#this word came up in my class and I generally view corny as meaning the same as ''cheesy''

[supermacaquecool]

Might post something corny lol

[zigtheeortega]

incomparable

pairing | logan x mc

word count | 7.4k

warnings | there’s a lot of angst in this one, and it’s definitely an emotional hurt/comfort fic! if you don’t like the idea of logan trying to move on, then this one isn’t for you!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @dionneserrano, @blainehayes, @rodappreciationweek

author’s note | a while ago, my sweet friend and fellow mod @/pixeljazzy suggested a fic plot that’s angsty and absolutely demonic, aka logan tries to move on, so i decided to write it! i’d been working on this before the mods decided to create the time capsule challenge, so i’m very content that this fits into the theme well !!! and to clarify, this is an au where my mc raquel writes down her experience with the mpc and ends up publishing it and unintentionally becomes a best selling author! also yes rodaw brought me out of my choices writing break and i’m not mad at it at all

•─────────────────•

She wasn’t Raquel.

That much was obvious – she was taller. Her shoulders were broader. Her hair was short, bluntly cut at her collarbones, and dark brown.

She was tattoo free. The skin of her arm was bare – a clean slate. Untouched.

She seemed more innocent, too. Not in the way that Raquel was when they first met.

This woman was grown with a full time job and a comfy apartment in the heart of the city, but… there was something missing.

She probably had no clue that there was a seedy underbelly to her home. Didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like him when he was at his worst.

She was privileged enough to go about her life while a whole microcosm of crime happened right under her nose. And she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know.

Logan wasn’t exactly jazzed to shatter another woman’s innocence the way he did with Raquel.

This girl seemed… safe. Level headed, secure, and millions of miles away from the life he’d abandoned.

It kind of happened by accident. Meeting her, that is.

It wasn’t a carefully crafted “accident” like with Raquel. She actually just… caught his eye.

He’d gotten an honest job as a mechanic on the outskirts of L.A., working mostly with the struggling working class that had long been banished to the dingiest corners, despite being the most important cogs in the city’s machine.

The autoshop was family owned, and had been for generations – the owner, Nicandro, had accepted Logan as his own, and Logan had practically become a part of the Alvarez family.

He hadn’t anticipated finding his own home in the same city that’d chewed him up and spat him out time and time again.

A couple months into working there, he was finally settling into his routine. Nine-to-five job on weekdays, community college classes on weekends, and the occasional Saturday mass when he was invited by the Alvarezes.

He was functioning. He had a routine. And then this girl came in and disrupted it all.

The Honda Civic girl.

When the average looking car pulled up outside, he didn’t give it a second glance.

He went back to work, arms deep in the engine, grimy and stained from repairing Miss Anita’s ancient artifact she insisted on saving even though it was less than a thousand miles away from crumbling cartoon-style till only the wheels were left.

(But she was family to the Alvarezes, so Nicandro insisted on repairing the car for free nearly every week when she needed something new tweaked.)

He heard her voice from across the room and still didn’t look up from his hands.

“Hi, this is embarrassing, but my engine light thingy came on and I have no clue what it means,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m on my way out of town for a couple of days, so I thought I’d stop and get it checked out before you closed for the night.”

“Aye, Lo, can you help her out real quick? We’ve gotta truck coming in with parts soon and I gotta keep watch,” Nicandro called across the garage, shooting Logan a toothy grin as soon as he looked up.

“Sure,” Logan smiled politely, scrubbing his forearm over his brow, the sweat managing to hold a couple strands of his hair captive against his skin.

He was assuming it’d be a typical oil change, but the second she came into view, the ghost of the last time he left L.A. gripped his heart and squeezed until adrenaline shot through every vein in his body.

Her t-shirt, tucked neatly into her denim shorts, read “Langston”.

It wasn’t the sweatshirt, but it was the same design, same color.

He knew staying in L.A. was a gamble, but he was willing to risk it. Staying away from Raquel was priority for her safety, but… he couldn’t bury the inkling of hope that pushed its way to the surface when he walked into a coffee shop or a bookstore – places he knew she’d love.

Once he saw the shirt and her big brown eyes, he was done for.

She wasn’t Raquel, but something about her lived in this stranger.

Before he could stop himself, he was comparing her to his first love – a disaster waiting to happen.

Their first date was anything but – she insisted on bringing him a vanilla milkshake from his favorite burger place to his work.

“How’d you know I was working?” He asked earnestly, mirroring her soft smile.

“I didn’t. Nicandro told me vanilla milkshakes were your favorite and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so…” she shrugged, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve, uh, brought milkshakes up here every day this weekend.”

He laughed – a real genuine surprised laugh – and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “You didn’t let them go to waste, did you?”

“Nah, Nicandro’s been really happy with me.”

“Yum,” he hummed. “I’m happy with you, too.”

She grinned in delight, taking a sip from hers. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”

She stayed there for his whole lunch break, and they chatted, casual conversation with no substance, and he actually enjoyed himself.

The last time he remembered having casual conversations about nothing with a girl his age, he was curled underneath the sheets with Raquel, tracing the outlines of her sleeve of tattoos. He could’ve listened to her talk for hours.

This girl… she was pretty tolerable – she listened to him (hung on every word, even) and cared about what he had to say, even though it was a laid back, low stakes conversation.

“My name’s Renée, you know. I realized I haven’t told you,” she smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. She was facing him, and they were seated on the same side of the old wooden table out back behind the garage.

“Renée,” he repeated, shaking the styrofoam cup to gather the last bit of milkshake at the bottom before tipping it back to lap it up. “I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” she nodded. “It suits you.”

“S’not my real name,” he shrugged.

He didn’t know why he was telling her that. If he told her too much, it’d end the same.

She tipped her own cup back, tapping the bottom to get little stray ice chunks out. “Fine by me. I still think it suits you.”

She was way too trustworthy of a man she didn’t know, but… wasn’t that what attracted him to Raquel in the first place?

Without a shred of judgement in her eyes, Raquel took everything Logan said as the truth, despite how many times he’d fucked up. Betrayed her.

Renée didn’t look at him like he was a criminal and… well… he wasn’t one anymore. He was still in the criminal mindset, though, since he’d been ostracized for so damn long.

The next couple weeks were uncomfortable – not because Renée made him uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she was doing the opposite, and that was the problem.

He’d had to reopen himself to caring about another woman, and to say it was a difficult task was an understatement. The gates were stubborn, rusted shut, so much so that he had to force them apart, ignoring the grating screech of metal and the inevitable pain that came with being vulnerable again.

They went on a few dinner dates. She brought him lunch at work. She invited him to her apartment. They went to a food truck festival together.

Renée disrupted his routine, and it was a breath of fresh air.

He’d gotten so comfortable with his quaint life and his work family that he hadn’t pushed himself to do much more than that.

But the first time she held his hand, he froze.

She casually grabbed his hand to lead him through a crowd and his body reacted like he’d been electrocuted. It wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wiping his clammy palm against his jeans before letting her grab his hand again.

It wasn’t wrong, but it was wrong.

He should’ve ended it that moment, but he didn’t. He’d convinced himself that if he could push through the initial weirdness of it all, he’d be happy. Eventually.

So he went through the motions with her, trying his hardest to push his comparisons of her to Raquel to the back of his mind, but every so often it’d bubble to the surface.

It’d manifest in the most random ways.

She liked Coke icees, not cherry.

Oh we watched that rom-com together, and she hated it because it was too corny.

She likes that TV show as background noise because she thinks it’s dumb, and I do, too.

It was unhealthy to think of Raquel that much – to compare Renée to her that much – but he couldn’t help it.

The last time he was happy, safe, loved, was with Raquel. He hadn’t chased that feeling for a long time (because he wasn’t sure he could find it again), but with Renée he was getting closer to what he used to have.

Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that warmth – that comfort – again.

She wasn’t Raquel, but she’d have to do.

A month into their casual dating, Renée kissed him. Well, she tried.

She’d insisted on driving him to a boujee rooftop bar near her place and was thoroughly buzzed off a couple of cosmopolitans less than an hour into them being there.

The party was in full swing around them, the corny ass cover band on their fourth “tribute” to Billy Joel.

He was out of his element to say the least. 

Just as he was about to lean over to tell her he needed to use the bathroom, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth against his, planting sloppy, sugary, open mouthed kisses on his parted lips, frozen in shock.

“Logan,” she breathed, squeezing him tighter, not even registering how tense he was.

“Renée… hey, hey,” he said, gently but firmly pulling her away from him. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Her big brown eyes welled up with tears and his chest twinged with guilt, the distant memory of the first time he’d betrayed Raquel floating around the back of his brain.

“I’m sorry I – I don’t know what came over me –” she turned away from him, dabbing her eyes with the crook of her finger.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize,” he reassured her, rubbing his palm in small circles on her back. “We’re good.”

“I wanted our first kiss to be special and I royally screwed that up,” she sighed, swivelling back till she was facing him again.

“Can’t do worse than me.”

She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh yeah?” 

“I was a girl’s first kiss… five minutes after we’d outrun the cops.”

Her laugh was a surprised one, her bright smile replacing her disappointed expression almost immediately.

“That’s surprising. I never pegged you as a law breaking type,” she blinked, the alcohol clearly making her a bit more ballsy than she normally was.

It was his turn to laugh – he doubled over, nearly knocking over her half empty glass in the process.

“I used to be quite a troublemaker.”

Despite her not-so-subtle hints over the next few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her.

She probably thought he was the prudiest of the prudes, the local catholic church’s golden boy,  the working man’s poster child of abstinence till marriage.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet.

He was wearing himself down more and more each day – he was on the track to kiss her in… a couple months to a year. Probably.

Two months in, she invited him to a swanky event her job was hosting.

She was one of many accountants working in the financial department for a large publishing company. She had a really cool gig, and she knew it. She never bragged, but she was proud of her accomplishments. 

So why was she dating a mechanic who was making a third of her income? He had no idea.

Either way, he tried to enjoy himself. The car that picked them up was luxurious, and that and the food and booze reflected just how much money their company had made that year.

