i feel bad making a whole Post about these but i just posted two new fics so read if you want to!
Just Out of Sight - In the days of the aftermath of "I Am My Monster," Steven and Connie get a chance to talk about what happened - and, potentially, to relive it together. Commissioned by @cryinghour!
From Soft, Clear Skies to Harsh, Craggy Landscapes - Steven takes a shower immediately after the events of "I Am My Monster" and witnesses the scars born from his corruption. Based on this wonderful fanart by @stevenquartz, and commissioned by @tinystarpaws!
I hope one of these piques your interest and if not - thanks for reading!
rating: G
fandom: Steven Universe
prompt: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
warnings: None Apply
word count: 2.3k
requester: @koffiepop
Apple Farms and Missed Calls
Connie has a great idea.
Set between the episodes "Growing Pains" and "Mr. Universe,” but is absolutely NOT canon compliant.
This oneshot features Connverse, mutual bonding over purposelessness, and also, their respective relationships with their parents. Enjoy!
-
It’s Connie’s idea. Which, really, only makes it seem like a fantastic idea, because she’s usually the one to talk him down from this kind of thing.
“Let’s run away,” she says with complete sincerity. “Let’s get on a bus and not look back.”
Steven turns to face her, startled. She isn’t looking at him. She is sitting on his balcony with a soft look on her face as she watches the moonrise, and he’s watering a few of his potted plants that he’s kept outside the greenhouse.
Since the greenhouse… isn’t exactly the best place for him right now.
“We could go live on an apple farm. Just like you used to say.”
“I think I said that once.” He laughs, but Connie doesn’t join him. Her eyes close and she leans back against the wall of the house, her knees folded up to her chest and arms folded across them.
“Seriously?”
“What’s the alternative?” Connie giggles, but it isn’t genuine. “Go to college a thousand miles away for something I’m not even sure I’ll like?”
“…Huh?”
She sighs. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Never mind.”
“No, no, wait.” Steven’s heart skips a beat as he sets his elephant-shaped watering can down on the ground, and kneels next to her. It’s the first time he’s ever, ever heard her doubt college, and it’s so intensely relatable that he can hardly believe it’s coming from her. “I thought you really wanted to go to Jayhawk.”
“I do.” She hesitates. “I did? I…”
A frustrated groan tugs itself out of her throat, and she puts her head in her hands. “It just isn’t fair. Why am I being expected to decide something that will shape my entire future? Our brains aren’t even done developing, Steven! We’ve still got nearly a decade!”
“Uh, well—”
“How do I even know that the thing I really want to do, the thing I’m really interested in right now, is going to be something I’m always interested in? Or should I be going for a hobby, like art, something I really enjoy but I’m not necessarily good at, but that’s an extremely competitive field, and…”
“Why don’t…”
“And Mom thinks I should be preparing for grad school already, like I have any idea how that could benefit me. I just… want to get away from all of it for a bit. Get a breather. Not have anyone breathing down my neck about something I haven’t even had time to think about, because I’ve been too busy with school!”
Connie gives a great sigh, leaning her cheek into her hand as she stares up at the moon overheard. “An apple farm has never sounded better.”
It’s getting late. The gems won’t be home for another day or two, if they’ll even notice he’s gone with how busy they’ve been. And Connie, in this lighting, has never looked so beautiful.
But then, he thinks that every time he sees her.
“Okay.”
She blinks. She looks at him with confusion written all over her face. “What exactly are you ‘okay’-ing?”
“Okay, let’s run away.” The look on her face is eerily close to the time he proposed, so very quickly, he adds, “Not forever. Not even all the way to an apple farm, if you don’t want. But just for a night or two, maybe. Let’s go pretend none of that stuff exists.”
“Mom’ll have my head.”
“So?”
That gets a bark of laughter out of her. She shakes her head… and then she grins. “Okay. Let’s go be rebellious teenagers.”
Steven giggles. “Can’t be rebellious if no one told us not to do this.”
“Ooh, I like the way you think, mister.”
She takes her hand in his, and they both laugh.
This is a far better idea in theory than it is on paper.
-
Rather than take the bus, they pile into Steven’s car. Steven grabs a few things to keep them overnight — mostly just a change of clothes, his toothbrush, only the basics. They swing by Connie’s house, where Steven grabs her and floats up to her window so she can grab what she needs.
They’re like ninjas.
His heart’s thudding in his chest, anticipation rising. The last time they did something like this, it had been over in an instant. Alexandrite chased down the bus and forced them out, and he’d lost his TV privilege for one thousand years.
Hard to believe it’s been three years since then.
But now, no giant woman pursues them. They drive out of the city, radio on, Connie gazing at the scenery with an expression between adoration and awe, and Steven’s heart softens at how the only other time he’s seen her with that look is when she looks at him.
It’s such a cheesy thought that he blushes, eyes back on the road immediately.
“I think there’s some campgrounds about an hour out,” Connie suggests, almost startling him. “Do you wanna stay there for the night?”
“Oh. Sure.” He grins. “Getting back to nature, huh?”
“I haven’t been camping in so long.” Her voice is nostalgia colored in melancholy, and Steven knows she needs this.
“Camping it is, then.”
-
They do not have a tent.
They lay down on the top of his car and watch the stars.
