos meant and how the clones learned to tattoo each other when they left Kamino and started to see tattoos on other species.
And Zeb doesn't just ask for these stories so he alone can hear them, he sometimes asks when they're just walking around the marketplace and have picked up a gaggle of little Lasat kids who think they're cool and are perfectly happy to try to follow along with the stories Rex tells about his people. Rex always makes sure those stories are funny or heroic. He saves the sad ones for when he and Zeb are alone.
It turns out that the Lasat also had a tattooing culture of its own. The people of Lasan had had their own styles of course, but the practice itself had been brought there from Lira San, so Zeb asks Rex if he would want to teach the clones' style of tattooing to the tattoo artists on Lira San, so that the style at least could live on even if the clones themselves did not. Rex needs a few minutes to get himself together enough to try to teach anyone anything, but he is more than happy to work with the tattoo artists and pass along what he knows of his people's tattoo culture. Afterwards, Zeb asks if Rex wants to get tattooed with him, something they could share. A piece of both of their cultures, linking them together.
Rex says yes, because this is the moment HE decides he's going to spend the rest of his life with Zeb.
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