The venue was huge and packed to the brim with hundreds of people, the standing tables a couple feet apart all throughout the ballroom.

“Damn, they weren’t playing around with this, huh?” He mused, taking a sip from his mug, filled to the brim with locally brewed beer.

“Yep, they’re serious about giving a warm welcome to new authors,” Renée said over the rim of her drink, gesturing vaguely to the room around them.

“Yeah, so is that what they’re doing?”

“Mhmm. Every year we hold a big party to celebrate our deals for that year. It’s really just to pat ourselves on the back and give our new authors a sense of comfort here, you know?”

“Can I get a booklist or something? I might wanna check out some of these books afterwards. I feel guilty as hell eating duck, drinking their expensive ass alcohol, and rolling back home without, ya know, doing anything,” he shrugged, the fabric of his hand me down suit straining with effort at the motion.

“One of the authors insisted on not being included in any of the party promos so… she kinda ruined it for everybody. But she’s our number one best seller for this year, so…” she rolled her eyes, tipping back the last of her cosmo.

“And don’t worry about it. We budgeted for this and we’re good,” Renée nodded, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze over the table.

“So what’s the itinerary for the night?” Logan asked, rolling his mug around by its base, the beer swirling around the edges, just barely kissing the rim, but not quite overflowing.

It was stupid to relate to a fucking mug of beer, but he did.

Anytime he pushed himself to his limit with Renée, he retreated, never breaking past that threshold, that barrier he set in place for himself long before he’d ever met her.

“The President is gonna give some speech – he’s that guy right there –” she said, scooting around the table till her arm was pressed against the sleeve of his jacket, “Then the Vice President – that woman – is gonna introduce the guests of honor, and they’ll give introductions. Then a brief presentation from my boss about how much money we raked in this year, then… yep. We can leave.”

“Sounds painless enough.”

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me, Lo. I really appreciate it.”

Before he could register what was happening, she’d tipped his chin towards her, pressing a tender, gracious kiss on his lips.

She pulled back, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

He mirrored her smile, but inside he was screaming.

He felt nothing. The kiss elicited absolutely nothing from him.

She kissed him and it felt like he was kissing a friend. Completely platonic.

He’d sunk months into getting comfortable with her just for it to blow up in his face. The second he’d let his guard down so things could progress naturally, it backfired.

He’d taken Raquel for granted. Being with her was so effortless that he didn’t have to think about it, and he let that slip away without trying to get her back.

He thought he was doing the right thing by her, but it was hurting him more than he’d ever anticipated.

It wasn’t that he considered her another notch in the bedpost. It was the opposite – the bedpost didn’t exist anymore.

There was only her. No one else. No matter how many times he tried to remedy his broken heart, it’d just bring him right back to her: the only woman that ever had the privilege of making herself a home there.

“I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Excuse me,” he said, jabbing his thumbs toward the double doors, heading outside before she had a chance to respond.

He pushed his way out of the room, his heart in time with the slap of his shoes against the flooring.

As soon as he was out of the doors, he kept walking, striding past the laggards mingling in the hallway, past the bathrooms, past the security, till he felt the dirty L.A. air coat his lungs.

God, if he could only catch his breath maybe he could go back in there and salvage the night. Maybe even make himself look less like a skittish idiot.

Despite the fact that his brain was wired to unintentionally treat her like a friend, he didn’t want to hurt this girl. 

He didn’t smoke often – just a taste of nicotine when he was drunk or the occasional cigarette when he was stressed.

There was a crumpled pack in his glove box that’d been there for months.

Why didn’t he just drive? He was fucking stranded. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t put distance between him and this situation that he’d willingly put himself in.

None of this was Renée’s fault. There wasn’t a single aspect of the situation that was her fault.

She was a girl who wanted to date a boy because of reciprocated interest.

He felt like the biggest loser in the world. Here she was, a beautiful girl with a lust for life and ambitions that dwarfed anything he’d ever imagined for himself.

And all she wanted to do was love him.

And he wouldn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.

His back slid against the brick wall until he was squatting, arms braced against his knees while he tried to gulp down fresh air as fast as the wind whipped at him.

He’d managed to find the one corner of the building that was completely unoccupied. For once, he was thankful for his gut instinct to lurk in the shadows.

He’d barely gotten a minute of solitude before the door closest to him flew open, a blur of tulle streaking across his peripheral.

The person’s breaths were labored, panicked, as they ran the opposite direction until they were at the edge of the pavement.

They bent down, just like he had, and clasped both hands over their mouth, letting out a small muffled scream.

When she was finished with that, she tilted her chin upwards, her skin illuminated by the light from the parking lot that spilled onto their side of the building.

If he thought breathing was difficult before, it got a whole lot worse when she noticed he was there.

She jumped, yelping like a wounded animal before stumbling back, catching herself with her hands. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone was here – I’m sorry –”

Pushing herself back up to stand, she brushed her palms off and shook the tulle skirt clean. “I’m just a little stressed. Sorry again for the outburst.”

That can’t be her. There’s no way, he thought, his mouth drying out when he got a clear view of her face.

“Raquel?” He asked, timidly, voice cracking on the first syllable.

She froze, searching the shadows, her hands white knuckling her skirt.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they’d been quiet when he pushed himself to his full height and took a step towards her.

“No, no, no, there’s no way,” she whispered, stumbling backwards, catching herself on the brick wall.

“It’s – uh, it’s me –” he said, laying his palm flat against his chest. “It’s Logan.”

His voice trembled, the effort of speaking (despite nearly being rendered speechless) was more than he could handle – it was as if he had to manually pick up his words like stones and drop them, and they were heavy, and he was weak.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She didn’t respond.

“I… uh, what are you doing here?” He asked finally, forcing the question past his lips.

If he didn’t say something he’d be drinking her in all night. It’d been a couple years, but she looked exactly the same.

Yeah, her hair was mid-length, the ombre traded for a black tone, and she’d gotten a few more tattoos that he could see, but she was the same old Raquel.

Same old Raquel, but professionally styled. He wasn’t self conscious of his hand-me-down suit until he noticed how polished she looked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she breathed, a strained tone followed by a struggled breath.

His heart dropped to his stomach. He’d completely forgotten about Renée.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened and closed it again, like a fucking fish out of water. There was no way to beat around it.

“I’m a plus one.”

Her perfectly gelled brows furrowed, and his gut clenched at the motion.

He was scared as hell, but damn did she look exactly like she did when she was hunched over a textbook, scrawling notes as quick as her brain summarized the words on the page.

“You didn’t… deliberately come here to see me?” She asked, searching his face for something (the truth, probably).

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, an inch or so shorter than she’d last seen it.

Why’d he have to run into her after he’d gotten a trim? He’d imagined this moment going so many different ways, and every scenario he’d pictured them looking like they did the moment they parted – if he had it his way, every detail would be exactly the same as the day he disappeared into the night, from his head down to his shoes.

“I, uh… No, I didn’t,” he stammered, taking another step her way, and that time she didn’t move back.

Shaking her head, she watched him, expression incredulous. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just because I didn’t come here for you doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he said, reaching out towards her.

He thought she’d flinch away, but she stayed planted in place, her eyelids fluttering shut when he stroked the pad of his thumb against her jaw, revelling in how soft her skin was. Just like he remembered.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She turned her head just enough till she could kiss his palm, leaving a streak of lipgloss on his calloused skin. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It is, baby,” he reassured her, before testing her even further by tugging her into a hug. “This isn’t a dream, but it sure feels like one.”

She ran her hands across his back, like she was refamiliarizing herself with his frame, before squeezing him tight, her arms shaking with effort. “You smell exactly the same.”

He laughed, burying his nose into her crown, pressing a kiss there. “You do, too. Like lavender’n’heaven.”

Raquel was in front of him, just as warm and pretty as she was the last time he’d seen her. She even felt the same in his arms, molding to his shape like no time had passed.

Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he took advantage of his momentary courage by tipping her chin upward to get a good look at her.

God, she was so fucking pretty.

Nothing else mattered to him anymore. His mechanic job, his car, his friendships, his home in L.A. –

He’d made a home in those dark brown eyes, and he was willing to drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth if that meant he’d be back in the one home he’d ever known.

She blinked away a few tears, her bottom lip trembling, dimpling her chin.

He cupped her face between his palms, cradling her face as gently as he would with something breakable, soaking in the moment for as long as he could.

He could’ve held her like that and re-committed every inch of her face to memory, but she broke first, closing the gap by pressing her lips against his and Christ did she taste sweet.

Their mouths, arms, bodies, slotted together perfectly, not an inch of space between them.

Just as he parted his lips for her, she stiffened, retreating from him immediately.

“You taste like cherry. I hate cherry.”

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “You hate cherry.”

He went rigid, the details from a few minutes before flooding back to him. Renée was wearing cherry gloss.

“Oh my god… you’re here with someone?” She asked, but she said it with such conviction, because she knew it was true, and she was begging for it not to be.

His mouth popped open and shut again. “I’m sorry –” “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve moved on and that’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was trembling with each word – the stones were heavy, and she was struggling, and he could tell.

“No, Raquel, it’s not like that. I promise –”

“Please don’t make me any promises, Lo. I don’t know if my heart can take it,” she said, palms up in surrender.

And she said his nickname. It sounded wrong coming from anyone but her.

“I’m serious, baby, I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially at a schmooze fest like this.”

She blinked, once, twice, processing what he’d said. “So… not only did you insult me by showing up with another woman, but you’re insulting this event that I’ve worked so hard to attend, and you’re insulting me.”

“Raquel… I never meant it that way, I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I stayed in L.A. in case I ever saw you again, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon, and I dreamed up lots of scenarios but none of them went like this. I fucked it up majorly and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t fucking know.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, her arms folded across her chest while she mulled over his words. “I never tried moving on.”

It hit him like a gut punch, grabbing his organs and twisting till pain shot throughout his body. “You didn’t?” Was all he could manage.

“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way I could when I’m still in love with you.”

She screwed her eyes shut, a sob leaving her before she could contain it.