“You know,” Connie murmurs, “I used to dream of being an astronaut. Of exploring planets in other solar systems, documenting everything, enjoying it maybe way too much.”
“Yeah?”
“Then everything happened.” Dread sinks into his stomach like lead, mouth drying, as he realizes what she means. “And… I don’t know. Maybe that’s not what I’m meant for.”
“How would you know?” He swallows, unable to look at her. His gaze remains fixed on the cloudless night sky, as he struggles to withhold what he can already tell would be his pink glow. “What you’re meant for?”
“I don’t know.”
In the silence that follows, Steven prays for what he isn’t meant for.
-
They sleep in the car. Connie on the backseat, and Steven in the driver’s, pushing the back far enough for him to at least sleep at an incline. He drapes his jacket over Connie to use as a blanket when he thinks she’s out, but she opens her eyes and offers him a smile that devastates him.
-
The next morning, when they’re back on the road, they get just enough reception for Connie to see she’s missed eight calls and has three voicemails.
“Shit.”
It’s the first time Steven’s heard Connie curse.
“Don’t worry about it.” Steven smiles, hoping to assuage her fears. “This is about you right now. Not them. So we’ll only go back when you’re ready to go back.”
Connie bites her lip. “No, I must’ve really worried them. I can’t believe I didn’t even text them to let them know what I was doing… I’m gonna call them.”
“No, don’t worry about it!” He laughs and hates how forced it sounds, for the look Connie sends him. He keeps his eyes on the road. “We could go another night. They’ll be fine.”
“Steven, they’re clearly not—”
“It’s not like they’ve even noticed!”
“They clearly have—” Connie cuts herself off this time. She furrows her brow, and then she reaches for his phone.
“Uh, hey…”
“You haven’t had yours even on.” She boots up his phone without asking him. “Steven, if you’re worried they won’t notice, you have to give them the chance to show it.”
He bites his tongue. Connie presses a few buttons on his phone, and then there’s a voice.
“You have one new message. First message:”
“Hey, Schtu-ball.” It’s Greg. The relief is so immediate and so intense that his eyes water and he doesn’t get why. “I don’t know what’s going on, but both you and Connie are missing, and the Dondai’s not here… I know things have been pretty rough lately, so. Call me when you can. I don’t want to push you, but I’m worried about you. I love you, kiddo.”
“End of message.”
Steven pulls over, pressing his wet, snotty face into the sleeve of his jacket, and Connie puts her arm around him and pulls him in.
No messages from the gems, even though both Amethyst and Pearl have phones by this point. But it’s fine.
Maybe Garnet foresaw his return.
“I don’t want to go back yet,” he tells Connie. “Is that… okay?”
“... Yeah.” It’s hesitant, but Connie gives a gentle sigh and rubs his back. “I’m gonna call my mom and explain what’s going on. But we don’t have to go back just yet.”
“Thanks.”
-
The next night is spent at a run-down motel that Steven recognizes a little too well. They’re on the border of Delmarva and Keystone, and they spend the evening with their bare feet dipping into the swimming pool.
“What are you going to do if the gems don’t call you?” Connie asks.
Steven huffs. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t want to think about it.
He’s not even sure if he wants them to call at all.
“Well…” Connie’s fingers interlace with his. His heart skips a beat. “It’ll be nice to sleep in an actual bed tonight. You know?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I know.”
Her phone buzzes. Connie glances at it, the phone turned away so Steven couldn’t sneak a peek even if he’d wanted to. “Oh, it’s my mom.” She pulls her feet out of the water, sighing. “I’ll be right back. You stay here, okay?”
He nods. Connie smiles and pulls her hand from his, grabs her shoes, and heads on back to the room with her phone pressed to her ear.
Steven groans and flops back against the pavement. What is he even doing? What point does this serve, to just… run away from all his problems? Why is he dragging Connie with him?
It’s better to run away with someone else than to do it alone.
No, Connie was the one who suggested it. It’s just that Steven’s the one prolonging it. He’s hijacked her journey, and he definitely shouldn’t have done that. He knows what that’s like.
Maybe he should go home. Even if none of the gems have noticed he’s gone, maybe that’s for the best. If he goes back now, he won’t have to explain himself to them. Or maybe they’d ask where he’d been, he’d say he’d gone for a walk, and they’d just shrug.
But Connie’s parents had noticed right away when she didn’t come home.
Pink explodes out of him, too bright, turning himself into a beacon in this poorly lit swimming pool in the middle of a poorly lit parking lot. He winces and struggles wildly for a moment to contain it—
Then a sound interrupts him. There’s the screech and stench of burning rubber, a sudden brake, and then the sound of a door opening and slamming shut. He turns, anxiety spiking — pink refusing to disappear — and sees the Maheswarans’ car pulled up beside the pool.
But it isn’t the Maheswarans that are charging him right now.
“STEVEN!”
Amethyst slams into him, knocking him into the chlorine pool water. Steven gasps as he surfaces, the water seeping through his organic jacket, but then Amethyst’s arms are gripping his shoulders, shaking him. “What the hell, man! What are you doing?!”
“H...huh?” At least she’s stuck in the water with him.
“You can’t just leave without any sort of notification,” Pearl says. Steven looks up to see both Pearl and Garnet standing on the pool’s edge, bizarre expressions on their face. He hasn’t seen anything like it before. Anger and… something else.
… Concern? Or is that just him hoping, projecting?
