#okay they didn’t like each other at first considering they both tried to murk the other

[charlotte-family-apologist]

Kenshi: You didn’t have to do that.

Suchin, wiping blood off her sword: Okay? It’s too late to take it back. What do you want me to do?

Kenshi: Nothing, I like you.

[rainbowstrashpile]

Softer, Softest

Testing a WIP here. Wanted to see if anyone was interested.

Wesker crawls out of the volcano (because of course he does), and the BSAA retrieves the remains. Chris, ever the hero, wants to help what’s left of him. Unfortunately the BSAA isn’t in the business of rehabilitating terrorists, but they can’t deny a founding member. So they compromise. How convenient then, that Wesker himself had perfected mind control technology.

Warnings for mind control and a brief description of non-consensual touching. However, that touching is not sexual in nature. Brief implication of child abuse. Admittedly a dark premise but becomes fluff.

Laid low, passive, doll like. Redfield could have him in ways he never had before. Quiet. Domesticated. Soft. Umbrella’s ubermensch, the western world’s idea of male beauty, gene selected and designed then broken on their wheel, now belonged to him. Empty, vacuous, acquiescent for the very first time. Briar Rose sleepwalking through Chris' apartment, barefoot and dreamy eyed.

It was, admittedly, not an ideal situation; but Chris wasn’t the type to take advantage of that. He knew the guilt would eat him from the inside if he allowed any injustice to happen, even to Wesker. Perhaps especially to Wesker. Greatest love of Chris’ life, much to his own chagrin.

As it stands, he likes to chat at him. Explain his favorite parts of movies while he runs his fingers through his hair. Something he'd never gotten to do before but always wanted to. He's a warm, solid weight against him as he stares blankly ahead. Chris' very own dolly. But he feels he's nice about it. Tries to be understanding of the person stuck somewhere deep inside. "I know you would have hated this. But someday, you'll be able to make your own choices again." Because Chris refuses to think of Albert as beyond redemption. Refuses to think that people who have been so traumatized are beyond repair. Albert just needs help. He just needs to be shown a gentle touch. A shred of humanity. And Chris wants to be the one to try.

                                         ____________________

It was warm here. Hazy. Almost pleasant. And that was...abnormal. Somehow he knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this. That this state of being was somehow temporary. But he couldn't bring himself to struggle against it; stick his head above the bathwater doze he both languished and lavished in. The instinct to hold still and do as you’re told still strong. Maybe he had been taught too well as a child…

Something in Wesker fizzled; acid mixed with alkali, a chemical reaction that made him twitch. Something in him remembered fear. Nervous system fighting against the weight of the lull, trying to beat back the lassitude. He felt a tension in the back of his throat, burbling up through his mouth in the form of a whine, high pitched and animal. His heartbeat increased from its sluggish rhythm, suddenly thundering against his ribs in a frenzy. 

He didn’t want to be here. This feeling, whatever it was, was hiding something terrible. A leviathan lurking in the depths, rising quickly to pull him down with a burden too terrible to bear. A knowledge that would break him. But as he was now, Wesker was powerless to stop it.

He wanted to run. To bolt in any direction; a rabbit with a wolf on its heels. But to where he couldn’t say. He was vaguely aware of the fact he didn’t know where he was. Hadn’t for a while now. And when he tried to stand, his knees gave out and he sagged to the floor; more terrible softness greeting him at the end of his fall.

“Hey now,” a voice said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here! I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Warmth again, but a different kind. Not a chemical buzz to lay him out, keep him in a fog, but a real heat. Soft skin hoisting him up against something solid, something that smelled like castile soap and laundry detergent, just a hint of sharp aftershave cutting through.

The monsters lurking just below the surface dove back down into the murk, settling once again in the depths. Far away from the safety the voice and warmth promised.

It seemed easy now, to surrender. To let the fog and softness over take him; drown out the fear buzzing and fomenting in the back of his mind. Peace descended once again, and he let out a shaky breath in relief. Nothing hurt here, trapped in the comforting static of whatever had been done to him. Sweetly restrained, or perhaps sheltered, by the solid mass holding him.

                                        ____________________

Wesker went limp in his grasp, head sagging against his shoulder. Chris ran his fingers gently through blond hair, nudging his nose against Wesker’s forehead. “It’ll all be okay. You’re safe here. I promise.” It didn’t irk him that Wesker’s arms didn’t reach out, didn’t hold onto him for comfort or even support. Acquiescence was the best that could be expected. That he had so quickly calmed was the most he could ask for, all things considered. He hoped that meant Al trusted him on some level. Knew that Chris wouldn’t hurt him. 

Chris settled Wesker back on the sofa, mindful not to crowd him after as he sat down as well. “I wish you could tell me what set you off. I really do only want to help you. And I know all this is kinda messed up. But maybe it’s the only way to show you not everyone is bad. Not everyone is trying to use each other for personal gain.” And now that he’s speaking, it all tumbles out. A mishmash jumble of feelings and stray thoughts, pouring past his lips. Dumb mouth to deaf ear.  

