#Connie come rail me challenge

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma. 

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters. 

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you. 

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why?  Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter. 

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager!  You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.  

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar -  just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?” 

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg​, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Narcos #Narcos fic #Javier Peña x ofc #Javier Pena #Javi Peña #Javi Pena #Javier Pena fanfic

[novantinuum]

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 10

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.8K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Steven's done with moping around and waiting for something to change.

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos on AO3 as well.

A big thank you to my friend Ganaroth for helping me with edits for this chapter!

_

Chapter 10: Beta, Part 1

Morning light filters through the loft’s window and glints off his phone screen, obscuring the selfie Connie just sent from his view. Though at some deep cognitive level Steven’s a bit annoyed at this interference, outwardly he moves on automatic with barely a feather ruffled, rolling onto his back atop the rumpled bedspread. He holds his phone above his face— right over his nose— humming as he admires the photo. She’s grinning, her long hair pinned back with clips. Her eyes shimmer with every bit of joy a smile that wide suggests. True happiness. Before he knows it he feels his cheeks lift, a smile of his own stretching across his face to mirror hers.

The rest of the photo is just as beautiful.

Beyond the railing his friend leans on is a breathtaking view of wild grasses, ferns, and delicate purple flowers, the patches of greenery half submerged in a lake of water as far as one can imagine. A large flock of birds float on the water’s surface some distance away. Behind her, the setting sun bathes the sky in streaks of orange and pink, the warmth of the ambient light kissing her brown skin. It looks like something straight out of a storybook.

Either that, or a dream. A good dream, the kind that lingers in your mind afterward like the sweet scent of wild strawberries.

oh, that’s so pretty!! he types in response, fingers flying over the keys. where is this?

Just as he hits send, though, another message from her pushes through and answers his question:

Morning!!! :DD Soooo rn we’re exploring this really cool wetlands area! Service is pretty terrible out here btw, so I probably can’t talk for a bit. Fingers crossed my texts send!

His heart grows warm as he reads her words. Even if it’s not as good as seeing her face to face, he’s still so happy they can communicate while she’s on her trip. She looks like she’s having so much fun. He wastes no time in sending a whole cluster of hearts, stars, and smiley faces back at her.

But as he watches his message deliver, the text’s bubble shifting from grey to blue, he finds that airy, bubbly feeling he got looking at Connie’s photo pulling away from him like sand and driftwood on the receding tides. Somehow, all these emoticon smiles just ring hollow right now.

Four days have passed since the disaster everyone’s come to refer to in whispers as ‘the forge incident.’ Not many, not enough for the terrifying memory of what happened down there amidst the blackened stone and fire to stop seeping into his dreams, but thankfully enough that the Gems have stopped coddling and babying him about it. (A sweet relief, that, and one of the many reasons he’s not planning on telling any of them about his recent nightmares. Goodness knows they already have enough to worry about.) Four days. That’s it. The thought of just how little time that is leaves him dizzy. Four days since he was almost shattered by someone he thought was a friend. Four days since two halves fused back into a whole, since his gem rotated to expose the facets that before, his mo... that Rose had hid from her friends… from the whole world. Four days since discovering that his pupils apparently morph into pink rimmed diamonds now whenever he taps into his powers. (And wasn’t that just another wallop to the gut for everyone, Pearl especially). Four days without Garnet, without stability, without blissful protection from the truth: that Rose wasn’t truly the quartz she claimed she was.

Steven still doesn’t understand the how or the why of that.

Truth be told, it’s not a topic he’s ready to dwell on yet.

He shifts to sit up on his bed. Somewhere on the distant shore beyond the window’s glass Amethyst is shouting, her rhythmic, guttural battle cries loud enough that they’re audible from inside the house. There’s no end to this on the radar. For the past few days she’s done nothing but seclude herself away and drill, pushing her hard light body to the brink through endless strength and agility exercises. In the light of recent difficulties no one’s addressed it with her yet, but it’s no secret this is partly related to her insecurities about Jasper.  

Meanwhile, Ruby (who finally returned home on her own yesterday morning) sits on the floor right below him, handling the controller of his Grintendo console with an iron grip that would serve as a genuine contender in Beach City’s underground arm wrestling league. He set her up on his brand new copy of Fight Fighters just an hour or so ago. As far as he knows, she’s enjoying it. It’s sorta hard to tell. She certainly hasn’t given up yet, (she’s way too stubborn for that), but it seems like the levels are difficult enough that they’re giving her a run for her money. Glancing away from his phone, he watches her fuss with the first boss fight for a moment. The Gem’s face is— if it’s possible— even redder than usual as she mashes the proper buttons for her character’s combo attack, muttering in syllables spoken too low for him to intelligibly understand.

A few minutes pass. Ruby sneaks in one solid strike, but eventually the boss overtakes her by merit of their sheer size alone, and her character is defeated. Game Over flashes on the screen in bold orange striped letters.

“Aw, phooey! You were really close that time,” he says.

Truth be told, her playing style is kinda… a huge mess, but there’s no encouraging way to say that. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie to say she got closer to beating this fight than the last time she attempted it. Maybe she’ll figure it out with a few more rounds.

Ruby drops the controller in her lap, and glances back at him. “Heh. Thanks, Steven,” she responds with a weak smile. “At least I finally got in a hit, right?”

“Yeah, you’re getting better every round! You still up for more? We can play tag team together, if you want.”

“Eh, I’m done for today. I’m no good at these kinda games. At least, not without...“

A wave of melancholy envelops her in a flash, suffocating the last glints of light within her burgundy red irises. Inhaling deeply, she lifts her gemless hand, holding it to her chest tight as she mourns what used to be. Steven doesn’t move to say anything, letting her have her silent moment. Reassurance can be nice, but as he’s learned recently, the sad truth is that sometimes not every problem can be solved with a few well-thought words.

Amethyst’s distant shouts interrupt the somber atmosphere like a jackhammer to concrete, yanking them both solidly back into reality. Ruby’s brow creases.

“Is she still at it out there?” she says, frowning as she glances at the door. “She looked exhausted when she came outta her room this morning.”

Steven frowns, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Yeah. I tried to ask if she wanted to play Topple Tower with me last night, but I’m pretty sure she was ignoring me. I hope she’s okay…”

Sighing, she slumps back against the large swath of comforter that dangles halfway off his mattress, letting her compact, coily hair smush against its surface. “Oh, she’s not. No one in this dang house is. I just wish Sapphire would come back already,” she says, voice cracking as she speaks her name. “She’s been in there for so long now.”

Prompted by her heartbroken words, he glances at the temple door across the house, seeing both Pearl and Sapphire’s gems alight on the central star. Pearl is simply taking a rest in solitude this morning, but as for the blue Gem… she hasn’t shown her face since she disappeared into her room four days ago. It’s beginning to become mighty worrying. And besides, he really misses her. They barely get a chance to hang out beyond the rare emergency. His lip juts out in a small pout.

It’s so hard to move on with life when you’re constantly being reminded of what once was.

Eventually, Ruby decides she’s had enough challenge for the morning and passes command of the controller to him. Figuring he’s got nothing better to do today, he shrugs and starts a new save file. Half an hour or so passes as he grinds through levels like a pro. Now sitting next to him, bundled like a burrito in one of his blankets, the red Gem watches his gameplay with starry eyes, enraptured. He double jabs at the D-pad to call upon a secret ability, fingers blazing across the buttons with practiced fluency. Just as he’s about to hit the finishing blow on Professor Doom, the beach house door slams open. On sheer impulse he flings the controller to free his hands, his whole body seizing upon the sound. Hard plastic clatters against the floor. The world tints pink.

Ruby jolts to attention from inside his bubble, struggling to unwind herself from the blanket's grasp. “Whoa, what’s—“

“Hey, nerds,” Amethyst mumbles, dragging herself and her uncoiled whip through the doorway. The length of the weapon drags along the floorboards like a dejected dog’s tail. Her tired, hardened pupils meet his no doubt diamond-shaped ones, shades of confusion flickering across her expression as she visibly takes note of the shimmering sphere he’s subconsciously enveloped himself in. “Geez, it’s just me.”

“I- I know,” he croaks, flushing red, “s-sorry, I know. You spooked me, ‘s all.”

She squints, and dissipates her whip. “Dude, I didn’t even do anything.”

“I know... It’s just me being dumb, sorry.”

“You’re not dumb,” Ruby reminds him with a saddened frown, placing her gem adorned hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and willing the bubble to recede. Once it’s all but disappeared in a shimmering afterimage of hard light, he crawls across the floorboards to retrieve his poor abused controller. Joystick securely within his grip once more, his eyes drift back to his game. Seems he’s in dire health. Not only did his character lose his perfect attack window, but Dr. Doom has healed himself and continued to rail upon him while he remained idle. His heart drops.

“Awww,” he whines, deflating. “I almost had ‘im!”

The temple door slides open, causing both Steven and Ruby to snap to awareness. (For wildly differing reasons of course, but the result is the same.) Amethyst stands beyond the warp pad, about to cross the threshold into solitude once more.

Nooo, don’t leave! his heart cries in silence. You just came back!