“You guys could’ve called me,” Steven mutters as he moves to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out. “I would’ve answered.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.” Garnet’s voice is resolute, firm, unyielding.
“I might have!” he snaps. “You can’t just -- just decide that for me! I didn’t even know you guys were coming, I didn’t even know you guys cared, I…!”
“Dude.” Amethyst swims on over, hopping out of the pool right next to him. “Are you… okay?”
Steven blinks.
“I…” He works his throat, but despite everything, he can’t find it in himself to articulate an answer. His eyes water, and he tries very, very hard not to let them see. “W...what are you even doing here? How’d you know I’d be here?”
Pearl smiles, though it doesn’t quite seem genuine. “Your location was on.”
“Huh…?” He could’ve sworn he turned it off before he turned off his phone.
He tries not to think about what that means.
“C’mon,” Amethyst beckons, grabbing his hand. “Let’s head home, okay?”
“You are in big trouble for just up and leaving us, young man.” Pearl’s voice is stern, hard. “Connie’s going to go home with her parents, while we are going to walk to the nearest warp pad. All four of us. And we’re taking away your TV privileges again.”
“I don’t even really watch TV anymore,” Steven mutters in resignation.
He hasn’t done anything he likes to do in a long time.
“W-well… We’ll…” Pearl blushes, flustered, and quickly tries to recover. “Well, we’ll find something to take away from you! You can’t just do whatever you want!”
For a moment, the anger builds in him again. What are they even doing? Are they trying to — to discipline him? After years and years of letting him solve their problems for them, now they’re trying to do parenting right?
… Oh.
They’re trying.
“You ready?” Garnet asks.
His eyes water again, and somehow, slowly, his pink glow fades. “Yeah,” he murmurs, exhausted. “Yeah.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
FINAL UPDATE. Chapter 8: "Affirmations." This week: Snapshots.
TW For discussion of self-harm & suicide.
Thank you everyone who's been following the story so far. I appreciate everyone who's commented & everyone who's read. Please enjoy the final chapter. ♡
rating: T
fandom: Steven Universe
prompt: Secretly Drawing the Other
warnings: None Apply
word count: 3.4k
requester: @kohakhearts
[IMG attached]
Connie is in desperate need of a reference picture.
My first complete fic for Fluff Bingo, which is something solely in a writing discord I’m apart of! Yes, it was inspired by BTHB, but it’s fun to have something to go to when I’m all out of angst juice. :)
[Read on AO3!]
~*~
Connie has never been especially talented at anything outside of school. She wins only as many tennis matches as she loses, and she struggles with the advanced sheet music that most of her peers seem to pull off flawlessly. Her grades are always A’s, sure, but that hardly seems like talent or skill, only an ability to test well.
The one thing Connie has never allowed herself to itemize — never allowed herself to compare herself to others, no matter how tempting it is — is her ability to draw.
To be fair, she knows she isn’t very good. When she begins, she’s heavily influenced by the wide-eyed, shoujo anime she adores, and proportions are the furthest thing from her mind. She draws solely for the fun of it, for pure expression. She draws when she’s ecstatic, she draws when she’s angry, she draws when she’s so sad that her tears stain the pages.
It’s only pencil drawings, but they’re very personal to her, and it’s something she doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s doing. Her parents know, because they’re her parents and she needs them to buy her the sketchbooks and the pencils. None of her friends do.
No one except Steven.
“Whoa,” Steven whispers with wide, childlike awe as he holds her sketchbook between his hands. He cradles the book as if it were scripture bound in expensive, gilded leather. “Connie, you’re amazing.”
She blushes. “Oh, it’s not anything special.”
“Are you kidding?” He looks at her with such fervent belief that it throws her off-kilter. “Connie, I don’t know anything about drawing, but look at all the details you put in here!”
That isn’t quite true; Steven draws as well, though maybe not as frequently as she does. Still, she supposes she can see what he’s saying. Even though the proportions are way off and Archimicarus should not be double the size of Lisa’s head, Connie took the time to put in every accessory she loved into Lisa’s outfit. She was determined to make sure Lisa was recognizable, despite the fact that the movie hadn’t come out yet and nobody knew what Lisa was going to look like.
“Okay,” she murmurs, feeling high on the praise. “All right, I’ll take that. Thanks.”
He grins. “Will you show me more sometime?”
“Oh, uh… sure.” Flattered that he’d even ask, she agrees without thinking about it.
-
Connie starts to draw him. Not out of any intention, and certainly not because she wants to. It happens entirely by accident that she looks down at her sketchbook, struggling to find inspiration, and realizes she’s doodled his head in the corner.
It becomes commonplace that, when they’re spending time together — time not always spent doing something, but rather, sharing the same space and simply being — Connie will draw.
Sometimes Steven asks, but more often than not she says no. He takes absolutely no offense at all, and that’s part of why she likes him. He just lets her do her thing while he chugs through another playthrough of GolfQuest Mini or plans out his next TubeTube video.
Connie’s never been good at drawing real people. They’re even harder to get right than her anime characters. But the doodle doesn’t look entirely bad. It doesn’t look like Steven, but it doesn’t look bad.
And this is how Connie learns to use references: she stares at him while he doesn’t look at her.