“I-I never tried to use you...back in STARS, you know. I wasn’t trying to sleep my way to the top or blackmail you or anything like that. And I don’t think you were using me either. Not really. I think- I think if you really hadn’t cared about me at all, back in the mansion, you would have killed me. Or at least you wouldn’t have helped me out as much. You had no reason to. Help me, that is. We never would have suspected you of anything. We trusted you. All of us trusted you. Which is why we were all so angry at you after. But somehow, you and I just couldn't stay away from each other. I never could stop loving you, no matter how much I tried..” Chris lapses into silence for a moment, wondering if Wesker is listening. If he can understand anything he’s saying to him. Chris hopes he can, somewhere in there. 

Slowly, gently, Chris reaches out to Wesker-to Al, to take his hand into his own, running his thumb over the creases of his knuckles. Wesker doesn’t react, just stares straight ahead vacantly. “It would be nice if we could be like this for real. Maybe someday. But I’d settle for you being at peace, even if that doesn’t involve me. Though I think I would still miss you. Or maybe the idea of you; the concept of what we could have been.” Chris squeezes his hand again, for good measure.

To Wesker, the voice means something. Words have ceased to have definition, but the tone carries through the message, or at the very least the core emotions behind them. He can’t reply. And even if he could he isn’t sure what he would say, or if he even remembers any words at all. But this...this is important. The lilt and drone of the voice makes him want things. Things he’d had before. How terrible, then, that he didn’t have whatever it was anymore. How stupid if him, to have lost it. The hand holding his squeezes again, and he wants to squeeze back. He’s so tired, and effort seems herculean.

But somehow, he manages; his grip a weak pulse, falling away as quickly as it had started.

But it’s enough. Chris feels it. And a delicate hope blooms in his chest.

                                                 ___________

                                                      end...?

Your girl here has ADHD real bad and wrote some stuff. This is in a document titled Plant 69;) because I couldn't think of a title so I gave up and went with a Courtney Love reference. I’ll mail you some squished up candy bars if you can find the other one hidden in here. Now that we are having a Resident Evil renaissance (a REnaissance, if you will) and I’m not the only one craving sub Wesker I figured it was a good time to participate. Nothing here that hasn’t happened to other characters in canon so I figure if you’re in the fandom you’re already okay with some problematic stuff. Which is good because unfortunately everything I write is...dark and designed to be uncomfortable. At least this one has a happy ending. 

[borkthemork]

Nightly Escapade (A Messy Drive Date Connverse Fic)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General

Words: 5,158

Pairings: Steven/Connie (Connverse)

Summary: Movies are perfect. What's not to like about them? They're stories told on the big screen, they could leave you shaking from the flood works or clammy from the explosions and ticking timers, and, most importantly, it's the best plan if two lovers ever wanted to go on a date. For Connie and Steven: planning a movie date was easy, there's nothing better than preparing a good ole' car of refreshments for a long drive, but executing it (without it going wrong) was another thing entirely.

Reblogs are appreciated!

He should've gotten them sooner.

One could retort that he only heard of the movie details today, but he felt guilty regardless when he eyed the lack of vacancy when he tried to apply his—newly gained—credit card to it. It was a one-in-a-million (or was it a billion? He'd have to ask Connie later) experience, and since his jam bud now had access to PG-13 movies just like he did, they thought it would be a great time to start something. An adventure. Or was it a date? A cool date adventure!

…

Dateventure!

Hahaha, he was a genius!

When she arrived at his house—naïve to the idea being dashed to shreds—he told her of the lack of tickets, feeling the crummy jumble of his heart with each shift in expression Connie had. She was looking forward to this film; she would rant and rave about Ghibli films like they were cinematic masterpieces, leaving him confused but intrigued. He never touched a Ghibli film before, so it was a beginning bout of interest that made him ask what was so special about them in the first place.

"You don't understand," she lamented when asking days prior, "Princess Mononoke was way ahead with its themes and dynamics regarding nature and humans. I would trade my own hands—not really since I need them—to see it on the big screen! To see it on any type of high-definition!"

Who knew Delmarva starved for this kind of content? Well, he should've recognized this when Ronaldo brigaded him with film advice but he never really took those consolations in a serious light. Even if he did, he still would've been short of time.

Now they’re here: Connie pacing in his room under the beating weather; fingers on her chin, her shoes clicking on the floorboards with hardened focus. "Well, we could see another movie since it's not that big of a deal."

Steven was fumbling with the wrinkles of his bedsheets, the screen of his laptop closed in a subtle defeat. The guilt fettering his torso. "I'm sorry, Connie. I know that you really wanted to see it."

"Hey, it's all right." She smiled at him. "Even if we can't see the movie, why not just go on the date, anyway?"

She stumbled with the word when it came down to it, shooting him an awkward glance. His stomach was bound in a knot; this was the first time they ever mentioned it out loud.

"Yeah!" He piped up, cheeks flushed in heat. "Nothing can stop us, we're jam buds after all!"

A petal-soft laugh. "Jam buds 'til the very end."

With that, they got started. The problem with planning—and the advantage of their duo—came down to the many ideas flung around the room like paper balls in the occurring scuffle for supplies. Steven would suggest something and then Connie would add to it—flinging it back to Steven and then back to her—until the ideas they've manifested became more like snowballs the size of boulders. So the tiny notion of a movie date transformed into a nightly car date, the dondai befitting blankets, a radio, a grocery bag of snacks, and other accoutrements such as the medkit bunched in the back. When asked about it, Connie remarked with a simple, albeit embarrassed, "better safe than sorry" as they listed off their roster.

