#i have to save the little energy i have for feeding myself and maintaining my hygiene so sometimes i just lay in bed half asleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finelinevogue · 3 years ago

Note

hey! first of all i’m obsessed with all of your writing i swear i cry every single time😭🤍 i look forward to reading your stuff when i get home from work, and it helps me when i’m stressed. so basically hi i love you. i recently celebrated 1 year sober and i was wondering if you could write something abou harry dedicating a song to his gf for maintaining her sobriety? (only if you’re comfortable ofc!)

hi, i love you too! sorry for making you cry😭 your words are so kind and you’ve made my day so much brighter! congratulations on your one year sobriety!!! i hope you’re very proud of yourself, because i’m really proud of you - always <33 i’m not sure what you are sober for and i don’t to be invasive and ask, so i decided to base this one off an alcohol addiction. this one’s for you, my lovely; (oh and p.s. let’s pretend harry wrote ‘home’ just for you and one direction never wrote it!)

Today you celebrated being one year sober.

Four years ago you developed an alcohol addiction. It was the worst time of your life; going to parties just to wake up still paralytic, drinking an alcoholic drink with every meal and a couple in between, falling asleep drunk every night and not learning your lesson from the hangover the next morning. You were self destructing and were too gone to see it happen. The people around you could see it happening though. Your family and friends abandoned you because you they believed you were a lost cause. You were alone for 3 lonely years, until last year you met Harry.

The one time that you were actually sober, shopping in your local Aldi, was the first time you met him.

He was dressed from a run and was in the fridge section to grab himself a protein shake before he was about to run home - that you’d come to learn. He made minimal conversation with you, but it was enough for him to fall for you - hard. Every time you met up with him you tried to be as sober as you could, but it caught up to you. You slipped and shut yourself out from him, not wanting him to leave you like everyone else had so you left him first.

As it would be, he never left you. He saved you.

He was there for you in your darkest moments. He was there to help lock your demons away and introduce life back into your heart and soul. You wanted to be better for him, he deserved that much. Half a year after meeting him, he managed to encourage you to attend counselling sessions which you would be worse without. He made calls to friends to help you re-connect with people, truly friendly people. He hugged you on the days you felt anxious or tempted and let you cry on his shoulder when you felt like a failure, all the whilst he would kiss your forehead and squeeze you to remind you just how much you were loved and just how proud he was of you. It took you a while to believe it, but;

Harry Styles loves and is proud of you.

You were so happy to spending the day with him, getting to watch him do what he loves so much. He was in Denver, Colorado, tonight and his set was going perfect so far. He’d given his infamous “ass or face” speech, which made the fans go wild. He, unfortunately, had to use the oxygen mask to replenish his lungs because he wasn’t feeling great. He’d even shouted to you when you were blowing him kisses saying, “I wanna kiss you but I can’t” which made you tear up ever so slightly. Today was such a proud and happy day for you, so extra moments like this for you were the cherries on the top of the cake.

“Okay, so we have 15 more minutes of love tonight for you.” Harry spoke into his microphone, after singing Treat People With Kindness and looking so very sweaty. “15 minutes of extra love compared to the previous show.” The fans screamed at this and you knew the fans in Vegas would no doubt be extra jealous.

“He’s allowed to do that?” You asked Jeff beside you, wondering why he was changing the timings all of a sudden. He hadn’t told you about this.

“He specifically requested it before going onstage.” Jeff answered, winking at you and nodding his head back to the stage for you to focus.

“Now. Today is not only special because I get to play in front of you lovely people,” the crowd let out a deafening scream, “but because it is an important day for my Y/N.” He smiled, looking over in your direction. The crowd screamed even louder for you.

“What is he doing?” You asked Jeff but he only smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Liar, you thought.

You’d never publicly told anyone about your addiction because it was something that you were embarrassed about. You hated who you were and you tried your hardest not to think about that person anymore. Harry was the only person who knew and you liked to keep it that way, for the time being. Not even your new friends knew.

“I’m so proud of Y/N, always, but especially today.” Harry spoke, walking down the stage to the end of the runway where his mic was set up and still keeping eye contact with you. Your tears were full in your eyes and some even streaming down your face as you took in his words.

He’d spent all morning loving on you. He didn’t let you two leave the hotel room until 5 minutes before the buses were leaving, because he wanted to spend as much time as possible showing you just how much he loved you. Turns out 4 rounds of sex, 2 blowjobs and 3 times getting eaten out doesn’t even come close to showing that, according to him, but it did make you feel worthy and that’s all you’ve wanted to feel for the past few years. He made you feel worth it - it being loved and supported and safe. He was your blanket of comfort and you’d let him swallow you up every day for the rest of your life if it meant feeling this way forever.

Harry had even bought you a card and a cake, one that had a singular candle in to mark your one year anniversary of being sober. The sense of pride getting to blow out that candle was a feeling second to none, except from maybe the 7 orgasms you were given.

“So if you don’t mind, i’m going to sing this song for my girlfriend. It’s new, but i’m sure you’ll pick up the chorus. This is called ‘Home’ and it’s just for you, m’love.” God damn these tears, you could barely see Harry pick up his galaxy painted guitar and tilt his body so he was facing you.

The song had you in tears.

Fans were both recording you and Harry, but you were too unaware to notice them when all you could focus on were the words he was singing to you. Every line was so clear and it made your heart burst through your chest that little bit more each time. You cupped your hands under your vin as you cried over every new line of song, watching him strum on the guitar and sing his heart out as if every ounce of him was just for you. His words, his voice, his heart and soul were completely yours. The fans did quickly pick up the chorus and the atmosphere was completely still, yet electric with them feeding off Harrys energy and gifting it to you.

“You’ll never feel like you’re alone, i’ll make this feel like home.”

His last line was sung and his last chord was struck and you couldn’t move an inch. You were stuck watching him with intense loved eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of support and comfort just from this moment alone. You thought what he’d given you this morning in the hotel was love, but now you questioned that. This felt like a reminder you were free and safe and found. You felt significant. And for a moment, that all felt a like bit stronger than love.

You didn’t even realise your boyfriend was standing in front of you until he was. He caressed your cheek in one hand, holding the neck of his guitar with his other. The fans were being caged behind a barricade, but they weren’t even violently pushing because they wanted to see how he treated you and acted around you behind closed doors. Your relationship was very private, so this was very new for you too. You liked him close though. So much so that everyone else sort of slipped away.

“That bad?” He asked teasingly, referring to the amount of tears you were crying.

“Was a bit rusty in some places.” You teased back, you and him both knowing you didn’t mean a word that you’d just said. You both laughed until you caught Harrys hand on your cheek and moved it so you could plant a soft kiss to his palm. “Thank you for making me feel home.” You smiled, new tears forming in both yours and his now.

“Thank you for being my home.” He replied, smiling through the light tears.

“Stop crying,” you laughed through your own tears, reaching out your other hand to wipe his away, “not very rockstar of you.”

“Can’t help myself when i’m so proud of you.” He answered, moving his hand off his guitar so he could help wipe your tears away. Both of you were helping each other recover, forgetting about the world just for a minute to have a moment with each other. You both deserved that much.

260 notes · View notes

cipheress-to-k-pop · 3 years ago

Text

Supernova (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Robin x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mental health issues and episodes.

Word Count: 3.1K

Summary: As the daughter of Wonder Woman, you always knew you were destined for something more than the life of a mortal. It seemed like your wish for a life of adventure came true but whether in the form of a blessing or curse, you didn’t know. All you know is that you were the sole witness for a chain of murders that would begin. It’s up to you to find out who was the murderer before it’s too late……

A/N: Oof it has been a while since the last update

Supernova Masterlist

“I told you specifically that you were not to get involved! And you deliberately disobeyed me!” Your mother scolded but her voice was getting a decibel louder each time. You looked unfazed and unbothered, not even trying to maintain eye-contact while receiving your mother’s disappointment and instead staring out the window.

It was not what you had wanted to hear at the moment if you were being honest. The past few days had been hard and you even missed training since Valerie’s death. Robin had been by your room multiple times trying to get you out of bed but you just remained there. Not living, not dying, just existing.

Your mother’s comfort might have done nothing to change the way you downward spiraled after the events and while your mother yelled at you, the same images kept replaying in your head as they did for the past few days; Robin ripping you away from her body as the police and press showed up, Valerie’s parents finding out what happened and then watching her mother break down in front of her daughter, Valerie’s little sister wailing during the funeral.

You didn’t leave the bed after that, still dressed in the black blazer and trousers you had worn that day. It had been a couple days. You had managed to swallow down Robin’s green smoothies and even a couple slices of fruit but you didn’t quite remember what it was. They all tasted bland and disgusting.

Your mother had found out about your identity through the multiple press reports and articles and while you were sorry that she had to find out that way, you didn’t have the capacity to show it. The last thing you had was the energy to fight with her, or even resist her.

So instead, you just listened to whatever she had to say, hoping that she’d leave sooner or later but the more you felt your head throb, the more frustrated you got. This was just so typical of her, of course the unstoppable, fearless, undefeatable Wonder Woman would have no idea what you were going through. And instead of asking you for your two cents, instead of comforting you, she had been trying to imprint her anxieties onto you.

Had she even thought how hard this must have been for you? For even a second? You couldn’t imagine it because if she had thought about you for even a moment, she would’ve realized that you literally saw your best friend murdered before your eyes. She would’ve realized that you were feeling like you didn’t deserve to live on the face of the earth. And she would’ve tried to comfort you.

Instead, she stormed into your room, tossing her phone with the news article on the bed before beginning her lecture and now fifteen minutes later she had yet to ask you if you were okay.

Her argument was stupid as well. You didn’t ask for any of this to happen to you; you were hardly responsible and yet no matter how hard you tried to avoid the matter, it kept pulling you back in. You couldn’t deal with this like a human, no matter how much your mother wanted you to, because you knew that you were more than that and you could have done something. It left you feeling guilty.

But at the same time, you couldn’t handle this as a god because you weren’t. You kept thinking about how you ended up coming short in each fight; had you been blessed with just a little more, had you not been part human then you wouldn’t have gotten injured the night Mary-Anne got captured and you would’ve saved her. If you weren’t limited, you would’ve been faster the day Valerie was killed, you would’ve reached her before it happened, you would’ve stopped it.

You were truly useless, but you didn’t have the excuse to be.

That made you feel absolutely worthless. Even after being blessed with so much, you still came up short. You still failed.

And who was to blame for that? The cruel fate that had you in the position you were today.

“If you weren’t my daughter—” Your mother muttered to herself in her anger, realizing that you weren’t reacting to anything she said but you caught the start of her sentence, cutting her off with a humorless and tired laugh.

“If I wasn’t your daughter,” You finally looked at her and you saw her features morph into one of worry when she finally noticed all the tears that were skating down your cheeks, “I wouldn’t be here.”

“Three people are dead, mom.” You cried, voice cracking but she stood there as if she was nailed to her place, “And I only have myself to blame. If I had been faster, stronger, if I didn’t have these human side to me, they wouldn’t be.”

“I can’t live like a god because I’m not competent enough, not gifted enough.” You sobbed, wiping away your tears and holding a hand up when she tried to approach you. You were too overwhelmed at the moment, too much input was there and it was overloading all your senses, “And I can’t live like a human because if I was this wouldn’t be happening to me.”

“If I wasn’t your daughter,” You spoke and it scared her with just how much malice you put into it, like you were disgusted with yourself for being her child and in a way, you were, how could you be Wonder Woman’s daughter and still be so weak?

“Those people wouldn’t have died when I was there to do something about it. Mary-Anne would have been gone without me knowing, my principal wouldn’t have been a casualty and I would’ve gotten Achilles’ tarot.” It was like you had given up. So many emotions were rushing through you that you couldn’t understand what was pushing you anymore, if there was anything there.

You weren’t ready just yet to give up on being a hero, not after another death. You wanted to help, you couldn’t continue to be useless and yet it felt like you were burning the candle at both ends.

“Please just go. I don’t expect Wonder Woman to understand what it’s like to be caught between paradise and hell.” You said, laying down once again and pulling the covers over your head, “Just go.”

You heard the door open and click shut before you were bathed in silence and darkness once again. For a minute it felt peaceful and you let the minutes bleed into hours without realizing just how much time passed as you were curled up in the hollow of your blankets.

You heard the door click open but didn’t bother to rear your head from your shelter until you felt someone poke you in the back. When you turned, Robin was standing with a tray in his hands and a reassuring smile on his face, “I got you something to drink.”

He didn’t ruin the silence that you had been yearning for, in fact the sound of his voice was sweet to the ears. This was what you needed.

Shifting slightly, you patted the empty spot next to you and when he settled comfortably beside you, it wasn’t suffocating or difficult like how you felt with your mother. Robin handed you the glass of fruit cocktail smoothie and you accepted, sipping the drink quietly and enjoying the chill slipping down your throat.

This wasn’t uncommon. Ever since you both started training together, you often found yourself searching for him when you needed comfort, since Robin was the one you had gotten closest to during your stay here. Now, with just an inch of distance between you, you were feeding off his energy and it was putting you at ease.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he didn’t flinch, having been used to it by now but the first time you had even held his hand, the poor boy had jumped out his skin. You just needed the physical touch to put you in balance for a while and recharge, he realized that a while ago. Robin even felt better himself whenever you played with his fingers, specifically taking off his gloves to feel his skin or leaned against his back after a long day of training.

It felt so intimate but not romantic. He just felt needed and supportive whenever you relied on him this way, delicately threading your fingers together and sitting in the silence of your room. He didn’t even have to look at you, just feeling his presence beside you was okay.

The sound of you finished the drink through the straw filled his ears before he realized he should speak up.

“(Y/N).” He said gently and you didn’t lift your head, just humming to show that you had heard him, “They’re interrogating her murderer today.”

He would’ve thought that you were unshaken by the news had he not felt your hands tighten its grip on his. You just nodded, burying your head closer to his neck, wishing the ground would just suck you in. He didn’t say anything else, gently drumming the fingers that were set on his thigh.

***

Your hands clenched into fists as you gazed at the figure behind the one-way window. She looked too simple, too mundane to be a murderer but you knew she was the one responsible for Valerie’s death. Afterall, you had been the one to catch her red-handed.

Messy red hair was thrown into a bun, her unkempt strands and frizz making her look like she hadn’t slept in days and you were part to blame for that. Her lip was still split from where you punched her, your knuckles pricked at the sight, eager for more.

Looking at her, you couldn’t imagine how she was responsible for this, a frail looking woman who looked like she couldn’t even hurt a fly. Her name was Thelma, at least that’s what it says on her identity card. Thelma had been denying that as her name since the interrogation had begun.

Going through her file, she looked just as you had assumed; ordinary.

Batman hadn’t gotten a word out of her, she had refused to co-operate with the interrogation at all, pretending not to hear his questions, going as far as to even deny committing the crime at all. That part made you clench your jaw so tight you could’ve sworn your teeth could crack. She knew she had the advantage here.

As per the rules from the UN, you weren’t allowed to use the lasso of Hestia without her consent to assist the interrogation as it violates their right to remain silent. Watching her blatantly deny the crime that you knew she had committed had your blood boiling in your veins. If only you could wrap Hestia’s rope around her throat.

You growled as Batman tried to intimidate her but it was in vain before grabbing the lasso from your mother’s waist and stomping to the door.