She’s nervous at first, watching him while she draws. She’s afraid he’ll realize what she’s doing and draw attention to it. He’ll strike a pose or blush and say something about how she should be drawing someone else, or worse, he’ll ask to see it when she’s done. But Steven doesn’t do any of that. He keeps right on going, completely oblivious.
Connie gets pretty good at drawing him.
-
Years pass and Connie gets pretty damn good at drawing him.
The way she draws him changes with time. Her skills transform and puberty hits Steven like a freight truck. Every time she sees him, he seems to have grown a few inches. She hardly gets the chance to draw him more than once or twice while he’s in front of her. Once she reaches high school, she has far less time to just “hang out” — or if she does, and they aren’t doing anything, she’s forced to spend her time doing homework.
And then she figures out the work-around.
“What’re you up to?” she asks aloud as she types it into text. “Send pics.”
It sounds as if she’s asking for something else, but she absolutely isn’t. She hopes her Mom doesn’t still go through her text messages, or else she’s going to have a very awkward conversation with her later.
Her phone dings in response before she even sets it down.
w/ lars at the bakery!! lookit this! [IMG attached]
Yes, score! She only hopes it’s got a good enough angle—
—aaaaand it’s a picture of a dessert. It’s a very delicious-looking chocolate orange mousse, but it’s not of Steven.
She tries again on a different day, when she’s so tired of studying her eyes will fall out if she has to read one more word. She pulls out her sketchbook, lays on her bed, and texts him again. I’m so boredddd. Doing anything fun?
To prompt a photo in return, she attaches a selfie while she’s lying on the bed. It isn’t the best selfie she’s ever taken, but this isn’t about that. It’s about getting one back.
Steven, as always, replies quickly. sry, @ LH, can’t talk now. No picture. Connie glances at the clock just to make sure it is, indeed, past 8 PM, and she frowns.
Fine. Maybe she can ask for some help.
I am so sorry, Connie. Pearl’s texts are always way longer than they should be. You should’ve asked me a few weeks ago! I had a ton of pictures saved, but I recently exported them to an external harddrive. And he’s been so unwilling to let me take pictures of him recently.
Connie bites her lip. Pearl isn’t exactly a ‘grandma’ with technology — most of the things she’s learned how to operate, she’s done herself or only after one demonstration — but Connie wonders if she pressed, if she asked Pearl to retrieve her most recent picture of him to send to her, that Pearl would be a little too curious in return.
With all other options exhausted, Connie turns to desperate measures.
“Why am I doing this, again?” Amethyst asks over the phone. “Can’t you just, like, ask him yourself?”
“Please,” Connie all but begs. “I can’t tell you what it’s for, I just need a picture of him from the front, and it need to be at least waist-up. Although if you could get a full picture of him standing up, that’d be even better. Oh, and please don’t let him know that it’s for me.”
“Hmm.” Amethyst’s little hum is plotting, and Connie absolutely hates it. “Well, what do I get in return?”
“Huh?”
“What, you’re not expecting me to do this for free, are you?”
Of course. This is Amethyst. Connie chews on her bottom lip, considering.
“Well, what do you want? I could order Fish Stew for you.” Connie’s mom gives her enough of an allowance for her grades that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Or some of Lars’s bakery’s treats, if you like.”
Amethyst’s laugh goes to her bones. “What? I’m gonna need more than that. Hmm… How about this: I’ll take the picture for you, but you gotta come here to get it yourself.”
“What?” Connie’s voice squeaks. “You can’t be serious, Amethyst! It’s a school night!”
Amethyst snickers. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it tonight. I’ll text you when I have it, and you’ll get it when you come over. Oh, but when you do, you’d better bring two full pizzas with you, okay?”
“O-kay,” Connie mumbles, defeated.
“Sweet. Catch you on the flip side.”
-
do u need his face showin?
Connie blinks at the text on her phone, three days later. She’s just gotten out of school and Amethyst sent it three hours ago.
Yes.
dam. well heres the outtake [IMG attached]
When Connie clicks through, she gets the full shot of Steven all right. But he isn’t standing upright and still; instead, he’s rushing past the camera, blurring the shot, a hand in front of his face to block it from being seen.
This is a shitty picture.
i kno, that’s why i sent it to u w/o getting pizza, dam!!
-
In the interim, Connie tries once more to provoke a selfie from Steven. This one requires a little more effort and is incredibly flirtatious — borderline forward — but she has to try it. Her sketches of him seem more and more off by the day, and it’s driving her nuts. She needs that reference shot, at least one.
She has a violin concert one Friday night. She dresses up for it, wearing black slacks, a white button-up with a high collar, and a black blazer. A simple tie, black with blue stripes, adorns her neck, and she lets her hair down. Like this, it would just barely tickle her shoulders. She puts on a little more makeup than she normally would for a concert; she dabbles in foundation, in blush and lipstick, when normally she would settle for mascara and concealer, if she decided on makeup at all.
Eyeshadow is still too foreign for her, but she hopes this is enough.
Then the trick is taking the selfie itself. At first she takes a shot without her shoes on, then decides it would probably look better with them on, especially if she’s trying to get one back. So she puts on her nice pair of loafers and stands at the full-body mirror in her room, taking a deep breath as she tries to set her nerves to rest.
“It’s fine, Connie,” she murmurs. “It’s fine. It’s just Steven, and what’s the worst thing that could happen? That he just flat out doesn’t respond?”