"So, let's get this plan straightened out one more time," she announced in the car, Steven saddling up his seatbelt and fiddling with the ignition. "We're only following the routes near the coastline. I have some money we could use if we ever run out of gas cans. If we see an ice cream stand, we're definitely stopping for it. And—"

"We'll drive to Viewover Point so we can watch Unfamiliar Familiar at the drive-in," he concluded, churning out a carnie accent. "Now in 3-D with a limited purchase of Archimicarus and Lisa chibi plushies for only nine ninety-five!"

She laughed. "Correct! And we'll buy ten of them, five for you and five for me."

"What about fifteen?"

"Twenty?"

"Thirty!"

"Fifty!"

Both of them exploded into giggles, Connie playfully smacking with his shoulder. "Just drive!"

The engine growled to life. With the sun still perched in the sky, the two of them drove off with a rumbling trail of radio music and road-crunched gravel, not a single worry in mind; just two best friends against the long-winding asphalt lines.

-----

There’s a thing Steven had to learn the first time he began his traverse into the world of semi-adulthood: that driving had a few loopholes that society was okay with trespassing into. In one particular memory, he attempted and went with the minimum speed range in Ocean Town—following the procedures, being loyal to the rules for the sake of being a good Samaritan—only for a cop car to drive alongside his window to force himself to speed up, whose eyebrow quirked in irritation. Apparently, the road he occupied was one lane, and the townies (ranging from a mile long) behind him weren’t happy about it.

He tried to laugh it off, brush it off like it was sand peppering his shoulders, but Connie was with him when it happened. She never let him down for it. Ever.

And that’s what lead to them bolting past the Beach City safety limits, windows popped open—gushing them with the wind—as the two hollered over the Mike Krol ratatat’ing their space. Overall, he’d like to thank Beach Town for this valuable lesson. He’ll never forget it.

“What if I told you that the world was gonna end!” Connie held an unopened granola bar, singing into it as Steven did a clean turn, the tail of their car following the drift in consecutive ease; the windows displayed to the right reflecting sheens of the calm ocean, skies bearing unrestrained galaxies from light-years away.

She directed the granola towards him, who yelled out in glee, “and you had fifteen minutes to spend with me or your friends!?”

“I guess we don’t even need to use the phone!”

“I don’t need your answer, I’ll be spending it alone!”

Cue the dance break. Connie did a little jig in her seat as he rocked his head to the remainder of the rhythm, heart battling in his chest, hoping that his attentiveness could keep them alive at the presence of the cliff that loomed to the right of them. Their laughter was of pure delight, wild and untamed, the childlike initiative riling them like cinders.

At the introduction of the woods behind an impending crossroads, he made a left turn, cutting into the Delmarva wood.

“Wait, that’s the wrong way!” Connie said.

“What!” He tried to turn it around but it was too late. The car clipped from the road, leading them scrambling in a quaking mess, the vehicle gatling its way into the unknown, into the webs of branches and darkness.

Ears pounding with the tremors.

The violent shudders.

Dissonant heaves.

And groans.

It then stopped. A warmth enveloped them in a luster of pink, the car remaining still as the creaks of its metal came to a halt. He looked over to Connie, easing his heart when he saw that she looked fine. Disoriented, confused, but fine. The windows were crowded by brambles, of hardwood needles, trickles of murk peaking in between.

He groaned, rubbing his head. The dizziness settled down. "Strawberry, you okay?"

"Roger that, biscuit." She unclipped her belt, heaving out breaths as the two of them calmed their frazzled senses, inspecting the enclosed space around them with unease. They were settled in the belly of a mechanical beast, brittle with cracked glass and wretched frame, the outside covered in dimly lit brush. "That was a close call though. The air bags didn't even work."

"Either that or my bubble’s forcing it down." He considered the sturdy barrier. It wasn't a bubble, looked more of a compartment that twitched and receded when they moved too much in the limited spacing, glowing its familiar hues and glint. He needed to meddle with this later. "We should get out though."

A brief nod. "Agreed."

He didn't know how long it took. All he could focus on was the buzz in his ears and the careful work he did to keep the bubble (morphing and melding to his command) under control as they crept out by the backseats; courtesy of Connie, who didn’t hesitate to pierce one of his windows with the medkit when the doors didn’t budge.

In the final shimmy, the two of them plopped onto an unsteady incline of dirt—the bubble dissipating—keeping hold of one another until the pathway below them cleared to unrooted ground. Glancing through the canopy overhead, Steven thought of it as a giant colander; how the moon pouring into his sights a few moments ago was now trying its best to sneak past the floral arms, to catch him even while shrouded in cold.

"Okay," Steven felt Connie's hand wrap around his, easing up as she started to move, his eyes trying his best to follow her outlines. She pointed to a mess of lights opposite the car, meshed with the silhouettes of broken-limbed shrubbery. "We came from there. Let's try to get some cell service, that way we can get a tow truck to our location and the dondai."

"Oh, man." Steven looked back at his car, a wheeze in his throat. "Yeah, we definitely need a truck because the car's donedai!"

