Storm In The Room certainly was an emotional roller coaster, but not in the way most of us were expecting. You have to know whenever you see one of the rooms of the temple appear, we’re going to be in for emotional whiplash.
Doubly so for Rose Quart’s room.
The one thing we have a tendency to forget is that the room seems to have one purpose: to show whoever possesses the Rose Quartz gem (aka Steven at this point) whatever it thinks they want.
The room can only work with the information Steven already knows. Steven knows this. He says it several times. But given the circumstances, it’s easy to become overwhelmed and forget that. And the room? Just keeps on doing what it was designed to do. Steven wants to meet his mom?
Steven gets to meet his mom.
Steven wants to play games with his mom? Steven gets to play games with his mom.
Steven needs reassurance? He’s told he’s wonderful the way he is and that his mother has been with him the whole time.
And it’s beautiful.
But it’s empty.
Rose’s room holds no answers for him. It can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know. The sudden reminder that his mother isn’t actually there is jarring.
And the room, struggling to keep up with the sudden shift in Steven’s thoughts makes Rose dark, threatening and distant. She doesn’t answer any of Steven questions about Bismuth, Pink Diamond, the rebellion or her plans because the room simply doesn’t have the information to do so with.
Maybe they didn’t matter to you as much as hiding from the mess you made. And that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Did you make me just so you wouldn’t have to deal with all your mistakes?
Steven is smart. Steven is perceptive. He was born into a situation that no one, let alone a child, should have to deal with. He’s strong, he’s capable, but in so many ways he has no one who truly understands what he’s going through. He’s human and gem, and while this gives him the strengths of both, it also makes him totally unique and new. He has an amazing support system, people who would do anything in this universe to help him. But in some ways he will always be alone.
He’s never met Rose Quartz, the one individual that was the catalyst for the rebellion and its aftermath. Steven is going from the bedtime story/ fairy tale Rose Quartz presented to him from Greg and the gems to the reality behind the legend- something decisively less fairy tale like. That’s something that happens to a lot of us growing up, but in Steven’s situation it’s so much worse.
He never knew the Rose Quartz everyone idolized, but grew up knowing that everyone expected him to be just like her. But as he learns more about her, he finds that there was so much more to her. She wasn’t necessarily the kind, generous, wise, strategic genius warrior she was painted as. She lied. She didn’t think things through. She made mistakes. She ran from those mistakes.
Everyone around him expects him to grow up to be just like Rose, and he’s not even sure he likes her. Turning into her is both his dream and his worst nightmare.
We don’t know all the reasoning behind why Rose decided to become/create Steven. I have no doubt that it was definitely a strategic move on her part. She knew that Steven would be capable of doing things she never could, that in whatever was coming from Homeworld, she herself would not be able to do what was needed to save both Earth and whatever gems would come their way.
But I also have no doubt that it was a labor of love, that she absolutely would want Steven to exist without having to deal with her problems, IF that was possible. Steven had watched the tape his mom made for him, so the room? It knew what Steven needed to be reminded of.
I get it. I know you didn’t want me to deal with your problems. But you’re a part of me now. I have to deal with what you left behind.
Whether Steven’s creation was a strategic move on Rose’s part or not is a moot point. He’s here and he has to handle the problems she left in her wake. He’s growing up and he needs answers. And as he’s coming to find, those answers aren’t necessarily easy to deal with.
But, when it comes down it, Steven isn’t alone. Maybe his support system isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. They love him, they love each other, and they’ll get through this together.
Sometimes what’s let behind isn’t so bad after all.
I’d love to be in a wintery, witchy fairy tale. My home would be an old quaint castle hidden in the forest, I’d be the young witch of the woods villagers would brave traveling to for tinctures, cures, and spells for ailments. And I’d always be known as kind, but very dangerous.
“I’ve caught one,” the fisherman screams, grinning at his hook stuck in the girl’s cheek. “I caught myself a mermaid!”
Her hair is green, algae curled around it. The fisherman’s grip is greed, is lust, when he rips at it to get her closer. Her mouth glints like a pearl and oh, he could sell her after he’s - well, once he’s done with that beauty of hers. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” he licks his lips, “and all mine. I caught you, so you’re mine.”
All at once, her song ends. No sound comes out of her mouth that stays open, teeth tiny and many, sharp in the slick night. She tugs the hook out of her cheek. The fisherman watches, his heart burning from how fast it runs against his flesh, as her wound closes up and a bit of blood drips from her little mouth.
“Yours,” the mermaid says. The sea echoes her voice, an accent he can’t define, oh who cares, she’s just - just prey - and her pupils snap into slits. “Yours?”
The ocean ripples.
The waves tremble.
The wind whispers, smiles, then stills to not disturb the song that rises once more. “No,” whisper a thousand voices, whisper a million teeth, whispers ten thousands of stares in the water. “We caught you. You are ours.”
Lauren isn’t expecting much from her twenty second
birthday. All the important milestones had already passed, all of them leaving
her empty handed. No Hogwarts letter had arrived on her eleventh birthday, no
mermaid tail had appeared on her thirteenth. The enormously prophetic sixteenth
year – the year famously known for having destinies foretold, for being
kidnapped by gods, for falling into a ridiculous love triangle – had come and gone
with nothing of note. The most magical part of her twenty first birthday had
been that’d she’d manage to consume that amount of alcohol without dying
No grand epics begin on the day of someone’s twenty
This is because of those unlucky enough to be chosen
at this tender age – most don’t ever make it back.
Dead men tell no tales, after all.
(Dead women do. The bones and bubbling corpses of
hundreds of daring, unfortunate women are screaming warnings and fury at the
next girl to join their ranks of the lost and forgotten.
But no one listens to a woman’s screaming.
No one will listen to your screaming either.
Sorry, dear. )
She wakes up and goes to the bathroom to get ready
for the day.
This is a hasty decision, of course, although she
does not know it at the time.
This may be her last morning. If she’d known, maybe
she would have savored it. Snuggled into her warm sheets, pressed her face into
the softness of her pillow, pulled the comforter about her bare shoulders, the
most instinctual and simple of comforts.
But then again. Maybe not.
There is also an instinctual, twisted pleasure in
ripping off the bandaid.