That is, by far, the worst thing that could happen. She doesn’t know what he’d do if he did that, because Steven is always the type to reply within a few minutes. She doesn’t know if it’s just like that for her or for everyone, but she has to trust that he’ll reply to this.
She takes the picture. It’s a little lopsided because her hand is shaking, but it’s the full picture of her, head to toe. She sends it off with a caption that, she hopes, is not too flirtatious, not too forward, because she would hate to put him off:
Don’t I look nice? What are you wearing tonight?
She bites her lip. Mom calls for her to get going, that she’s taken too long, but Steven’s response is almost instantaneous: a long, long string of heart eyes emojis and hearts of different colors and patterns. Then another text, this one saying, you look amazing!! i wish i was there!!!
It isn’t a selfie, and it doesn’t answer her question, but it makes her heart soften nonetheless. He’s so good to her, and of course that makes him difficult to manipulate. Maybe she really should just ask.
Several hours later, on the drive back home from the concert, she turns her phone back on. And to her surprise, there is a message waiting.
sorry this took so long, i wanted to match!! [IMG attached]
She blinks.
Steven has gone all out for this. He’s wearing a formal dress she hasn’t seen before, the same blue of her tie; an A-line that allows her to see the broadness of his chest, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that proudly display the freckles of his shoulders, and a pleated skirt that begins at his waist. His shoes are the same color, heeled, open-toed, and he’s even done his nails.
His makeup is more intricate than hers. Blush, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, an iridescent violet eyeshadow and vibrant lipstick.
He’s sent multiple pictures. One is of him doing a kissy face, eyes lidded; the next is him laughing, blurred from moving the camera, what might have been a shot he hadn’t done on purpose; and the next is of him doing a peace sign.
Connie’s face burns. She’s glad her mom and dad take the front seats, so that she can have this little moment all to herself.
I love it! She hesitates over the send button. He sent her all those emojis, and she can’t even say more than three words?
You look great! Oh, but he looks more than great, doesn’t he?
Can I come over? Now that was honest, but way too suggestive!
She deletes it again and then realizes they’re almost home. She has to send something, she’s been thinking way too hard about it!
You’re the most beautiful, most handsome man in the whole world, and I wish I was with you.
She sends it before she can think twice about it. Steven responds immediately with many more emojis.
-
Connie can’t get the way he looked out of her head. In school, she doodles the dress in the margins of her notes. At tennis practice, she imagines trying to wear those heels and run at the same time. In orchestra, she pretends Steven is watching, that he came to her concert in that outfit.
She draws him, of course. For hours in her room, she flips through the pictures and draws, and draws, and draws. She draws him in the dress in different poses, in different settings, with different people.
… Mostly with her.
Her outfit’s different, though. It’s not the same, boring orchestra one she had to wear for the concert. She Googles different outfits and finds some fantastic, colorful tuxes, and of course pretends she would ever be able to wear them.
She’s in the middle of coloring a self-indulgent piece in which the two of them are dancing in these outfits (and this is one she would never, ever show to anyone), when she gets a text from Amethyst.
i got the pic. but uh… kinda havin some issues [IMG attached]
Connie blinks.
It’s a picture of Steven, though not the one Connie asked for. He’s closer to the camera, a rage in his eyes as he moves toward the person taking it, mouth open as if speaking.
Oh, no. Is he mad at Amethyst for sneaking pictures of him? Quickly, Connie tries to call her, but it only rings twice before going to voicemail.
Oh, no.
She calls Steven instead. He hangs up on her, too, but shoots her a short text: can’t talk.
URGENT, she replies in all caps and without punctuation. He does not reply.
She grabs her sketchbook, rushes downstairs. It’s late but not so late that she’ll be in trouble. She runs past Dad at the kitchen island, sipping on coffee before he goes in. “Sorry, I’ll be back before Mom!” she promises, slipping her shoes on.
“Where you going, honey?”
“To Steven’s!”
And when she opens the door, there, waiting for her, is a pink-hued lion.
-
When she throws open the door to the beach house, Steven is still yelling: “—you know I don’t like it when you take my picture—”
“Why?!” Amethyst yells. “Just because it’s me?!”
“No, it’s because I don’t want y’all snapping pictures of me for a scrapbook like I’m a baby—”
“AHEM.”
Connie’s clearing of her throat cuts through it, startling them both. They spin back around to face her, and while Amethyst’s glance goes askew, almost ashamed, Steven sees in her an immediate ally.
“Ugh, Connie, this isn’t a great time!” His voice is high, angry, but not at her; clearly, he thinks she’ll be on his side. “You won’t believe this, but Amethyst’s been trying to snap photos of me all week when she thinks I haven’t been looking, without even asking me or anything, and I’m in the middle of confronting her about it because if she thinks this is funny—”
“She doesn’t!”
“—just because that concealer isn’t working on the dark circles under my eyes, then she’s got another thing—” He cuts himself off, and Connie feels her nerves spike as he turns to her again, looking almost like a startled animal. “—uh… what are you talking about, Connie?”
“I asked her to do it.” Connie’s voice is one of defeat. Shame makes the room feel so much hotter than it is, and she wishes she could hide. She makes do by pressing her face into both of her hands and speaking against her palms. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed to get a picture of you and I didn’t want you to know, and that was probably really weird and creepy of me, and I’m sorry.”