Nothing but an awkward chuckle. "Stay focused, Steven. Let's go."

The woods were thick with underbrush. Portions coddled them in aggravating clumps, having them push and shove their way through. A good thing about Steven, however, was that they ignored this with a snap of his bubble, hamster rolling their way out through the elongated tunnel they burrowed through the brier. He would minimize it when the arching leaves and branches were too stubborn to part, and sometimes the spikes protruded from them like machetes, ready to press and nip them into splinters.

"How far did we drive in?" Connie mumbled after a few minutes passed. Leaves nested themselves in her hair, the scuffs on her arms still muddied from their vehicular escape. In all honesty, it reminded him of earlier days, where they wandered the Delmarva wood with nothing big to solve, their imagination pulling their way to the next great exploit. "It looks like we’ve gotten way off the mark."

He winced. “Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.”

“Steven, are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He told her. “I’m just pining for a way out, you know? We’ll be fine in no time.”

“Steven, we've been at it for five minutes.”

"If that’s the case we're in a sticky situation then," Steven said, letting out a high-strung chuckle. "If I just took the right turn, we woodn't be here."

She halted in her tracks—the boy tripping from the stop, saving himself before he slammed into the bubble. "Steven, tell me."

"Hm?" He looked over, scrambling straight. "Why d'you stop?"

"Something's on your mind," she said. "And we'll not take another step until you spill the beans."

"Well, the beans are back in the trunk."

"Steven!"

He jumped. "Okay, okay! Sorry, I won't joke about beans anymore."

"That's not what I'm talking about here." She rubbed the bridge of her nose, fatigue on her lips. "Something's bugging you; I don't want to make any assumptions so you need to be honest with me." Her countenance softened, Steven bristling at the slight squeeze of his hand. "Please."

He wasn't the kind to turn the other way, especially with the plaguing memory of separation that tailed him ever since he lied to her two years ago. A promise was a promise, a solid bond of trust he’d never wanted to break, and even if the anxiety toiled and fought against him, he couldn't help but be reassured that Connie would still be there regardless. She was his jam bud. His confidant when the times oozed by. One of the few people he could open up to in a clear fashion. What was he afraid of? Nothing, hopefully.

He released a sigh—ladened, heavy-like. "I don't know, I just feel like such a dunce sometimes."

She knitted her eyebrows. With a swift beckon of her hand they sat down, still enraptured in rose pink; words soft, gesturing him forward. "And?"

"We were having such an amazing time," he crossed his legs, not helping the lean for warmth as she pulled him towards her, the thump of her pulse meeting with his own, "and we had these plans, these amazing plans, but I was able to ruin it in a single minute because I didn't follow the route." A scoff. "A new world record. It makes me wonder why I deserve you sometimes if I could mess up something simple like a dateventure."

"Hey, now!" They held contact, her voice stern. A shudder overcame him, feeling the slivers of grit in the way she spoke. "That's not true. Trust me when I say this: you're the best thing that has ever happened to me and I'll not let your self-doubt believe anything else. You messed nothing up, I’m serious about that."

"But the tickets."

"They were out before we even checked on them."

"The dondai."

"We'll find a shop that'll fix it up."

"But what about Viewover Point?"

"From what I've heard the reviews weren't that good." She shrugged, fingers weaving through his chocolate curls, careful and diligent, each press to his scalp making his lids heavy. "And I wasn't gonna enjoy the movie anyway if you weren't there to have fun with me."

“So, you’re not mad.”

“I could get mad,” Connie murmured, “but what’s there to be mad about? We’ve been through worse stuff than this, way worse, nothing will make me full-on angry with you, period. You’re important to me, and I’d rather fix our messes than leave someone else to fix it for us.”

The dance of her fingertips made him hum, clouded, lifted elsewhere to a softer portion of his mind; he wondered if Connie always had this effect on people, to calm them with the rationality and pin-point affection that they needed? Or maybe it was just him who felt that way? Maybe he cared too much? Perhaps...it was enough.

He allowed himself to breathe—in and out—until the tension in his shoulders melted to nothing; heaviness still resided, but everything appeared more comprehensible now, less complicated than what he described in his brain. With it came an idea. A goal. Something to accomplish. He affixed her a look. "When we find some wifi, would you like to stargaze with me?"

She chuckled. "Why wouldn't I, you dork?"

"I just wanted to ask." He stood up from his place, inviting her with an outstretched hand. She reciprocated, comfort collecting in his palms. "Because if we’re going to make the most of it, we might as well enjoy each other’s company."

Her hand tightened on his, thumb brushing down on his knuckles. “An adventure then.”

Steven nodded, beaming of joy—heart rattling in his chest. “A dateventure.”

“Fine.” She snorted, motioning them forward, the light at the end growing to the size of a faint firefly. “A dateventure.”

Their trek was masked in the brilliance of pink, holding on to the other as the illumination in front of them grew to the size of golf balls—relieved that the bubble saved them from bumbling ceaselessly in the dark. With their advancement, they went faster. Each spike pierced the natural fetters, leaving Steven in a fit of elation when they pushed through, their barrier popping at the final trudge.

The floor was a mess of tickling thicket. He giggled at the brambles, dirt crawled up into the niches of his jacket. Connie was beside him, stretching her legs as she stood up, noticeable in the newly acquired light.