This conversation is already the most interaction he’s gotten out of her since their waffle breakfast four days ago. Ever since, she’s hidden herself away to brood and train. He scowls, fingers shifting rhythmically on the casing of his game controller. Gosh, he’s so sick and tired of this. He’s tired of moping, of acting like they can never have a happy moment ever again just because their circumstances are different now. It’s not true. Things can get better! Heck, he’ll make it better! Somehow. Maybe. He just needs to figure out a plan, and soon… before everyone scatters to be on their own again.

Hmm, think, Steven, think think think! What makes Amethyst happy? Destroying trash? She’s been at it all morning already, probably not. Food? Wouldn’t necessarily get her out of the temple.

He eyes a green sock puppet strewn on the floor by his closet. Months-old memories rush through his mind, of wearing a cardboard box on his head, insisting amidst protests that this puppet represented the emerging Cluster.

...Peridot?

They did get along really well at Funland a few weeks back. Hmm. Y’know, that might actually work.

“Hey, Amethyst,” he calls, and sets the controller on his bedspread. She stops halfway through the doorway of her room, motionless, seemingly waiting for him to continue. It almost looks as if she wants him to give her a reason to stay outside. “You, uh- are you done training for today?”

“For now,” she answers in a low voice, rhythmically clenching and unclenching her fists.

“D’ya maybe wanna go visit Lapis and Peridot with me? Get outta the house?”

She turns, lips pursed as she deliberates in depth. After what feels like— to his antsy, impatient soul— an eternity later, she responds with a half-hearted shrug.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Steven grins. He scrambles to his feet and floats off the loft to the ground floor before she can decide otherwise. “Sweet, let’s go right now!” he says, bursting with enthusiasm. After crossing the room in a flash, he takes ahold of Amethyst’s arm and gently leads her up the steps to the warp pad, the other Gem making no obvious signs of dissent. Good. That’s a good sign. The immediate problem sorted, he glances back from whence he came. “Ruby, you want in?”

She’s still tangled within his bedding, but shifts upon mention.

“Nah, I’m good,” she says, rolling on her back under the covers so that she’s peering at them upside down. “If Sapphire finally comes out, I wanna be here for that.”

Steven nods. “Okay! Well, see ya’! We’ll be back sometime later this afternoon.”

“Probably,” Amethyst mutters, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, maybe longer, maybe not. We’ll see! Feel free to play any of my games if you wanna, okay?”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, ya’ party animal,” the quartz drones, the bite of dull sarcasm seeping into her words.

With a resounding ring the warp activates and whisks them away.

_________

The young half-Gem takes a deep lungful of air as he skips through the grassy countryside, his chest expanding to full capacity. Ah, it feels so good to be outside, and with a change of scenery, at that! He should’ve done this ages ago.

Outside of all the heartache of their recent family crisis, it’s a perfect September day; not too warm and not too blustery. The sky’s almost entirely clear, barring the faint streaks of white softening the horizon's edges. Birds chirp brazenly as they swoop with daring purpose from tree to tree. A few leaves are just beginning to flutter down from their overstuffed boughs. ‘Tis the season! Pretty soon this area will be awash with sprinkles of vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. Gee, he hopes he can convince Amethyst to goof off in the woods with him again this year. They could go leaf sledding! That was the most fun he’d had in ages when they did it last time.

How is Amethyst doing, anyways?

Masking his worried frown, he glances behind. Her lips press in a sour scowl, her non-dominant hand clenched by her side. Barely a heartbeat passes as she reaches to her gem with the other, pulling her whip into existence in a glittering flash of light. Instantaneously, the crystal tips of the three-pronged flail expand into barbed spheres. She mutters to herself as she grips the handle, unsatisfied. He doesn’t understand why, though? She summoned it so fast! Like, under a second for sure. As far as he’s concerned, that’s awesome!

He watches her summon, dissipate, and re-summon her whip three times in a row before he decides it's time to intervene with her spiraling frustration.

“Hey, don’t ya’ wanna take a break from all that for a bit?” he begins with a measure of caution. “You’ve been working super hard lately!”

“I already am taking a break," she says, slashing at a few rocks strewn on the ground as they climb the last rolling hill. “That’s why I’m here with you, right?”

“Well sure, but breaks aren't supposed to be about training, they’re supposed to be about having fun. And visiting Peridot and Lapis should be tons of fun, I promise!”

Amethyst’s eyes narrow at the very thought. “Yeah, ‘cause when I think fun, I think Lapis.”

“Hmm, I wonder what they’re up to lately,” he muses out loud, hand pressed to his chin.

She lets out a dry scoff, allowing her whip to dissipate once more. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

He frowns. His shoulders drooping a bit at the sight of her almost hostile melancholy, he glances away.

Thankfully, in a well-timed diversion from the worries of her mental state, Lapis and Peridot’s place of settlement comes into full view as they reach the hill’s summit. Steven’s jaw falls ajar, stopping in his tracks at the sight. (Amethyst, who isn’t paying attention to where she’s walking amidst her brooding, almost rams into the back of him.)

“Whoa,” he says, drinking in the new additions. “Look what they did to the barn!”

He’s not sure ‘barn’ is an apt description for it anymore. No, no. Rather, in the weeks since he last saw Lapis and Peridot, this place has transformed into a full-out homestead.

The grain silo that stood nearby has been tilt at an angle and used to enclose the side of the barn Peridot blew a hole in with her epic giant robot. Their smaller than average lake? It’s now fitted with a ladder, along with metal piping to keep the water level high. Stretched taut between the roof of that silo and a funky hodgepodge spire they formed out of old airplane parts is a clothes line, with a number of shirts and towels hanging off it. Admiring the finer details of their set up, if a person could point at an object and conceivably call it junk, they’ve probably found a creative way to make it decorative. Rusty bicycles, old tires, couch cushions, broken deer antlers, you name it. And then that old truck he slept in every night while working on the drill? It now serves as the proud centerpiece of their little home, the cargo bed solidly affixed above the barn’s entrance. He spots the two former Homeworld Gems sitting up there with the TV, shaded from the midmorning glow with a sun bleached umbrella. Whatever they’re watching, they’re transfixed.

Grinning, he peels away from Amethyst and dashes the rest of the way, feeling the faint breeze dance between his curls. Wow wow wow, he’s seriously got like a hundred questions for them, and a hundred missed hugs to make up for!

“Hey, guys!” he calls, once he’s directly below the truck.

Lapis’s browline raises, attention nabbed. It’s enough to peel her eyes away from the television (is that Camp Pining Hearts he hears??) to meet his. A subtle but undoubtedly caring smile rushes across her face as she sprouts wings and drops from the truck’s bed to greet him.

“Steven! It's so good to see y- oof!”

He nearly barrels her over with his hug, clutching to her like a lone life raft in the midst of the open sea. Surprised and still quite rigid in her affections, her arms awkwardly move to pat his back in return. It’s a silent embrace on his part, yet simultaneously manages to say more than words alone ever could. At this point he’s not even sure words could do justice to the complex emotions that are all jumbled in his head. Only a few short weeks have passed since they hung out together. So why then does he feel like he hasn’t seen either of them in years?

“Steven, Amethyst!” Peridot chimes eagerly, dropping down from the truck and striding out into the sun. She screeches to a halt in front of them, expression pressing inwards in that uniquely inquisitive Peridot-like manner as she takes inventory of the scene before her. “Uhm… Is… everything okay?”

He pulls back from the stunned Lapis, and gently wipes at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m just really, really happy to see you guys, that’s all!”

“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s only natural to miss the fulfillment of our company,” she says without missing a beat. Turning her gaze to her other visitor, the green Gem balls her hand against her chin. “Amethyst! Something looks different about you…”

She crosses her arms over the white tank top of her new form, her nose scrunching up. “Like what?”

“Have you grown taller since the last time I saw you?”

Amethyst’s eye twitches. An infinitude of silence passes, in which she shoots her a glare sharper than the edges of the crystal studs on her whip. Honestly, being on the receiving end of her weapon might’ve hurt less. Sweat beads at his brow as he watches the situation unfold, yearning with every fiber of his being for a world where he actually feels confident enough to delicately intervene instead of silently standing by as Peridot’s sense of tact veers straight off a cliff.

Behind them, Lapis saves them both and clears her throat.

“O-or… maybe I was mistaken,” the former kindergartener says lowly, flushing with shame. “My apologies.”

There’s a whisper of chill to the air enough to make him shiver as the quartz once more chooses not to respond, and shifts her gaze to her feet. She digs divots into the dirt with her toes, already disengaging from social interaction again, slipping further away with every passing birdsong from the entire purpose of this friendly visit. He presses his lips tight, masking a frown. So far, nothing is going as planned, huh? As big of a dreamer he may be, he can’t say he’s surprised. Nothing in his life has gone to plan since he accidentally slipped on that tree branch inside Lion’s mane. Still, there’s gotta be some way to save this, right?

Come on, Steven, think positive!

Before anyone can quite begin to catch on to his troubled nature, he plasters a manufactured smile on his face. “Wow, you guys are looking good!” he says cheerily. “And I love what you did to the barn!”

“Aww! I know,” she replies, regaining her grin as she glances between him and Lapis. “But wait, wait! You guys have to see the inside!”