“(Y/N)!” She warned, as if daring you to defy her again.

You didn’t even spare her a glance before throwing the door open and stepping inside. Batman stalked up to you quickly, leaning in with a cold fury but you didn’t back down, holding his stare. You couldn’t just stand back anymore, the feeling of knowing that you could have done something but didn’t was too much for you to take anymore.

“Give me a chance.” You murmured, “I won’t go against protocol. You have my word.”

His gaze hardened for a second before giving you a curt nod and moving to the corner of the room. He didn’t trust you not to lose your temper, not just yet and you were more than determined to prove one of the big three that you could handle yourself. Although the urge to slap the condescending look off her face was getting more tempting.

You fastened the rope to your belt before stepping in front of the table, resting your hands against it in a self-satisfying way that you saw in movie before finally looking Valerie’s murderer in the eye. Haggard green eyes behind thick lenses and wrinkles running deep into her pale skin. She looked pathetic. That made you feel both frustrated and proud.

“Your name is Paris,” You bit out with such venom, making sure to keep your voice loud enough for the members behind the glass to hear you clearly, “Isn’t it?”

She smirked and her eyes flashed with some pride that had you resisting the urge to throw her across the room. It would be so easy to snap her neck right then and there, to make her pay for what she did to your dear friend but you controlled yourself.

“Finally, someone with a brain.”

You mirrored her smirk, feeling your spine straightened with a little confidence, your hunch had been right, “How couldn’t I have known The Great Paris? The brave soldier who slayed Mighty Achilles.” You purred, taking your eyes off her and glancing at the glass. You were keeping your tone even, your gaze steady to show your mother but you were comforted knowing that Robin was behind it.

“The brave, skilled, mighty Trojan Prince Paris. Made a name for himself by being the best of his kind. Only a mortal but still managed to take down a divine god.” You droned, noticing how she began beaming at your words. You turned back to her and even though it was just a moment, they had seen something change in your eye. Your glare turned dark and you smirked.

“Only we both know one thing; your name isn’t Paris.” Her smile vanished and you took a step closer, sitting right across her to look her in the eye. “Tell me if this sounds familiar, hmm? A lonely, old woman living all alone. She’s at a dead-end job. She has no family, no friends, no light in her life.”

The way you spoke had your mother on edge. Every single word that came out of your mouth was like hitting a nail on the head. It was unlike anyone had ever seen before.

Robin clutched his cape nervously in his hands as he watched you interrogate Thelma with something settling in the pit of his stomach. He had seen that look before, the very same dark glare on his father and now it scared him that it was almost identical on you. He couldn’t let you turn out as his dad, he just couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“And then finally she gets something in her life. A chance at hope. A chance at purpose. Something to finally make her believe that her life is worth living. Sound familiar? I bet it does, Thelma.” You hissed, “Because that pathetic woman was you, wasn’t it? You thought that if you killed Achilles you’d be rewarded, worshipped even. And finally, your miserable little life would have some meaning. Didn’t you?”

The look of fear in her eyes fed your hunger for a while. She was shaking her head feebly, looking at the ground since she couldn’t hold your gaze and you could only get angrier. Where was the pride and arrogance that she was showing earlier? Where was the crazed look in her eye as she murdered your best friend in cold blood?

“Only you were stupid,” You spat, “You were careless and you got caught. And suddenly, you weren’t the Mighty Paris that defeated Achilles. No, you were pathetic, irrelevant little Thelma who killed an underaged, unprotected girl in the locker room of her high school. I saw it all. You’re despicable.”

Robin watched your eyes swirl with a darkness he had never seen before. You were always trying to fight against your demons that were pulling you into the deepest recesses of your mind but now it was like you had finally surrendered to it. It was scary to watch such a pure person slowly get corrupted and Robin felt his resolve harden a little. He wouldn’t let you end up like the Dark Knight.

He had known Wonder Woman for most of his life and it was always your mother’s unconditional love and hope for the human race that made her what she stood as today. You always wanted to be like your mother, in body and mind. Now it felt like you were throwing away all those principles. Now it was to protect your own, and no one else.

If there was anything he could do to prevent you from going down that path he would, he realized when he saw the manic look in your eye. You were so close to being lost. Robin spared a glance at your mother, seeing her stand steady and tall. You were teetering over the edge at the moment and if your mother pushed just a little in the wrong way, you could possibly be lost to the rest of them. He wouldn’t let it come to that.

The darkness storming in your eyes suddenly ceased. Your features went slack in a terrifying way as you leaned towards the shivering woman in front of you as your fingers went white around the edges of the table.

“You took something very precious from me,” It was like poison was dripping from your tongue and you kept your voice low enough so only the both of you would know what you were saying, “Watch how easily I can do the same to you.”

Suddenly you pulled back and turned towards Batman with a small, disarming smile, “She’s free to go, Batman. She isn’t the one who killed Valerie. She’s just an ordinary, insignificant civilian.”

It was like a thread snapped.

“I DID IT! I KILLED HER! IT WAS ME!” Thelma shrieked lunatically, kicking the table and banging her hand-cuffed hands against the tabletop. She began sobbing loudly, screaming about how she was the one who killed Valerie and your heart lightened with satisfaction just a little. Just what you wanted.

“It’s my word against yours, Thelma. I witnessed the murder. I just think you’re just confused.” You replied, seemingly unfazed by her episode. The way she was crying in poor agony would usually have you off-put, concerned even. But right now, all you felt was your eardrums sting. She deserved none of your remorse.

“NO! NO, I DID IT! I DID IT!”

The smirk on your face was unmistakable, “Oh really? Will your confession hold up against the Lasso of Truth? Do you think it can?”

Her crying died down until she was softly sobbing into her hands, knowing that she had no other way out. She had lost, “Yes. I did it.”

You loosened the lasso around your waist, letting one end fall to the ground before wrapping it once around your wrist for better leverage, “Then let the interrogation begin.”

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@hanbedumbaf

@superheroesaremyjam113263

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

Supernova Taglist:

@tinybeantm

@adc2016

@seoulnights5

@renjunvrse

@brightjimini

@mad4hugs

@uniyasi

@wierdlypineapple

@mono--moonchild

@smol-book-nerd

203 notes · View notes

leefi · 3 years ago

Text

Starira MBTI II - Siegfeld

These were the most fun to write up.

Seisho

Siegfeld

Frontier

Rinmeikan

Michiru Otori: ENFJ

Oh my woof woof...My evil little girlboss. i love you sooooo soooooo so much. Michiru is fake as fuck and soooooo evil and funny. She's the final entry I'm writing because I wanted to save the best for last.

She is the perfect example of how manipulative and conniving Fe doms can be (we even see a teeny tiny bit of this in Nana - see how she tricks Kaoruko into doing work in their My Theatre conversations). Michiru is also a visionary - she has a very distinct plan for the future that she’s always working towards (aux Ni), but you’d never guess that about her at first glance. She works very hard to maintain an affable, easygoing, approachable persona to contrast with Te dom Akira’s more intimidating and domineering one (dom Fe). I can’t say that I’ve seen her use too much of that tertiary Se, but her Ni and Fe are so strong that I have absolutely no doubt that she’s an ENFJ. We definitely see that inferior Ti struggle to catch up with Akira’s dominant Te reasoning for prioritizing Elysion over the Performance Festival, though, because Michiru’s Ni is thinking so far--too far, she comes to realize--ahead.

I could talk more about how smart and pragmatic and intuitive Michiru is, but we’d be stuck here all day. She’s my evil little girlboss, yes, but she also cares for her friends so much. At the end of the day, she’s an Fe dom, and that mastermind auxiliary Ni comes second - everything she does is to uplift and benefit the people around her. That dominant extroverted Feeling is what allows her to pick up on Akira’s potential from that day in their childhood - and auxiliary Ni instantly begins setting a plan into motion for how to get there. Why doesn’t Michiru try for the throne herself, then? Well, maybe there’s some deep-seated insecurity towards Akira and their relationship that we’re not seeing. It has always intrigued me so much as to why she prefers to work in the background. It would be fine if she truly preferred to stay in the shadows - that’s a normal thing for a lot of people to want, and they thrive there. But I’ve always had the feeling that isn’t quite the case for her…Sometimes she says things that make me think she desires more.

But again, she’s an Fe dom - her mind is geared towards thinking about other people, about what’s best for the group. And we see that once more when she’s perfectly poised to win the Arcana revue against Shiori, when she flippantly remarks at the start that there’s no way in hell that she’s losing to her - but then she sees how hard Shiori is trying, the potential she has to succeed her the role of Frau Saphir one day, how much she’s grown and come into her own and found a cause to fight for, while Michiru is is too far stuck in the future...and dominant Fe stamps that conniving auxiliary Ni down, and she rips off her own jacket for her kouhai.

Akira Yukishiro: ESTJ

Funnily enough, the “extroverted” ESTJ actually tends to be a bit more socially reserved than their “introverted” ISTJ siblings - this is because ESTJs have Feeling in their inferior slot, while ISTJs have it in their Tertiary (compare her to ISTJ Junna, who as a class leader actively goes out of her way to interact with the other girls and make sure everyone’s included, while Akira bothers herself only with the Edels). ESTJ’s extroversion instead manifests in their desire to control, order, and yes, be on top, just like Akira’s ENTJ cousin Claudine. Akira is a Te dom and Si aux, so she’s all about leading by example and doing it by the tried-and-true. This is why she fits so well into the role of the quintessential emperor/king, but as I mentioned with her inferior Fi, doesn’t actually have any charisma beyond what Fe-dom Michiru has manufactured for her (it's explicitly stated that Akira is even more revered than Edels of old - yes, due to her phenomenal and unparalleled talent, but also because Michiru actively works to cultivate an image that makes her untouchable). This is exactly why her relationship with Michiru works so well. It’s only natural that two extroverted judgers aimed for Siegfeld - and absolutely thrive there.

Her tertiary Ne, meanwhile, is why a lot of people (myself included) love her interactions with Yachiyo and Aruru (Ne doms). Akira’s Ne and Fi are weak, but she’s very smart and - contrary to first impressions - isn’t a stubborn person when she trusts the competency of the people around her (Te). And that’s thanks to her Ne. She lives for the stage, it’s her pride and joy, and when she sees people who are doing something that pay ode to it well - whether that’s ENFP Aruru’s excitable and childlike Ne-Fi or ENTP Yachiyo’s more pragmatic and intellectually curious Ne-Ti, she is quick to place her trust in them. Akira surprises the other two school leaders in the event story when she tells them they’d be wise to learn from Karen and Aruru’s senses of wonder, and Yachiyo’s passion for the stage - though wildly different from Akira’s own - is what makes her confident in her decision to pass the throne off to her.

Shiori Yumeoji: ISFJ

A PERFECT example of using dominant Si is when Shiori inhabits the role of the Chariot to draw out the strength and energy she needs during her revue with Michiru - introverted Sensing is all about deriving from past experiences and using them to inform the present!

And she and Tamao are!! The same!! Type!! Which is so interesting to me! ISFJs are so sweet and kind and caring (they and INFPs are actually often mistaken for each other - compare her to Mahiru!) - but there’s an inner fire to them that can be so easy to miss! I can’t think of a single fictional ISFJ I’ve met that didn’t, at some point, become incredibly insane and unhinged! I’m not sure what it is, but if I had to guess I think it’s that inferior Ne showing up, kicking down the door, and going “I’M HEEEEEEEEEEEEREEEEEEE BITCHESSSSSSSSSS”

Anyway - textbook ISFJ. So, so sweet and demure (Si dominant, Fe auxiliary - both are so concerned with standards, group sentiment, how things were done before, how everyone is feeling - so so so accommodating but can end up becoming doormats). We see that Si a lot in her woes towards her sister - “we were supposed to do this, we were supposed to be this,” etc. etc...hell the only reason in the first place that she joins the Edels is because of her original promise with Fumi. Tend to keep their inner thoughts and machinations to themselves (Ti tertiary). Prone to snapping and going insane if they get pushed/bothered too much (Ne inferior) - I legitimately think that Ne is the scariest function to have in your inferior slot. Godspeed, ladies.

Another fun note: she and Yachiyo are polar opposites, something I never noticed until just now. Interesting lmao

Liu Mei Fan: ENFJ

I had to check her PDB page to get her type because I honestly had no clue! She was the most difficult for me! But after seeing her listed as ENFJ I went “...hm?” and then went “oh yeah.”. Because she reminds me of Sonia Nevermind from Dangan Ronpa LMAOOOOO. FORGIVE ME FOR THIS COMPARISON. IT’S NOT BECAUSE OF THE EXCHANGE STUDENT THING!! They just have the same personality type, and it kind of manifests itself in the same way - despite the stereotype being that Fe doms are always very socially conscious and suave, these two are both a quirkier/more awkward type of ENFJ, and at first glance both could pass off as their happy-go-luckier ENFP or ESFP cousins instead...if you’re just looking at the letters. But when you look at their actual functions, they’re both ENFJ as they come! See how different two people of the same type can be?! She and Michiru share a type! Mei Fan is a well-meaning, driven Fe-dom in a strict Si-heavy environment like Siegfeld’s, and it’s SO funny to watch her dominant Fe desperately try to adjust her personality as she goes to fit in properly (while Michiru watches like 🙂 , Shiori is right there with her desperately adjusting (Fe aux), and Yachiyo doesn’t give a shit and does her own thing anyway). Our beloved shimbo has Ti in her last slot which isn’t surprising given her penchant to speak before she thinks, and Se in her tertiary slot which shows up in, again, her physicality (MUSCLEMAN MEI FAN HIGH-INTENSITY JOCK TRAINING IN THE MOUNTAINS). Aux Ni showed itself in that ceaseless determination to become an Edel, and her constant work towards shaping herself into an ideal one to impress Akira (and achieve her own goals in surpassing Akira herself!). Just compare her to dom Ne Yachi, who could care less about any of that stuff and goes her own way.

Yachiyo Tsuruhime: ENTP

“What do I wish for? World peace and happiness for everyone, I guess.” The moment I saw this homescreen quote I knew she was an ENTP - somebody else on her PDB page actually pointed it out too lmao. ENTPs are the “devil’s advocate” type which can lead to ruffling a lot of other peoples’ feathers, but Yachiyo is a bit suaver than that (developed tertiary Fe). Granted, she doesn’t escape the stereotype completely - she has a lot of fun in teasing the Fe-aux and Fe-dom Shiori and Mei Fan respectively, though she would never dare to do the same to Michiru. As we learn through the main story, there’s something that appears insidious about her at first glance - but that’s genuinely all it is, a first impression. She keeps to herself, yes, but Yachiyo’s an actress to the core, and her greatest love is the stage, just like (if not more than) all of the other girls around her. Yachiyo’s unique in that she breaks some of the typical Starira model of seeing her partner as her greatest inspiration - she’s not invested in a person like Shiori is with her sister or Michiru and Mei Fan are in Akira - Yachiyo pursues the stage solely for her own fulfillment and desires. Everything is a curiosity to her (Ne feeding Ti - how can I make sense of this world, and what can I do for myself to gain access to more information and experiences, because I’m always, always hungry for more). Her inferior Si shows up in how much she contrasts Akira, who is an Si-aux - just look at the unconventional way she found to practice her acting (pretending to be a spy snooping on the Edels), compared to Akira’s more conventional methods of stringent, scheduled practice.