The environment returned to quiet solitude. Steven gave it a mindful gaze: in front of him were the dug-in trenches left from the remainders of the dondai's wheel tracks, each recess printed with its cross-cross and trailing-black smears; the moon brought itself past the covering of shaded evergreen like an angel, leaving them doused in glare; the road was discernible against the earth, cracked and marked with fading yellow lines, making him wonder how deep the direction would've gone if he kept course.

Connie ushered them to walk.

The trek emulated his reveries. Calls of the night sang to them in a cacophony of rustles, hoots, and night creature scuttles; Connie, in her rousing, stopped at certain points to name plants and animals that festered around them, easy to find when she raced off to examine a retreating mammal or lizard.

"That is an owl, of course." She noted the furry-cocoon from a faraway tree, who, if one faltered their blinking, shot them split-second glances with worn yellow specs. "Probably a great-horned owl; look at the tufts on its head!"

Steven squinted. Above the brow, the bird adorned furry wisps, reminiscent of a character from Connie's favorite series. "Wow! How did you know?"

"I had a book about Delmarva geography before. I sold it since I didn’t have much use for it when I finished, but I'm surprised it came in handy now."

He pointed over to the trees. "Then what are those?"

She rubbed her chin. "If I could recall, they’re sweet gum trees...or maybe black gum. I don't remember the difference between them," she admitted.

"That's cool, though." He told her, surveying the wildlife, a wonder pooling on his own. "How come we never do nature walks? It's so peaceful here." Even if the shadows lingered, he emitted of pleasure, the crave of curiosity like a boy first exposed to something new. This was one of the few times where he didn't feel like he was about to perish under some forsaken weight; the concept of having himself run around in terror or disgruntlement long over.

“We just never had the time to. With the two years you’ve been busy and my space camp involvement, the prospect of it never hit me,” she nudged him, a zephyr trailing past them. “But it wouldn’t be too late to start now.”

He grinned. “You see any hills, captain?”

A tilt of her head. Then a pointed finger to a far off ascent. “There!”

“Race you there!” Without hesitation, Steven broke off into a sprint.

Connie, in a fit of snickers, darted after him with an undignified yell.

Fast-smeared colors. Blur of the tenebrous. The rush of one’s ears, laughing in bounding race, lighting the sky with ardor. Fireworks—music—bursting with each spring and skip, Steven crying out in gaiety. Pain and guilt weren’t his master, for he took the reins of the woodlands and made them his own; satisfaction kindling his heart to the size of a bonfire.

When he stopped he took his time gulping down air, throat blazing with invisible fire. He couldn't stop his giggles, the feeling of euphoria that rushed over him like a hyper song; Connie enduring the same, their giddiness flowing to the remains of the land—down below, sprinkling the billowing leaves of their victory.

The ground became their beds, lounging them in verdant cushion as the sky opened up to glowing display. Stars. A cascade of twinkling fires that Steven tried to frame in his hands. Bringing them to his eyes, he examined each one with starry wonderment, Connie whispering to him now and then when he asked a question.

"What about that one?" He directed a finger to the corner of the night sky.

"That’s the Big Dipper."

"And that one?"

"Mmm," she fumbled, clicking her tongue. "Aquarius? It's hard to pinpoint from all the stars—they're so bright you'd think I'm mistaking Orion for something else."

"I don't think that's a problem." He commented, fingers lifting towards the speckles, connecting each one with imaginary twine. "It just means we'll have to work harder to solve the puzzle, and as long as we got each other it shouldn't be that hard."

She released a cool wisp of air from her lips. "You're so sappy, but the sap was definitely needed."

A frown. "What's wrong about being sappy?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," she told him, sincerity leaking through. "You're the sappiest guy I've ever met and...I can't help but adore how loving you are, it just fits you so well.”

"Who, me? I'm just being my wittle self," he cooed, her laugh accompanying it.

"See?" Her hand returned to his, brushed by the moonlit turf. He felt light, the world appearing to slow down with each breath he took, heart bumping like a wave-carried boat. "Who wouldn't love to have someone like you? If I never arrived at Beach City on the day we met, then we wouldn’t even be here. Just enjoying the view."

Joy rose from his chest. "Enjoying you."

"What was that?"

"That, that was a—!" He sputtered.

She burst into laughter, cheeks dark under the light. "Oh my lord!"

"I'm sorry! It just slipped!"

"Steven!"

"I meant that I enjoy your company," his voice was desperate, cracking like a misaligned symphony. He sat up in a panic. "Not like in a weird way, I'm sorry!"

"Steven, Steven!" He went taut; she didn't look mad or grossed out or judgemental. Instead, she was hugging him, keeping him still with each moment that passed—arms returning the gesture in a tight embrace. "It's okay. It's really sweet of you!"

Steven groaned. "But it sounded so weird, I didn't mean to gross you out."

"You didn't." Connie kept him close—fondness pulling on her lips, chuckle carried off into the cool Delmarva breeze. "You're just being yourself."

Steven considered it. Even through his panic he never restrained his smile and the rush of closeness that came with it, he kept put, taking in her proximity. "Did we call a tow truck yet?"

"Oh." They pulled away. Connie rummaged for her phone. "Nope, we still have to do that."