“Raquel, please believe me –” Logan pleaded, stepping towards her. “If I woulda known you were gonna be here, trust me, I’d be dressed better and you’d be my date and I’d be showing you off to the world –”

Her watch buzzed, startling the both of them. “I… have to go. We can talk after, if you want.”

“Yes, please. That’s all I want,” he laced his fingers with hers, gently tugging her hand towards his lips to press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll find you after. I promise.”

Giving him one last once over, drinking him in, like she was second guessing if he was real, she stepped back through the doors.

He took a few deep breaths to compose himself before heading in – explaining his outburst to Renée hadn’t crossed his mind till he walked back inside.

He made his way back to the table, running over how he was going to apologize, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t think of anything but Raquel.

Renée was sipping on her second drink of the night, and his beer looked like it’d been dipped into as well.

“Are you okay?” She asked immediately. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just – I just thought you were comfortable enough. I screwed up again, Lo, and I’m so sorry.”

“Renée…” He couldn’t get over how unnatural “Lo” sounded coming from her. “The way I’ve been acting has nothing to do with you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” she laughed once, rolling her eyes. They widened as soon as it dawned on her. “Wait… are you?”

“Can we talk outside? I really want you to hear me out –” “Logan, if you’re gonna dump me, at least respect me enough to not do it in the parking lot,” she sighed, chugging the rest of her drink.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, sliding his half empty mug of beer her way. “I do respect you, though. A lot. You’re an amazing person.”

Sighing, she tipped back the beer, gulping until he could see her eyes through the transparent bottom of the glass. “I’ve definitely heard this spiel before.”

“I’m gonna tell you this story, and you’re probably not gonna believe it, but it’s true, and it was my life – it is my life,” he started, leaning against the table so she could hear his low tone.

“Years ago, I met the woman of my dreams, and she was innocent and way too fucking good for me. I was breaking the law daily by doing jobs with crews of criminals like me, living off the grid, making money in ways I’m not too proud of.

“She was a part of one of my last jobs before I left L.A. to lay low and I, uh, I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know what my life would look like if I wasn’t in love with her, you know?”

Her face screwed up in disgust, and she all but slammed the mug down, whispering furiously. “Are you mocking me? Did you seriously just regurgitate the plot of Ride or Die to me? That’s the story you’re going with? One that isn’t even your own?”

“Huh, what? What are you –”

The speakers crackled and a mic squeaked as who Logan assumed to be President tapped the surface of it, cutting off his response.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a wonderful night so far. As most of you may know, my name is Arnie Harris, and I’m the President of Harris Publishing. When my grandfather founded Harris Publishing back in 1901, he only did so because he wanted to be able to publish a few of his wife’s poems as a gift. Publishers refused to register it under her name, so he made his own company so my grandma could achieve her dream of being a published author, and throughout the years, we’ve been committed to giving voices to women and minorities alike.

“This year’s been one of our best yet, and I’m so thankful to our new authors for seeing something in us and our mission statement. A big thank you to everyone here tonight – Editing, Marketing, Finance, all the staff and employees, hell, the caterers here tonight, valets, everyone. Tonight wouldn’t be possible without you.”

He droned on for a bit longer before the Vice President took the stage, and she began introducing the newest authors that they’d signed that year.

They’d copped quite a few best sellers, which was impressive. Each author took the stage briefly to thank Harris Publishing and give a brief summary of their goals for the next few years.

Renée was ignoring him at that point, refusing to even look his way. He’d be more upset about that if he wasn’t scanning every inch of the room for Raquel, trying desperately to spot the rose colored tulle and midnight hair in the crowd.

“– and the last author of the night, the number one young adult New York Times’ Best Seller for five months and counting, Raquel Olvera with Ride or Die!”

His head snapped towards the stage, his eyes wide. “What the fuck –”

“Renée, she… who…”

“She’s our top seller. The one I said didn’t wanna be in the promos?” She answered flatly, still staring straight ahead.

“Renée, that’s – that’s her, that’s the girl I’m in love with –”

“Oh, please –” She stopped when she saw how genuinely caught off guard he was. “Oh my god, you’re not lying.”

“No, that’s her – I didn’t think – I ran into her outside and she said we’d talk later, but I – I didn’t think she was coming back inside for this –”

“You’re who she wrote about,” Renée whispered, her eyes as wide as Logan’s were, words beginning to slur just a bit. “Holy shit, I just thought the names were a coincidence, but no, you’re him.”

“What… huh?”

“Oh, Logan…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ride or Die is about you, your old crew, and how she fell in love with you.”

His heart sank. “About me?”

She nodded. “She changed most of the names but kept some, including yours. The ending… you really had to leave L.A. to flee the cops?”

He nodded. “The feds were on our tails.”

“My god… she’s so in love with you. You have to go to her,” Renée shook her head, her hair swaying around her. “No hard feelings at all. You can’t let her go – I’m serious.” 

She’d taken the stage, and had begun thanking people while Logan and Renée whispered furiously at each other. By the time they looked up, she was beginning her speech.

“I never really set out to become a writer. Even though I’m a published author, I don’t really feel like one. Every time I step back to assess the response I’ve gotten to ‘Ride or Die’, I’m rendered speechless without fail. I just wanted an outlet to get my story out, and surprisingly – thankfully – the lovely staff of Harris Publishing decided to take a chance on me. I never thought this level of success was possible, and I’m so grateful for everyone here.”

She held for applause, smiling as though she was grateful for each clap.

“But beneath the positivity and praise I’ve received, I’m still healing. I’m still hurting. Most people know that ‘Ride or Die’ is somewhat of a true story. And yes, I know there’ve been discussions on whether this is a fake autobiography and that I wrote this for attention. Honestly, for the first year after they left, I wished that it was fake, because I was in a lot of pain. Emotionally, I was in shambles.

“I’ve loved telling my story as a form of therapy, but I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The love of my life vanished into the night and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. No closure, no healing, no moving on.

“Stagnancy’s been the norm for me for so long that I forgot what life was like when I was smiling every day. I’m still getting used to happiness being an everyday feeling for me.”

Raquel shook her head, taking a deep breath and dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The audience took this cue to clap again, encouraging her to continue.

Logan watched the monitor on the wall, which zoomed into her face, catching her dazzling brown eyes. He was in awe. She was tough as nails with a heart of gold and he still didn’t deserve her.

“I thought that a life without love was bleak, and that I was doomed to suffer because I didn’t know if I’d ever see Logan again.”

She took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ve realized that I’m surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. By those who love my story, who resonate with my story, and who want or already have a Logan of their own. I get to experience love every day through that affirmation, and I took it for granted till… well, tonight, honestly.

“The end of the story wasn’t really the end of the story for me. I thought that ‘Ride or Die’ was the first and final book, and I’ve been terrified for a while that by the time the hype for this book died down, so would my hope, and I’d have to move on… but like I’ve said, the closure I’ve craved is in everyone that carries my story with them. You’re all healing me by making me feel seen and heard and loved.

“This might be a lot for a speech at a fancy event at the publishing company that signed me, but through all of you who’ve made this possible, I feel like the version of me from years ago when I hopped in a sports car with a stranger who later turned out to be the love of my life.

“The adrenaline, the lust for life, feeling alive – I owe it all to you. Thank you.”

The cheers were raucous by the time she stepped off stage.

Logan’s throat was tight – she still loved him no matter how much it hurt.

Jesus fucking Christ, he would never deserve her.

Renée was sniffling next to him, hand over her mouth. “Logan, you seriously need to go to her. You can’t let her get away again.”

He pulled her in for a quick hug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You really do deserve so much better than me.”

She grinned and patted his cheek lightly. “You’ve never been more right.”

He turned, darting towards the doors, shoving past anyone and everyone to get outside.

When he made it out of the doors, he ran smack into Raquel.

Thankfully, the only people outside of the room were the security guards, who’s attention was focused on the front door.

Raquel pulled him down the hallway and stopped at the last door on the left, a sign with her name on it taped to the outside of the door.

She fumbled with the keycard, her hands trembling.

“Shit –” she cursed, the card tumbling from her hands and onto the tile floor.

He snatched it off the ground and scanned it in one swoop. Within seconds, she’d shoved the door open and slammed it behind them.

His heart was racing. The last time she’d been this hasty was their final kiss, and he couldn’t fathom going through that again.

She stood in front of him, his back to the door, her gaze trained on his chest.

From his height he can see that her face is contorted, but she buries her face in her hands before he can get a good look.

“She looks just like me.” Her voice was a mere whisper, like she couldn’t manage anything more than that.

His heart sank to his feet. “Raquel –” “You say you didn’t know I was going to be here, but then why’d you date someone that works at the same company my book’s being published at?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” he started, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. “Especially knowing how hard it’s been for you, I –”

He broke his sentence off, cursing himself. “Shit, I didn’t know you were having just as hard a time as me. I figured you’d go to college and meet someone better than me. I don’t know.”

“You can’t just say you expected me to move on because you clearly haven’t. What, is her name Rachel or something?” She pulled back, putting a step of space between them. 

He shook his head. “Renée.”

“It even starts with the same letter,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “You thought I’d move on so you started dating the first person that reminded you of me?”

“I – I’m –” He stuttered, dumbfounded that she’d gotten it in one try, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“I want you to understand why I’m upset, Lo. You came back to L.A. because you thought there was a possibility that you’d see me again, but you ‘figured I’d move on’. You’re seeing a girl that looks like she could be related to me, yet you’re avoiding discussing that. “I’m mad because while I’ve been trying to heal, you’ve been making yourself suffer, and that’s not fair to Renée. You had no idea if you were gonna see me again so you tried to get the next best thing. You have to see why that’s fucked up, Lo.”

“Even if I was dating Renée because she reminded me of you, none of that matters now.”

“You can’t just dump Renée because you took one look at the girl you dated for a month years ago and decided you wanted her instead –”

“Stop. Don’t try to downplay your role in my life, Raquel. You’re not ‘just the girl I dated’, alright? I loved you then and I love you now.” 