And with this declaration, a few magical minutes pass wherein the two of them receive the highest honor of enjoying the Official Barn Grand Tour, presented by the very artists themselves. In a word, it’s a transformative experience. The outside looks amazing, yes, but in his wholehearted opinion the personal touches on the interior decor raises the place’s coziness to the next level. Over the past few weeks, Peridot and Lapis have spent their efforts transforming all the mementos and broken scraps of their lives into art, (or ‘meep-morp,’ as Lapis calls it), displaying the pieces all throughout their shared home. Peridot’s broken audio recorder now rests peacefully on a stand, a sky blue ribbon tied around the fractures at its middle. Touchingly, he learns that Lapis kept the leaf he gave her, delicately propping it upright in a clump of soil. A TV affixed to the ceiling beams with metal cables plays a clip of CPH on repeat. He has a niggling suspicion that the clip she selected represents her lingering trauma about, like... being trapped in a mirror for thousands of years, but according to her it’s merely a fan’s shrine of the show. Still, while discussing books together Connie once told him that all art is subjective and authorial intent is dead, so respectfully he’s sticking to his interpretation. But regardless of its meaning, he’s so, so happy to see her freely making things for herself.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the creative spectrum, Peridot’s green alien plush is floating alongside various hunks of garbage in the hodgepodge aquarium at the side wall. Its slow voyage through the tank is admittedly entrancing, but oh, do those big deep eyes grow more and more unnerving the longer he stares at them. The last straw comes when he watches stuffing slowly drift out of a gaping hole in the fabric at its neck. Subtly cringing, he takes a step back from the glass to go admire something else. Sometimes art isn’t made for everyone, and that’s okay.

It takes a few moments before he makes the proper connections and realizes that the red bow tie Peridot is wearing around her neck used to be that plush’s. Oh… oh geez.

Amethyst, however, doesn’t seem to be buying any of it. In fact, she’s barely cracked a smile since they entered the barn, not even at Peridot and Lapis’ collaborative toilet morp. And who doesn’t laugh at toilets? On any normal day she’d eat that kind of stuff right up.

“This is so stupid,” she mutters, her eyes thin slits as she stares with a frustratingly unreadable expression at the four liquid pillars shooting up out of the bowls.

Disappointment flickers across Lapis’ face like stars on the morning horizon. She quickly releases her iron hold on the water, channeling it into the heart of the tanks. A similar emotion colors Peridot’s features for a moment, and he briefly worries their visit may be cut off short, but after meeting his encouraging glance she shakes it off and promptly begins to move on to the next item of their home tour.

“Alright,” she says, folding her hands behind her back all prim and proper, “I see you're not impressed. But—“

“Hey, you guys!” a familiar voice shouts from the distance, growing closer and closer with each passing moment. “I’m here! I came! Is it too late to join in?”

All four of them whirl around at the interruption.

Peridot squints. “Is that…”

“Ruby?” Lapis finishes, confusion etched across her features with pinpoint precision.

“Ruby!” Steven calls, sliding across the floorboards to meet her at the barn door. “No, you're not late, you’re just in time! Look, look, look—“ He takes her by the hand and whisks her inside, almost sweeping her clear off her feet in the process.

Her mouth falls agape as she drinks in the rustic atmosphere, the air now a good deal lighter thanks to her interruption.

“Whoa… this place looks completely different!”

“I know, right??” he says with an untamable grin. He gestures wildly at all of their unique creations. “It’s art! Isn’t it great? Peridot and Lapis have been showing us all this super cool stuff they’ve made!”

“Yes, I suppose we are pretty great,” the green Gem says, puffing out her chest.

Lapis rolls her eyes in response. No amount of sass can hide the action’s underlying fondness, though. Steven’s no imperceptive fool. She may act pretty aloof at times, but once you get to know her she’s not that hard to read at all. One merely has to pay attention to the subtle shifts in her demeanor. It’s the little things: the incline of her brow, a slight tilt of the head, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitch of her lips as she pretends she doesn’t care as much as she does. And then, the more she trusts you, the less tense her posture is and the more she opens up. It makes his heart sing to know that Peridot has seemingly been added to that roster.

“Eh,” she murmurs with the hint of a smile, leaning back against the wall behind her roommate. “I guess we’re okay.”

Amethyst crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing as she peers down at Ruby. “So, what’s up with you? I thought you said you wanted to mope at the temple.”

She shuffles her feet. “Well…”

“And I thought you and that Sapphire never unfused,” Lapis says, ever so blunt. “Except... for baseball,” she hastily amends. Consumed by a spike of panic, her gaze darts towards the doorway with guarded suspicion. “We don’t have to play baseball again... right?”

“Hmmm… I mean, we could play baseball,” Steven muses, pressing his hand to his jaw.

That’s certainly one way he could encourage Amethyst to enjoy some bonding time with everyone. He has a bunch of fond memories of the last game they played together. Well, okay, so maybe he could’ve done without the ceaseless feeling of dread brought by batting against Homeworld loyalists with unknown intentions, but beggars can’t be choosers. As his first time playing a full game it was still 70% a good time.

Meanwhile, Peridot’s petite frame quivers at the reminder of that day. She grips at her hair, large tufts of yellow poking out from between her fingers.

“Oh my stars, they’re coming back??”

Ruby throws her a bemused side glance. “Uh—“

“Get behind me, Lapis,” she continues, daringly throwing her body in front of her roommate. “I’ll protect us from those Homeworld brutes this time!”

“We’re not playing baseball!” Amethyst cuts in.

His lips curl into a pout. “Aw, but it’d be so much fun!”

She crosses her arms, visibly walling herself off. “Uh, no, it wouldn’t! ‘Sides, there’s no immediate danger, there’s no Homeworld Rubies on our doorstep, so there’s NO reason on this planet I’d play that stupid game again!”

Eyes narrowing with mild exasperation, Lapis nudges her way out from the green Gem’s overprotection. “‘Kay. So, is anyone here actually gonna explain what’s going on, or?”

Nervously rocking on her heels next to him, Ruby rests her hand against her chin.

“Well…”

“Ruby and Sapphire are kinda… taking some time apart?” he delicately explains in her steed, noticing her hesitation. It’s probably something that’s really hard for her to talk about right now, and boy can he relate to that.

“Yeah,” she says in confirmation, kicking her toes against the floor boards. “I didn’t exactly want to, but Sapphy needs her space.”

For all her initial dislike of the fusion Gem, Peridot looks genuinely heartbroken at this revelation. “But… why?” she asks, peering between the three Crystal Gems in wait of further clarification. “Aren’t you two basically inseparable?”

Faint hints of lemon peel and nutmeg linger in the air like silent sentries to their distress. Steven stands in the kitchen with Pearl, Garnet, and his dad, Amethyst lounging on the other side of the counter, and their dirty breakfast dishes still lying stagnant in the sink. Garnet’s kneeling before him. She’s speaking, but he’s so distraught he can’t quite recall what it is she said. His dad’s hand rests on his shoulder, the pressure ever so slightly working to ground him to this moment again. He’s biting back tears, isn’t he? Trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. What happened? What changed? Everything’s fixed, yeah? He’s whole again! They were all supposed to be so happy now, and yet… the sight of the morning sun reflecting off the face of Garnet’s visor as she delivers that ill-fated news is the bitter, tangible proof that they’re not.  

“Ruby and Sapphire have decided they want to take some time apart. Indefinitely.”

Amethyst’s expression is colored with hurt. “But… why?”

In the present he stiffens, suddenly polarized by the realization that the path of this conversation has but one destined endpoint. Sooner or later, his friends will hear about what happened to him four days back, what happened to his family, what he learned about his... about Rose. There’s no avoiding this forever. After all, if they don’t learn it from him, they’ll eventually learn it from someone else. And don’t they deserve to know? This affects them too!

But if the recent past has taught him anything, it’s that the truth about Rose Quartz only succeeds in breaking people apart. It stole Garnet away. It shook his relationship with Amethyst and Pearl to the core. It caused them all to argue and fight, back at the fountain and at home. Give it time, and he’s sure the truth will find a way to press fissures in his relationships with Connie and Dad, too. So what happens, then, when Peridot and Lapis find out? In what way will the truth break them?

Just a little while longer, he promises himself. Just one more good day, please, that’s all I want…

“They, um- it’s just a couples thing,” he stammers, chest growing tight. “It’s just for a little bit. Sometimes people need time away from each other, y’know?”

Ruby‘s expression grows tense, sniffing out his white lie from a mile away. “Steven...“

“It’s totally healthy and normal, and not at all a reason for concern!”

“Kinda sounds like we should be concerned,” Lapis mutters. “All of you have been acting weird this whole time, so spill! What’s going on?”

Their words start to become faint and distant in the shadow of his wildly pounding heart, so wondrously human and organic and alive, and yet so endlessly frustrating in its autonomy. Why can’t he hear clearly? What’s up with that awful ringing he can’t get rid of? It’s almost as if he’s listening to everyone ten feet under choppy waters, but they’re all standing right next to him. They’re right there.

The red Gem scratches at her neck, meeting Amethyst's harsh, crystal-studded glance first. Her mouth opens. Still disorientated, Steven misses a good half of it.

“...wants to tell ‘em?” she finishes, waiting dutifully for their responses.

As expected the quartz remains silent on the matter, feigning indifference as she crosses her arms and returns to staring sullenly into the middle distance. Ruby turns to him next. His skin feels downright clammy now, almost as bad as it did when he was almost dyi— NO! Stop! He shakes his head fervently, sweeping his hands horizontal in a signal for her to cut the conversation. He can’t do this. Not now, not today, not ever, he can’t—

Lapis bristles. “Tell us what?”