#revue starlight #siegfeld #yukishiro akira #otori michiru #yumeoji shiori #liu mei fan #tsuruhime yachiyo #me: i don't play favorites :)#me writing michiru's entry: just kidding #frontier & rinmeikan scheduled for tomorrow

34 notes · View notes

remys-lucky-franc · 3 years ago

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

—-

[MORE]

[[MORE]]

—-

I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

18 notes · View notes

doobler · 3 years ago

Text

Indebted

//Implied NS.FW content warning//

Stephen knew Chrys was still in the Sanctum. He could feel his energy, the natural spring of magic that bubbled inside the dhampir. His aura was often a lovely dance of grassy green and hot pink. Now, it was sallow and grey, the colors muted and cold. He finally found him slumped down in a beaten old armchair, eyes lidded, lips parted as he stared into space.

"Chrys?" Stephen asked tentatively, unsure if he was meant to be a sorcerer or a doctor in this moment. "Are you okay, bud?"

"Ah, sorcerer," It seemed to take a lot of effort to speak. Chrys' usual silky English baritone was crackly and soft. "Pardon me, this is. A sorry state to see me in."

"What's wrong?" Stephen stepped closer, hands anxiously hovering over the dhampir.

"It's been so long since I last fed," Chrys' head lolled back and he squinted at the ceiling. "The hunger... I do my best to feed so little, sustaining myself on large meals and deep meditative states but... I can't fight my lineage, I must feed at some point or I'll wither away."

Stephen swallowed. He bridged the gap and laid shaking hands on Chrys' forearms. The dhampir jumped a little in his seat, his pupils shrinking into thin little slits.

"... Would that be... Dangerous for whomever you uh... Feed on?" Stephen cursed his lack of knowledge.

"No, I don't have the power to turn anyone," Chrys croaked. "Only pure-bloods and those who've been turned can spread it. My mixed blood isn't enough."

Stephen swallowed. He looked back over his shoulder. Wong was out for today, probably passing on some updated records to Kamar-Taj. It was only Stephen and his dhampir; his large, handsome, selfless, romantic, self-sacrificing dhampir. He tried to tighten his grip on Chrys' arm but his damaged hands didn't permit it.

"What if--"

"Stephen," Chrys tried to sit up, groaning lowly. "That would require... Consent. And a lot of trust between us."

"And?" Stephen searched his face, maintaining eye contact. "I... Trust you, you've been an incredible ally for the time you've been here and a confidant and a teacher--"

"You hesitate," Chrys raised his hand, cupping Stephen's chin. He rubbed circles against his jaw with his thumb. "I need... Complete and total trust. Consent with no regret. Otherwise, I'd never. I could never forgive myself. I can sustain for a while longer, I'll just. Animal blood will suffice--"

"No," Stephen stood, bracing his hands against Chrys' chest. He ran so warm but now he was burning hot. "No. I trust you. Completely. You've already saved my life more times than I can count--"

"As you have mine," Chrys took a deep shaking breath. "Are you sure? Absolutely?"

"Yes." Stephen inhaled slowly, steeling himself. He nodded. "I know... You'll be safe. You won't hurt me, turn me... Kill me. I trust you."

Chrys watched him warily. It was easier to see his age like this, the century of pain and heartache that lived behind his eyes. In his weakened state, he seemed more genuine, old blood magic and an alien sort of beauty laid bare in his features. He took Stephen's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Take me to your room then. We'll do it there."

Stephen's quarters were somewhat humble. He had a four-post bed covered in a variety of blankets, a oaken desk, a walk-in closet, a dresser, and a slim floor-to-ceiling mirror. While the Sanctum itself had a bit of an old dusty smell to it, Stephen's room smelled like the sorcerer himself. Part of Chrys wanted to faceplant down onto his mattress for another seventy-five year nap.

"Are you sure about this, Stephen?" Chrys asked once more, hovering over the bed.

"You seem far more hesitant than me now." The sorcerer laughed. He'd already shed his sweater and shirt, now standing bare-chested at the foot of his closet.

He folded up his shirt, still holding it against his chest. Chrys could hear his heart beating, slowly and evenly. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins, the air whooshing through his lungs, the delicate flutter of his eyelashes.

"You and I are a lot alike," Stephen sighed. He sat down, patting the bed as invitingly as he could. "We're both old souls with a lot of trauma. We're both beings of magic and science. We're both... Misunderstood, I think."

Chrys sat beside him, watching his face in earnest.

"This past month as been interesting," Stephen chuckled. He peered up and Chrys found himself lost in his pale green eyes. "I've learned a lot. I think of you as more than just an ally, you're... More than a teacher, more than any of that. And I cherish it."

"I feel like you're leading up to something." Chrys held his breath.

"Just. Trying to communicate that I trust you," Stephen smirked. "I've been betrayed and backstabbed and hurt before but. I struggle to believe you could ever be that guy."

"I would rather die," Chrys laid a hand over his heart. "I... I cherish you, too, Stephen. I've really enjoyed our time together."

There was a pregnant pause. Chrys could practically taste the pounding of Stephen's heart. He leaned in, as did Stephen, until their faces were mere inches apart.

"I think...." Chrys licked his lips, trying his best to hold Stephen's gaze. "I think I'd very much like to kiss you now."

"Please." Stephen breathed and they crashed together.

Chrys was clearly the type to love with his entire being. He cradled Stephen in his arms, cupping his cheek with one broad palm. He curled his arm around his slim waist, dipping his head to deepen the kiss. Stephen felt dizzy. He carded trembling fingers through the ocean of Chrys' hair, moaning quietly as he was ravished.

"Wow," Chrys breathed as he pulled away. "I uhm. Wow."

Stephen laughed, bright and loud. His lips were flushed, his high cheekbones painted a pretty rosy color. Chrys felt his heart flip a few times.

"Can I...?" He stroked his thumb along Stephen's neck, pressing gently where he felt his pulse pound the hardest.

"Yes, just-- run me through it first. Please."

"I'll bite down on your neck," Chrys held his gaze. "A venom will be released into your bloodstream that will temporarily thin the consistency of your blood. I'll drink it-- not to worry about overdrinking, I know exactly how much blood fits in a human body. When I'm sated, a second venom will be administered to thicken your blood and seal the punctures. Within a few minutes, your blood will have recycled through your body multiple times, flushing out all the venom in the process. There won't be side effects or anything, just a mark on your neck for a week or two. And... That's it."

Stephen laid back, hands folded over his sternum, and nodded. He tried not to flinch as Chrys touched him, gently coaxing his head to turn to the side. Chrys pressed his lips to the sorcerer's neck. He could smell his blood now, counting the beats of his pulse. If he focused hard enough, he could sense the natural magicks that flowed through Stephen's body, glimmering through his aura like fireflies. He laid a few open-mouthed kisses along Stephen's neck before he bit down.

Stephen gasped but did his best to stay still. He could feel Chrys' fangs sink into his flesh, much sharper and longer than he realized. The initial pain faded quickly, replaced with a warm dizzying feeling. Stephen huffed, a chill running down his spine. He reached out for Chrys and clasped his hand as well as he could. The dhampir drank. He was silent, the only tells being the sound of his hungry swallows and the alien sensation overtaking Stephen's neck.

Chrys drank for what felt like ages. Finally, he laved his tongue over the wound and retracted his fangs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was a very clean drinker, the only lingering evidence being a small streak of blood along his knuckles.

"Are you alright?" Chrys gathered Stephen up in his arms. Already, his skin looked healthier, his eyes bright and sharp. His aura was almost smothering, it radiated so brightly.

"Uh huh," Stephen tried not to squirm as he pressed the heel of his hand against his groin. He was rock hard. "I'm. I'm fine."

"I apologize, there are occasionally some... Side effects," Chrys blushed though there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'll ah. Let you take care of that."

Chrys stood to leave but something made him hesitate. He turned back and froze like a deer in headlights.

Stephen was panting, cherry red lips parted, pupils blown, his naked chest heaving. The fly of his slacks were already down, when he'd done that wasn't apparent. He watched Chrys and Chrys watched him.

"Unless..." The dhampir curled his hand around one of the bedposts, gripping until he could feel tendons roll beneath his skin. "... You'd like me to stay?"

"Did you drug me?" Stephen spluttered. He pressed his fingers against his chest, over his heart. "Is there. Is. Is vampire venom... An aphrodisiac?"

"It's a sacred and intimate exchange," Chrys squeaked, swallowing loudly. "I. Can't control the effects it has on your body, I'm--"

"Stay," Stephen breathed. He was always so calm and cool and collected, seeing him so unraveled had Chrys nearly drooling. "Stay and... Fix this."

"I'd be honored," Chrys' shirt was off before he even finished his sentence. "I've craved you since we first met, I'm--"

Stephen shook his head, raising his brows. His more standard brand of humor shone through.

"I'm gonna need a first date before we put any labels on anything."

"Yes, absolutely, of course," Chrys babbled, shucking off his pants. "Anything for you, let me take care of you first."

Stephen laughed as Chrys' full weight hit the bed. The sorcerer was thrown up a few inches, thumping back into his forest of pillows and blankets. Chrys leaned over him, his hair cascading like a waterfall and framing Stephen like a curtain.

"You're very eager." Stephen felt smug for once.

"You're quite a man," Chrys shrugged with a shy smile. "I'm delighted."

They shared a kiss and didn't say much else for a good while.

#my oc #self-insert #stephen strange #chrys bloodlurch #tiny fic #oough oough oough

6 notes · View notes

legalvinyl · 3 years ago

Text

When Dave Takes on some Goliaths

Perhaps rap music is nearing its end. In the past few weeks, two globally notable rappers left their mark on 2021 with albums so underwhelming and half-baked that fans seem to have spent more time defending their cherished heroes than actually listening to their new music. Of course, I’m taking a stance here that could provide endless hours of twitter debate, but I think that any true fan could see where I’m coming from. And the irony of all this is that I know there will be plenty of people on the fence about the current state of rap, people that may be inclined to the genre but need to get hooked by someone that actually has something to say. My solution? Let’s look overseas.

David Orobosa Omoregie, who simply goes by Dave, was identified by Drake at the young age of 18 and collaborated with one of rap’s legends on a remix of one of Dave’s own tracks. Now, 5 years later, Dave is utilizing many of Drake’s own tried and true strategies to bring himself fame as one of the UK’s rising stars. A man with a truly tested background, Dave’s two brothers found their way into Britain’s criminal system, and he was left with only his cherished mother and a keyboard that would provide his first segway into songwriting and deeply appreciating music. Late in July of this year, Dave released his sophomore album, We’re All Alone In This Together, after coming off a hot streak with his critically-acclaimed first full length release in 2019, Psychodrama. And he’s still at the top of his game, if not even better than before.

The opening song, We’re All Alone, showcases Dave’s multifaceted nature. The song begins with an ominous musical backdrop, with a swirling bassline that comes in after his first verse and builds energy that he feeds off to effortlessly launch into his denser and more technical wordplay. As a veteran of the UK drill scene, Dave punctuates his verses with precision, and his songwriting demonstrates an ability to mix somewhat ironic arrogance with genuine concern for those close to him. One of the track’s most notable features is Dave’s capacity for dualism; while he can tear through a few lines about his preferences for fine cheeses and flashy cars, Dave remains focused on the irony of frivolous spending with lines like “What’s the point of bein’ rich when your family ain’t? / It’s like flyin’ first class on a crashin’ plane”. Listener’s almost get a sense that Dave is over the status. He’s young and somewhat new to the lifestyle but demonstrates a certain maturity and understanding of wealth’s morally deteriorating nature as he weaves through descriptions of how money allows him to enjoy certain types of high-profile women but, at the same time, exposes him to backstabbing and deception from those with hidden agendas. And he manages to point out all these ironies and paradoxes while maintaining a theme that his life experience and his audience’s life experiences aren’t as different as they may seem.

After a little of two minutes of near effortless rapping that allows Dave to really show off his control and expertise as a leading force in the genre, the beat breaks down to a rather slow and solemn piano part that transitions into the second verse. And Dave, a rapper who made a name for himself exposing his own emotional vulnerability, takes things a step further in a moment of self-reflection that encapsulates the listener into his personal headspace. He recounts a message from a young listener contemplating suicide and says, “Me and him got more in common than he thinks”. Dave then takes us through a glimpse of his past, remembering a legitimately embarrassing moment like how “I had to share a bed with my mum and I was pissin’ myself” that see him voluntarily step off the throne as one of rap’s rising kings and places him amongst a very small group of individuals confident enough to ever admit to something like that in public, let alone on the first track of a highly anticipated album. The vulnerability that pervades itself through Dave’s last release has matured and consolidated into lines that have even more poignancy and impact than before. The next two minutes until the track’s end witness Dave still rapping with impressive skill and power, but with a specific purpose in mind: to relate to his listeners, and to reassure them that there are always difficult and potentially life-threatening forces around us that wealth and status do not insulate one from no matter who we are.

Dave’s opening track from another fantastic album possibly combines all the best features of the modern state of rap music into one; the beat can be mean when it needs to be, the rapping can be accomplished and dynamic when it needs to be, but listeners are able to connect to the lyrical content and catch a glimpse of a life that seems so different from the outside, but is really quite similar to a normal life when broken down by the artist. Rap has progressed from a genre that hides away from insecurity into a genre that can, at times, embrace it. And in a period where Drake can get away with saying the same lines repeatedly with slightly different words and little variation to his sound, Dave, whom Drake recognized as a huge talent even as a teenager, almost calls him out and encourages those big names to keep up with him. Something I’m not convinced Drake can do anymore. Furthermore, Dave maybe inadvertently takes aim at Kanye as well by combining meaningful self-reflection with a Christian-driven flare, and he manages to come off as someone that others can actually relate to. Dave is confident addressing his insecurities and calling out his issues with mental health. And he’s able to weave a higher purpose into his life without coming off as arrogant and self-righteous “I knew that God would cast me as the leader / Somethin’ special when he messaged me and told me that I saved his life”. Dave is a real force to be reckoned with on this track, and he’s not afraid to cross into the lanes of some of rap’s most coveted individuals because I really don’t think they can hang with him as they produce some of their most mediocre works and Dave is in the limelight of his career.

#Dave #united kingdom #ukrapscene #londonrap

4 notes · View notes

katedrakeohd · 4 years ago

Text

Like Father

Word count: 2908

.......

Author's Note: I wanted to get this posted for Father's Day but I got lost in Cordonia 1885 along the way, and had to make my way back. 😏😂

No warnings needed for this one, it's all emotional fluff and good feelings. You might need to keep a tissue handy though. I know I needed a few.

[Jackson Walker face claim: Jason Behr]

[Bianca Walker: Jason's wife KaDee Strickland]

[Young Drake: Atticus Behr]

Thank-you @ravenpuff02 for being my taste tester and giving me the thumbs up. 😊😂

.....

Summary: Drake and Kate are just settling in after welcoming home their newborn daughter Brooklyn. Drake receives a package from his Mom, that hits him right in the feelings and helps him reconnect with his Dad.