“You can’t love me and string her along at the same time, Logan,” she furiously whispered, her voice nearing hysterics.

He blinked, shaking his head. “Did… you think I was coming here to show you that I’d moved on? And wanted to rub it in your face?”

She chewed the inside of her lip, her dark brown eyes downcast. “Maybe.”

“Renée ended things first. Just now, actually. The minute she realized that I’m the Logan from your book, she told me I needed to go to you,” he reassured her, reaching out to tip her chin up with a crooked finger, forcing her to meet his eye.

“Raquel, I had no fucking clue you’d written about us and the old crew. All these years, I’ve always known how much I love you but… goddamn, I didn’t know you loved me the way I loved you.”

Her eyes glistened, her surprised laugh coming out as a soft sob.

“So… you really do love me? It wasn’t just circumstance?” She asked, leaning into his palm when he slid his hand up to cup her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter how we felt back then, baby. None of that matters now because we fell for each other while we were apart,” he smiled softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“God, I love you,” she whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss.

“Say it again,” he murmured. “I need to hear it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated, louder, more confident this time. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as long as you say it back.”

“I love you,” he said, no hesitation, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her in again.

The only time they came up for air was to whisper sweet affirmations against each other’s skin before delving back into silently relearning what they could about each other.

Logan had never been the best with words, and he was at peace with that. He knew that when it mattered, he’d show it. And in the dim lighting of Raquel’s green room, he showed her over and over just how much she meant to him.

Kiss by kiss, they adhered themselves to each other, undoubtedly deciding they’d never let each other go again.

She wasn’t Raquel. That much was obvious. She’d grown into much more than the timid girl he’d met on her 18th birthday, and even more than the headstrong driver he’d left behind. 

And he loved her this way and that way – any way he could get her. His love for every version of her was boundless, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before.

[love-takes-work]

Steven Universe Podcast: Volume 2, Episode 7: Earth Gems

Season 2, Episode 7 of the Steven Universe Podcast, released March 8, 2018, is about the so-called Earth Gems, and it covers Jasper, Bismuth, and Rose Quartz. The official description:

Rose Quartz, Bismuth, and Jasper are the focus of this episode of the Steven Universe Podcast as take a closer look at Earth Gems! Steven Universe creator Rebecca Sugar, former EP, Ian Jones-Quartey, Director Joe Johnston, and Supervising Director Kat Morris detail Bismuth's origins (including how she came to be in Lion's mane), Jasper's personality development, and Steven's complicated view of his mother, Rose Quartz. Discover which characters have been around since the pilot days, who was added as the series developed, and how Rose's storyline gets factored into each episode's planning.

Since as usual my summary is long, I will provide a highlights list followed by a cut which you can follow for a more in-depth narrative. Enjoy!

Highlights:

Jasper's main root as a character is her identity as a decorated soldier from humble origins.

Jasper, a so-called "perfect" Quartz from a Kindergarten known to produce flawed Gems, won't accept help from others because she's so determined to prove she's capable. She may be the best Gem from Earth, but she's still from Earth.

Joe Johnston was the artist who drew Bismuth's Gem bubbled in Lion's mane, but at that point they did not yet have the story of who she was figured out, though they did know there would be a "lost Crystal Gem."

Steven Sugar's tendency to add Gem artifacts into the world, most notably weapons, gave rise to the writers' need to give the Crystal Gems a weaponsmith, so Bismuth as a character grew out of that hole needing to be filled.

Bismuth adored Rose Quartz and was never allowed to understand why her leader rejected her contribution, which Rebecca and Ian compare to the trope of a villain mistreating her subordinates. 

Bismuth, in Rebecca Sugar's words, was "screwed over" epically by Rose Quartz.

Rebecca and Ian specify that Rose was wrong to do what she did to Bismuth, and that it was significant because it's so clear for the first time that Rose could have made such a clear mistake.

Rebecca makes a lot of charts to help understand what story elements need to be doled out when.

Ian loves that Pearl tells us Rose has LOTS of secrets.

Rebecca loves that all of Steven's compassion actually comes from Greg. Steven is described as a compassionate warrior, with "compassionate" coming from Greg and "warrior" coming from Rose.

Jasper is a corny anime villain at first, and we can credit Paul Villeco's love of shonen anime and manga for this.

Joe Johnston finds it refreshing that Steven couldn't turn Jasper's alignment around, and says it's because Jasper held onto her anger and couldn't be forced to be someone else.

Jasper's tendency toward bullying is rooted in feeling heartbroken over the loss of Pink Diamond. She identified very strongly as a servant of her Diamond.

Joe and Kat are pretty sure that Lapis was Jasper's first fusion experience ever.

Joe Johnston often puts "breadcrumbs" in his episodes; he puts in stuff he doesn't have plans for and figures maybe it will be something later. Bismuth's Gem in Lion's Mane was not dictated by Rebecca Sugar like the tee shirt or Rose's flag; it was a Joe breadcrumb.

Twenty-two-minute episodes were the network's idea, not something the Crew specifically wanted to do.

Joe Johnston can't say enough good things about Uzo Aduba's voice acting as Bismuth; every read was "perfect," according to him.

Early character designs of Bismuth included black eyes (to indicate her Gem's inverted state) and some early designs had her with very skinny legs. She always had dreadlocks.

Kat emphasizes that Bismuth is not and was never intended to be "a bad guy." She has different ideology, and her episode shows a situation where the audience is meant to see the value of her point and nobody's 100% right.

Jasper and Bismuth are more different than similar, despite both being big and strong and partial to bludgeoning weapons. Jasper is highly respected and wants to preserve the order of the Diamonds, while Bismuth is a low-class blue-collar worker who has realized things don't have to be this way and dedicates herself to destroying that order.

You can read the detailed summary below!

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

McKenzie Atwood opens the podcast by explaining this episode's title: "Earth Gems" refers to three very different characters who are connected through the Gem War on Earth.

Rebecca Sugar and Ian Jones-Quartey on Jasper:

McKenzie asks Rebecca and Ian what effect they intended Jasper's arc to have on the audience. Rebecca says she really wanted Jasper to SEEM one-dimensional even though she isn't; her behavior has a "root" and we at first only get the foliage. We don't realize at first that Jasper has become involved in this plot due to her connection to Rose Quartz, feeling that she has unfinished business on Earth. Obviously her connection is quite personal even though she really doesn't show anyone those feelings.

McKenzie mentions Jasper being described on a previous podcast as a decorated soldier with humble origins, and Rebecca claims that description is Jasper's "everything." She's from Earth, but very different from Amethyst--Amethyst was from a pretty successful Kindergarten, while Jasper is from the worst Kindergarten on this awful failure of a planet. Jasper burns to prove her worth because everyone around her knows she's from Earth's Beta Kindergarten and therefore must be flawed on some level. Jasper feels she can never escape being associated with Rose Quartz even though she was supposedly the best thing that came out of Earth.

Ian remarks that Jasper chooses her words to show off pride and bravado, with no hint of the emotions beneath--that she feels she's fundamentally wrong and that she doesn't deserve the reputation she has. She thinks she's horrible, but Rebecca and Ian say they love her. Ian says Jasper is an example of how the system on Homeworld can fail Gems who don't quite fit the mold; externally she is a model Gem, but she never internally feels she deserves her reputation.

Rebecca Sugar and Ian Jones-Quartey on Bismuth:

McKenzie asks her guests to discuss when they started talking about introducing Bismuth. She mentions seeing the bubbled Gem in Season 1 (in "Lion 3: Straight to Video") and how fans recall that first exposure. Joe Johnston was the one who drew that in, knowing later they'd do SOMETHING with it, and then also there were early talks about a lost Crystal Gem. An early idea included Bismuth being not fully conscious, but they decided not to use it. They did figure out Bismuth pretty early on. Ian says Steven Sugar was always dropping weapons around the backgrounds, and they figured they needed a weaponsmith to explain where these things came from. From there, Bismuth was easy to develop. She's described as a "gooey center of the team."

McKenzie wants to know why they decided to unbubble Bismuth in Season 3. Rebecca says everyone's feelings about Rose Quartz were being examined at that point, and a turning point included the perspective that Rose could be a "really awful person." Ian likes the trope about a villain mistreating their subordinates, and wanted to show Rose as the person who was bad to Bismuth. Rebecca says Rose did such wrong to Bismuth--that Bismuth would have done anything for Rose, and when she came up with a weapon that supposedly served her agenda, she rejected it and rejected Bismuth for reasons she never understood.

Unlike Jasper's history with Rose being built on their being enemies from the start, Bismuth IDOLIZED Rose and was, as Rebecca says, totally "screwed over" by her. It breaks Rebecca's heart that Bismuth still speaks of Rose with such love, still crediting her for changing her life in such a positive way. Rebecca loves giving Bismuth "little triangular eyelashes" during the scene when she talks about what a difference Rose made for her. 

Ian says Season 3 was the best time to include Bismuth's arc representing a break from the lore they've been establishing regarding the Crystal Gems' mission. From a writing standpoint, you have to build up the status quo for a while before you break from it. It would have had no meaning to reveal Bismuth earlier if you didn't already have an understanding of what it would mean to be a lost Crystal Gem and didn't already have some feelings about who Rose has been drawn up to be. Ian thinks of it as being one of the first "Rose wasn't perfect at all" stories. Rose was WRONG.

Rebecca also feels that this is a huge turning point for Steven because he is so confused and guilty over Bismuth, balanced against what he's been taught about his mother by his family. In "Mindful Education," he's shown to still be devastated by how he's failed Bismuth--he isn't afraid of her attacking him, he's disappointed in himself for being unable to help her. He knows he needs to carry baggage from a former life he didn't really live, but Bismuth was the first indication that he has inherited something "wrong with the Crystal Gems." McKenzie thinks it's interesting for a character who isn't present to have a character arc.