“Um, nothing, nothing!” he bursts out, clumsy words pouring from his mouth almost quicker than his brain can move to stack them up. “It’s a long story, and we’re all here to have some fun and shoot the breeze, right? Right. ‘Course we are! So we don’t have to talk about that right now, we can talk about it later, and for now we should try to have a good time and enjoy each other’s compa—“

Amethyst slams her foot to the floor so hard the wooden board underneath cracks. Both Steven and Lapis flinch.

“Ughh, you guys! Stop dancing around the headline!” she shouts. “You really wanna know what happened? Steven almost died ‘cause he got his gem busted, and then we found out Rose Quartz was totally a sham and she’s like, Pink Diamond n’ junk, okay?!”

A stunning silence follows this inopportune announcement, in which he swears he can hear his stomach gurgle. On any typical day he'd be thinking about lunch around this time, except at the moment he genuinely almost feels sick to his stomach. Right now he wants nothing more than to turn tail and run, run away from all of this, and yet chained to his fate just as Lonely Blade was destined to his, his legs remain firmly shackled in place. Standing at his side, Peridot blinks in dumbfounded shock.

“What.”

“S-she’s- You’re a DIAMOND??” Lapis shrieks, water wings shooting from her back on impulse.

“Whaaaat?”

_______

Notes: 

The next few chapters will be a bit familiar to y'all, but I'm not doing a beat for beat rehash, I assure you. Events start similarly here because the world external to Steven’s sphere of influence is still operating the same as it does in canon. The ripples haven’t fully spread yet. After this arc, they absolutely will have.

I do have a bonus scene to share soon- set between chapters 9 and 10. I'll likely post that before chapter 11.

Oh, and by the way- the location Connie's visiting is inspired by a real place- the Harike Wetlands in Punjab, India. Apparently India is actually a series of islands in the SU universe...? But I like to believe there’s still a cool wetlands region on one of those islands.

#su #steven universe #amethyst #su fanfiction #su fanfic #ruby #lapis lazuli #peridot #crack the paragon #my writing stuff

[coytoy]

By The Fire -- RvB Bingo Wars

Here’s a little piece for the “Freelancer Fun Times” Square. Go Medics!

Word Count: 1752

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Description: On a rare instance of shore leave, the Freelancers travel out to an island for the weekend for a little R&R on the beach.

AO3 Here!

Carolina leaned back onto the railing, closing her eyes and breathing in rhythm to the rocking of the ferry. Somewhere, a bird screeched unceremoniously, while the boat’s horns rumbled in anticipation of arrival. With another deep breath of fresh air, Carolina opened her eyes just in time to catch York sneaking up on Wash, armed with an inflated beach ball; the younger Freelancer never saw it coming, and as the ball hit him square in the head, his drink tumbled onto the floor, swirly straw and all.

Laughing at his own work, York only received a pity chuckle from North before the latter bent down to help Wash with the mess. “What? Oh, come on, that was hilarious.”

“Only if you’re twelve,” South shot back from her spot on the upper deck. She folded her arms and leaned over the side. “That was stupid.”

The green form of Delta appeared over York’s shoulder. “I agree with Agent South’s assessment. That practical joke was not as much of a joke as indicated by your past actions, and seems to be less elaborate as well.”

“Thanks for the pick-me-up, D,” York sighed, already replacing his disgrace with his thousand-watt smile.

Thankfully, the island had finally come into sight, a mass of green trees and red roofs and white beaches just begging to be explored. They only had three days before they were due back on the Mother of Invention, but CT planned to cover every hiking trail, York had already prepped for his cave expeditions, and Florida had brought enough steaks to barbecue for the entire island.

All Carolina wanted was to stretch her cyan-colored blanket over the sand, throw on a pair of matching sunglasses, and fall asleep under the warm sun. The only other plan in her itinerary was a trip to the famous ice cream place the Dakota twins swore tasted like frozen marshmallows.

The ferry pulled up to the dock within minutes. Carolina grabbed her bag and tossed it over the shoulder, silently doing a headcount as she watched her teammates disembark. The last to come off were CT and Maine, who had saddled themselves with the boxes of booze that were apparently essential to the trip; Connie was holding one to her chest, while Maine was balancing one on each shoulder. Only once they were safe on the dock, every can of beer intact, did Carolina join them.

“Okay, I know it’s not tourist season and all, but there is really no one here,” Wash marveled as he walked up the street, peering into the windows of little shops that promised quirky objects and souvenirs nobody wanted. “No one” was a stretch – a car drove by every now and then, and some teenage locals hung around an arcade that had obviously seen better years – but it was probably only a minute fraction of the crowds during the full-swing of summer.

“Well, then we’re gonna have the beach almost entirely to ourselves,” North noted. He placed his hands on his hips and breathed in the island air. “That’s why we would always come this time of the year when we were kids.”

“It does have its downsides, though,” South added. “The mini-golf place is always closed. So are most of the restaurants, though the greasy seafood shack is probably open.”

“But it’s a great time of year for waves.” Theta popped up at North’s side, clutching a surf board to his side.

“Ha, we’ll see buddy,” North answered. “I hear Florida is a good surfer.”

Florida beamed. “I can teach you a trick or two when I take Reggie out for a splash,” he said, wrapping an arm around Wyoming. “The more, the merrier.”

Carolina hid her smile behind her hand; the image of Wyoming’s pompous ass trying to surf was going to be a sight.

“So let’s all stop talking, and start doing,” CT insisted, taking off with South in the direction of the boardwalk.

As Carolina and the team followed, York fell in step beside her. “So what are your plans, Lina? Some R&R? Maybe a little swimming? Exploring?”

“York, I’ve told you – beach, napping, maybe some reading. This is gonna be a nice rest for me, especially because my legs are still a little cramped from that last mission because a certain someone needed extra help taking out his fair share of guards.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fair, fair. Any way I could convince you to play a round at the arcade?” He motioned towards the run-down machines across the street. “I play a mean game of ski ball,” he added in a cocky tone.

Carolina cracked a smile. “Oh, do you now?”

All traces of smugness disappeared from his features. “Um, no, not at all, actually. I normally end up chucking the balls and hoping for the best. However, I was the Ms. Pac-Man champion when I was a kid. Not the regular Pac-Man – I sucked at that – just Ms. Pac-Man.”

Her grin threatened to turn into a laugh. “Well, you know I can’t turn down a challenge.” He responded by bumping his shoulder into hers, the backs of their hands brushing, burning her skin in awareness. She allowed him to press his hand into hers, knuckle to knuckle, though she wasn’t expecting his fingers to wrap around her own in what was probably the most awkward hand-holding position ever. Of all time.

The boardwalk’s path brought them to a steep set of wooden stairs leading to the beach. She released York’s hand in favor of the railing, staring out over the ocean as she descended the steps. Glittering under the afternoon sun, and bluer than… She glanced back at York, who smiled at her before she turned her attention forwards. Those waves – dark and roaring. Theta was going to be thrilled by the surfing potential.

At the bottom of the hill, where grass met sand, lay a row of green huts that would be home for the weekend. North and South journeyed to the hut where the owner lived before returning with a handful of keys. “North and York…Maine and Wash…Me and CT…Florida and Wyoming…and Carolina, you lucky bitch,” South teased as she handed Carolina a single brass key.

“Excuse you, South, but one of us had to be on their own, so I just took one for the team,” she responded with a smirk.

“And sharing a room with me isn’t that bad,” CT said, playfully punching her girlfriend in the arm. “You’re the one who snores.” Carolina watched with content as they bickered their way to their hut, laughing as they wrapped their arms around one another’s shoulders.

Her own hut was situated between Maine and Wash’s, and Florida and Wyoming’s. She stuck the key in the lock and turned, pushing with her shoulder as the door groaned, scraping on the paint-worn floor. The hut was tinier than it looked on the outside, barely containing two cots and a nightstand. She reckoned the elevator on the MOI was bigger, but it would do for the next three days. Dumping her bag on the spare bed, she fished out her cyan-colored towel and black one-piece bathing suit that she changed into once the curtains were closed.

She cautiously stepped out of the hut and back into the sunlight, glad for the protection of her sunglasses as the sun began its descent onto the horizon. Her bare feet enjoyed the feel of the warm sand, free from the sharpness of shells and broken glass. She padded over to where Wash and Maine were assembling rocks and driftwood. “Getting a fire going?”

Maine grunted in affirmation, while Wash added, “Can’t have a beach party without a fire, right?”

“If you say so,” she breathed. She laid out her towel and dropped her book on top, but temporarily abandoned both as she helped Maine arrange the rocks in a circle. Wash then began to prop his sticks in a tee-pee fashion.

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” he murmured. “My dad showed me a dozen times, but I guess it didn’t stick.” He finally got it right, creating a strong foundation from the driftwood.

“Need a light?” Carolina looked up to see York standing over them, a more-than-familiar silver lighter in his hand. She stared at it as it lay in his open palm, rereading the word “Errera” emblazoned on the side over and over until she remembered the purpose and took it.

“Thanks.” She flipped the lid and flicked the wheel until a flame sprang up. She offered the fire to the grass Maine had tucked under the tower of driftwood. The flames caught, growing as Wash blew into their core. It unfolded before their eyes, desperately engulfing the wood.