:: ♡♡♡ ::

- Like Father -

In the nursery at Valtoria manor, Drake and Kate Walker are spending some quiet time with their newborn daughter Brooklyn. Kate is sitting in the rocking chair cradling their little Beanie in her arms as she nurses. Drake is sitting on the rug nearby leaning up against the crib, watching them. Kate gently curls a lock of her daughter's silky fine hair around her finger, marveling at her delicate features as her tiny mouth and plump cheeks draw nourishment from her breast. She catches Drake's look of adoration and gives him a gentle smile.

"Hi there, Daddy," she says quietly.

Drake smiles back, whispering, "So how's our little girl doing?"

Brooklyn pauses her suckling, breathing a little sigh out of her nose, and then reaches out her tiny fingers to grasp the edge of Kate's robe. She looks up at her mother and blinks sleepily a few times before closing her eyes again and resuming her feeding.

Kate readjusts her hold on Brooklyn and gently rubs her back as she starts to rock, "We're doing just fine. She's looking sleepy but still seems to be hungry. Do you want to come over closer to see?"

Drake grins, an eager expression on his face as he gets up. "I'd love to. I can't help but feel a little envy at only being able to watch."

Kate giggles softly as she watches him come over to stand behind her chair. "Don't worry you'll have plenty of your own Daddy and daughter moments too."

Drake bends down to kiss Kate's cheek, placing his hands on her shoulders, and massaging gently with his thumbs. "Yes, I know. So how are you doing? Do you need anything?"

Kate sighs, enjoying the feel of Drake's warm hands. "Mmm, I could definitely get used to shoulder massages. I'm still adjusting to holding the weight of her in my arms for long periods of time."

Drake strokes his hand through her hair, dividing her long lengths and enjoying the way it waves and curls so easily as he coils and releases it from his fingers. Although it was too soon to tell, he hoped Brooklyn would have hair like Kate.

"Do you want me to get you a pillow? It would give your arms a break."

Kate tips her head back and gives him a grateful smile. "That would be wonderful. Oh, and a bottle of water?"

"Of course, anything for Mommy." He leans down to give her a kiss on the lips.

"Be right back."

On his way to the master suite, Drake meets up with his head housekeeper Marie in the hallway.

"Good morning Your Grace, how are Her Grace and the little one fairing today?"

Drake smiles at the older woman. Her jovial nature was a calming and supportive presence to have around during the settling in period for Kate and their baby. She was a mother herself and Drake appreciated her advice and suggestions.

"We're all doing well thanks. We even managed a few hours of sleep last night."

Drake rubs at the stubble on his cheek self consciously, knowing how tired he must look. He usually tried to maintain a semblance of tidiness and decorum around his household staff but Brooklyn's arrival had meant adapting to her needs over his own.

Marie juggles the laundry bundle she's carrying to hold it against her hip. She reaches out to pat Drake on the arm, giving him a warm sympathetic smile.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine. Being a new parent is an exciting and challenging time for everyone. If you need anything don't hesitate to let me or Gladys know right away."

"We will. Thanks Marie." Drake's conscience reminds him he was supposed to be doing something for Kate, and he tries to step by his housekeeper.

Marie snaps her fingers, as she remembers something else, "Oh speaking of Gladys, she wanted me to tell you that a package has arrived for you from your mother."

Drake can't hide his look of surprise, "Oh? Please have it sent up to the nursery for me."

Marie nods as she resumes her duties, "Right away, Your Grace."

Drake walks into their bedroom and makes his way to the wet bar he recently had installed. Since Christmas he'd overseen many renovations to the Manor. Despite it's stony castle type walls and grandeur the Manor at Valtoria was lacking in some modern comforts and amenities. Some bedrooms had only been heated by fireplace and were lacking any sort of heating in the bathrooms. Now they all had infloor heating.

Opening the mini-fridge behind the counter he selects a bottle of water, a cereal bar, and a cheese snack for Kate. When he had the fridge installed he'd imagined having alcohol in it, but thinking about it now he didn't see that happening anytime soon. He was a Dad now, and would probably have to keep his whiskey locked away. But that was ok. Whistling to himself he grabs a pillow off the bed and heads back to the nursery to his family.

Returning to the nursery he finds Kate lowering Brooklyn down into her crib. She smiles and beckons him over, whispering. "She just fell asleep. Is all that for me? You're so sweet honey."

Drake drops the pillow onto the rocking chair and slips his arm around Kate. "I brought you a little snack to keep your energy up."

Kate takes what he's offering and settles down onto the rug to eat her snack. Drake grabs the pillow and lays down beside her, propped up on his elbow. He lifts the hem of her robe and gently strokes her thigh as she opens her bottle of water.

Kate catches him staring at her, and reaches over to mess up his hair. "What are you staring at? I probably look terrible because I've barely slept."

He shakes his head and pulls her over to lean against him, folding his body around her. "No way. You're beautiful Kate. I could just sit here and watch you do anything all day."

Kate breaks off a piece of her cereal bar and feeds it to Drake. "Oh shush. You're just saying that because you're still traumatized from watching me squeeze out a baby."

Drake glances up at the crib as he chews, and then grins at Kate. "Seriously though, you're like my super hero. I'm never going to be able to look at your..uh. you know the same way again."

Kate pats him on the shoulder, "You'll get over it, and before long we'll be able to do things like we used to."

"How long do you think Brooklyn will sleep?"

Kate shrugs, biting off a piece of cereal bar. "It's hard to say, why?"

Drake hugs Kate around the middle and pulls her down to lay next to him. She giggles as he tucks his face into her neck and snuggles in close, his voice is muffled as he kisses her skin, "I say we should have a nap too."

"Right here on the floor?"

Drake nods, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Mmmhmm, and if she wakes up we won't be far away."

Gripping a handful of his shirt Kate soaks up Drake's body heat as she strokes his hair and kisses him on the forehead. She can't help but smile about the way Drake cuddles into her in the same way that she had just been cradling Brooklyn.

Drake inhales deeply, appreciating her scent. "Damn you smell good, different but good, it's almost like vanilla ice cream."

Kate laughs, "I've been breastfeeding. You probably smell the milk I've been leaking."

Drake shifts his position on the floor, running his fingers along the open edge of the silky fabric of her robe. "May I?"

Kate bites her lip as she feels his fingers graze against the delicate skin of her breast, seeing the curious look on his face. "You want to taste it don't you?"

Drake grins as he unties the belt on her robe and delicately lifts it away to expose her breasts. They're so beautiful and round and he gently cups one in his hand and marvels at the weight of it.

"Do they feel different? They definitely look different to me, and I'm not just saying that because I'm a guy who really likes his wife's boobs."

Kate laughs, "Of course they feel different. I need to buy a whole bunch of new bras to keep these puppies contained. And the leaking is totally random and I have to keep changing my shirt or whatever."

Drake gently strokes his thumb around the dusky pink rim of her areola and smiles as he sees a drop of milk start to form. Leaning in he collects it on his tongue, and then closes his lips around her nipple. She draws back when he tries to suck on it.

"Hey there Daddy. You only get a taste, so you better save the rest for Beanie."

Drake chuckles, then wipes his mouth. "Ok, I know she needs that more than I do. But damn that was sexy. How long before I can have you for myself?"

Kate sits up and reties her robe, smirking at Drake as he caresses her thigh. "Give me a few weeks, and let me consult my doctor. I know you're anxious, but Brooklyn is my top priority right now. Be patient."

Drake rolls over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head with a sigh. "I can be patient, dunno about lil Drake though. He has a mind of his own."

Kate gets up from the floor to check on Brooklyn. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices what Drake's talking about. "It's simply a mind over matter type of thing. Here's a suggestion, think of changing dirty diapers."

Drake grimaces, closing his eyes and chuckling quietly, "Oh yeah, that'll do it.

Kate strokes her finger down Brooklyn's soft cheek, watching her tiny hands flex and relax in her sleep. There's a quiet knock at the door and Drake sits up. "Oh right, my package."

Glancing at his lap, and raising an eyebrow Kate giggles, "Your what?"

Drake gets up and goes over to the door, "My Mom sent me a package."

Upon opening the door, Drake is greeted by a smiling Preston holding a cardboard box. "You opened it didn't you?" Drake frowns.

Preston nods, "Sorry Sir, I had to make sure it wasn't tampered with. Would it satisfy you to know there was nothing threatening inside?"

When he holds out the box, Drake takes it with a sigh. "Ok, fine. Just quit smiling at me, it's unsettling. Thank you, Preston."

Drake steps back and closes the door. When he turns, he sees Kate holding Brooklyn cradled to her chest, swaying her gently side to side.

"Oh, was that Preston?" she smiles, seeing Drake's stormy expression.

Drake doesn't answer, just rolls his eyes. He carries the box over and sets it down in the crib and opens the flaps. Kate peeks around Drake to see what's inside.

On top of various envelopes of pictures, a few smaller boxes and what looks like a folded up shirt, there is a folded piece of paper that looks like a letter.

Kate walks over to the changing table to check Brooklyn's diaper, leaving Drake alone with his things. Picking up the letter he reads:

Over at the changing table Kate hears Drake clear his throat, and when she glances over her shoulder she sees him fold up the letter and drying his eyes on his sleeve.

"Drake, honey? Are you ok?"

Leaning on the crib, and looking down at the box, Drake sniffs then mumbles, "I..I'm fine."

Kate shakes her head and then goes back to changing Brooklyn, "If you say so, but those are some fine looking tears. Seriously, what's in that box?"

Drake straightens up and tucks the letter into his back pocket, "Stuff that belonged to my Dad, and some photos and shit. Bring Beanie over and let me show you."

Kate uses a wet wipe to clean her hands, and then sanitizes before dressing her little Beanie in a fresh diaper shirt and then scoops her up into her arms. She kisses her on the forehead and then carries her over to see what has gotten Drake so emotional. "What's up Pop?"

Drake pulls an envelope of photos out of the box. "You never met my Dad, so I guess photos will have to do.”

The first photo they see is of Jackson and Bianca holding a very young Drake. He immediately blushes and tries to shuffle onto the next one.

Kate gasps putting her hand on his arm to stop him, "Awww, is that you? Oh my goodness look at those cheeks."

What about my cheeks?" Drake asks, feeling defensive. "They're perfectly boyish cheeks."

Kate giggles, "Oh I know."

Bringing Brooklyn up to her face she makes smacking noises as she smooches on her chubby cheek. "They're perfectly scrumptious. I bet your Mom gave you kisses and hugs all the time."

Drake shrugs, "I guess so. Doesn't every Mom?"

Kate shifts Brooklyn onto the other arm, untying her robe and letting her have some skin to skin contact up against her chest. "Not all Moms are the same."

Drake flips through more photos, stopping on one of his Mom and Dad kissing under one of the big trees at Walker Ranch.

"Heh, I know this tree." Drake chuckles, holding it out for Kate to see.

Kate smiles, "So do I. We kissed under it too."

The rest of the photos in the envelope show pictures of the ranch, including a young Drake sitting on a pony with a cowboy hat on his head and a big smile. He flips it over and sees cowboy Drake on Cinnamon written on the back.

Drake slips his arm around Kate's waist, pulling her to his side. “I loved that little pony.”

Kate smiles, leaning against his shoulder. “And some day Brooklyn will have her own little pony to love too.”

After looking through some other photos they swap it for another envelope. This one has fewer pictures in it. “Oooh,” Kate says, her face lighting up with surprise. “Is that really your Dad? I can definitely see the resemblance now.”

Drake rolls his eyes and tucks the picture back in the envelope, “Are you seriously going all weak in the knees for my Dad?”

Giving Brooklyn a gentle kiss on top of the head, Kate lays her down in her crib and grabs the envelope from Drake's hand and goes over to sit in the rocking chair. “Wow, you really do have the same Walker frown, and his smile.”

Drake just shakes his head and looks into the box for something else to look at. Picking up a familiar looking blue velvet box, he opened it to find his Dad's Guardian of the Realm medal. Lifting the medal away from the padding, he feels a sense of pride knowing he shares something in common with his Dad other than his genes. Closing the box again he tucks it away and takes out another rectangular shaped box. Opening it he finds his Dad's watch. Feeling a tightness in his chest, Drake chokes back a sob and his eyes start to burn with tears. Although he hated making a fuss about his own birthday as a kid, his Dad's birthday had always been a special occasion. Since his Dad was born in June, it usually meant taking a family camping trip on the weekend nearest his Birthday.

The watch he was holding in his hands was the last Birthday gift he'd ever received. Turning the watch over he sees the engraving that his Mom had gotten done on the metal case. A capital J and W were intertwined in a delicate script. Putting the watch away again in the box, he looked forward to storing it away with his own few pieces of jewelry in the wooden box on his dresser. Wiping his eyes, he realizes that Kate is watching him again.

“Must you stare at me when I'm feeling my most vulnerable?” he smirks, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking away.

Getting up from the rocking chair, Kate walks over to hug Drake from behind, and hands him the envelope of photos. With her cheek pressed up against his back, she rubs her hands up and down his chest. “It's ok Honey, you can cry in front of me whenever you need to. I'll never feel any less of you, or tease you about it.”

Drake clears his throat and glances over his shoulder at her, “But you already sort of did tease me about it not too long ago.”

“Well, yeah. Because you were trying to hide it. Just let it go Drake.”

Drake breathes in a shaky breath and covers Kate's hands with his own, his words coming out thick with emotion as he exhales. “Do..do you want to see what else is in the box?”

Kate gives him a squeeze, and sniffs back a tear of her own. “Ok, sure.”

“Let's turn on the baby monitor, and bring the box back to our room.” Drake suggests.

Kate nods, turning on the monitor hanging on the side of the crib and then follows Drake as he picks up the box and leads the way.

:: ☆☆☆ ::

@jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @mskaneko @speedyoperarascalparty @dcbbw @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @pedudley @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @gardeningourmet @drakesensworld @mfackenthal @thequeenchoices @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @wickedgypsymoon @griselda1121 @indiacater @texaskitten30 @nikkis1983 @lynne1993 @bobasheebaby @drakesfiance @ravenpuff02 @moonlightgem7

@princessleac1 @janezillow @jlpplays1 @walker7519 @drakesensworld @furiousherringoperatortoad @samihatuli @walkerswhiskeygirl @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @loveellamae @rainbowsinthestorm @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @jessiembruno @msjpuddleduck @princess-andromeda-nazario @princess-geek

#drake walker #choices #long post #the royal heir #drake x kate #jackson walker

56 notes · View notes

bdunbar-enst · 3 years ago

Text

Conservation and Sustainability

When I initially went to take the Ecological Footprint Quiz, I felt confident in myself that I would score well as I've taken my knowledge from my Environmental Science class and integrated more sustainable habits into my day to day life; however, I scored 8.1 Earths and stared at my computer for a solid couple of minutes realizing I may not be as environmentally conscience as I had hoped.

Sustainability, the capacity of the earth's natural systems that support life and human economic systems to survive or adapt to changing environmental conditions indefinitely (Miller 2), is vital to maintain earth's natural resources for our lifetimes and lifetimes after us. Every action we take impacts the earth in one way or another, good and bad. All life depends on energy from the sun, solar capital, and the resources and ecological services of the earth, natural capital, to survive. Ideally, an environmentally sustainable society provides for the current needs of its people without undermining the ability of future generations to do the same. Ensuring that we lead by example can aid the future generations in maintaining environmental sustainability and preserving natural resources so that the earth can be able to naturally replenish itself in less time. The basic causes of today's environmental problems are population growth, wasteful use of resources, the tragedy of the commons, poverty, poor environment accounting, and ecological ignorance.