Steven placed himself back onto the ground as she started a conversation on the phone—shadows painting her in a soothing color, moon cradling her figure. Slow and winding, gifting them of a connection that pushed him down to rest. The natural, the dark and hushed, all of his surroundings gestured to a lullaby, massaging him of burdened weight. His eyes drew closed. Exhales lingering, languid in the crisp weather.

A click of the phone resounded. Then a rustle, settling down close to him with a small grunt. Crickets chirped their song, hoots traveling overhead. "I gave them our location. We'll just have to stay put."

"That should be no problem." He stretched out. "We're the masters of it, after all."

A snort. "You’re right."

Listening to the shuffle of grass, Steven added on. "We should plan another one after this."

"Another call?"

"No, I meant the thing we're doing right now."

“The dateventure?” She asked.

“Mhm.”

Hesitancy. "Uhm, I guess."

"Well," Steven flinched at the noticeable lilt in his voice. "If you don't want to do another one, then that's okay."

"No, no," she blurted. "I want to. I'm just thinking about something."

"What are you thinking about?" His gaze still prepped up at the sky, coursing by them in a crawl.

"Just a few questions...about us." The sigh from her left him restless. What about them? "We've always been close, really close. You've noticed it, right?"

A few moments came to mind: movie nights on the weekends, blanket nests sheltering them in watchful rest; boardwalk strides with cotton candy and snow cone mouths, carrying a blue-striped bear won over from a ring toss stand; close talks at sleepovers, imagining the hereafter, breathing in the possibilities they have—which was what they're doing right now as they speak.

"I've noticed."

"It always made me wonder." She started fumbling with her fingers. "Why haven't we started dating sooner?"

"I," a quick exhale, "didn't think it would be such a big deal."

Quiet. The question raised high above their heads, Steven squirming in his place. That was a good question, why didn't he ask her earlier? He never gave it much thought, for the idea seemed unnecessary—they were good enough as is. Nothing stopped their cuddling, nothing stopped their intimate affection when consequences encumbered them above, nothing stopped them when they had their first kiss. The only thing they’re presumably missing was a label. They didn’t need it. They would still be close even without the titles of 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'. Or 'lovers'. Or even 'jam buds'. The question left was:

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me," she spoke under her breath. "We've always been close; I'm just curious about why it took so long on my end. Was I antsy? Afraid?"

"For me, I guess I was just waiting for you." The words stunned him. It was the only answer he had, the rest of him trying to pinpoint a more exact reason. "I felt comfortable with what I had, just being there by your side, so the only change between us is if you made it official...if you get what I mean."

"I get it." The flight in her reflection—pulling out from the dip in tone prior—brought him to relief. "Then I'm glad I asked." An idyllic hum. "Clarifications are everything, well, communication in general; I didn't want to worry about going on an assumption, or just toeing around it like last time."

"You're right," he said, pulling overgrown bits of grass under him. "I should've told you when you first kissed me."

The noise she made piqued of chagrin. "Oh man, you still remember that?"

Steven smiled overhead, hoping the stars humored them. Out of all the personal disasters they’ve done together, he didn’t mind that their affection lead to their foreheads banging together—it was his favorite memory. "In clear detail."

Connie groaned, hands wringing through her hair. "That was so embarrassing."

"I don't see it that way. I'm thankful for it." He snickered.

"Steven, noooo."

"It made me realize you were flirting with me before that!" Her hand pressed against his mouth, leaving him to struggle and teeter under her in muffled hysterics.

"Steven Quartz Universe, you need to stop talking right now!" She was in hysterics too, Steven trying his best to wrestle his way out. "Cease your lies!"

"Never!" He wheezed, face red as an apple. "You can't deny the fact that you were!"

"Shut your mouth!"

The struggle continued. He didn't know how long it went—seconds, minutes—but the next thing he could perceive was the taste of mint. Bubblegum. Pine needle. Face cradled in her hands. He couldn't conjure a word when she parted from him, mouths agape, keeping them bathed in lunar splendor on their glorious hillock.

A moment of breath. Then another. Each one keeping their eyes on the other, lips turned in candy-sweet beams.

"You didn't use Wikihow this time?"

She smirked down at him; a pepper-light kiss pressed to his forehead. "Steven, I'm already beginning to regret this."

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He reassured her, happiness emanating from his smile.

Contentment. A solid form of trust he wanted to cherish for hours and hours on end. If all he could do was just ask for the day to become never-ending, tend to a cycle of rendezvous and silver lining with her by his side, then things would’ve been perfect, but he knew the future waited for them—to grow up, to adore each other without the pressure of failure, to seek comfort in times of rock bottom.

There was no going back, huh? The label was there, they just had to use it. Nothing would change even if he uttered it. "I love you, Connie."

But there was satisfaction in hearing it. "I love you too, Steven."

Then came the rotund buzz—vibrating between them with a shocking velocity—both of them clambering back to their regular positions as Connie, who dug her fingers into her pockets, conjured her phone to the edge of her ear. "Hello, who's this?"

Pinpricks of noise sputtered from the receiving end. She bit her lower lip, nodding sparingly throughout. "Okay, okay. Pearl, we're fine, but please bring the emergency medkit just in case."

"Wait, Pearl is on the other end?"