Rebecca Sugar and Ian Jones-Quartey on Rose Quartz:

When discussing pacing of all these story elements attached to who Rose Quartz was, Rebecca describes writing it like building a tower; they have to have given you all the pieces when they decide to reveal something so it will make sense when they tell that story, so they have to be very careful about the order in which they reveal the pieces. Rebecca makes a lot of charts. General ideas had to be developed into specific pieces of information they have to show us. The viewer doesn't get the story about Rose in order, either. Steven is told what he is "supposed to" think, but he slowly realizes how many revelations there are out there that revise his perceptions. This is complicated, Rebecca says, by the fact that half the people giving him information think he IS his mother.

Rebecca loves that everyone is SINCERE about how they talk to Steven about Rose, too; no one is actively trying to trick him, even though they may have incomplete information. Ian specifies that he loves that Pearl reveals Rose has a LOT of secrets. Rebecca specifies that Steven's compassion is all coming from GREG. Rose was interested in that; she knows she didn't understand it, but you see how she fails at compassion during "We Need to Talk." Steven is a compassionate warrior. The compassion is Greg's. The warrior is Rose.

Joe Johnston and Kat Morris on Jasper:

McKenzie was wondering about how animation is like acting with regards to writing dialogue or choosing expressions, and asks Joe and Kat to discuss this in relation to Jasper. Joe says they'd never had a traditional villain before Jasper, and despite that she is NOT really a traditional villain, she comes off as "menacing" and "corny" at the beginning. This is credited to Paul Villeco's love of shonen manga and anime--she's sort of a JoJo-inspired bad guy. (This refers to JoJo's Bizarre Adventure.)

McKenzie thinks it's interesting that Jasper is the first antagonist who has not been traditionally redeemed and converted to the other side. Joe thinks it's refreshing to have someone Steven wasn't able to recruit in his traditional way, and suggests it's because Jasper wanted to hold onto her anger. She didn't want to change, and couldn't be forced. Jasper has been told since she emerged that she was perfect, and that's what she wants to be--not Steven's band of uplifted flawed Gems. McKenzie asks if it was impactful for Steven to see Jasper refuse to be reached, and Paul thinks he didn't really get to process that since he also had a Pink Diamond-related reveal to deal with. Joe points out that Lars also stubbornly resisted Steven's influence for a very long time, though at least Lars hasn't tried to kill Steven. (Yet! No, that was a joke.)

McKenzie brings up how Jasper gets a lot of love from fans because she has so much beneath the surface, even though she isn't onscreen often. Kat says that's done by treating her like a person; no one is 100% evil all the time, and Jasper isn't evil so much as having a set of values that are not shared by the protagonists. Jasper bullies others because of her pent-up feelings, and she expresses her heartbreak over Pink Diamond's shattering through acting aggressively toward others. It made her relationship with Lapis really complicated, too.

McKenzie brings up "Jailbreak" and asks Joe to discuss his first time drawing Jasper in action. Joe says he was really ready to do it; there had been no "main antagonist" until Jasper and he really looked forward to it. He thinks they started boarding "Jailbreak" before "The Return." Kat thinks Jasper had been written some before they began work on "Jailbreak," but since Rebecca had pretty clear ideas about who she was, it was possible to board out of order. Some work had been done on Jasper before Paul had to board her introduction in "The Return." Rebecca sometimes writes a sheet with some character points and drawings for each new character.

McKenzie then brings up "Alone at Sea," asking Kat to discuss how different that was from "Jailbreak" where Jasper was a physical threat versus how she presented more as an emotional threat to Lapis in this later episode. Kat says she consulted with Rebecca and Hilary a lot to push this story out. Jasper has had a lot of time to think since hanging out in the ocean after her Fusion broke up, and now she's concluded she has a different perspective than she used to about fusion. Jasper realized she could become more powerful through fusion and became "addicted to it." In "Jailbreak" they just needed her to present as an uncomplicated villain (and they didn't have room for much more), but in "Alone at Sea" they could show the why, the how, of her actions.

Kat boarded acts 1 and 3--"the boat stuff," she says. She says there were many versions of the episode. They initially called the episode "Boat Murderer." The boat was supposed to keep breaking down and eventually you find out Jasper was doing it. The episode kept shifting until it became what it finally was. Kat usually doesn't board--"Alone at Sea" was, as she describes it, her stepping in as a pinch hitter. McKenzie asks about whether she had any issues with drawing Jasper, and she says she draws on every episode so it wasn't really anything new for her, especially since she was in charge of the arc associated with Amethyst's season 3 arc. Kat felt that Amethyst was due for some development after they'd already tackled some Pearl and Garnet stuff in the Sardonyx arc. Jasper was a great opposite to Amethyst in that arc because Jasper was big, strong, and a soldier--what Amethyst was supposed to be. She thought she was okay with not being what she was made to be, but then she gets "annihilated" in "Crack the Whip" and realizes maybe she's not okay with any of it. Steven helps bring her through that rough personal place.

Joe Johnston and Kat Morris on Bismuth:

Everyone agrees that they loved Bismuth on first sight. Joe brings up throwing Bismuth's bubble into Lion's mane in "Lion 3: Straight to Video." He had no plan at that point. Kat says Joe LOVES to do stuff like that, and calls them "breadcrumbs." He initially thought maybe it would have been a Gem device or a portable warp. They agree he didn't need such a thing because Steven is pretty OP actually. Rebecca wanted "pieces of lore thrown about the living room," so this was part of it. Rebecca then developed who Bismuth would be. McKenzie loves how before Bismuth's reveal, fans would wonder about who Bismuth might be whenever they'd see her Gem in Lion.

When prompted to discuss what they love about Bismuth, Kat says she loves how much Bismuth loves the Crystal Gems, and Joe loves how Bismuth and Jasper are both "patriotic" for their side. Joe likes to play with how Jasper and Bismuth are both so dedicated to their cause. (It is agreed that a shouting match between them would be very loud and not end well.) McKenzie wonders how difficult it is to develop such a big character, and Joe describes having a chance to all have a pass at the character to finalize new characters. They credit Lamar with her humor and how her voice is delivered, and Kat thinks it's really cute when Bismuth was getting emotional.

McKenzie brings up "Bismuth" being the first 22-minute episode and the 99th/100th episode, and asks how that's different from the usual 11-minute episodes. Kat says there's more post to do. Joe thinks it's twice as hard. Kat says there are more board artists to "wrangle" and more picture to lock, sound effects to add, etc. Joe felt it was harder to adjust to the flow of 22 minutes after being used to squeezing for 11 minutes, and that sometimes it almost seemed like too much time, but Kat also likes that it could "breathe" a little and have some important quiet moments. They think the little bumpers were Joe's idea, but he says he won't take credit for the idea--just for drawing them.

McKenzie wants to know about the decision to do a 22-minute episode, and Joe and Kat said it was the network's idea; they wanted at least two half-hour specials, maybe three but they only got to do two. (The other was "Gem Harvest.") They then discuss having a special guest voice actor for an episode like this. Joe heaps praise on Bismuth's voice actor Uzo Aduba, saying every read she gave was perfect. Kat says it's disappointing when they can't meet great voice actors like her because their involvement is so brief.

Kat remembers Bismuth's initial character design having black eyes, intending to reflect the style of her inverted Gem, but they scrapped the design because it looked too suspicious. Joe says Bismuth was written to be very aggressive and gung-ho and got "put away" for how she expressed that. They recall Bismuth always having dreadlocks (they may not have always been rainbow), but some designs having very skinny legs early on. (Same with Smoky Quartz.) 

Kat wants to specify that Bismuth is NOT a bad guy whatsoever; she just has a different ideology. Her ideology is relatable, actually; she thinks half the audience probably agrees with Bismuth. Rose, being a "gray" character, punished Bismuth for not aligning with her own philosophy, but Kat and Joe think nobody was clearly right or wrong in the episode and that was the point of telling that story in the first place. Moral ambiguity is very important, and Rose isn't All Things Pure. Joe thinks Steven believed there was one "right" way to see the situation, but wasn't willing to fight Bismuth over it.

McKenzie asks Kat and Joe to say what is similar between Bismuth and Jasper. "Size," says Kat. Joe adds, "Muscles. Bludgeoning weapons." They're more different than the same; Bismuth is basically a blue-collar construction worker, in the dirt, while Jasper is a super-respected warrior. Bismuth rebelled when she found out she didn't have to be that way and wants anarchy, while Jasper wants the order to remain forever. Joe expresses that Bismuth's anarchist tendencies are cool, and Kat jokingly scolds him for inciting anarchy. But the Rule of Cool indicates that if something's cool, it's just cool, and it stays.

[Archive of Steven Universe Podcast Summaries]

[judedoyle]

It’s sort of a corny project, assembling songs by women and non-binary people at the end of every year. It’s a very dopey, dated, 1990s, Women Who Rock! version of feminism. I mean, I think there was a reason for that iteration of feminism — year-end lists are still dominated by men, and my favorite albums fall through the cracks just about every year for that very reason — but it begs the question of why you’d do it now, when it has been established fact for many decades that you do not have to be a man to make music.

The reason I do it is that it keeps me honest. This year’s list, for example, is all women; I don’t know of any albums by non-binary people that came out this year, though I’m sure there were some. But even within that narrower subset, I am blown away by how many kinds of songs by women there are — how wildly different women are in their voices and priorities and visions, how the word “woman” sums up so much but, somehow, doesn’t tell you anything at all. Making the list, I can start to feel like I’m assembling my own little pantheon, selecting a hall full of different archetypes or visions of what womanhood can be, so that listeners can wander through and pick the vision that best suits their needs or their own self-identification.

That task seemed particularly important this year. Trumpism insists so much on homogeneity — on the second-class status of all women, sure, but also, on the supremacy of whiteness, on heteronormativity, the importance of only admitting one specific Ivanka-esque type of woman to even exist as a person worthy of consideration. I wanted to select as many different versions of womanhood as I could, to show something about what “being a woman” could potentially mean.