The world's population is growing exponentially, adding about 80 million people per year. Overpopulation is a huge issue as it is important that we can maintain an equilibrium, the number of people born should not exceed the number of people dying. As our population continues to rise, the less food and natural resources we will have to expend. It is projected that we will run out of fossil fuels by 2050 (A textbook I read in my APES class). The earth's main resources are perpetual resources (like solar energy), renewable resources (like forests and fresh water), and nonrenewable resources (like oil and gas). These resources are depleted or degraded by overuse, waste, pollution, and by man's increasing ecological footprint. Pollution is one of the biggest dangers to the environment and as all the water we have on earth right now is all the water we will ever have, polluting fresh water (about 3% of water on earth can we actually have access to and drink) is detrimental to keeping not only humans, but all ecosystems alive.

Another topic that I feel knowledgable about is tragedy of the commons. Philosophically, humans are naturally selfish creatures and we use other people and resources as a means to an end. In the environment this means that we will use up natural resources and food to our heart's content, because we're all living to survive. And in a capitalistic nation like America; unfortunately, the more money you have the more you have in general- therefore, those will less money have less. One of the factors of the ecological footprint quiz was my house: the size of my house, the green energy factors, electricity, and what my house was made out of. As I have a large house, the more electricity we use, the more materials it took to build our house, and the more water we use. While I am fortunate to live in such a nice house, it is unfortunate that we do waste a lot of earth's resources to live in it. But going back to tragedy of the commons, we have more money and we can buy more goods and our house is an example of how we use up resources because we have the money to do so. The best example of tragedy of the commons is fish in a lake. There is a certain number of fish in the lake and one person may catch the majority of the fish to feed himself, leaving little to the rest who may have a family to feed. And once all the fish are gone, there is no way to replenish the fish, they can no longer breed (which also connects to keystone species and ecosystem catastrophe). If we continue using resources until there is none left, there is no way earth can replenish itself.

It is beyond vital that our nation as a whole implements more environmentally conscience regulations and provide more incentives for Americans to be more aware of our ecological footprint because one person cannot reverse the damage of an entire nation's doing. While I understand this may be challenging because it might damage economic growth, I feel it is important for America to lead by example for other nations so that we can collectively save our earth.

What steps as a nation can we take to improve our ecological footprints?

Word count: 793

Bibliography:

Miller, G. Tyler, and Scott Spoolman. Living in the Environment. 20th ed. Cengage Learning, 2021.

Union of Concerned Scientists. “World Scientists’ Warning To Humanity,” 1992.

1 note · View note

britesparc · 4 years ago

Text

Weekend Top Ten #469

Top Ten Crazy WandaVision Theories

So all the while I was watching The Mandalorian I kept thinking, blimey, they’ve nailed this. There’s an oft-repeated problem with modern serial dramas, which is that they tend to tread water a little bit; despite being shorn of the network requirement of episodes being a certain length, or having a certain number of episodes in a season, there’s this in-built compulsion to make about a dozen 45-minute episodes. This is what scuppered the Marvel Netflix series in particular; there simply wasn’t enough story to cover the seasons, and as a result there was a lot of treading of water. This has also affected the recent Star Trek shows, although Discovery does show signs of pulling out of this “twelve-hour movie” mindset. Mando totally transcends this in a superlative way: each episode is basically an “adventure of the week” type thing (Mando versus spiders, Mando goes to the fish planet, Mando meets a Jedi, etc). But each episode also builds on the arc; he’s always on the same quest, and everything he does week by week furthers this quest. As much as I was looking forward to WandaVision, I kept reminding myself, there’s no way they can do this; no way these two shows – my most-anticipated shows from two of my most-beloved franchises – can hit the bar so successfully, back-to-back.

Well.

I’m not sure if WandaVision is quite the overall triumph The Mandalorian is, but they’re both pretty tremendous achievements in slightly different ways. Wanda manages to tell a rather unsettling story in the MCU whilst also doing a terrific job of parodying sitcom tropes; it works on a meta level as well as a practical one. Also, as far as puzzle-box type programmes go, this one has been doing an excellent job; week by week, you’re further intrigued by what’s going on in Westview; what’s real? Who’s behind it? is Vision still dead? Will Darcy get her own show? It’s a fantastic exercise in drip-feeding information, maintaining a degree of unease and suspense, and offering a compelling mystery. Will they keep it up until the end? I’ve no idea; the reveal at the end of episode seven wasn’t quite a jaw-on-the-floor moment but it was exquisitely done, with a theme song and everything. Even if the most obvious predictions end up being true and the finale becomes a relatively straightforward goodies-versus-baddies barney, I’ve got faith in everyone involved to at least give us something utterly compelling and thoroughly entertaining.

But what if there really is at least one huge surprise left up the show’s vibranium sleeve? Certainly, the reveal of Evan Peters as Pietro Maximoff – being, visually if not in character at least, the Fox/X-Men universe version of Wanda’s brother, rather than the Adam Taylor-Johnson version we knew from Age of Ultron – was a hell of a moment, seemingly bridging the gap between the MCU as we knew it and the previously Fox-controlled properties. Since then, there’s been this bubbling rumour (which I’ve tried not to read too much into by literally not reading too much; this is something I’ve divined from headlines or stray tweets, because I want to keep forging my way through WandaVision without a map) that there is another epic cameo approaching, on the level of Luke Skywalker popping up in the finale of The Mandalorian. That moment was something of a surprise, even though I had it rather spoiled by Twitter; despite muting as many words as possible to do with the show, “Luke Skywalker” still popped up in trending topics. I’ve learned my lesson, and I essentially forgo any social media (and a lot of other sites too) until I’ve seen the most recent episode. Anyway, what if this is true; what if there’s another character or moment that will rock the Marvel world to an even greater extent than The Other Pietro? If we’d be as surprised and delighted by something as much as we were by Luke making short work of those Dark Troopers? With this in mind, and being aware of the encroaching WandaVision finale, here are some predictions. What could happen? Who could we see? Which long-dormant plot thread will get resurrected? Read on to find out! And – spoiler warning – this has been revisited following the most recent episode; we are officially in the endgame now.

And I’m sure all of these are realistic and serious suggestions.

I Am Your Father: We have actually met Wanda’s parents at last; ordinary decent Sarkovian folk, it seems. But from where did her nascent witchy powers appear? What if, in a shocking last-minute twist, we discover her real father, and he’s played by… Ian McKellen! It was Eric all along!

SWORD versus Skrulls: a post-credit sting will reveal that – shock! – Tyler Hayward is, in fact, a SKRULL! Yes, finally, the shape-shifting buggers will get to be the baddies from the comics, as an up-to-no-good splinter faction of the beleaguered race makes its presence felt on the MCU, having successfully infiltrated world governments over the past thirty years. This will set up Samuel L. Jackson’s Secret Invasion series.

The Ultron of it All: there have been more mentions of Ultron in WandaVision than in any MCU property since, well, Age of Ultron. And now we have a custom-built all-white model of Vision, big as life and twice as creepy. What if – what if – shorn of his own psyche (his own soul?) and without an Infinity Stone to keep him upright, there remains in the hardware some remnant of everyone’s favourite sarky, genocidal mechanoid? Ultron returns! Screw you, planet Earth!

The Sorcerer Supreme is Not Happy: we know magic exists in the MCU because of Doctor Strange, so seeing Agatha and her family get their Hocus Pocus on in old Salem wasn’t too much of a surprise. But isn’t the Sorcerer Supreme supposed to keep an eye on magic use in the multiverse? I was half expecting Tilda Swinton to pop up in the flashback and bind Agatha with the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. But now, with all the chaos magic Wanda is using in Westview, coupled with Agatha’s own spelling bee? Surely this has drawn the attention of somebody? Anybody? I mean, New York isn’t that far from Jersey, especially if you’ve got a sling ring, y’know?

No More Avengers: so Benedict Cumberbatch popping up wouldn’t be that much of a surprise (especially as Wanda is in the next Doctor Strange movie) but even if he’s not on Magic Police duty, wouldn’t an enhanced situation of this size draw the attention of one of the Avengers? Except – shock horror! – there are no Avengers! In a revelation that will set up the status quo of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, since the events of Endgame the Avengers literally don’t exist. So who will unite to save the world, not just from Wanda or Agatha, but also from the likes of SWORD? Well, right now, no one; but maybe that’ll change when the real villains appear…

No More Mutants: in the “House of M” storyline, Wanda very famously said “no more mutants” and it was so (more or less). Mutants don’t (seem to) exist in the MCU. But what if, at one point, they did? I don’t think this could have been Wanda’s doing, but what if in the past someone else had used magic to de-power/de-mutify the existing mutant population of Earth, and – basically – made everyone forget about it? And in the climax of WandaVision, well, “no more” is undone and – boom! – X-genes abound. This could even maybe set up some events in The Eternals, who I believe have some history with mutants in the comics (I’m really not very well-versed in Eternals lore)

Soul Stealer: so Wanda’s the Scarlet Witch, and a chaos magician, and super-enhanced courtesy of an Infinity Stone, but still: how did she create not one but three super-powered lifeforms? Where did they come from? Did she steal their souls? Is she leeching her own life-force to maintain them? I think we’ll discover a bit more about her powers and reveal that she’s drawing energy mutliversally, maybe from the Dark Dimension – maybe from Mephisto? I’d actually put money on Mephisto not showing up at all, despite his comic book connections to Agatha and Wanda.

Multiversal Madness: why that Pietro? He’s just a fake, just an automaton – right? But he’s still out and about spooking Monica whilst Agatha’s dealing with Wanda… yeah? And he looks like another Pietro from another universe (even if he doesn’t act like that). So… why? And who? I really, really think there’s some kind of multiversal craziness going on here, some force beyond Wanda (and Agatha!). Maybe it’s to do with Wanda pulling power from across the multiverse, maybe it’s… something else. Maybe we’ll get cameos from Lou Ferringo, Bruce Campbell, Spider-Ham and ROM the Space Knight. Hey, don’t forget: Transformers was a Marvel comic once! And they do have a Chaos-Bringer…

Wanda Did It: one of the prevailing theories/queries about WandaVision has been who’s behind it all. Wanda’s not powerful enough (or villainous enough), so who exactly did create TV Westview? Who brought Vision back, gave Wanda her sons? Well, the latest ep sure seemed to show that it really was Wanda All Along. The explanation being that she’s “the Scarlet Witch”, a presumably hella-powerful sorcerer and also (let’s not forget) imbued with Infinity Stoniness. But is she on her own really that strong, and would she – even in her despair – alter so many minds? What if there’s another Wanda, a Wanda prepared to go all-out, a Wanda who – after losing everything on her Earth is trying to recreate it by pooling her powers will another Wanda? An alternate universe, more damaged, more villainous Wanda – a Wanda who’s already said “no more mutants”, maybe; maybe even the Wanda from the Fox X-Men films (who AFAIK we’ve only seen as a little girl in her brother’s arms). That’s why Pietro looks like that, because she’s trying to rebuild her own life using the powers of this other Wanda. Two Wandas; two Witches. Dukin’ it out. And who can come to save the day, but the X-Men?

We’re All Doomed: giving credit to my brother for pointing me in this direction when he said “if there’s a big bad in WandaVision it either has to be someone very good at magic or very good at science”. Or… both? Think about it. Which character, if they cameoed in an MCU property, could possibly generate as much excitement as Luke Skywalker in The Mandalorian? No actor from the MCU; not even Downey. From another Marvel property? We’ve had a Fox actor already and with the rumours about Spider-Man: No Way Home, whether we saw Hugh Jackman or Tobey Maguire, I think that would be exciting but not as exciting. So I think it’s a character, not an actor. A character big and exciting enough to make us all squee. And which character from Marvel has never been seen in the MCU, is not necessarily expected any time soon, is very good at magic and very good at science? One. I’d say only one. Bring it on.

This actually became a lot more sensible than I’d intended! I was gonna go all-out, rolling in Muppet Babies, MODOK, HERBIE, the Phoenix Force, and basically the entire Patton Oswalt speech from Parks and Recreation. And whilst I think virtually none of these will (or should?!) happen, just imagine… man, I can’t believe we have to wait a week!

#top ten #wanda #vision #mcu #wandavision #wandavision spoilers #movies #tv #comics #magic

5 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 4 years ago

Text

Growing Together - Chapter Thirteen - Like Ants Do

Fall was already making an appearance, painting the trees that lined the road to Terry’s ranch in reds and oranges. I always loved the season and everything it symbolized: the hot beverages, the crafts, and the colder weather that made me put on an extra sweater, but not cold enough to discourage me from leaving the house. The thing I loved the most, though, was the trees. It was like they were preparing to die and chose to go out with a bang, showing us how astonishing they could be, coloring the landscape for us so during the winter we would remember what it was like to have beautiful trees. Fall was the first step of a beautiful end, and, simultaneously, the promise of a magnificent beginning.

Inside the car, however, there was the energy of a painful start that still held the potential energy of an even more painful ending. A week had passed since Owen’s adoption, and we were faced with a very different child than the one we used to visit every weekend. The funny extroverted version of Owen seemed to no longer be available and gave way to a morose child who seemed on edge all the time.

For a week we tried to connect, and although it wasn’t all bad, it was nothing like we had expected. Owen seemed to have no excitement over his new house or his new room, and was yet to touch any of the toys we had bought him, busying himself with the books alone. He mostly kept to himself in his bedroom, and would only come out for activities with us if we insisted on it. The only thing that seemed to have some kind of effect was asking for him to help with chores, like setting the table or preparing dinner, which he would do quietly and cautiously, as if afraid to mess up somehow.

I couldn’t complain though, Victor was having it way worse. Even though it was difficult, I could still interact with the boy, but my husband wasn’t having such luck. Owen looked at him with frightened eyes, and avoided him like the plague, turning to me the rare times he needed something. Hence our trip to Terry’s farm. We hoped that a new activity, an exciting environment, could bring the boy out of his shell. To be honest, this small excursion was our Hail Mary.

Victor turned down the dirt road that led to the iron gate, focused on his driving. He had done his best to look casual and nonthreatening, wearing a gray sweater instead of the usual dress shirt, maintaining a relaxed look on his face. I obviously could see through it, noticing the clench in his jaw and the tension on his shoulders. And Owen apparently did too, as he almost curled in on himself in his seat, training his eyes on the scenery outside, and had yet to make a single peep.

Susan and Terry were waiting for us in the garden when we parked our car.

“Hey! How are you all?” Terry greeted us with a hug. “And who is this gorgeous young man?” She grinned at Owen.

“Owen, this is Terry, my aunt, and her girlfriend, Susan.” Victor held Owen’s shoulder fatherly. “Terry, this is Owen.”

“Nice to meet you!” Terry extended her hand for Owen to shake, which he politely took. “Your father tells me you like animals.”

“My father?” Owen made a confused expression, looking at Victor. “Yes…”

“Fantastic! I will show you the horses later.” Terry took Owen’s hand and motioned us to follow her. “Mina made iced tea, come have some.”