Connie nodded before returning to the call. "Garnet's right. We went through an accident but we have our location if you want to come pick us up."

“Can I say hi to them, Connie?” He tried to look over her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure!" She then rebounded back to the caller. "Steven wants to talk to you guys; yeah, we’re on a hill, and I have a moderate battery life so you could call us when you get here." She handed him the phone.

“Steven, are you there?” The high-strung inquiry left him sweating.

“Yes, it’s me, I’m fine!”

“Oh thank goodness, Garnet told us you two were in trouble a few minutes ago and we were worried sick.” Something gushed against the speaker, clipping of the audio for a second. “Amethyst is bringing us there as we speak so it won’t take long!”

"That’s great." He peered over to Connie. "We got out of the car with no bruises, and we're just on a hill waiting for help."

Pearl’s tone sharpened. “I know you two will keep together but stay where you are, make a smoke signal if you have to.” Staying put was enough as is. “We’re on our way!”

“All right, I love you guys!”

"I love you too, Steven, keep in touch. Use your powers if you find a scratch, we don't want an infection."

"Will do."

With that, the cell went dark. Steven placed it back to Connie’s palms as they reclined, allowing themselves to wade in the sea of green; the wind picking up now, billowing through their locks, as they busied themselves with the heavenly sights. Pondering on the situation at hand.

“Hey, Connie.”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t we just ask the gems to lift the car out instead of calling a towing service?”

“Oh.” Silence. “Oh my God, you’re right.”

He shot her a sheepish look. “Well, at least I got to spend time with you, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Even with his limited view, he knew that she was flushed, Steven grunting at the half-hearted punch to his shoulder. “You’re showing your sap again, dork.”

"At a time like this, sap ain't that bad, especially if it means I get to do a sneak attack!"

Falling on her like a tilted stone, she shrieked as they resumed back into a fit of wrestling, hearts strung to the sound of their mirth. There’s nothing wrong with a little sap, he thought, for the night was still young. And the future was theirs.

[enziroth]

Seagreen Pt 11

Things have started to settle down a little bit! God, it feels so good to write again, especially on this. I’m going to make an attempt at Black and White next, to see if I’m de-stressed enough to work on it it without issues.

Anyway, here’s this.

"You said you just outswim most stuff, right? You planning on running your whole life?" Kid wasn't able to comprehend how someone could just...walk away from something, allowing it the chance to bite them in the ass later. Unfinished business was ugly; he liked having his problems nice and solved, and preferably stuck full of metal.

"It's better than being trapped on Fishman Island. I'd rather be out here and hunted than stuck in a glorified bubble prison."

Kid couldn't argue with that. If he was on the same island for more than a week, he started getting antsy.

Another quiet pause. Those seemed common for them, the little moments of silence after they'd matched each other in wit or will. They'd both take the time to gather themselves, planning their next move.

Kid was the first to break it this time. “Why’d you follow me to Sirrock, then?”

“To make sure the job got done.”

Makes sense. Kid moved on to the next question. “Why’d you help me out?”

“Because the job wasn’t getting done.”

This is obviously doing nothing to make Law open up, so Kid tries a different route. "Your tail's been out for a while."

"So it has."

"I haven't jumped you," he added.

"So you haven't." Law's tone was devoid of emotion.

"Got anything to say about that?"

"You're not even looking at it, of course it's not affecting you."

Kid forced himself to look away from Law's face, letting his eyes roam deliberately slow over the rest of his body. Huh, those markings on his chest really were shaped like a heart, too sharp-lined to be natural. He'd have to ask about them. And the wavy fins along his forearms; what were they for? He'd have to ask about those, too.

This time, he felt the jolt when his gaze reached the tail. It was like his mind had been hijacked, his thoughts forcibly redirected from casual curiosity to sudden, harsh need. Reaching out, grabbing handfuls of scaled muscles and pushing down to grind against-

"Fuck," he said, more to ground himself with his own voice than anything else. "Okay, yeah, I see it."

Law's response sounded small in his ears, as if coming from very far away. "See what? ....Eustass? ....can ...hear me?"

That long coil spread out on his bed, holding it between his hands and watching it bend and writhe beneath him- Kid struggled to force a coherent thought through the heavy murk in his head. Holy shit, had it really been this strong the last time he'd seen Law? "Yeah, I'm here."

"What are....thinking?" Law was shifting a bit in the water to get a better look at him, the movement causing little ripples to move up and down his tail. Kid knew he should answer Law, knew he should look away, but he just couldn't manage the will to do it. He just knew that Law would feel amazing under him, and God, he couldn't think of any good reason not to have him right here right now.

Kid realized, abruptly, that he was losing the battle in his head. It was only a matter of time until he broke and either pulled Law up on the dinghy or just jumped in the water to get to him.

"Put...away. Away. Put it away!" he managed after several tries, and the tail was gone between one blink and the next. Kid's senses hit him all at once; the sound of waves, the smell of salt, and the pain in his fingers from where they were clenched tight around the rim of the boat.

Law was watching him curiously, head cocked to one side. His tail was hidden safely beneath the surface once more. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you seem to possess a remarkable amount of self-control. But of course, that can't be."

"You ass," he bit out. "That was way harder than last time."