Nor is this really a “best songs” list this year, if it ever was. I never agree with other writers’ year-end lists, and I can never put everything I love onto one cohesive mixtape; this started as twenty-four songs, and it could be thirty, or fifty, and still feel incomplete. There are songs I loved that are missing. What this is, I think, is a list of the songs that felt most like 2017; that reflected the mood and the predominant anxieties of the moment. They tend to fall into themes: Songs about fascism, about men, about grief, about God and magic. Putting them together is not just about lifting different women’s voices up, but about writing a kind of collective diary of one very strange year.

“2016,” Nadine Shah, Honeymoon Destination

Nadine Shah gets neglected, on the list of musicians I like, because she’s not showy. She just plugs away, making quietly excellent, sort-of-PJ-Harvey-ish songs for voice and guitar. This song starts out in that quiet, excellent mode, in an assortment of mundane details: She’s thirty, she’s depressed, she’s getting addicted to true crime TV, all her friends are on weird diets. Then history comes staggering into the frame — what is there left to inspire us with a fascist in the White House? — and suddenly, you’re aware that you’re hearing the voice of a biracial British Muslim woman living through Brexit and Trump, and that it is incredibly crucial. She pulls this trick a lot on Holiday Destination, angrily raking the state of the world through her songs, and though it’s sometimes incredibly on the nose, well, it deserves to be. This is that kind of year.

“Aryan Nation,” EMA, Exile In The Outer Ring

If Nadine Shah’s anger is elegant and British, EMA’s is scuzzy and loutish and American. I got to hear this album before its release, which makes me particularly fond of it, but I like to think I can still be objective. What stuns me about it is that it manages to pull off “populism,” as a stance, without ever overriding or ignoring identity. The narrator here is pulling away from the whiteness and ugliness of the United States under Trump — she’s “a refugee from the Aryan nation,” as she puts it — but she’s still located firmly among the 99%. “Tell me stories of famous men / I can’t see myself in them” is a demand that rings throughout the whole album, which mixes intimate songs about emotional abuse and misogynistic dude friends with big songs about downward mobility and class struggle, “identity” politics with politics-politics. In this song, the men standing outside the casino, the face of the elite, register as nearly demonic figures; they might be demons, I think, since “in their eyes are things that you and I will never know.” But their evil expands and takes on new facets, depending on who you are. There’s a double indictment: EMA’s Everyman can’t see herself in the nation’s “famous men” because they’re famous, but also because they’re male. Either way, she’s ready to burn it down.

“No Man Is Big Enough For My Arms,” Ibeyi, Ash

Oh, man. I love this song. I would probably love it for the title alone, to be honest. But I cannot escape the feeling that, were Leftist Asshole Twitter to get ahold of its existence, they would hate it more than seventeen Hamiltons combined. It’s an incredibly simple piece of music: Just the Diaz sisters singing the title phrase over clips of Michelle Obama’s speeches, and specifically her 2016 campaign speech about Trump’s history of assault and what our nation owes its girls. If the election had gone another way, or if the tone were valedictory, it absolutely wouldn’t work; it would probably represent the same corny, self-satisfied #centrism that I’m sure some podcast is accusing it of as we speak. But this isn’t a victory lap. As the mournfulness of the singing should make clear, it’s a funeral dirge: For a historic moment that passed into a historically racist backlash, for the vision of a better world that never came to pass, for a promise to our daughters that wasn’t kept. As much as Democrats loved the idea of “when they go low, we go high,” or Michelle Obama herself, that wasn’t the vision of women and girls that carried the day. We’ve all been brought low now.

“When the World Was At War We Kept Dancing,” Lana Del Rey, Lust for Life

If you told me, back in 2014, that I would be relying on Lana Del Rey for insights into the national psyche, I would have either laughed you out of the room or thrown myself out of a window to defeat your grim prophecy. Yet here we are, with a song by Lana Del Rey about American politics and the rise of fascism, and I kind of like it. Granted, her proposed solutions — they are, in order, “youth,” “truth,” and “dancing” — are all (intentionally?) vapid and Lana Del Rey-like. But the core question — is it the end of an era? Is it the end of America? — is one that’s haunted me all year. Welcome to 2017: Things are so bizarre and depressing that Lana Del Rey sounds normal.

“Let’s Generalize About Men,” Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

Here’s the thing, guys: I fucking loved Al Franken.

I loved him early on. I had every crappy Al Franken book of “political humor” in high school. I listened to his radio show on Air America, even as Air America collapsed into a smoldering pile of debt and garbage. I was so thrilled to share a room with him at Netroots Nation that I texted my parents, and they texted back that they were proud of me, like it had taken some feat of exceptional skill and intelligence to be in the same room as the keynote speaker at an event. I teared up watching him talk about sexual assault in the military, how we were failing those women. And I know women who worked on his first Senate campaign. They loved Al Franken. I loved Al Franken. Al Franken could have been President, on the back of all the women who loved him.

Al Franken can roast in the pits of Hell.

The creators of “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” almost certainly did not intend for this song to air the same week as the Weinstein allegations and the Shitty Media Men list. They had no control over how its lyrics — right now we’re angry and sad! It’s our right to get righteously mad at every member of the opposite sex! — would land in an environment where seemingly every famous man was publicly accused of sexual atrocity. Nevertheless, in a few short weeks, this song has become my chief emotional release valve for dealing with an endless wave of sexual trauma, and the one thing that can reliably make me laugh. This is probably the one song I’ve listened to most in 2017, and it’s not even from a “real” pop album.

I don’t know why this makes me laugh as hard as it does. I think it’s the deranged cheerfulness of the music, and how triumphant they all sound. They’re just listing lazy ’90s sitcom tropes about gender, but Gabrielle Ruiz puts so much mustard on the phrase “all men only want to have sex,” my God. And, in an age, when #notallmen routinely swing by to remind you of all the stuff they’re not doing, you have to admire the magnificent troll job of lyrics like “there are no exceptions / all three billion men are like this!”

Of course, you’re not meant to agree with them; there’s a whole trip through straight ladies’ condescending homophobia, just in case you missed the point. But when they finally get to the verse about all the other stuff that all men do —  all three point six billion men, and also, Al Franken — well. It is a song that is of its moment. That kicker would no doubt be less brutal, in a pre-Weinstein universe. But it’s funnier when you believe it could be true.

“Boyfriend,” Marika Hackman, I’m Not Your Man

The concept of this song — Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl,” from the girl’s point of view — is so simple, I can’t believe it hasn’t been done before. And maybe it has! But  it’s hard to believe it’s been done better, because this is, moment-for-moment, my favorite song of the year. It’s really just four jaunty minutes of Marika Hackman telling some poor schmuck about how excellently she fucked his girlfriend last night: “It’s fine ‘cause I am just a girl / it doesn’t count,” she sings, and it’s one of the most coolly vicious moments in any song this year. In another year, it might not even strike you as all that political. But in a year especially full of male sexual aggression and cluelessness, of Robert in “Cat Person” and the vanguard of the Left scoffing about “pats on the backside,” frogs using cuckolding metaphors and seemingly every single Hillary-hating talking head getting exposed for rubbing his penis on coworkers, “Boyfriend” feels like the snarl of rage that’s been bubbling under every conversation. I mean: Among other things, she is literally cucking this dude. It could be pretty gross. But I’ll allow it.

“Green Light,” Lorde, Melodrama

Sometimes you do need a fun, blockbuster pop song. Despite Lorde’s much-vaunted writing skills, several lyrics in this are just plain goofy: “We order different drinks at the same bars,” for example, is what everybody does at bars, including people who are on a date with each other. Later, she snarls that her ex is a “damn liar” for claiming to love the beach, a line which summons up a long history of passionate and incredibly specific anti-beach sentiments, and raises the serious possibility that she’s singing about Anakin Skywalker. But if you can get past the mental image of Lorde swinging through the club with Darth Vader, each of them taking sips from a single shared gin and tonic, there is a sense of propulsive longing to this song, a sense of being so excited you’re almost sad, like the twinge you feel on Christmas morning when you realize there’s nothing left to wait for. That sense of pre-emptive nostalgia defines many of the great moments on Melodrama; Lorde is both vibrating with joy over how new and full of potential her world seems to be, and sad that it won’t always feel like this. That feeling defines a lot of youth, too. Many songs aim for that epic sweep; Jack Antonoff has a retirement fund because of it, “Tonight, Tonight” and “1979” were the ones people played when I was young enough to actually feel it, but this year, that big, hopefully hopeless, Gatsby-invoking chorus was the closest to the real thing.

“Say You Do,” Tei Shi, Crawl Space

This is another record that got under-rated as the result of being simple, pretty and specific in its ambitions when the context demanded Big Statements. There’s nothing wrong with big statements, and this list is full of them. But this is four perfect minutes, no wasted space, no false steps, and it makes me happy every time I listen to it. Granted, it’s aiming for that same cheesy ‘90s mom-jams vibe that a lot of people aim for these days; viewed through a certain lens, this is basically a HAIM song. But HAIM actually released an album this year, and none of the songs were as good as this one. The whole album is like this; intentionally lovely, boundary-pushing without being self-indulgent, excellently crafted. It’s skated just under the radar, maybe precisely because of those qualities. But crises pass, and craft keeps standing.

“Frontline,” Kelela, Take Me Apart

Even simple, blockbuster pop songs are not always as simple as they seem. It was only when putting this list together that I realized all the songs I’d classified as “just fun” were about the same thing. They’re all about women contesting men’s narratives. You don’t know me like you say you do, Tei Shi insists; you’ll always deny that we’re going in circles, Kelela says here; even Lorde, God bless her, is incredibly clear on the fact that her ex does not like the beach, despite recent statements to the contrary. (Is systemic corruption at play? Is Lorde’s ex in the pocket of the powerful beach lobby? Only time will tell!) I don’t think I got the appeal of ‘90s R&B nostalgia before now; here, especially in the pre-chorus, it’s simultaneously sexy and meticulous, propulsive but airbrushed at the same time. But within that is Kelela herself, who has been gradually moving to the forefront of her own songs for years now, becoming a persona rather than just another instrument: Coming up with the Sun around me… now I’m up and I won’t be taken down, she sings. The fact that the defiance is intimate makes it no less political. I believe her.