We followed her to the patio where a set table was already waiting for us. I sat down, saving a seat for Owen between me and Victor, my eyes on Owen, trying to assess his mood. The boy sat next to me quietly, his eyes on the ground. I took the iced tea pitcher, while Victor went inside to call Mina.

“Would you like to try some? It’s delicious.” I asked softly.

“Yes, please.” He took the glass from my hands, taking a sip. “Yum, it’s great!” He whispered, his eyes shining.

“See? I told you.” My heart jumped to see him relax, even if just a little. “You’ll love it here, you’ll get to meet Naia and Onyx.”

“You think I can ride them?” Owen’s eyes widened.

“Maybe not today, but we can definitely feed them.” I grinned.

“Andrea!” Mina greeted me, Victor following her. “How are you, dear? And this beautiful child… You are Owen, right?”

Mina crouched to his height, a sweet look in her eyes.

“Do you want to know what I’m making back in the kitchen? Victor’s favorite delicacy, saltwater taffy. Do you want to help me stretch it?”

Owen looked at her with wide eyes, excited to have that new experience. Until Victor spoke sternly.

“It’s alright Mina, he can stay with us, you don’t need to take him to the kitchen.” He spoke somewhat bitterly. “I’m not my father.”

Ouch . Bringing his son here was unfortunately making Victor relive some of his childhood memories, and for a second, everybody stared at him like he had said a dirty word. I cleared my throat.

“Unless you want to stretch the taffy with Mina.” I spoke. “You can go if you want to, Owen.”

The red-haired boy looked at Victor for a sign of disapproval, but Victor was too busy shooting a confused look at me. As Owen finally decided, following Mina to the kitchen, I tried to placate my husband.

“It’s ok, let him go.” I whispered. “If he wants to go with Mina, let him.”

Victor pursed his lips, but remained silent.

“So, how is the first week going?” Terry tried to break the tension.

Awful. Terrible. A nightmare. We have no idea of what we are doing.

“Good.” Victor quipped, helping himself with some ice tea. “We were visiting schools this week, Owen is starting next week at Crestview.”

Another touchy subject. Victor and I couldn’t agree on the school. He wanted a more traditional one, like the ones he attended, with bratty rich kids and boastful parents, while I was leaning towards a public school, with trees and a playground where Owen could go play in the rain and the mud. Eventually, Victor twisted my arm. The school was known for having excellent teachers, and it was close to home. I had no reason to say no.

“That is a very reputable school, wonderful choice.” Terry nodded in approval. “Owen will thrive there.”

“Andrea is not entirely convinced yet.” My husband commented, smiling smugly at me.

This had not been a good week, especially for Victor. So I let the comment slide.

“Look what we got here!” Mina emerged from the kitchen once again, a proud Owen behind her, holding a bowl full of taffy pieces.

“Try one!” Owen placed the bowl on the table. “They are very good.”

We all took a piece, and I realized once again why this was Victor’s favorite. Mina’s taffy was a perfect balance of salty and sweet, and it melted in one’s mouth as soon as it touched it, turning into this velvety sweetness.

“Can I explore the garden?” Owen asked me, excited.

I was loving seeing him this happy; it turned out our idea had been quite a good one. But the garden was immense. My heart shrunk at the thought.

“Will you be careful? Please stay near.” I cautioned.

“I’m four, I’m not a baby. I won’t get lost.” Owen assured me.

“There are a lot of secrets hiding in this garden.” Victor spoke to Owen, who shrunk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Go explore, have fun.”

Happy with Victor’s answer, the boy ran to the garden, lost in his own imagination.

“He’ll be ok, he’s a smart child.” I felt Vic’s hand on mine, reassuring me. “I was seven when I took my first transatlantic flight. This is just a garden.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.

“Your parents were with you all the time, there’s hardly any comparison.”

“I went by myself.” Victor replied nonchalantly. “My mother was in France at the time, and my father was busy, so I went on my own.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Well, I knew what to say. I just didn’t know if I should say it. It turned out, like most times in my life, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Your parents let you fly across the ocean, to a foreign country, all by yourself?” My voice sounded shocked, but I couldn’t help it. I was astonished.

“I was being taken care of by the flight attendants, I had a car waiting for me at the airport to take me to my mother’s house. It was perfectly safe.”

I could see by Mina and Terry’s expression that I was dealing with yet another sensitive subject, Terry shaking her head behind Victor, telling me to leave it alone. That was a Lee thing, pretending that bad things don’t exist, or that they are normal, appearances mattering most of all. I decided there and then that, although I was a Lee, I wasn’t born one, so I would speak my mind. Gently.

“So what you’re saying is that, if my mother were to invite Owen to Portugal and both of us were busy, you would have no problem putting him on a plane by himself and sending him there?”

“Without one of us? Of course not!” Victor was about to say something else but paused, lost in thought, his answer dawning on him.

There was a moment of silence at that moment, as we witnessed many emotions go through the eyes of the man I loved. And for a moment, I felt guilty for pointing out an ugly truth. It was the truth, and in a way, Victor needed to realize the gravity of it, but it still hurt him. And I hated to see him hurt.

“What do you say we go show Owen the horses? Onyx and Naia will love to see you.” Terry broke the silence.

“I’ll go get some carrots and sugar cubes for Owen to feed them.” Mina walked into the kitchen.

As he saw me waving at him, the boy ran back to us, his face almost as red as his curls.

“I found an anthill!” He declared, excited. “Can I take some taffy to feed the ants?”

“Maybe later.” I laughed. “Come on, finish your tea, we’re going to see the horses.”

“Do you know ants don't have lungs or ears?” Owen started talking excitedly, just like before. “They sense vibrations and they communicate with chemicals they produce. And they have two stomachs!”

“Two stomachs?” I played along. “That’s a lot of food for such a tiny ant. They should be really fat!”

“They don’t eat all of it!” Owen giggled. “It’s one for them and the other for storage. They need to feed the ants that stay behind!”

“They don’t get fat, they exercise, carrying all that food.” Victor joked, pleased to see Owen as vibrant again.

“They can carry up to fifty times their weight! And that means things that are way bigger than them!” Owen gesticulated excitingly, forgetting the glass of ice tea he was holding. As he lifted his hands to illustrate his point, the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the ground. Owen’s face, flushed and happy before, turned pale.

“Be careful, don’t step on the glass, honey.” I bowed to the floor with a napkin, picking the bigger shards from the floor.

“I’m sorry I made a mess.” He panicked, looking at the broken glass on the floor. “I’ll clean it up, don’t be mad!” He crouched next to me, his tiny hands ready to touch the sharp shards. Before I could say anything, Victor's voice echoed through the garden.

“Owen, NO! Don’t touch that!”

Owen let out a frightened scream, jumping into my arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me! I didn’t mean it!” He burst into tears, his face buried in my shoulder.

“Owen, I’m not mad.” Victor tried. “I was just-”

“I want Miss Dillon, I want to go back!” Owen interrupted him, tightening his grip on me. “Please take me back.”

And the crushed look spreading over my husband’s face broke my heart.

“Owen, it’s ok, nothing wrong happened, it was just a glass.” I caressed his curls. “Victor was just afraid you would cut yourself on the glass, he didn’t mean to scare you. He is not mad at you, I promise.”

“I’m sorry I made a mess…” The boy sobbed in my arms, and I watched Victor silently walk into the house, completely disheartened. Mina and Terry followed him.

“Owen, I need you to calm down and pay close attention to me, can you do that?” I whispered to him.

After a moment, the sobbing ceased, and Owen turned his eyes to me.

“When we make a mess, we simply clean it up. Or, in this case, because it’s dangerous, we ask for help to clean it up. And next time, we pay attention. That’s it. No one needs to cry. No one will ever get mad at you because of one silly accident.”

The boy kept staring at me, still deciding if he should believe me.

“Besides, when one ant drops a piece of bread, the other ants don’t get mad, do they? They help their mate. In this family, we do the same. We are just like the ants, working together as a family.”

“But…” Owen trailed off, his eyes turning to the door Victor walked through.

“He wasn’t mad, he just didn’t want you to get hurt. But he has that thunder voice that can scare the ants.” I joked, making Owen chuckle. “Come on, help me get a broom so we can clean this.”

“Andy…” He interrupted me before I could get up, his face somber again. “I’m sorry I said I want to go back to Miss Dillon. I didn't mean it.”

“I know.” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, ok?”

It was exhilarating to see Owen smile back at me.

For the first time that week, despite the drama, I felt that I got through to him. We walked into the kitchen, Owen in a much better mood, holding my hand.

“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll clean it up.” Mina took the broom from Owen’s hands.

“Hey, I would love to see that anthill you found.” Terry called Owen. “Will you show it to me?”

“Can I?” He turned to me.

“Of course, my little ant.” I ruffled his hair, making him giggle. “Go have fun.”

I stayed behind with Mina in the kitchen, watching an enthused Owen tell Terry all the fun facts he knew about ants.

“He’s in the study.” Mina informed me with a knowing smile, following them outside with the broom.

I carefully knocked on the study’s door, hearing an annoyed Yes from inside. Victor was sitting on a chair, fingers rubbing his temples, staring at the carpet.

“How is Owen?” Victor looked up when he saw me.

“He’s fine, he’s in a good mood. Terry took him outside.” I downplayed it.

“Didn’t you see how frightened he was? He was shaking. He’s scared of me.” Victor stated blandly, a deep dark pit of sorrow in his grey eyes.

Based on our previous conversation, it wasn’t hard to get to the root of what was troubling my husband. I kneeled before him, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“You are not your father. You and your father are completely different people.”

“Maybe I am though.” He turned his eyes away in shame. “Maybe one day Owen will look back and see what a terrible father I was. I yelled at him. What kind of person yells at a little child, let alone his own son?”

“Why did you yell at him?”

“I didn’t want him to cut himself in the glass. But I-”

“Exactly.” I held his face in my hands. “You weren’t scolding him, you were protecting him. Just what a good father would do. I would’ve done exactly the same, you just beat me to it.”

I felt my husband’s tension slacken slightly, as he let out a deep breath.

“Look, I don't want you to second guess yourself like this.” I looked deep into his eyes. “It’s normal to have questions, it’s ok not to know everything, but if there is a person I know is absolutely competent and experienced in raising a child, it’s the man I love.”

“Experienced?” He frowned at me. “I‘ve never raised a child before in my life, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Yes, you have.” I answered firmly. “You raised yourself.”

He scoffed, looking away, like I had said something ridiculous. My gentle hands guided his face towards mine again.

“It’s true. Victor, you were neglected in so many ways, and even as a child, all by yourself, you guided yourself towards the best choices in life, and you became the wonderful man you are today. You are nothing like your father, because you chose not to be. Despite everything you could have learned from him, despite his negative influence, you chose differently.”

Victor looked at me with wide eyes. Hopefully, my words were sinking into him. I continued my heartfelt speech.

“And you did this as a child, with zero life experience. Now that you are an adult, you can help Owen in the way he needs, help him overcome all he’s been through. All you need to do is guide him the same way you did to yourself, this is nothing new to you. You did this before. And while things may seem hard now, they won’t be like this forever. You just have to be patient. Time and love will make all the pieces fit together. To be honest, I think Owen is really lucky to have you as a father.”

The corner of my husband’s mouth lifted, his gaze soft and loving, all the worry magically gone.

“Come here.” Victor pulled me to his lap, his lips touching mine, making me melt in his arms, like I always did. “I’m the lucky one.” He hushed, as he broke the kiss.

A few moments after, childish laughter sounded through the house. Owen had returned from the garden with Terry, and he looked positively delighted.

“Hey!” I greeted them. “Did you have fun, Owen?”

Owen said nothing, his gaze locked on Victor. He was still uneasy, not knowing what to expect.

“We still have to visit the stables.” Victor chimed in. “Owen, do you want to meet our horses?”

The boy nodded.

“Come on, then.” Victor motioned for him to follow. “Do you know the names of our horses?”

“Naia and Onyx. Naia is a mare and Onyx is a stallion.” Owen replied.

“Very good. Onyx is the horse I ride, Naia is Andrea’s. When you learn how to ride properly, you will have your own horse.” Victor promised as he walked beside Owen.

“I’m going to learn how to ride a horse?” Owen asked, exhilarated.

“Yes, I will teach you. What do you say?”

“Yes, please, Sir.”

I walked a few steps behind, trying to give them the space they needed to bond. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that Owen would see Victor for the wonderful man that he was, and that a beautiful relationship was in the making. It would take some time, but we would finally have the family we all dreamed of.

#dadvic #vic adoptive father #Growing Pains - Series #growingtogether #victor x oc #mldd victor #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #love and producer #mister love dream date #mister love queens choice

4 notes · View notes

voxlette11 · 4 years ago

Text

Eric and Leo, Finale

Two high-powered businessmen learn what it means to play with experimental drugs.

A/N: This is a re-post of something I originally authored in 2013/14 on Mpreg Central under the username BellLee (BellLee11) - I can’t remember because I lost my login info and access to the forums once permission regulations changed!

Content: unknowing mpreg, lactation, birth, accelerated pregnancy

Eighteen Weeks After Conception

…

Leo was huge, and Eric was completely in love with him for it. He followed him secretly every now and then throughout the day, not only out of paternal investment, but also out of personal curiosity and gratification. How did Leo get his daily duties done with a belly that looked like an oversized beach ball? How did he maintain his balance? How did other people look at his monstrosity of a gut?

The other day Leo had dropped a pen in the hallway and struggled to get low enough to actually reach it; he’d had to spread his legs and slowly squat to even consider the possibility. He carried things now by partially balancing them on the top of the notable mound. He had to, there was no room in his arms otherwise.

His gait had changed markedly over the past weeks, Eric had noted. In the beginning, Leo’s pregnancy hadn’t affected his bodily movements very much and everything had been very much the same. But as the pregnancy progressed, Leo’s hips seemed to take on a cross between a sway and a waddle while in motion – in fact, Eric would say it almost appeared as if they were marginally widening with each passing week, for each passing week the waddle/sway was getting more and more pronounced.

Carrying his belly put a lot of strain on him, curving his back sharply at the bottom. This forced the small man to throw his front load forward and his head and shoulders backward in an attempt to even out his taxing weight distribution.

This was not the only change.

In addition to his growing belly, Leo had also started growing small breasts. Eric had noted them in full for the first time four weeks ago, when the brunet had complained that they were aching. Eric had assumed the accumulating breast tissue was just a side effect of Leo’s additional weight gain, but it turned out they were something much more utilitarian.

Eric had straddled the small man’s thighs in bed, leaning over Leo and rubbing at his swollen, pink nipples with large, dexterous fingers. He tugged and smoothed, turned and twisted. And that’s when they both discovered that Leo was producing milk in his mammaries.

“What the hell is that?” Leo asked quizzically, looking seriously concerned about his body for the first time since his morning sickness went away.

Thinking quickly, Eric supplied, “You’ve had a lot of body changes these past few months, yeah? It’s got to do with your hormones. Too much of them, and then this stuff starts happening.”

Leo seemed to mull this information over in his head, and Eric waited apprehensively for his response.

I don’t want this to be over so soon…

“Hormones, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh…well, whatever you’re doing, it feels like a fucking miracle so keep it up.”

“You got it.”