"Was it? Hmm." The merman's tone was flippant, but his eyes cut away for a split second and Kid knew there was a reason behind it.

Kid rested his head in his hands, rubbing his palms over his eyes. The merman's tail had to be one of the weirdest things he'd ever come across on the Grand Line, and he'd seen some pretty weird shit. "Fucking hell," he whispered, under his breath. "Fucking...hell. What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing, Eustass." Law sounded bitter, his face tight and words clipped. "There's nothing you can do. Is there anything else you need, or can I leave without you threatening to tear my ears off?"

There had been something, something Wire had made him swear to get before sending him down in the dinghy, but it didn't seem important now. "Will you still follow me around?"

Law was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. Maybe not. Why do you care? I'm not joining your crew."

"What if I need saving again?" He was only half joking.

"You've already made it clear that you don't intend on returning any favors."

"You said it'd be a shame for me to throw away such a nice body."

"You'd be surprised at how many drowning bodies I come across down here. Perhaps I'll find a nicer one." Law was doing it again, deflecting everything he could come up with. The merman was clearly running out of patience, fingers tapping the boat's rim and eyes sliding to the horizon.

Kid found himself increasingly desperate. "I can protect you, you know. If anyone comes after you."

"I've lived my whole life this way, Eustass. I can protect myself."

"Do you need anything? Money? Maps? We've got it."

"Eustass." Law didn't sound exasperated as much as simply tired. "Stop. It isn't going to work."

There was nothing he could say to that. Kid felt pathetic, and if his crew had been here he'd have dropped it long before he sunk to this point.

"If you need anything," he said, annoyance sparking at how weak his voice came out, "You come find me. Okay?"

Law closed his eyes, exhaling long and slow. Kid was getting used to the oddities of his face now, the sharp-lined gills cut in his neck and the winged fins behind his cheekbones. They were still odd, making him start whenever he caught them out of the corner of his eye, but they no longer gave him shivers just from looking at them. It was so odd, how unlike everything else he was…

"Okay."

And he was gone.

 "Did you get it?" was the first thing that greeted Kid after his crew hauled him back onto the ship.

"Get what?" He remembered the instant the words came out of his mouth, and swore. The seaweed. "Fuck, I didn't even think about it."

Wire frowned at him, but Kid was in no mood to deal with the man's disappointment. He already had Killer's to look forward to, not to mention his own.

He briefly considered heading straight to his own room, just calling it quits for the night without letting his first mate know just how much of a fucking failure he'd been. But the lecture he'd get tomorrow would be twice as bad, maybe worse with the secondhand rumors Killer would get from the crew.

So he turns at the hallway and drags his ass to the medbay.

Killer takes one look at Kid, slumped in the doorway with his head down, and just seems to fucking know. Even drug-addled as he is, his first mate is smart enough to pick up on what Kid isn’t saying. “I’m not going to say that you knew this would happen, because you probably didn’t even think about it, but that thing has literally no reason to come with us.”

“He fought for me,” Kid starts, but Killer shakes his head. With his mask off, it’s so much worse; Kid could see the disappointment.

It doesn’t stop him though, and he goes on. “The marine guy, he was a slaver. Had some kind of tracking fruit power…he was chasing him, and Law heard of me and led him to me and no don’t put your damn hand up, I’m not done!” Stopping there made it sound so bad, so much worse than it was, and even though it really had kind of been like that, Kid wasn’t going to sit through a lecture about the wrong damn thing.

Killer eyes him, then lowers his hand. Kid waits for him to do it, feeling like an idiot for doing so because he’s the captain, damnit, but it’s good to know that Killer’s going to listen.

He starts again. “So he led the guy to me, because he wanted me to kill him and end the problem. After I…escaped…”

Killer snorts, but Kid’s happy enough to have his ear that he doesn’t give him shit for it.

“After I escaped, the guy was pissed and starting doing his tracking thing on me. Law followed us to Sirrock to make sure he died.”

“Metal ships,” Killer mused. “I wondered why they’d have ironclads out so far from land, they’re shit for speed in the currents around here, and especially knowing you’re around…”

“…He can’t chew through metal,” Kid finished. He honestly haven’t given it that much thought, tossing it under the heading of marines being morons, but it made sense. “When I crushed the ironclads, they sent out wooden ones. Fuck, that guy must’ve been a total fucking idiot. He knew Law could go right through that stuff, and he still sent them after me?”

“You do tend to do that to people,” Killer pointed out.

“You’re damn right.” He’d had eight separate bands of island militias swear to track him down and kill him at all costs for what he’d done to their homes. Kid and his crew had even had the pleasure of seeing one, their first, be eaten by a sea king when they strayed a little too close to the Calm Belt trying to get a few shots off at him.

Damn, maybe he’d have nine now. He knew he’d seen a few people escape from the fire on Sirrock, using fishing boats moored at the smaller harbor; burning their island to shit was a good reason to swear vengeance, right?

The thought brightened him considerably. He didn’t need Law; he was perfectly formidable by himself. Hell, he’d made it this far, and survived everything that came at him, whether or not he’d had help.

He was going to be perfectly fine.

 Three days later, Killer’s quick grip was the only thing keeping him from going over the railing when he saw a flash of gold in the waves behind the ship.