The silence is suffocating. Steven whispers something to Amethyst, and Connie can’t hear the response. He must think she’s so creepy, that she’s been manipulating him somehow, and that she’s a horrible, untrustworthy person—
A moment later, Steven is right by her side. “Hey.” His voice is soft, and he pries a hand from her face to enfold in both of his. It should be comforting, but for a moment, she feels even worse; like she’s tricked him into offering her this kindness. “Um… So, why didn’t you just ask me?”
“I thought you’d say no.” That’s not quite it. “I… I thought you’d ask why.”
“Well, now I kinda really wanna know.”
“I…” And here it is, the big moment. The confession. She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as her free hand fists at her side. “I’ve been drawing you and I needed a reference.”
There’s another beat of silence. Then two. And then Steven bursts into laughter, loud and relieved and maybe even playful. It still is humiliating to hear, but at the same time, she’s so, so glad he isn’t angry.
“You totally could’ve asked! I would’ve sent one to you, because that’s like… really, really nice of you to draw me.”
“No, it’s not!” And as she looks back at him, she can see just how much he doesn’t see this. She doesn’t tug her hand free because, selfishly, she hopes he never lets go. “I haven’t been doing it because I’m planning to paint you a portrait or anything, I’ve been solely using you for practice and it’s probably a really selfish thing of me, I-I even used the selfies you sent me that one night, and I’ve kind of lost all control over that, because you were so gorgeous in that dress and I…”
“Wait.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue. “Can I, like… see the drawings you’ve done? Or a few of them? I know you don’t like it when I ask, but there’s got to be at least one or two you’re proud of, right?”
“You… want to see them?”
“I want to see everything you’ve ever drawn!” His voice is so sincere and enthusiastic that her heart soars, forgetting immediately every single thing she said that could have soured their relationship. “But only if you’re cool with it! You’re such an amazing artist, Connie.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Don’t start with me. I can go on and on.”
She smiles. She fidgets with a strand of her hair, and though it’s juvenile, she plays witness to the way such a small thing makes Steven’s face light up in adoration.
“Hey.” The word cuts through the moment, startling the both of them, and they look over at Amethyst leaning against the fridge with a raised eyebrow. “So now that like, the truth is out there and all that, I think I’m owed something.”
Connie opens her mouth at the same moment Steven groans, cutting her off. “I… yeah. I’m sorry, Amethyst. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I’m sorry for just… assuming stuff.”
Amethyst’s gaze then turns to Connie.
“Uh… Thank you, Amethyst.” Connie sighs. “For doing all of this for us.”
Amethyst laughs. It startles Connie a little, but Amethyst just shakes her head, a knowing grin on her face. “I can think of, maybe, a way for you two to express just how sorry and grateful you are…”
Steven blurts out a “huh?” while Connie giggles, reaching for the phone in her pocket.
rating: G
fandom: Steven Universe
prompt: Secret Relationship
word count: 1.4k
requester: @krisseycrystal
Sharing an Ube Roll After Hours
In the Spacetries Bakery, past closing time, Lars and the Cool Kids have a heart-to-heart.
The ship in this fic is Lars/Jenny/Buck/SC, and it was so much fun! I haven’t written a poly ship in a long time. I hope y’all like it! It takes place pre-Little Graduation.
[Read on AO3]
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“I… I can’t believe it.”
Lars struggles to wrap his head around the idea as he stares at the three of them. Sitting in his bakery after hours, the doors are locked and the lights are dimmed. The original trio sits at one of the only booths in the joint, all splitting an ube roll, while Lars leans against the counter by his empty display.
“Seriously. All of you?”
“Sure.” Jenny says it like it means absolutely nothing at all. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to admit. “I like Buck and Sour Cream, and they both like me and they like each other. So why should we have to pick and choose?”
Lars’s brain is broken. “B-but… That’s so easy.” And it’s so hard? Why can’t he comprehend this?
“’Sides,” Buck says around another bite of subtle sweetness, “it’s pretty fun to go on a date with more than one person.”
Is it? Lars has never done that before. The only person he’s ever dated was Sadie, and…
“How come I never knew? How long have you guys been...?”
“A few years now,” Jenny answers with a grin.
“You never knew because we didn’t want you to know,” Sour Cream adds, which is honest if nothing else. “It was nothin’ personal. Most people don’t know, and that’s how we like it.”
“Less people being nosy,” Buck agrees.
“I tell my daddy that I’m gonna get an apartment with my two ‘besties,’ and he’s all about it.” Jenny laughs. “But if I told him I was dating two bi guys, he’d probably flip a lid.”
“H-he would…?” Lars’s voice is more nervous than he should be.
“Over the two guys thing,” Sour Cream clarifies.
Buck nods. “Not because he’s biphobic or anything.”
“That’d be super lame.”
“Yeah. Biphobia is for chumps.”
Lars wants to beg them to slow down, but at the same time, he’s realizing that… this actually makes a lot of sense.
How many times has he seen them walk down the boardwalk, arm-in-arm? How many times has he seen them on the beach, curled up a little too close; had hands linked in what looked like a prayer and broken up too quickly as he came near? How often has he felt like a ‘fourth wheel,’ on the outside looking in?