Carolina offered York his lighter back, but he placed his hand over hers, closing her fingers over the still-warm metal. “Keep it. It…you need it more than me. You can give it back to me later.” He left her with her book as he, Wash, and Maine joined North, South, and CT in a game of tackle-football in the water. She tried to focus on her book, diverting her attention only to take a sip from her beer, but she couldn’t help but laugh as CT launched herself into the air and landed on North, causing both to tumble into the waves.

When the sun dipped below the water, the team steered themselves back. The last to come in were Florida and Wyoming, shivering in their wetsuits, but satisfied with Wyoming’s first surfing adventure. Carolina smiled to herself as she noticed Theta hovering next to Gamma; the little guy deserved a little wave action.

York approached her wrapped in a New York Yankees towel. He presented her another beer as an offering, which she accepted and motioned for him to sit beside her. One by one, the rest gathered to huddle around the fire. Wash retrieved a bag of marshmallows from his bag, and handed them out once Connie hunted down some sticks. South and North passed the time by attempting to out-do one another in embarrassing stories about the other, until there came a time when they were obviously just making things up in a competition of dramatic storytelling.

The hours ticked by, but as long as the fire remained strong, Florida kept the mojitos coming, and York accompanied Wyoming’s guitar with his off-key singing, no Freelancer could feel the tug of sleep.

#RvB Bingo Wars #Medic Team Entry #Well look my first published fanfic #Red vs Blue #rvb #Project Freelancer #Agent Carolina #agent york #agent washington #Agent Maine #Agent North Dakota #agent south dakota #agent connecticut #agent wyoming #agent florida #yorkalina #my writing

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 58)

Note: It is time.

Up until puberty came with all its raging hormones and confusing changes to her body, Weiss had never really been interested in romance.

Didn't have crushes on her classmates, adults, celebrities, fictional characters, or androids; rolled her eyes and tuned out whenever any of her classmates began to gush over how attractive someone was; and only participated in the Valentino's Day events because she didn't want to get lumped in with the pretentious and insufferable crowd who loved bragging about how they were exercising their right to do whatever the hell they wanted, oftentimes claiming some form of inherent superiority for not “following outdated traditions like blind sheep,” or something to that effect.

It didn't really help that her father's only concern about her crushes was that she either get involved with the children of Avalon's other elite, famous, and ridiculously wealthy (sans the ones of those that were even more controversial than him), and Winter only ever seemed to have crushes on soldiers, professional athletes, and of course, Guadalupe Garron, who Weiss now knew was both the sole official voice actress of Eluna, and the actual “mythological” figure herself.

(In retrospect, there was something quite different about Winter's gushing over the Eluna plushie.)

But all that changed when Clarita Nguyen literally came swinging into her life.

To kick-off the start of the school year, the various instructors, facilitators, and some alumni had a live show of the many extra-curricular activities Arcturus offered. The students either watched with mixed levels of interest, or hacked their holo-projectors to watch something more to their interest on HV.

Weiss herself was seriously tempted to follow suit, until the Dance Clubs segment ended.

“And now, for a very different sort of dance, combining grace, coordination, and violence!” the MC said. “Kicking off the Combat and Martial Arts Clubs is Ms. Clarita Nguyen, of the Swordplay Society!”

A replica of an Ancient Old World pirate ship was warped in on stage, holo-dummies of ferocious (if historically inaccurate) buccaneers appearing on deck, armed with cutlasses and pistols. The lights began to dim except for the stage's. All was quiet but for the murmurs of students still chatting with each other.

Then, laughter—excited, confident, and just the right amount of unhinged.

A spotlight tracked Clarita as she swung in on a rope, flying over just over the students' heads before she somersaulted through the air, and made a graceful landing right in the center of the deck.

The buccaneers all readied their weapons and cried out in pirate slang, more Hollywood than history. Like the knights when Abner had cranked the difficulty up to max, there was no fairness here, all hands on deck swarming her and climbing out from the rest of the ship to drown her in a sea of marauders.

But Clarita was more than ready for them, unsheathing her own sword and proceeding to decimate the entire crew.

Weiss was transfixed as Clarita effortlessly weaved around the pirates attacks be they blade or bullet, somersaulting through the air, maneuvering through every space she could squeeze in through, launching of walls or balancing on the rails to use every advantage available to her as she took them with perfectly timed thrusts and swings, oftentimes hitting them where they least expected it.

Weiss heart beat faster as dramatic music played alongside the sounds of violence and fallen pirates—though in retrospect, that was probably more because of the way Clarita laughed and smiled, the way her ruffled shirt and tight pants fit on her lithe and muscular figure, the incredible flexibility, acrobatics, and fighting skill she was gladly showing off.

She devastated the entire crew in less than two minutes, dozens of combat-grade holo dummies disappearing one after the other, and her never taking a single slash nor shot. The crew's Captain burst out of his quarters, roaring with anger as he unsheathed his blade, fire in his eyes and his mouth og rotten teeth curled into a snarl.

Clarita merely laughed and taunted him, drawing a C with a little N in the air.

The two clashed, swords sparking, blades locking, so close they could see the whites in her eyes and the tell-tale distortion of holo-dummies. The music swelled to a crescendo just as the Captain got the upper hand on Clarita, knocking her off balance.

The Captain let out a mighty laugh as he thrusted his sword for the kill…

… Only for his opponent to suddenly “regain” her footing, twisting and dodging the attack by less than an inch, raising her sword up to his neck and making him slit his own throat from his momentum.

The Captain fell, surprise on his face before dissipated.

The music reached its end and faded away.

The audience erupted into cheers.

Clarita turned to the audience and bowed, her eyes sparkling, sweat dripping down her caramel skin. “And those, students, are the kinds of moves you can learn at the Swordfighting Society!”

Weiss signed up as soon as the prompt came up.

She had a plan all thought up in her head: become one of the best students in class, challenge Clarita to a duel, and the moment she bested her in combat, confess her love for her!

… And it all fell apart her first day in the Society, when a much calmer but no less cheerful Clarita put down her and the many other lovestruck hopefuls as gently as she could, explaining it would be illegal for her to get into a relationship with any of her underage students, it would feel wrong for her to become their mentor then their lover, and most importantly, she was already taken, and happily so by a woman who had already bested her in one-to-one combat two decades ago.

Some quit on the spot, unable to face such rejection—oftentimes the first they'd ever experienced in their lives with how sheltered Arcturus kids tended to be.

Weiss stayed, if only because she didn't want her to know that her heart had been rapidly hacked apart like Clarita did a block of wood for the first day presentation.

The sessions passed, Clarita trained her and others in all the many types of blades, until they finally found her specialty in fencing. She taught her the proper form, the technique, and the rules, helped her discover just how fluidly and gracefully she could move, how devastating her well-aimed rapier thrusts could be, refine them both until Weiss was on track to becoming one of the best students in the Society.

It started to look like the plan might not have crashed and burned after all, that dogged persistence had paid off for her as it had for her grandfather, and she could challenge her to that duel after all. (People fell in and out of love all the time, she reasoned with herself.)

… And then, Clarita called her into her office in private, to discuss what she thought was stagnating her performance in the Society.

“Weiss, are you in love with me?” Clarita asked.

There was no malice, no annoyance, no slyness or suggestive undertones. Just curiosity, like she was asking her how her grades were.

Weiss began to sweat and blush. “N-No, absolutely not!” she stammered, lying poorly in the see-through, blatantly obvious, and poorly thought out way adolescents could. “What makes you…?”

“Once upon a time, I was a teenager too, Weiss, and I remember very well how I acted when I was in love with a woman I could never have—exactly how you've been acting.”

Weiss hung her head, ashamed, angry, but most of all, hurt.

“Do you wish to change instructors, Weiss?” Clarita asked softly. “I feel that I’m only holding you back because of how you feel about me, and I how feel about that.”

Weiss looked her in the eyes, and said “Yes.”

Her own eyes were red and welling up with tears, but there was proper decorum to be followed, even if your heart had been sliced up into ribbons, just after you'd finally sewn it back together.

Clarita nodded. “I’ll go ask my colleagues and see who would be willing to take you on instead.” Then, she opened her drawer and pulled out a physical business card—a real rarity those days. “And also: a recommendation for someone who can help you out.”

That someone turned out to be Dr. Coriander “Connie” Corazon, a therapist who specialized in counseling people questioning their sexuality identities and orientations but mostly for women. In her words, “Society may stop blinking an eye at queer couples doing basically anything, but there will always be girls wondering if they have a girl crush or just an actual crush.”

Jacques was willing to pay for the therapy, if only because he probably made a cost-benefit analysis, and the price of a scandal of his adolescent daughter pining after a married woman three times her age (who had also been her instructor, and was notably close to her) did not even come close to the price of keeping Dr. Connie on for a decade or more.

It all worked out wonderfully for Weiss, as the first handful of sessions were spent in painful, awkward silence, making small talk, and squirming and fidgeting when she ran out of meaningless topics. Dr. Connie had the patience of a saint, was a firm believer in the value of waiting for your clients to come forward with their issues on their own volition, and was still getting paid handsomely regardless of whatever happened.

Then, Weiss' broke like a dam and out came everything in a messy, disastrous flood of Teenage Angst, one that Dr. Connie dutifully waded through, sorted out, and tried to help funnel into healthy, mature drains and pathways so Weiss wouldn't drown in hormones, stupid impulses, and poorly thought-out plans.