And so, added to their routine, was a daily “milking”. If Leo went too long without stimulation, his small breasts got so uncomfortable he couldn’t focus on his work. Eventually, to save time, Eric bought a milk pump. They used it together often, Leo sometimes alone. It was the perfect opportunity, really, because Eric secretly took what was produced and froze it in storage. He figured by the time the baby was born, Leo might not want to feed it himself 24/7. Any new mother appreciated a respite, and that’s where a generous store of milk came in handy.

Eric also used these opportunities to feel out the baby, limbs, arms, the head. He liked to know where the baby was positioned, though judging by how hard it was for Leo to catch his breath and how often he went to the restroom, Eric figured the baby was compressing his lungs and sitting right on his bladder. Sometimes, he felt kicks, a fluttering against his large hand, to which Leo would grunt and say, “Gas.”

But that was four weeks ago. Now that Leo was, biologically, thirty six weeks pregnant, it seemed it was easier for him to breathe. That meant, according to what Eric had read, that the baby was descending into the pelvis, preparing for its imminent birth. This was in sync with Leo complaining of discomfort in his pelvis, and he was endlessly shifting around while stationary, trying in vain to make himself comfortable. Also, Leo’s nipples were widening, darkening, the same shade as the line on his belly. Easier for the baby to see. He had taken to small unconscious nesting behaviors, like organizing his closet and asking Eric to help him clean his modest apartment in the Bronx.

Eric had only two more weeks to wait.

…

Twenty Four Weeks After Conception

…

The baby had not yet arrived. It was three weeks late, which meant that, biologically, Leo was carrying a baby ten months and two weeks at term. This worried Eric. There was an important merger going on at the company, the joining of two firms coming to a crux, and he hadn’t had much time to spend with Leo one-on-one as they liked. He had especially wanted to keep a close eye on the smaller man as his due date approached, particularly because Eric was the only one who knew what was actually happening to him. But both their busy schedules meant they rarely crossed paths, and neither of them had spent more than ten minutes with the other in weeks.

Eric could tell that Leo was reaching the limits of his physical capacity. His clothes bordered on the unprofessional, they were drawn so tightly across and around him. His belly, apparently having reached its limit for outward growth a few weeks ago, began bulging and expanding at the sides. He really was beginning to physically resemble a ball, a ball that could barely walk and function as a normal human being.

Eric got out of his meeting early, and decided to go check on the other man. He walked down to Leo’s floor, but when he got to Leo’s desk, the pregnant man wasn’t there.

��Excuse me,” he stopped a passing clerical worker. “But why isn’t Leo in today?”

“Oh, him?” the woman nodded. “He called in sick today. Why? Did he miss something big?”

No, but I might be missing something big right now…literally.

Eric was filled at once with a healthy sense of fear and giddy excitement. Could this be the day?

“No, no everything’s fine. Thank you. Excuse me,” Eric dismissed the woman and rushed to the elevator.

Please, please wait for me.

He caught a cab and paid the driver extra to get to Leo’s place in half the time. Quickly, he buzzed into the building via the doorman and climbed the stairs to the third floor himself because the elevator seemed like too slow an option. Hands shaking with excitement, Eric pulled out his key ring and found the spare to Leo’s apartment.

He opened the door.

…

Leo hadn’t felt like getting out of bed that day. He had the energy, but something had felt off for some reason. A sense of some impending force. He supposed a lot of it had to do with the stress he was putting up with at work, mental, emotional, and physical. He considered himself a hard worker, but everyone needed an off day. He figured he might as well take this one as a freebie for himself.

He had been getting strange, shooting sensations down his legs ever since the pressure in his pelvis had appeared around four weeks ago. He was having difficulty sleeping, leaking nipples, swollen ankles, itchy stretching skin, and still insatiable hunger. The flutterings were the strongest they’d ever been, sometimes actually managing to take his breath away. He was generally uncomfortable. And last week, he’d had a serious internal freak out when he’d pulled off his boxer briefs and found the insides coated with some sort of slightly bloody, mucous discharge. He’d brushed it off because he hadn’t felt any different, and it didn’t happen again.

Now, however, he felt different.

As of that morning, he’d been getting low, strange, dully painful tightenings that started in his back and worked their way around to the front of him, reverberating up to his belly button. His prostrate was being stimulated somehow in all of this, and he was harder than he’d been in weeks. The strange sensation had happened more than once, each time getting slightly longer in duration and the frequency increasing but a few minutes.

He lounged on the bed, naked. Nightclothes were more of a hassle than they were worth. He stared at the ceiling, wishing something would happen to break the tedium of his boredom.

Then, the bedroom door opened, and there stood Eric. Leo smiled to himself.

Perfect.

…

Leo was a sight to behold, laying naked on top of his sleep-rumpled bed sheets. Eric hadn’t seen him naked in weeks, and just looking at him made the blond go half-hard. His belly was obscenely fecund, arcing away from his spine in a practically violent fashion. His abdomen demanded attention, the straining skin obviously struggling to contain the child within. The baby was low, Eric could see that even with Leo laying down. His abdomen bulged more and more dramatically as it got closer to his groin, taking on a torpedo-like shape. Leo’s breasts were still small, but they were pert and perched atop the great swell like little decorative afterthoughts. His bellybutton looked abused, red and swollen, five times its normal size by some strange feat of the body. His cock, too, was erect and pressing against the curvaceous underside of his mound.

Eric breathed a sigh of relief. Leo looked ready to burst, but he wasn’t in labor. Yet.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “I heard you were sick. Came over to make sure you were okay.”

Leo waved away his worries.

“Nah,” the brunet said, “I just…felt…strange today was all. I couldn’t bring myself to get to the office.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Yeah…,” Leo trailed off, then looked slyly to the side.

“So,” he began, “I’m pretty bored here…you want to make this day a little more interesting?”

Eric's cock stiffened eagerly to its full length.

"Of course," he said.

He climbed onto the bed, parting Leo's legs himself. He wrapped one hand completely around each swollen ankle and lifted them up onto his shoulders, Leo making little grunting noises of discomfort as he did so. The tops of Leo's thighs were pressed against the torpedoing slope of his abdomen and there was little room for proper maneuvering. The sides of his belly spilled over their natural limits, and up close Eric was mesmerized by the rhythmic rise and fall of that enormous bellybutton as Leo breathed.

"Well?" The brunet motioned. "You gonna fuck me or sit there?"

Eric smiled and released his cock from his pants.

"I'm going to fuck you," and he pushed inside without any lubrication. He didn't need any. Leo was incredibly loose, looser than he'd been in his entire life. Eric wouldn't have been surprised if he could fit the entirety of his massive hand into the small man's asshole.

He thrust into him deeply, sheathing and unsheathing the whole of his gargantuan width and length, relishing the sight of that small puckered anus expanding and contracting with his cock.

Eric put his hands on Leo's belly, and Leo moaned, lifting his own smaller hands to hang onto the headboard in his ecstasy. Eric felt all over and he thrust, his hands feeling out where the baby's head was situated, sitting right in Leo's groin.

"I'm so full," Leo moaned, and Eric was set into a frenzy.

He began pounding away like crazy, rocking the frame of the bed with each thrust, watching Leo's cock as it quivered and strained for its release. A glance up and he saw that the small man's breasts were leaking, apparently he had not milked himself today. The swollen, dark, erect nipples were dribbling milk down the sides of Leo's chest, and he didn't even seem to be noticing because he was in such a state of ecstasy.

"Ahh...ahhh...right there, Eric, fuck..." Leo's hips rolled, or rolled as well as they could manage under his massive load.

Eric helped him, catching him under the ass and driving his cock even deeper. Leo's thighs were compressed against his belly with each thrust, and he was grunting over and over again with the force of the impact.

"I'm...hngh...going to-" Leo's cock exploded, spraying cum all over his belly. His hands scrabbled for purchase at the headboard, his voice keening, his toes curling. At the same instant, Eric unwittingly breached some sort of stopper, a plug located deep in the reaches of Leo's interior. Leo gasped, and Eric saw the great surface of his belly visibly tighten and shift, it was moving, and moreover it was moving the general direction of downwards and out. Leo's insides contracted like a vice, pulling Eric's orgasm from him, pump after pump after pump of cum.

Eric felt something else on his cock in the depths of Leo, his cum churning around his penile organ. A peculiar wetness, one not caused by his own fluids.

"Oh...," Leo's voice.

When Leo's interior loosened, Eric withdrew himself, as he did so he could feel Leo's body preparing to tense up again. When the head of Eric's cock exited Leo's anus, a strange milky stream of cum and some other fluid came out after it.

Leo had been fucked into labor.

…

Leo was in a thrill, enjoying the sensation of being filled, of being pounded into so roughly again and again. He could feel his cock struggling to release, and as he felt Eric brush past a point he rarely managed to push past, his orgasm was fucked out of him.

That's when it happened.

Something gave inside of him, something he heard quietly give a singular popping noise, and the aching pain from before seized him. But this time it was more intense. Intense enough to be actually uncomfortable. His belly tightened, but this time there was the distinct impression of something inside of him being moved. A flurry of the flutterings started up, battering his insides.

Meanwhile Eric was releasing inside of him, a massive load of cum, and Leo could feel it expanding within his interior as his semen-stuffed bowels contracted.

"Oh..." he said, unsure and surprised. He had never felt anything like this before.

He felt Eric leave him, but something else was coming out of his ass. Something unusual. It was wet, it was a steady stream, and it was soaking through the sheets on his bed. It had been mere seconds and already the fluid was seeping up into the linen under his back.

“Eric,” Leo made an attempt to right himself, but the gravity of his belly was too much. “Eric,” he continued to struggle. “What is that? Can you see that? What the fu-ohhhhhh...”

A great, sharp pain had worked its way through him, speared him through the bellybutton. A huge flutter, no, a pounding, followed shortly thereafter directly on top of his bladder. It took all of Leo’s self-control to keep his piss in. His hands went to hold his belly in confusion, his short arms unable to encompass its girth, reaching uselessly for the origin point of the tremor.

Eric got there first, since Leo couldn’t even reach that far. Eric’s hands were cold on his orgasm-heated abdomen, an almost welcoming feeling amidst the pain. Leo winced through another, this one starting low in his thighs, curling around his hips, twisting around his navel, and shooting up his spine. Leo swore he saw his girth actually move, the fecund mass making a slight push outwards, then sliding down deeper into his pelvis. There was a mounting pressure everywhere and anywhere beneath his ribs, and the matter of releasing that pressure seemed to be getting more urgent with each passing second.

“Eric,” Leo grimaced. “What’s happening…?”

…

This was it. This was the moment. Eric had debated with himself how this would play out over and over again, but now that they had actually gotten to this point he only had three words to say:

“You’re pregnant, Leo.”

There was a moment of stunned disbelief, something that did not happen to Leo often. In fact, Eric could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually managed to surprise him. Now he got to use the other hand, too, by the looks of it.

“…What.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I know what you fu-raARGH,” Leo’s belly tensed under Eric’s fingers, the baby shifting downwards inside. After thirty seconds of breathless panting, all the while staring at Eric with burning intensity, the brunet continued.

“I know what you said,” he winced periodically. “But I can’t be pregnant. That’s…urgh…that’s-ARGHHH…impossible…”

Eric traced a finger up that dark, bisecting, now shivering line on Leo’s abdomen before speaking.

“Not for the right amount of cash.”

“I-I don’t…,” Leo’s belly heaved, “How?”

Eric began rubbing in circular motions on the small man’s pitifully swollen side.

“I put it in your drink. You told me you wanted to know what it was like to carry a baby. I told you I wanted kids. You remember.”

“Well, yes,” Leo grunted, unable to even prop himself up to look Eric in the eyes. “But I didn’t know you could actually do it. You should have told me, you fucking basta-ohhhhhhhh...”

His blue eyes screwed shut, riding through the pain Eric could physically see and feel in his contracting abdominal muscles.

Eric leaned forward and planted a kiss on the slope of Leo’s gut.

“I would have,” he explained, planting another kiss, further up the massive, now-glistening dome. “But I didn’t tell you that I, too, have a secret fantasy…to watch a man who didn’t know he was pregnant…,” another kiss, this time directly on top of that swollen knob of a belly button. “…give birth.”

Leo panted and huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you fucking did it,” he groaned. “…I guess…it’s nice to know…uuuunnnghhhhhHHH…I’m not fat.”

“The baby should be coming out soon,” Eric assured him. “It’ll all be over. The supplier said the births were usually pretty fast. An hour, about.”

“God, I hope so.”

…

Five Hours Later

…

The baby wasn’t coming out. In fact, after the initial induction of labor, it appeared that it hadn’t made any progress at all. Leo was in agony. His breasts were still leaking milk, and sweat ran from every pore in his body. Eric was there to rehydrate him, but that was a small comfort to the aching, consuming pain which had become his body.

The hours passed slowly, and Leo had long since given himself over to his natural urges, trying to push the baby out but to no avail.

“We might not be in this situation if I had known I was pregnant,” Leo had said pointedly, when he still had energy, about three hours past.

“But Leo,” Eric had replied, “Where would you have gone? Men don’t get pregnant.”

And Leo had known he was right. Still, he needed to take his agony out on something, and the person who got him impregnated him just so happened to be the closest conduit for his pain-induced rage.

Leo was past the point of rage, and he was starting to get desperate.

“Check me,” he whined. “Please, please, check me.”

Eric nodded, his stamina running low as well, and he parted Leo’s legs further than they already were so he could shove his fingers into the ever-loosening asshole.

Leo winced, biting back a cry of pain and discomfort, keening as inside of him Eric’s fingers brushed against what they had concluded was fulfilling the role of a cervix.

“It hasn’t dilated any further,” Eric reported, withdrawing his hand. Leo choked on a wistful sob.

This is never going to end.

Eric had not left the space between Leo’s legs, however.

“What are you doing?”

“I have an idea. If fucking was what brought this on, maybe…?”

Leo understood perfectly.

“Do it,” he said, “Just fucking do it.”

I’m willing to try anything.

He felt Eric push inside of him for the second time that day, this time even less noticeably than the last. His anus had been stretched beyond comprehension. In fact, he didn’t even feel anything inside of him until Eric’s cock began to brush against his cervix. It took a considerable amount of work and leverage to get there. Eric’s hands were once again under Leo’s ass, lifting him on a sloping plane above the bed. The gravity of his belly was slipping towards his head, the baby inside not taking kindly to the disturbance of it’s hard work. Kicks pummeled Leo’s lungs and intestines, bowing out the thin membrane of his abdomen. It was not a pleasant sensation.

“Ready?”

Leo nodded, and Eric began.

With each thrust, Eric’s cock connected with the cervix. Shooting, agonizing pain radiated from the area, and Leo began to cry in earnest.

“It hurts,” he cried, “It hurts!”

Still, Eric pounded away, determined to fuck his plan into action. Each thrust was accompanied by a kick, and Leo could scarcely breathe. Eric’s thrusts were getting longer, choppier, with each subsequent kick or contraction. It wasn’t long before he exploded inside of Leo once more, coating his cervix with yet another bucket of cum. Again, Eric withdrew, setting Leo’s ass back on the bed.

Leo waited. Nothing.

“It didn’t-ohooOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!” Slowly and then all at once, he could feel changes inside of him. The pressure mounted, it came to such a head that Leo was sure his hips would split and his belly would split open like a bean cooked too long in a microwave. Instead, warm piss dribbled from between his thighs. His cock, once his bladder had been evacuated, slowly sprung to attention as his prostate began to register the stimulation. A burning, stretching, un-ignorable sensation began to take a hold in his ass.