He’d always chalked the latter up to his own intense social anxiety, but maybe there’d been more to it. Maybe he’d felt like that because there’d been evidence for it right in front of him, and he just hadn’t known this kind of thing was possible.
“I’m… really happy for you guys.” They all turn to look at him, blinking in surprise, and Lars feels… surprisingly heartfelt. He laughs, the sound less nervous, softer. “I’m real honored you’re opening up about this to me. I promise I won’t spill the beans to anyone.”
Jenny sighs. “Oh, honey.”
Lars blinks.
“We’re not giving you all the back story because we think you’re a super chill friend.” Buck pauses. “Although, you are a super chill friend.”
“Th...thanks?”
“We’re asking you, dude.” Sour Cream shifts so he’s no longer got an arm wrapped around Buck. He picks up the fork, breaks off a piece of ube roll, and extends it to him. “Make our trio a quartet.”
Huh.
“Huh?!”
“Everybody knows you need four wheels on a car,” Buck says with a solemn nod, like that’s some wise proverb everyone’s grandma says.
“Four pieces to a band; vocalist, guitar, keyboard, drums.” Jenny hums in agreement.
“W-wait, wait, wait!” Now he desperately needs them to pump the metaphorical brakes on this conversation! He’s waving his hands wildly, face burning — which shouldn’t be possible because he’s undead, and yet! Apparently dying doesn’t absolve you from the mortifying ordeal of having your embarrassments broadcast to the entire world! “What are you guys talking about? Me?”
“Is… that a no?” Sour Cream asks, crestfallen, fork setting back against the plate.
“It—it—” It’s … not a no? That revelation slaps him in the face. Hasn’t he always been envious of what they’ve had? And here they are, inviting him into it. So what’s his hang up?
“It’s… It’s a why me?” The question comes across as somehow both self-deprecating and disrespectful to them, but he can’t wrap his mind around it. “You guys were looking for a fourth, and you picked me?”
“Well, sure!” Though she says it with cheer in her voice, there’s a look on Jenny’s face that Lars has seen too often and knows too well. She’s reading him, and she’s concerned. “You’ve practically been one of us for like, two years now. And you’re a real sweet guy, Lars. You’re like a pineapple.”
“Prickly on the outside and soft on the inside, huh?” Lars sighs.
“Actually.” Buck speaking up surprises him; he even removes his sunglasses, which almost never happens. “I think you’ve become softer over the years, man. You’ve got a lot more emotional intelligence than you did as a teen and you’ve become more genuine, too. We all have. And it’s really shining through in you.”
Sour Cream smiles. “I’m bad at words, but you’re pretty hot, too.”
“I…” His voice fails him suddenly, and his eyes start misting, and it’s not because of the ‘hot’ thing.
It’s partly because of the ‘hot’ thing.
“Y-you guys would… seriously want me around?” His voice breaks, and it’s pretty pathetic. “All of you?”
“Of course,” Jenny says with all the sincerity in the world. She pats the empty seat next to her, raising an eyebrow, an open invitation.
Lars has never thought of himself as lovable.
He’s made mistakes. More than anyone else ever has, probably. His social anxiety led to him a landslide of them: purposefully throwing school so he wasn’t seen as ‘nerdy;’ overemphasizing his own masculinity to the point of toxicity, because heaven forbid someone see him as even slightly feminine; mistreating Ronaldo, who used to be his best friend; and then he repeated that mistake, over and over and over. With Steven, it was like water off a duck’s back; that boy didn’t care what anyone thought of him, and he had enough in him to love every person in the entire universe.
But Sadie… Sadie hadn’t been like that. She hadn’t deserved it — more so than anyone else. She’d been kind, and caring, and sensitive. And Lars had needed someone like that, someone willing to pry him open and listen to him when he needed it, someone to trust him enough to let him do the same. But she wasn’t ‘cool,’ and he couldn’t be allowed to be seen with her like that, and so he did things like pretend he hated her when she wasn’t around and like he didn’t want to be with her when she was, and then he still expected her to be there for him and—
“Hey.”
He blinks and realizes he’s crying.
Sour Cream has a hand on his shoulder, concern on his face, and Lars doesn’t even remember the three of them standing up, but suddenly they’re there, and then Buck pulls him in for a tight hug. Then Jenny joins, and the three of them are surrounding him, holding him, enfolding him in all the warmth and love he never thought he’d ever earn.
And slowly, through the tears, Lars gives a soft laugh, arms wrapping around them in turn. “Hey, uh… if you’ll have me… then. Yes.”
Jenny squeals, leaning in to plant a solid kiss on his cheek. The motion is dizzying, something he’s seen Shep and Sadie do dozens of times and felt the green monster burning in his chest — not for Sadie, but for what they had.
“You guys… wanna head back to my place?” Lars asks, cheeks heating up, even though this is no different than anything else he’s ever asked of them. “There’s… this new horror flick on Webflicks, if you guys are up for it.”
“Sweet. I love sampling that stuff.”
“Sure thing, babe, I’ve been meaning to see that one.”
“Buck is pleased.”
Buck takes Lars’s hand as they all separate, and it’s the smallest thing, but Lars feels his spirits lift, heart beating as fast as it can, to do the same things they always do in a new, exciting context.
fandom: The Adventure Zone: Balance
rating: G
prompt: Survivor’s Guilt
word count: <1k
requester: @greecllings
Forty, Forty-One
He should've tasted the food. References Episode 48: The Eleventh Hour, Chapter 8.