“Deadly Valentine,” Charlotte Gainsbourg, Rest

It’s hard to come up with an elevator pitch for this one. It’s the Stranger Things soundtrack, but also a French disco, but also Charlotte Gainsbourg singing about her sister’s suicide. Any one of those elements could undermine the other, but somehow, they don’t. This year has been full of albums about grief — reasonable, given that it feels like most of us are grieving something — but the opulence of Gainsbourg’s, the way it calls on the musical history of the family to dramatize the loss of one of its members, stands out. I get so caught up in the catchiness of this one, so blinded by all the disco lights, that I can almost miss Gainsbourg mourning in the background (“I’m my own shadow / you are my little hurricane”). Which, I think, is the point.

“Los Ageless,” Saint Vincent, MASSEDUCTION

Annie Clark is a very cool musician. One of the last great cool musicians, maybe. Cool has been on the way out, though, in this century; what you find sexy and mysterious, I might just see as repressed and withholding. Clark does not like it when her audience gets too close. She doesn’t do “raw.” The emotion in her songs gets refracted through intellect, through reference, through character, through irony; often, and especially on her last album, she seems to be playing a parody of herself, as if she can only be a pop star by putting scare quotes around her own personality. This is often very appealing; it’s why people point to her as an heir to David Bowie or David Byrne (or, presumably, other celebrity Davids). It can also be frustrating, when you want to make a direct connection and she doesn’t let you. I don’t know why MASSEDUCTION is different; maybe the breakups Clark has been through have worn down her defenses, maybe working with living schmaltz factory Jack Antonoff has thawed the ice a bit. But this chorus is huge: Big, melodramatic, honest, painful. It’s not something I knew she could do.  

“Jukai,” Jhene Aiko, Trip

I TOLD YOU PEOPLE ABOUT JHENE AIKO AND YOU WOULDN’T LISTEN.

Sorry! I was super into Jhene Aiko in 2014, the first year I made this list. I talked about her all the time and people looked at me like I was an idiot. Back then, she just sort of floated around, appearing on dudes’ songs. It took a while for her own aesthetic to take shape. She had vague, New-Agey ideas about spirituality; she talked a lot about weed; she made regrettable puns. (How regrettable? Her first album is called Souled Out, featuring a song called “Lyin’ King,” so, you tell me.) Even when her aesthetic finally did take hold, her label kept making incredibly cash-grabby statements about how there’d never been a Frank Ocean for the female demographic. So that was how people saw her, I think — just a stoner riding a trendy vibe. Someone you could write off.

If I told you, in 2014, that Jhene Aiko would be turning in a 22-song conceptual exploration of her brother’s death and her own substance abuse, and that it would begin with a song about Aiko entering the “Sea of Trees,” which is a common place for Japanese people to commit suicide, and that you would be hearing Jhene Aiko seriously sing lines like “I envy the dead,” and that critics would love it, I do not think you would have believed me. But here we are, with the harrowing, serious Jhene Aiko statement about death and grief that the world didn’t know it needed. Women shouldn’t have to bring themselves to their knees to be taken seriously. So the best thing to know, about Jhene Aiko, is that this was always there.

“Wildwood,” Tori Amos, Native Invader

The Tori Amos “return to form,” if you ask me, occurred way back in 2011, with Night of Hunters. But, at least since the 2014 critical re-evaluation that accompanied Unrepentant Geraldines, it’s widely agreed that she’s all the way back on her game. So if I tell you that Native Invader is great, that several songs are as good as anything she’s ever done, that’s not surprising. If I tell you that she’s still doing concept albums, but that it’s started working— this album is, in no particular order, about climate change, the Dakota access pipeline, her mother falling severely ill, and the Native American ancestors on her mother’s side of the family; in typical Tori Amos fashion, the endangered bodies of the planet and her mother and her ancestors get all tangled up together, until, by the final song, they seem like the same being — maybe that doesn’t surprise you, either. But this might: I finally get what she’s doing with the ‘70s soft-rock thing.

In plenty of Amos’ late-00s work, maybe all the way back to “Crazy” on Scarlet’s Walk, she’s tried to signify “sexiness” with what sounds like smooth tunes for dudes with heavy mustaches and ladies with feathered hair. Given that Amos gained her initial fan base by running on wild, primal intensity (this is either a song or a scene from The Exorcist; I’m honestly still not sure) her fixation on suddenly sounding mellow was bizarre and frustrating. “Crazy” worked fine, but “Sleeps With Butterflies” almost derailed her whole fucking career.

Yet here we are, with another sexy-’70s Tori Amos song. It’s mellow; it’s smooth. There are bongos on it. And yet, I know what it’s doing now. This is an album about aging and death; the death of wild nature, the all-too-possible death of her mother, the impending adulthood of her now-17-year-old daughter, and the fact that Amos, within the foreseeable future, will become part of her family’s oldest living generation. The point of the ’70s sounds, I think, isn’t that Amos believes they’re current; it’s that they are part of Amos’ youth, echoes of the songs she fell in love with as a teenager. These songs are to Tori Amos as Tori Amos records are to me — something precious from a world that has ended, a little bit of being young that she gets to carry around. “Wildwood” summons up a wild, healing, erotic relationship with Nature (don’t @ me) but also sounds as if it’s mourning that communion, and the woods, which may not be there for her own grandchildren; it sounds, like the Lorde song, as if it is about both happiness and the inevitable end of happiness, nostalgic for something that is happening right now.

“Om Rama,” Alice Coltrane, World Spirituality Classics 1: The Ecstatic Music of Alice Coltrane

When you talk about Tori Amos, you’re always talking about God. Her worldview is deeply pagan, not in the New-Age sense, but in an earned way; when she sings to the woods as a living creature, asking it to heal her, you know she’s serious.

That was my second-favorite album of 2017. This is my favorite. I don’t know how I found it; I think it just got introduced into my Spotify feed through some algorithm. And I’m not even sure if it qualifies; sure, it was released this year, but all the actual music was recorded decades ago. It wasn’t even intended for mass release. This is Alice Coltrane’s attempt at writing devotional music for her ashram; it was meant to be heard by the ashram, and no-one else.

Yet I am hard-pressed to think of anything else like it: A female composer, from the 20th century, wrestling to communicate her own experience of God. There’s so much going on in here; traditional chanting, gospel music, ’90s synths that sound like the Twin Peaks soundtrack, what we used to call “soundscapes.” You float from one texture to another, one worldview to another, linked only by Coltrane’s own sense of the divine. It’s incredibly intimate; maybe too intimate, since you’re very aware that the state of Alice Coltrane’s soul was not intended for people outside her own religious community to pass comment on. But it’s also incredibly beautiful, a synthesis that somehow goes beyond what “God” sounds like in Western music (choirs, mostly) or Eastern appropriation, and becomes its own, new sublime.

“Tabula Rasa,” Bjork, Utopia

Here is an unexpected thing about having a baby: Bjork makes me cry now. I’d always listened to her, given that she belonged to that sacred constellation of ‘90s “alternative” ladies that makes up about 80% of my personal value system. But I tended to view her with respect, rather than love; she struck me as a cerebral artist, technically brilliant but not too intimate. Then I found myself breastfeeding at 3 AM, listening to “All is Full of Love” and crying, or singing “Hyperballad” to the baby in the bath, and I realized the emotion had always been in there. I just hadn’t felt it yet.

Utopia adds a few entries to the list of “improbable words Bjork has trilled on a record,” including “Kafkaesque” and “patriarchy.” But she’s serious about the patriarchy thing. This record is, like the title says, her utopia — her matriarchal island, where nature can still hold sway, where mothers are never defeated in their ability to protect their daughters, where, after all the dirt and awfulness of the year, we might be able to get clean. She’s less singing than she is invoking it into being.

Some of the details on this song are small, petty, specific: A bad divorce, a father who led two lives. But the whole thing centers, as stories of matriarchy always do, around a mother and her daughter. When Bjork finally starts witching out, singing her preferred solution into being — “Tabula rasa for my children / not repeating the fuck-ups of the fathers” — it’s hard to imagine a better hope to take into the new year.

[black-strike-otp]

part 47

I feel ya existential crisis Blackout my guy. #MyLife

Rousing from her sleep with an anxious muttering, Novastrike glanced around the dark interior of her tight quarters. Her spark was pounding in its chamber. The world seemed pressed too close for comfort. She looked around the space for a moment, trying to determine exactly where she was.

“Novastrike?”

The mellow voice was calm and collected as it spoke. It was filled with concern and gentleness, but she was more focused on the way her name rolled forth from that voice with so much intrigue. It hardly sounded like her own name; there was an unfamiliar and enticing attraction to each syllable drawn out.

“Sorry,” she managed to yawn. “Did I fall into recharge?”

“Yes, you did. You sounded like you were having a bad vision there at the end.”

Reaching up, Nova casually rubbed around her optics. It didn’t help the temporary blur that occurred until they came into focus, but it was habit. She took in the surrounding darkness and the position she was currently sitting in and vaguely recalled that she was inside Blackout’s holoform.

“It was only a dream,” Novastrike said aloud. Even to herself, it sounded more like a reassurance for her than a statement.

“Care to talk about it?” Blackout rumbled in that rich baritone that vibrated through her armor.

“No, I’m fine,” Nova managed, trying to wash away the image of Neutroboost’s distorted face staring from above her with a sinister smile.

Blackout produced an unsure growl that echoed through his form like thunder.

Cutting through the awkwardness, Novastrike loudly requested: “Do you ever dream?”

It seemed to work.

“Not really,” Blackout admitted. “I lack much imagination. The very few times I have any variation of what some may call a dream, it’s only memory recall.”

Leaning forward, the small femme plopped her elbow upon the arm of the chair and placed her chin upon her servo. Her optics scanned the window to look out on the swallowing endless darkness and the miniature stars that shimmered so distantly. She wondered briefly how far they were still out from the Rising Star.

This had been one of their first outings in a while just to enjoy each others companies on a lone planet, rather than going to look for supplies. It had been a bit more of a trip than usual and with her nap, she wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to returning.