The one session she remembered the most was when Weiss admitted that she wanted to try to ask a girl out--”and for clarification, we're in the same grade, she's less than a year older than me, and she's also a member of the Natural Body Improvement Club!” she snapped, her cheeks burning red.

“So, have you thought of what you're going to do on your date?” Dr. Connie replied.

“I… haven't actually thought of that yet...” Weiss admitted.

“Well why haven't you?” Dr. Connie asked.

And so began the recurring structure of their meetings: Dr. Connie asking questions, Weiss answering them, and the process repeating itself for however long it took for Weiss to finally admit or figure out just what exactly was the problem, if Dr. Connie didn't step in to explain to fill in the gaps of her knowledge and emotional maturity.

“… So what if she does say yes, she will go out on a date with you?” Dr. Connie asked.

Weiss groaned, her neatly tied hair now frazzled and a two strands less than when the session started. “I… I… I don't know!” she cried. “I guess we'll go out for chocolate shakes, or something? I haven't thought that far yet!”

“Because…?”

“Because what if she realizes what a giant bag of issues I am, and she decides to just lie her way out of the date, and say an emergency came up?! What'll it look like if I don't just take her on her word and decide to go launch an investigation, find out if she really did have something come up and she wasn't lying?! And what if she did have something come up, and she finds out that I made like a creepy stalker, and that just makes her so glad she couldn't go on that date because who knows what would have happened, now that she knows all these new horrible things about me?!

“How do I find out this a relationship with her isn't just going to crash and burn?!”

Dr. Connie smiled. “Ask her out on a date.”

Weiss groaned. “Isn't there some other way?! Preferably one I can use BEFORE I ask her out?”

Dr. Connie shook her head. “Last I heard, no one has cracked the perfect algorithm that'll completely, accurately decide who's going to be your 'perfect match,' and all the dating companies are still legally required to say that their algorithms can't 100% guarantee said match.

“So, we still have to find it out the tried and tested way: ask someone out, date them for a while, and see if you two will work out to the best of your abilities.”

“There has to be a better way!”

Dr. Connie smiled. “If there is, then none of us have figured it out yet.”

So now here Weiss was, sitting on the side of her hammock and hoping that the Fae had cracked the code.

It was morning when Ruby stepped back into their room, looking roughed up and tired, her clothes and scythe still faintly stained with blood and other stains. “Morning Weiss!” she said, waving lazily with one hand as she put away her scythe with the other.

She frowned as she began to pulled out her wrapped up mask from inside her cloak. “Rough night?”

“To put it lightly...” Weiss muttered.“… Hey, Ruby...? Can I ask you a question?”

“Could you make it an easy one?” she replied as she put away her mask and cloak. “I kinda really need to crash soon.”

Weiss blushed. “How do you know if you're in love with someone?”

“Oh, that's easy!” Ruby said as she walked over to her nest. “I kiss them.”

Weiss blushed. “Just like that…?”

“No, I ask them first, and most of the time there's a date before that!” she said as she sat down among her cushions. “Anyway, if it turns out I really like kissing them and want to do more of that in the future, I know I love them, not just like them.”

“Is that a Fae thing?” Weiss asked.

Ruby shook her head. “Just me. I can't be in a serious relationship with someone I can't kiss, let alone have fun making-out with.”

Weiss blushed even more. “How do you know that?”

Ruby sheepishly looked away, before she turned back to Weiss. “… Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“I tried making out with Lifira one time,” Ruby replied. “I hadn't kissed anyone real before, and I was really curious about how it was like, so I tried it on her.”

Weiss' face betrayed nothing. “So how did it feel like?”

“Awful. And I asked her to be really into it, and man, she was! But the thing is, there wasn't that something, and it just felt weird and unnatural, and then Yang caught me, and…” Ruby trailed off. “… Yeah.”

“Do you Fae have a word for that for that 'something'?”

Ruby shook her head. “Nah, it's all on you on whatever you want to call it. I don't know what it is for me yet, exactly, but I know it's not just kissing because Lifira was a pretty great kisser, just not for me.”

She yawned. “Was that all you wanted, Weiss? Because I don't think I can stay up much longer...”

Weiss opened her mouth. “No--” she blurted, before she shut her mouth.

Ruby looked at her. “No…?”

“No… I…” Weiss' face felt like it was melting. “Ruby, do you promise not to tell anyone, either?”

Ruby nodded, her sleepy face turning alert and serious. “Absolutely.”

Weiss sheepishly looked away, before reluctantly looking back at Ruby. “Could you… kiss me...?”

Ruby's eyes widened, her ears perked up.

Weiss started to sweat. “I-I know you like me, and I'm not sure if I like you back, and I'm kinda leaning on yes, but also no, and I just want to--”

She stopped as Ruby got up off her nest, walked over, and sat down beside Weiss.

Weiss gulped. “… Make... sure...” she finished, her voice barely a whisper.

“Someone please walk in on us,” she thought to herself. “Please, please, please...”

Ruby smiled at her, her sleepy eyes twinkling in the morning sun. “You can say no if you don't want to, Weiss.”

Weiss took a deep, not-at-all calming breath, then forced herself to bring her lips right up to Ruby's, careful not to smash their noses or foreheads together in decidedly unromantic and painful ways.

Her whole body began to tremble, sweat poured down her face as she closed her eyes, her face so close to Ruby's she just knew she could feel the intense heat radiating from her cheeks.

“Do you still want to…?” Ruby whispered.

“Y-yes...” Weiss whispered back.

She felt Ruby hold the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, her touch only light enough to keep her steady, so much of her power and strength being held back because she knew any more would hurt her.

Weiss swallowed the lump in her throat.

She always knew that Ruby was powerful, in combat skill and in physical strength. She could and had crushed an entire armed mercenary company of rank 6 Queensguard Nominees without resorting to killing any of them if crippling most instead; easily wiped the floor with Cardin and his men while unarmed if invisible; and fought the dangerous creatures of the Valley on a daily basis without the slightest hint of serious injury, and from what she'd seen of her at the hot springs, any injury at all.

She could crush her, easily.

And yet she wouldn't, being very, very careful, holding back so much of her power, putting this much conscious effort and attention to make sure she didn't hurt her.

And Weiss found that she really, really, really liked that.

She closed the distance between their lips, surprising them both.

Weiss frowned, feeling like she was kissing a rock: solid and unmoving.

Then, Ruby got over the shock, started kissing back, physically pushing Weiss back from the strength she put behind it, before she quickly toned it down to just enough for her to really feel her lips on hers. She began to move her mouth against hers, now soft and warm, feeling like it was yielding exactly to the shape of Weiss' till they were a perfect fit.

Weiss felt a rush like the first time she'd held Myrtenaster, only instead of a dam breaking and her magic flooding out of her body, into the sword then back again several times as potent, she felt herself melt, delicious warmth spreading to every single part of her body, turning her into jelly.

Ruby caught her before she could fall and break the kiss, cradling the back of her head, cupping her lower back. Weiss could feel the touch of each finger send ripples across her skin, her grip tightening and loosening, too hard, too soft, until she found just right.

Weiss threw her arms around Ruby, pulled herself into her body, feeling her densely-woven muscles constantly shifting and tightening under her clothes. She made a noise, a sound she'd never made in her entire life, what sounded like a deep and guttural…

… Not a threat, but an invitation.

Ruby opened her eyes, half-lidded and with a mischievous look Weiss hadn't seen before. She broke away from the kiss for air…

… Or she would have, if she could.

Weiss' eyes fluttered open. She tried to ask Ruby what was wrong, before she found she couldn't move her lips anymore.

“Whut da phuck?!” Weiss mumbled.

“Ay fink yuu frovz arr lipsth togeverr!” Ruby replied. “Ay geth datz wut da tinggling wath!”

“Gonthlet! Nid tu get my gonthlet!” Weiss said, her eyes opening wide in alarm, her face burning bright red—sadly, it didn't do anything to melt the enchanted ice sealing their lips together.

Knock-knock.

“Weiss? Ruby?” Qrow asked. “I'm not about to walk in on anything, am I?”

They tried to answer him, but it only managed to come out as panicked, unintelligible, and muffled mumbling.

“… Okay: I'm giving you guys till the count of five to cover up, or try to make whatever is going on in there look less awful, then I'm opening the door. One… two… three...”

Weiss made a little dying noise.

Ruby tried to give her a reassuring look, but it was difficult to do so with just her eyes and eyebrows, and more so with their lips frozen together.

“… Four… five!”

Qrow carefully opened the door, and peered in.

Weiss squeezed her eyes shut.

Ruby sheepishly waved.

Qrow stared blankly at them.

“… I'll go get Penny...”

#rwby #the keeper of the grove #fanfic #white rose

[squaremadonna]

Say a prayer and kiss your heart goodbye —Madonna

Who’s That Girl may not be the most memorable movie of Madonna’s career, but its main titles are unforgettable.

The animated (in both senses of the term) intro directed by Ric Machin of Broadcast Arts offers not only a preamble to the narrative, but a lesson in how to make your main titles pop — even further than the film, in this case. Even filmmaker James Foley concedes that they are “maybe the best ‘scene’ in the movie” about a bleached blond manic pixie ex-con with a penchant for tutus (this is Madge circa 1987, remember) who joins forces with a lawyer (An American Werewolf in London’s Griffin Dunne) to prove her innocence. Co-written by Canadian Newsroom creator Ken Finkleman, of all people, this screwball comedy is only really noteworthy as a time capsule of the Queen of Pop’s True Blue years. But the credits? Those are a thing of art.