Thanks so much for rq’ing this one, Josie! I had a blast doing it & I hope you enjoy! I love Taako ;_;
[Read on AO3]
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Taako has never known guilt like this. All-encompassing, all-consuming. The sort of thing that eats at your stomach lining and causes acid reflux, the sort of thing that burrows deep into your heart and claims it for itself, refusing to allow anyone or anything else inside.
On the run, from place to place, traveling without another body at his side, Taako wonders if he should have done something different. The logical, rational part of him insists that the only reason he’s alive right now, is because he didn’t.
The other part of him, the one that stubbornly insists on raw emotion — as if this is the time or the place for that sort of thing, as if there is ever a time and place for it — insists that if he had tasted the damn food, everything would be different. Over three dozen lives would’ve been saved in exchange for his own, and he’s just one measly wizard.
A devilishly handsome wizard, but still.
Half a town, dead, all because he thought transmuting the elderberries from skin to skinless and back again would be fun, and he’d slipped, and he’d turned them into nightshade.
“Come now, Taako,” he murmurs to his own reflection in the bath water one night, when he reaches a town whose inn supplies baths at a rate he can afford. “Death comes to all of us, eventually.”
But it should have come to him, and it hadn’t.
The entity they meet in the Crystal Kingdom, the one that calls himself Kravitz, claims to be a servant of the Raven Queen, informs Taako that he’s died eight times. And Taako can only nod, because maybe if he’s already died eight times, he was spared another death in that one moment.
As if the Raven Queen could’ve had anything to do with his own mistake.
“Thirty cloves of garlic,” Taako mutters to himself in the dead of night, when Magnus and Merle have long since gone to bed, when meditation is no longer restful. “Salt, pepper, to taste. Three whole chicken breasts. Two teaspoons of Worcester sauce. An elderberry garnish.”
Elderberry. Elderberry. Fucking elderberry.
June takes his hand as if she holds all the answers in her palm, and Taako follows her. In this recreation of the scene of his greatest crime and his greatest mistake, she pulls back the curtain to reveal to him to the behind-the-scenes, to the “making of,” and it’s the kind of twist he ought to be charged for.
Sazed clutches a bottle of arsenic, curled over, guilt killing him the same way it’s been twisting deeper and deeper into Taako’s gut every day since then, the way he’s been twisting it in deeper.
“I guess this must come as some small relief,” June murmurs.
Taako laughs.
Forty people still died. He should’ve tasted his damn food.
But it wasn’t the fucking elderberry, and he finds it suddenly so much easier to get over it now.
-
Years later, he still wakes up with nightmares. Kravitz holds him and Taako has to carefully explain, after several months of their intermittent interruptions, that this wasn’t a result of some sort of post-apocalyptic stress syndrome, but because of a mistake he’d made a lifetime ago that he should be long over.
A fire burns in Kravitz’s eyes when he suggests tracking down Sazed. Though tempting, Taako saw the twisted look on Sazed’s face, and he knows that man’s probably not quite over that petty decision, yet.
Kravitz holds his head between his hands and swears that his decision to not eat the food is what means he’s alive now. Even if he’d tasted it, the poisoning would’ve taken long enough to act that he’d already have begun serving it, and then it would be forty-one deaths on Sazed’s head.
Figures.
“Y’know,” Taako murmurs, “survivor’s guilt is overrated.”
The nightmares still come. He still looks at his own reflection — not quite as handsome, these days — and wonders if he should’ve done something different.
But that monster in his heart has been uprooted, and he refuses to renew its lease.
rating: G
fandom: Steven Universe
prompt: Cry it Out
word count: .3k
requester: @/bxtchmarine on twitter
Respite
Connie and Steven get a moment alone for the first time in weeks. Set shortly after CYM.
[Read on AO3]
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It is weeks after the Era 3 ball when Steven and Connie finally get a chance to be alone again. Connie’s surprised by how much taller he’s gotten in such a short span of time. He’s almost her height, now.
But then again, Connie supposes that the weeks in between have felt like years.
“How are you doing?” Connie asks as she steps into his house.
“Good,” he says, his voice sounding somewhat detached. “You?”
She hasn’t been. Nightmares have plagued her so frequently, with such intensity that she wakes up in her parents’ arms, that she can no longer claim restful sleep. She opens her mouth to say as much, but the crushing guilt slams her mouth shut. How can she say she hasn’t been well if the same thing hasn’t been bothering Steven, who went through so much worse?
“Yeah,” Steven says, when she finds herself unable to respond. “Yeah.”
Steven’s loft is in a state of upheaval. They’re preparing to renovate it, to give Steven more room to himself. Since apparently what Steven needs right now is more space. So instead of heading up, they plop down on the couch in the living room, where he’s got the TV set up.
Neither of them move to turn it on.
“You know,” Connie says after a beat, “you don’t have to say you’re good when you’re not.”
“I know.”
This time his voice hiccups. Connie wraps her arm around him and pulls him in to her, feeling his shoulders tremble -- or maybe that’s her own.
“Hey,” she murmurs, gentle. “It’s okay to just… cry it out.”
“I know,” he whispers, softer.
And for the first time since they got back from Homeworld, they sit in silence, alone together, and mourn without the words to articulate what exactly it is they’re mourning.