Not that it mattered. Going back and taking Neutroboost’s evil optic as he glowered at her wasn’t an idea of a good time. Flying in this nothingness with Blackout and Scorponok (where did that bug go when he transformed?) was fine by her. She may have lost track of exactly how many jours they’d spent on the planet just scouting and talking and being, but it had at least been a cozy experience.

Growing tired of the silence that left her too much ability to have wandering thoughts, Nova casually went back to her pestering.

“So, what sort of things do you dream about when you do dream?”

The mammoth mech was quiet for a moment before replying: “I don’t remember really. As I said, I dream so rarely. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually dreamed.”

“But you have dreams,” Novastrike insisted, swapping subjects. “What sort of ambitions do you have; hopes, goals, wishes?”

A chuckle escaped Blackout softly. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

“I’m interested in everything about you.”

“Hmm,” he droned quietly. “I don’t know. I used to think it was pleasing Megatron- Lord Megatron,” he hastily corrected, “and being the best soldier I could be. Whatever his aspirations were became my own. I don’t... really know what I want.”

“World peace?” Nova suggested. “To be happy? Or maybe a home, or a lot of credits? I know- a bigger, badder, badaft weapon!”

“Maybe.”

“You sound off. Did I upset you?”

“No I... I’m fine.”

Nibbling on her lip, the femme inclined further into her seat. She pulled her helm away from her servos and placed them on the arm rests, drumming her digits lightly.

“What about you?” Blackout slowly asked. “Don’t you have any fantasies you aim to achieve?”

Novastrike tilted her audio receptor to the side slightly. “A lot, actually,” she admitted. “But I prefer to live in the present for the time being. I have everything I could want right where I am.”

“The Rising Star does offer an adequate supply of energon and conversation,” Blackout agreed. “The work’s a bit slow, but-”

“No, not that,” Nova cut off, her audios glowing. “I meant right here. As in right here.”

As she strained her word, Novastrike made a slight arc with one of her arms across the space. She knew there was some way for Blackout to view his interior. He’d made comments before about what she was doing. How he noticed though she wasn’t exactly sure.

For a moment, she thought she might have either confused him or been too tacky with her words. It felt like a fire was burning in her ears as the silence stretched between them.

“I like that idea,” Blackout finally agreed, sounding extremely soothed.

“You do?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.

“I do,” he snickered back. “Here sounds like the most ideal place to me as well.”

Fidgeting, the white-armored femme reached up to place her servos over her ears. The blue glow was growing so harsh, she could see it reflecting on Blackout’s interior. The repetitive throbbing of her spark gave a fine impressive of a beating drum; following an erratic and unpredictable pattern.

It grew quiet. Equally shy from their corny, sappy remarks, the couple drew into an unyielding silence. Neither side seemed capable of budging and being the first to speak again. Nova was beginning to think they would take the rest of the flight in utter quiet when Blackout finally spoke up.

“Speaking of the Rising Star, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to bring up to you.”

“Oh?”

“Something else came up the day that Guard gave me his room,” Blackout vaguely remarked.

“Okay,” Nova puzzled. “Are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“He asked me if I would consider becoming a commander on the ship.”

“What? Blackout, that’s amazing news! Did you accept? No, wait, you must not have; we would have heard otherwise. Why didn’t you take the position? You’d be perfect! You’re the most experienced bot on the ship. Why wouldn’t Guard think of asking you? This is great!”

“Nova,” Blackout gently urged. “Focus.”

“Yes, sorry,” she sheepishly commented with a grin.

“He told me he’d give me time to think about it,” Blackout hedged.

“And? What have you thought so far?”

“I’m still considering.”

“What’s there to consider?” puzzled Novastrike.

“It’s a big responsibility,” he firmly responded.

“You don’t think you’re ready for it?”

Blackout paused for a few spark-beats before slowly responding, “It’s not that I wouldn’t feel ready. I held high class among the Decepticons. When Megatron was not on duty, Starscream, “ he snarled the mech’s name, “Was next in line. From there, it was either Shockwave, Soundwave, or myself. Soundwave always... held a unique position by Megatron’s side. The communication’s officer was practically his equal, really. Shockwave remained on Cybertron, so his status on the ship was null and void, though he still carries his importance and his work.”

“And then there’s you,” Nova repeated.

“Yes, and then there was me,” Blackout agreed. “But that was on the Nemesis. This is the Rising Star. This is a rogue ship. I am just...”

As Blackout grew hush, Nova twitched her audios with impatience. Her optic ridges slowly drew together with worry and confusion.

Clearing her vocalizer, she spoke gently, “Blackout, dear?”

He didn’t respond.

Venting softly, the small femme spoke on his behalf with a firm voice: “You’re just incredibly strong, determined, resourceful, intelligent, fearless, adaptable, diligent, bluntly honest, impartial-”

“Novastrike, please.”

“- intuitive, rational, persistent and sometimes annoyingly so, truth-worthy, considerate, hard-working-”

“Nova,” Blackout pleaded.

Narrowing her optics, the femme gave a huff. “What?”

Grumbling with embarrassment, the big mech mumbled, “I appreciate your enthusiasm and high belief in me. I do. But I am still a soldier and a killer. None of that has changed. My self interests I still place above all us. My loyalties are questionable. Guard shouldn’t have even offered me the position. It was a mistake.”

Novastrike gave a short shake of her helm, smiling faintly. “I don’t think it was a mistake at all,” she murmured, gently stroking the arm rest. “He trusts you, and so do I, even if you don’t trust yourself. And you clearly put a lot more than just your self interests first, otherwise you wouldn’t have me.”

“You’re under my umbrella of self interests,” Blackout admitted plainly.

The warm glow from Novastrike’s ears grew brighter once again. She drew her mouth into a small frown, though the gesture was meant for herself. If only she could calm her clamoring spark.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she insisted softly. “I think you should give the idea a chance. If you couldn’t handle it, I’m sure no one would fault you for stepping down. It’s a great honor to hold that sort of position. You’d do everyone proud. You’ve made everyone’s lives a lot easier and you’ve been working so incredibly hard on keeping us safe. If it wasn’t for your know-how we wouldn’t be getting along as well as we have. Our weapons are actively online and well maintained, the ship’s crew is training again on a somewhat regular basis. Bots trust you, Blackout. You’ve done nothing to prove us otherwise. And I know for a fact you wouldn’t throw us in the way of harm or jeopardize anyone’s safety if you could help it.”

“You think better of me than I think of myself,” Blackout whispered.

“I could say the same thing,” Nova mused, smiling. “Yet you still tell me all the time how lovely I look, how powerful I am, that I have a good spark and hold a lot of will. I’ve never seen myself as anything other than generic, spineless, and puny; someone easy to walk all over and wiling to throw in the towel the moment things get rough. But you still tell me otherwise.”

A grunt escaped Blackout unhappily. “And I will continue telling you otherwise,” he gruffly snorted.

“As I expect,” she giggled. “And just as I can’t always see what you claim to in me, I want you trust in what I have to say about you. Trust in yourself, deep down. You know what I say is true.”

Turning her helm slightly, Novastrike rested her lips against the side of the seat she was on. Her mouth curved into a sly smile as a resounding rumble moved through Blackout in response while she grazed a kiss against the metal. Her lips teasingly caressing as the echoes grew steadily louder.

“You are a spiteful femme,” Blackout growled deeply.

“Oh I’m so sorry, am I bothering you?” she hummed lightly.

“Whatever did I do to deserve having you in my life?” Blackout questioned. Although his tone suggested teasing, there was a sense of awe that advocated that he meant his question seriously.

“Be an incredibly handsome piece of work?” Nova teased.

“I knew you were in it for my body,” he snarled playfully.

“Who wouldn’t be?” she purred pleasantly in response, stroking her digits along the seat lightly.

A quiet reverberating chuckle escaped Blackout. She couldn’t stop herself from beaming with delight at the intense manifestation. For such a profoundly low-pitched gravely bass, the sound was absolutely enchanted her. Pure joy, in its finest.

“So, do you know what you are going to tell Guard?” she nervously chimed.

A slight grumbled moved through Blackout’s interior. “I think I do,” he admitted.

“Do I get to know a little early?” Novastrike asked in her most enticingly velvety tone, letting her optics flutter slightly as she pouted.

“Do you always use this spell to lure in mechs?” Blackout mocked.

“Is it working?”

“For some time, obviously, yes.”

“Nice to know. I’m afraid though, that there’s only one mech that interests me at the moment.”

“Pray tell so that I might speak with them,” he grunted teasingly.

“Blackout,” she whined softly. “Pleeeassse?”

“I was going to tell you, no need to plead and beg,” Blackout insisted. Clearly her charm was working much better than she’d hoped for.

“And?”

“I’m going to tell him... yes. That I would be happy to accept the position, if it is agreed upon by the council that I should become a commander.”

Squealing with delight, Novastrike went to hug the first thing she could grasp. It so happened to be her seat, which although the gesture was thoughtful, gave a rather comical impression.

“Oooh I’m so proud of you!” she gushed.

“I just hope I don’t let you down,” he softly remarked.

“You could never,” Nova squeaked, snuggling against the seat. “Never ever ever. You’ll do a great job. And it’ll be good for you; you’ll see. It won’t be much different I imagine than what you’ve been doing, but whatever additional workload it places on you will be good. You enjoy keeping your servos and processor busy. And don’t you worry, Guard will still give you plenty of free time to take care of Scorponok and go out as you please.”

A light snicker escaped Blackout. “That’s good. I’d hate to have our dates cut short or out entirely because of work.”

“Like you’d let that happen,” Nova replied in a sing-song voice. “R-Right?”

“Regrettably for you, I am captivated hook, line, and sinker.”

“Boo, you make me sound like such an a terrible charmer, a deceiving siren, a divine lie, a-”

“Divine I could agree with,” he slyly cut in.

“Pss-” Nova hissed, crossing her arms in front of her chassis.

A rich spell of laughter escaped the big mech, and Novastrike couldn’t stop herself from smiling a little in return. Damn that dumb hunky mech, and his fetching good looks.