The entire opening sequence, set to Madonna’s catchy ’80s groove “Causing a Commotion,” animates the events leading up to Nikki Finn’s arrest, a swinging key at the end dissolving into the one in her jail cell. The freneticism and overall anarchy of the main character is captured by the equally chaotic artwork in which the colours don’t always fill in (if they are coloured at all) and the seams make the odd appearance. While the bobble-headed vixen at the center is clearly formed, everything around her seems to fall apart, much like it does in the film. Sketched in grease pencil, per cameraman Glen Claybrook, “This gave it a vibrant, sketchy feel, sort of like old xerography animation.” Director James Foley came up with the idea for an animated intro, Madonna wrote the song for it, and late Argentinian artist Daniel Melgarejo conceived the bobble-headed commotion-causing babe. “He did some sketches and just thought he caught the energy of Nikki Finn,” Foley says. “Love how his angular style matched the sonics of the song.”

A discussion with Who’s That Girl Animation Director RIC MACHIN.

You had only made a short film before Who’s That Girl. How did you end up working on this live-action feature? In 1986 in London [UK], the company I was working with at the time, Speedy Cartoons, were producing storyboards and layouts for a New York Company, Broadcast Arts Inc., mainly 2D animation. But then with the success of Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” video and the rise of MTV, mixed media productions enjoyed a renaissance. Speedy Cartoons began pre-production on a cereal commercial for Cocoa Puffs, featuring Popeye with real modelled backgrounds and 2D characters interacting.

It was supposed to be a six-week stay in Manhattan, but when the Cocoa Puffs project ended, the management at Broadcast Arts invited me to stay on to continue directing their other mixed media projects — Super Golden Crisp, Dinersaurs, Pop Secret popcorn, etc., as well as some MTV idents. When the Madonna title sequence was awarded in 1987, I was there to accept the challenge of directing the production.

What was your specific job on the project? My specific job was Animation Director. The soundtrack had already been selected by Warner Brothers — Madonna’s “Causing a Commotion” — and an Argentinian artist, Daniel Melgarejo, had been drafted in to help with concept sketches and the general style of the piece. After a week or so, I had a catchy song and a pile of unconnected drawings and the brief to turn it into a three-minute animated sequence.

Working with Daniel, we began to refine and simplify the characters and backgrounds and prepare them for animation.

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I created a narrative storyboard with the theme of Madonna being chased through Manhattan by the bad guys and being framed. From this, an animatic was shot to the track with held frames used as place-markers for the animated sequences to come. From there, freelance talent was assembled from the studio to animate the short sequences between titles, prepare background art, and work with me on scene transitions, sound effects, and editing.

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How much direction did you get? Apart from seeing the rough cut of the film, which they approved, and a fleeting visit to the twelfth floor of the Broadway studio, Madonna and James Foley left the entire project in my hands.

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Were you simply asked to illustrate the backstory or was it specified, for instance, that Madonna should come out of the WB logo? The logo at the start and the swinging key at the end were the only two immovable frames I had to work with. The general idea of how Madonna’s character ended up in jail at the start of the film had to be told, but I had completely free rein to create a story between those two points.

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How did you work with the music? I usually find it easier to work to a music track as there is a natural beat to work to and to calculate the cut points. There was a finite amount of credits to fit in, with a legal amount of three seconds held on screen per name. It was easy then to calculate and create the animated “bridges” between these points.

What were your influences? I was heavily influenced by the work of Paul Vester at Speedy Cartoons. Of all the London Animation Companies, his had a unique, slick and stylish and instantly recognizable style.

Do you have personal favourite title sequences? I enjoyed National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation titles, The Pink Panther series, The Animated Batman Series titles, Catch Me If You Can, and anything by Saul Bass.

Glen Claybrook, the cameraman, mentioned the cels were done in grease pencil, which gave the sequence a sketchy feel. How did you decide on this? It was just a style I had grown used to in London, which gives a light, feathery, and natural look to the cels. Marker pen or ink line can be cleaner, but in this case a freer line seemed to suit the character and backgrounds. They were deliberately left open and sketchy and textured, rather than being flat enclosed fields.

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What elements of the sequence are you most happy with? Apart from the obvious appeal of the Madonna character, it was challenging to create interesting transitions between the three-second held frames. Vertical and horizontal wipes and cross dissolves would have been easy choices, but I wanted to make each one unique, animated, and fitting for the scenes they were attached to. The clothes flying off the rail, the TV switching off, the removal van wiping horizontally, the key in the hand, etc.

Turning to present day, what have you seen or watched lately that’s been exciting to you? Not much animation I’m afraid, but I have been enthralled with Game of Thrones, Mad Men, and House of Cards.

Film Director: James Foley Titles Production Studio: Broadcast Arts Inc. Producer: Peter Rosenthal Animation Director: Ric Machin Concept Art: Daniel Melgarejo Animators: John Canemaker, Doug Frankel, Dan Haskett, Norma Klingler, Richard Machin, April March, Bob McKnight, Bill Plympton, Edward Rivera, Bob Scott Animation Camera: Glen Claybrook Assistant to Daniel Melgarejo: Neil Martinson Animation Editor: James Romaine Assistant Editor: Conni X Music: “Causing a Commotion” Performed by Madonna Written and Produced by Madonna and Stephen Bray

  artofthetitle.com

“Say a prayer and kiss your heart goodbye” | An Interview With The Animation Director Behind The WHO’S THAT GIRL Titles Sequence Who’s That Girl may not be the most memorable movie of Madonna’s career, but its main titles are unforgettable.

[gta-5-cheats]

Mike Moritz and the declining America worker

New Post has been published on http://secondcovers.com/mike-moritz-and-the-declining-america-worker/

Mike Moritz and the declining America worker

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Storied Sequoia investor Mike Moritz threw fire into the tech Twitter gumbo with his observations of hard-working Chinese workers and slothful Silicon Valley engineers. Moritz, a billionaire, clearly needs page views to fund his retirement.

The major money quote about Silicon Valley is this: “In recent months, there have been complaints about the political sensibilities of speakers invited to address a corporate audience; debates over the appropriate length of paternity leave or work-life balances; and grumbling about the need for a space for musical jam sessions. These seem like the concerns of a society that is becoming unhinged.”

He compares those petit concerns with the work ethic of Chinese workers who “appear about 10am and leave at midnight.” He focuses in on women, “Many of these high-flyers only see their children — who are often raised by a grandmother or nanny — for a few minutes a day.” And he emphasizes the Chinese and their spendthrift ways: “It is also striking to the western eye how frequently a tea bag is reused.”

Reaction to the piece was strong, as one can imagine. TechCrunch’s Connie Loizos posted her rebuttal yesterday, saying “Moritz has hit a few balls out of the park, yes. But that doesn’t mean we should take his opinion as gospel. In fact, I would argue that mega-billionaires like Moritz have absolutely no place telling anyone how hard they should be working, in the U.S. or anywhere else.”

David Heinemeier Hansson, a partner at Basecamp and inventor of the Ruby on Rails programming framework, put it even more bluntly in a tweet:

  That seems par for the course among hundreds of other commenters online and across Twitter.

To me though, Moritz’ comments are reasonably accurate, at least as far as stereotyping a country of 1.38 billion people and a region of a million or more goes. It’s clear that the Chinese work harder in tech on average, and that Chinese workplaces have many less frills than Silicon Valley workplaces. This has been known for years, and is not news.

The far more interesting thread in this story is why it was so inflammatory in the first place. Sure, he conflated paternity leave and asking for a musical rehearsal room, and made it seem as if parents shouldn’t see their kids. And he’s a billionaire. I get the hashtag class warfare angle here.

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However, the post was inflammatory precisely because we are starting to feel the pain of competition again in the American economy. For the first time, white collar workers in the United States are facing what our blue collar brethren have experienced the past three decades: sliding salaries and benefits as their jobs were outsourced, the downsizing of the American dream.

America liked the arrangement where clean, high-value design and services stayed in the United States and hard, dirty jobs like manufacturing, heavy industry, and rare earth mining were outsourced to China. Americans did the productive work, the Chinese did the hard work. Americans made the money, the Chinese got paid a couple of yuan.

Capitalism was “introduced” in China in 1980 with the opening of the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone. 37 years later, and the country’s GDP is nearly the same size as the United States. China as a whole has worked extraordinarily hard to get to where it is today. Are we really surprised then that those same industrious Chinese workers suddenly continue working hard in the high-tech industry and start to compete toe-to-toe with American tech giants?

In the startup circles in the Valley and New York City that I hang out in, paternity leave has come up on numerous occasions. There are multiple founders in my network that offer unlimited vacation for their startups, and offer free lunches, massages, and other accoutrements on top of dizzying salaries. All at startups. In some cases even before the series A but almost always afterwards.

All of those benefits make sense at some level — talent is scarce, and after several decades of research, companies found out that treating humans well is ultimately a win-win for everyone.

So why are we worried about China? If our workplace policies are really creating ideal conditions for productivity, aren’t we the ones who are benefitting? The Chinese will work themselves to death, and Americans who are working smarter will reap the rewards.

The challenge of course is that it’s just not true. Startups are really, really hard to build. In the early years, they take hundreds of hours a week, and there are only a handful of employees to do those hours. A startup with a 35 hour workweek and unlimited vacation is almost certainly going to lose to a startup working 100 hours a week, even if the former’s workers are better rested and more productive.

That’s why Moritz was so inflammatory. He’s clearly wrong on a moral and human level, but, he’s clearly right in a realpolitik way. The anger we feel is both that we have a billionaire lecturing us about work, and that we also know deep down that he may well be right. If we want to protect the work environment that many have fought hard to create, then it’s time to get back to work.

Featured Image: Vince Talotta/Toronto Star/Getty Images

[notjustsharksfanart]

Fluff Week: South and CT go on shore leave, and South has to convince CT not to break into places just to prove she can.

So I wrote a fic? For the first time in a while. Yeah.

Let’s Go Sunning

South/CT, onesided north/york ment., alcohol ment.

“I already told you, we can't get arrested on shore leave,” South said, slurping her soda, the gulls cawing overhead. The soft sound of sea on sand was weirdly comforting, even as their free day came to an end. The planet was supposed to be a relaxation center and tourist destination, but it was close to the edge of the galaxy, near the war, and so appeared half abandoned. South gestured around the dock area with her free hand, “All of these rickety buildings don't even pose any sort of challenge to your ONII ass.”

 “You don't know that I have an ONII ass,” CT said, primly. She was balanced on the guard fence between the dock and the sea, tightrope walking on the rusted railing. South idly wondered if CT had done gymnastics in high school. They were in casual clothing, outside of uniforms, out of underarmor, and out of armor for the first time in what felt like months. Connie was basically wearing a yoga outfit, with long pants despite the salt water and the heavy sun. South, in board shorts, thought long pants seemed sticky, “Anyway, it’s always good to get back to basics. All these beach houses are owned by rich people anyway.”

 “Hell yeah, eat the rich,” South said, snarkily, less anti-establishment and more stuck between wanting to egg Connie on and not wanting to get arrested. “But if we break into one of those houses and get caught my brother will be disappointed in me with a capital D and I’ll never be able to live it down.”

 Her brother was probably getting drunk with York in some dive bar right at that moment, and South was hoping to keep the moral high ground long enough to lord it over his hungover ass on the ship the next day. Nobody on the ship knew how to relax properly, but drinking was the easiest way for them, and being a dick was the easiest way for her. But, she thought, glancing at Connie, what was happening right then came pretty close.

 Connie perched on the warm metal, and sat on her heels, trying to get down to South’s eye level, “Since when,” she said, softly, “Have you given a shit what North thinks.”

 “Since I’ve been trapped on a ship with him for like, literally months at a time. It’s super annoying, I have shit to do, and besides-- with the leaderboard? I don’t want North to narc on me to get an advantage.”

 CT stood up abruptly, and continued to pace down the dock’s railing. South observed her, silhouetted by warm sunlight, a shadow against the bright sky and sea, and the pink sand below. It was… it was good. Far away from the war, from the conflict, and far away from the competition on the Mother of Invention. It felt like a time South couldn’t really even remember. Connie caught her watching and grinned.

 “I could steal from that big mansion.”

 “Ceet--” South was still testing nicknames.

 “It’d be easy, we’d just need to get a bone to distract any dogs and--”

 “Holy shit, Con.”

 “I’m just saying. They bought all this property and they’re not using it because they have big safe houses far away from the front, while gutter kids in slums across the galaxy share sixteen to a room to shelter from big hulking aliens,” CT muttered, “Fair isn’t fair.”

 “Doesn’t mean you can break in. There’ll be nothing of value in there anyway,” South snorted, “Rich people don’t abandon their stuff in summer homes. Why’d you want to do it anyway?”

 “To test my abilities.”

 “Uh huh.”

 “You ever think it’s weird,” CT said, “That we’re not on the direct front like, half the time?”

 “We’re using experimental tech, C, it’s not that deep.”

 CT sighed, “Okay, but Director Church is a civilian, with no military experience. I think the highest ranking military person on the ship is Carolina, and she’s not gonna steer the course. Everyone’s doing a good job of being steered.”

 South frowned at her, scuffing the boardwalk with her feet, “How come--”

 CT hopped off the railing, and glanced over at South, square eyebrows folding up into a concerned look, and South felt her face flush. “You ever wonder if-- if maybe we’re the bad guys?” CT said, softly

 At this, South snorted, her blush rapidly fading; “It's war, Ceet, we’re all the bad guys.”

 Connie sighed, scanning the different stores at the dock, “You want to grab some snacks before we have to head back?”

 “I’d kill for some beach donuts right now.”

 “What’s the difference between regular donuts and beach donuts?”

 “Beach donuts are better because they’re donuts that you eat at the beach.”

 CT checked the data pad on her wrist, “There’s a Donut Champion around here, somewhere,” She said, jumping off the rail expertly and landing daintily on the dock, “They have good apple fritters.”

 South nudged CT with her elbow, “I thought you were all anti-corporate, anti-establishment superspy.”

 “I’ll betray my ideals for apple fritters.”

  The Donut Champion was closed. “Dammit,” South said, “Guess I can’t get you to betray your ideals after all.”

 Connie grinned, “No, in fact-- I can fulfill my ideals even better. You reckon there’s still dough in there?”

 “I reckon that the day a Donut Champion uses dough instead of reconstituted fryable matter is the day it becomes a Gourmand Michelin star restaurant and not a place you accidentally show up at when it’s three in the morning.”

 Connie wedged into the alleyway and gestured back at South to follow her. South did, reticently. “We can just go in, make some donuts, and leave. We can even pay,” CT said, “If you’re feeling like a goodie-goodie.”

 “Unless you have a 3d lockpick in those tightass pants--”

 “These guys don’t have, like, actual security. It’s like 21st century stuff. I could disarm these alarms with my eyes closed.”

 “This is a bad idea,” South said, but did nothing to stop her. CT grinned up at her, mischievous grin peeking out from behind her undercut.

 “This is a great idea,” CT said, tugging on a wire.

 The alarm went off.

 “Okay, not a great idea, turns out I don’t know how old timey alarms work,” CT said, “But I can fix this--”

 South picked her up, hoisting her over one shoulder, and took off, sprinting away from the alarm, “We-- aren’t-- getting-- arrested--- today!” She said, jostling CT onto her shoulder as she ran. There didn’t seem to be any cops showing up or anything-- the dock was empty of people, but South still waited until she was back at the shuttle port before putting CT down. They stared at each other before South broke into pealing laughter.

 “I could have fixed it,” Connie said, grinning, “Trust me.”

 “I do,” South lied, a little, “I just didn’t think it’d be worth getting arrested over some donuts.”

 “Not just donuts,” Connie reminded her, “Beach donuts.”

 South opened her mouth to respond, but she received a distracting text message from her brother. The text message said “jsfduuff didn’t wiener.”

 “I gotta go,” South said, frowning. She looked back up at Connie, not wanting the day to end, wanting to keep hanging out and having it be comfortable and easy.

 “Thanks for showing me the docks,” Connie said, her hands behind her back, “I had a great time.”

 South’s stomach twisted as the scene increasingly felt like the end of a date she hadn’t known she was having. “I’ll, um,” she said, “I’ll see you later.”

  “Wyoming’s strong, man,” North said, “Powerful.”

 “Uh huh,” South said, shifting back under North’s shoulder, “Is this back on your Tom Selleck thing?”

 “Nuh,” North said, “It’s a-- he said, ‘oh, you’re Russian, you can drink so good,’ and then said, if I could, he’d pay, but he didn’t, I did, very irresponsible.”

 South rolled her eyes, “Was York there?”

 “Mm.”

 “One day, bro, you will not do this to yourself,” South said, leading him back into the shuttle and strapping him in. Carolina, Wash, and Maine were already there. They’d elected to do something educational or someshit, which apparently meant the aquarium, because none of them knew how to relax or let their guards down. South sighed, not looking forward to being stuck in metal and mud and blood for the next few months, already missing the smell of the sea. She turned from the shuttle, and walked back down the ramp to catch the sunset and a last few breaths of briny air.

 Connie was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. With donuts.

 The spaceport had an overlook, from which you could see the entirety of the little tourist town in the middle of Bumfuck nowhere, the galaxy. There was a chance that someday soon the whole planet would be glassed, and only Connie and South would remember this view. South sat, dangling her boots off the edge of the look, and Connie slumped beside her. Connie handed her a donut, which South bit into. It tasted warm from the fryer, slightly too crunchy with sand.

 “I’m surprised to see that Donut Champion is still standing.”

 “Come on, I just broke in, I didn’t burn it down.”

 “These are good,” South said, smiling over at Connie. The sun was setting, bathing the scene in a warm glow. South wondered if the sunrise would come red.

 Connie tucked her hair behind an ear, “Thanks,” she said, “I made them myself.”

 “You’re a force of Chaos, Constance,” South said, taking a bite of one of the decently prepared apple fritters.

 “I try, Deep South,” Connie responded.

 South snorted, “I should have known better than to try and stop you from doing anything.”

 “Probably.”

 They sat together a while, legs swinging off the edge. The ocean beat rhythmically against the rocks below, gulls cried. The town below seemed dead but for the birds. The air was thick with something coming, something different, something empty. But for now it was warm, and the donuts were sticky, and the sun was bright.

 South’s boot jostled against Connie’s calf, and Connie grinned.

 Her lips were dusted with sugar.