This was it.

…

Eric watched as Leo gripped and grappled with himself, grasped onto his shiny, sweating, heavy heaving belly as if it were a lifeline. All at once, the mass within Leo moved downwards, bowing out the expanse of skin that covered the area between his bellybutton and his groin. Leo screamed.

“It’s coming, it’s coming,” he cried hysterically.

Eric could see Leo’s anus begin to widen preliminarily, for there was no head in view. He positioned himself between Leo’s legs once more, this time prepared to help their child into the world. But the minutes passed slowly, and still there was no sign of the baby.

“Are you pushing?”

“Of course I’m-NNNNNNNRRGGGHHHHHHAHHH!-pushing!” Leo wiggled his hips marginally, trying desperately to eject the mass of their child. “I’m trying, it’s impossible!”

“Nothing’s impossible!”

“I can’t do it,” Leo sobbed. “It’s too big. My hips…uuuuuuuuughhhHHH…my hips are too small to pass it.”

“I…”

“You’re a giant! I’m the size of a fucking ten-year-old, what did you THINK was going to happen!?” Leo screamed again, yet another useless contraction hardening the surface of his fecund gut. “You’ve killed me. I’m going to die…”

Eric was frightened, and then he grew angry. Angry at himself, angry at the situation, and angry at Leo for giving up so easily. He grabbed Leo’s hips, and while supporting his back, gave a savage twist so that Leo was laboring on his side. He held Leo’s legs wide open, one small leg propped on his shoulder at the knee, the other held still under his giant hand. Leo’s anus and now fully erect cock were exposed.

Leo cried out at the unexpected movement, looking at Eric in shock.

“What are you doing?! Have you gone fucking insane?!” he shrilled.

“Push.”

“I can’t do anything like this!”

“PUSH.”

Leo, tired and ready to try anything despite his earlier premonitions of failure, did as Eric bid. The blond watched the small man’s face turn pink, then red, then a dark shade of purple as he tensed each and every one of his muscles. Leo’s fingers dug into the soiled sheets and gripped at the headboard so tightly his nails turned white.

“Breathe. BREATHE.”

Leo beathed.

“Push.”

“I…I can’t…”

“PUSH.”

Leo pushed again, and slowly, slowly, the mass moved further downwards. The tiniest bulge began to form in his anus as the baby came down his canal.

“It hurts,” he sobbed, “It hurts so fucking ba-AAAAAHHHHHHH!” Leo’s hands went to grasp his belly, arms wrapped around it as if folding in on himself would make the pain go away.

“Eric,” he began again, “Eric, help me, help me, please. Make it stop…”

“Push.”

“Eric-“

“PUSH.”

The bulge was now sizable, a part of the baby’s head showing through an orange-sized opening. But that was it. The skin of Leo’s anus was stretched to practical transparency around it, in danger of tearing. If he tore, it could mean a lot of trouble for all three of them. Eric made a snap decision, and cupped his hand over the opening as Leo struggled.

“Hold it.”

“But you said you wanted-“

“HOLD IT.”

“NNNNNNNGGHHHHHHHAHHH!” was Leo’s only response, crying out as a contraction gripped him once more. His pushing now was involuntary, a natural instinct. Eric felt the top of the baby’s head push out slightly against his palm.

“HOLD IT.”

“AaaAHHHHAHH!”

Eric checked the skin around Leo’s anus – it seemed to be stretching fine.

“Push!”

Leo didn’t need to be told. He pushed, over and over again, and sliver by sliver the baby’s head became visible. But it was too big. Eric used his fingers to pull the skin over the head, pulling and pushing at it with the heel of his hand.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGHHNN!”

With a ‘slup’ and a great gush of pre-natal fluids, the head was free.

“The head’s out! Leo, the head’s out! You’re doing so good!”

Eric lay a hand on Leo’s laboring belly, still sizable but less so now that the head was no longer inside.

“Come on! One last big one!”

Leo’s hands dug into the sheets, and with one final cry the body slipped out, and Leo’s noises of pain comingled with the disgruntled wails of a newborn. His belly now looked deflated, empty, but loose like a leather bag that had once been over-stuffed.

Eric took the child gently in his arms, clearing the nose and mouth of natal debris, cutting the cord with a shoelace.

Leo was still lying on his side, panting, eyes closed. He was okay. He wasn’t bleeding.

Eric walked to the head of the bed, laying the infant between the two of them.

“Look,” he said softly, “Leo, look at our daughter.”

…

Leo opened his eyes, and met those of the biggest and most beautiful baby he’d ever seen.

“Our…,” he reached out a trembling hand, taking gentle hold of the still crying baby. He drew her close to his chest, where after gentle prodding she began to suckle.

He gaze met Eric’s, and he couldn’t recall a time or place where the blond had looked at him quite so lovingly.

“You’re lucky she looks like you,” he said, angry having melted away at the arrival of their own personal miracle.

Eric smiled, “What do you mean? She’s got your hair.” He reached a hand forward, smoothing Leo’s sweaty dark locks away from his forehead.

“You know what I mean,” Leo replied, going back to watching their daughter as she fed. “She’s a little big, isn’t she?”

Eric laughed. “Well, she should be. Technically she’s a month old.”

“Fuck, me. Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Forget about the ‘fuck, me’, I’m changing it to fuck you.”

Eric just laughed harder, and despite his aches, the lingering contractions as he delivered the afterbirth, and his complete exhaustion, Leo laughed too.

“How many of these did you want?” he asked, once they’d both calmed down.

“Three.”

“Three?! You’re doing them. I’m never doing this again. I’ll knock you up.”

“Leo…”

“What?”

“…it only works on guys under 150 pounds.”

“…fuck.”

#belly #mpreg

13 notes · View notes

starscheme · 5 years ago

Text

Change My World

Chapter Eighteen: The Forgotten Garden

As Lion dashed off with Spinel and Steven on his back, Garnet watched them leave from the first floor tavern window. She waited until the pink color of the Lion could no longer be seen before turning back to the humans that were unconscious on the floor. Stepping over a couple of them, she made her way up the stairs to the room where Spinel and Steven had been staying. Elaine was still unconscious after being hit with Steven's energy, which worked out well for Garnet as she loomed over the girl to search her pocket and take the remaining colored marbles from her.

Someone had supplied this human with magic trinkets. Specifically, trinkets to harm mermaids. Garnet dropped the marbles into a small bag strapped to her side and pulled out the pink sphere she had used to communicate with Pearl once before. The sphere projected a small screen with Pearl looking out at Garnet anxiously once she answered the call.

"I'm sending a human your way," informed Garnet before Pearl could say anything.

"A human? Right now? We're preparing things for Steven. We don't have time to deal with another-"

"-she was touched by his energy and she's still alive. We may need her." Interrupted Garnet.

Pearl seemed surprised by this, but she nodded her head in reply. "I understand. We'll be ready to receive her."

With nothing else to say, Garnet cut the feed and sighed as she looked around the room. She'd chosen not to mention Lion to Pearl, nor would she mention that Steven and Spinel were out of sight. "...everything we've been working for...is riding on you two..." whispered Garnet

While Garnet took care of things at the Inn, Spinel was holding onto Steven as best she could as the Lion rushed off through the valley behind the village. Though he was draped over the Lions back, Spinel was still worried that he might slip off somehow. She had no idea where the beast was planning to take them, but at least they were safe. Elaine had really caused no end of trouble and if they didn't have to run away like this, Spinel would have preferred to make sure Elaine couldn't tell her lies once they were gone. Still, she had to get Steven somewhere he could rest. That is, if it was in her control.

"Where are you taking us?!" shouted Spinel over the cold wind that stung her skin. "Steven needs to—"

Before she could finish, the Lion roared and a pink light flashed out like a visible echo, leaving behind a similar looking circle of energy that Lars had produced back at the campsite to help them all escape. Spinel could only watch in mild shock while the Lion took them all through the portal. The former mermaid was temporarily blinded by a bright flash once inside the circle, but when her eyesight returned, Spinel was once again stunned to silence. The Lion had transported them all to some strange abandoned garden. All the flowers had withered away from neglect. The large stone fountain in the middle seemed to have completely run dry and was slowly crumbling away along with the carved stone columns that surrounded it.

"Well...this is creepy..." muttered Spinel, hoping this wasn't where the Lion really intended to take them. Though that hope was squashed rather quickly once the Lion lowered himself, waiting for them to slip from his back.

Though Spinel was reluctant to stop and rest in such an eerie place, she wasn't about to argue with the magical pink lion that saved them from trouble. Stepping down from the Lion, she dropped the duffel bag and went to work getting Steven down as well. He was still out cold from his earlier burst of energy. Though this would have been the second time Spinel saw him do this, she was still no closer to finding out why it happened and it seemed that Steven didn't remember his first outburst.

Hooking her arms beneath his, she pulled Steven off the Lion and quickly lowered him to the ground, resting his head on their luggage. Once everyone had departed his back, the Lion began walking away, alarming Spinel at once. "Hey-hey, Wait," she started to shout as she sprang to her feet. "Where are you going?! I don't know where you brought us! You can't just-"

As Spinel followed after the Lion and pleaded with a beast who most likely couldn't understand her, she was unknowingly led to the bottom of a flight of stairs. Distracted from her pleas once her foot knocked against the first step. Spinel glanced up to see where the stairs would lead and saw nothing of importance. Just a small platform bordered with four large pillars, a large stone Diamond in the middle. She didn't plan on exploring it, but the Lion had gotten behind her and began to nudge at her back with his forehead to push her along.

"Ah! O-okay, okay!" She exclaimed in annoyance. With a sigh, Spinel turned to make sure Steven was still sleeping before she started to climb the stairs. When she reached the top, she could see that the stone Diamond was decaying slowly and had been overcome by some overgrown vines. "...it's really a shame. I'm sure this place was beautiful once..." mumbled Spinel while plucking at some of the withered plants to clean them from the Diamond.

It wasn't long after she'd removed a couple of vines, that a light began to shine from the Diamond and projected a dim pink screen. Spinel gasped lightly and took a step back on instinct, but it was soon apparent that this was nothing to fear. Just a projection. The image that appeared on the screen was in the shape of a woman, but the recording was apparently too old to maintain its quality. With all the static and glitches, Spinel could barely make out the voice, let alone get a proper look at the woman's face.

"I-so sorry—" the woman's voice echoed through the static, her words skipping out due to the deteriorating footage. "—Mistake. You are my—-please remember. It is your fate. Had I known, I never would have—-one—-thi—-"

Spinel listened patiently as the woman seemed to pause, sobbing softly through the static. She couldn't make out everything the woman said, but this was clearly left as a message for someone. It made Spinel a little sad to think that perhaps this message was waiting here all this time. Did it ever reach the one it was intended for? Or was Spinel the first to hear it?

Finally, the sobs quieted down and the woman began again, "forgive me. This isn't what I—-anted—-. The others wa—-our—they'll use you. I did all—protect you. —-power you have is dangerous. Don't let them—-it could kill you. Please, remember who you are. You are—-nd—-ove—-ou. Remember that—. —-care of yourself, Steven."

Once the woman said Stevens name, the message ended and the image was immediately cut off. Spinel kept her gaze fixed on where the projection had been, stunned to silence when she heard the end. Steven? It couldn't possibly be a message for her Steven. Everything here appeared to have been abandoned long ago. At least long enough for the stone carvings to have practically rotted away and lose their shape. It wasn't possible for all this to have been neglected just in her Stevens lifetime. Still, Spinel was trying to recall the message in its entirety, worried there was something important she didn't pay enough attention to now.

"S-something about fate and a mistake? Remembering who you are...and a dangerous power that could hurt him..." repeated Spinel under her breath. There was no way this was meant for the man sleeping just down those stairs, but a part of Spinel was terrified now. Steven clearly had a power that couldn't belong to any human, but he wasn't a mermaid either. What was he? Twice he had saved their lives with this power. A pink Lion with the ability to transport them had come to the rescue, and now a strange message had been left in a long forgotten garden, seemingly for him? What could it all mean?

The Lion began to descend the stairs now, not bothering to wait for Spinel as she tried to organize her jumbled thoughts. It wasn't until he edged closer to Steven's sleeping face that Spinel took notice.

"H-hey! Don't disturb him," shouted Spinel as she dashed down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet as she did so.

"...Spinel?" Mumbled Steven, his eyes fluttering open slowly, sure that he had heard Spinel shouting. His vision hadn't even fully become clear when he suddenly remembered what happened before he passed out. "ELAINE," he shouted as he sprang up with a start, feeling light headed the moment he was on his feet. Swaying back a bit, he was steadied by something soft and sturdy. It allowed Steven to see Spinel running towards him in what looked like an abandoned Garden. Though he was relieved to see that Spinel was okay, he was completely lost on what was going on. They were someplace new and when he glanced over his shoulder to see who had helped steady him, his heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of the large pink lion staring back at up at him. "WHAT THE—-?!" Steven exclaimed in a panic, scrambling away from the beast until he reached the old fountain.

"St-Steven...!" panted Spinel when she finally reached him, leaning on her knees to catch her breath for a moment. Walking was hard enough. Running was ridiculous. "Don't panic..."

"What is going on?!" he demanded while placing his hands at Spinels arms, helping to straighten her so their eyes met.

"W-well...it's not a long story, but it is a confusing one. I'm still not sure I've really caught up myself..." began Spinel, averting her eyes from his own.

Steven listened quietly as Spinel explained the events that had passed him by. Though she omitted his involvement in it all and instead said it was the Lion that had saved them both from Elaines traps. Spinel was also reluctant to mention the message she had heard just a few moments ago. She still wasn't even sure it was meant for her Steven anyhow.

"And so...where are we now then?" asked Steven, finally taking his hands from Spinel and looking around.

"I don't know. He brought us here...and it doesn't seem like he's in a hurry to leave."

"...well I guess...we should just make camp here for the night. It will be easier to find our way in the morning. ...but from the looks of this place, no one has been around for a long time." Steven sighed at last. "Did you find anything helpful?"

Spinel flinched lightly and abruptly shook her head frantically. "NOPE! Just dead flowers and broken statues! I don't think—"

As Spinel nervously answered Steven, the two heard a notable rustling in the overgrown grass just a few feet away. It silenced them both, wondering if someone had followed them somehow, or if the Lion had brought them into a trap.

"Lion? Have you come back?" Came a soft and almost lyrical voice from the weeds, accompanied by a pale young woman when she pushed herself through the brush. The girl had pink hair that was tied up in buns at both sides of her head. She wore a sleeveless, tattered pink dress that reached just above her knees, and no shoes. Though her dress was rather disheveled, the girl appeared rather neat and clean otherwise. However, her left eye was covered by a torn white cloth, surrounded by scars that seemed to take up most of the left side of her face. Though the scars were thin, against her pale skin, they were hard to miss. Once out, the girl seemed shocked to see anyone here, but instead of panicking, her one good eye flooded with tears. Falling to her knees, the girl covered her mouth with both hands and openly wept.

"H-whoa! Are you hurt?!" Asked Steven in alarm while Spinel watched cautiously.

"F-forgive me," the girl replied while shaking her head. "I've just...been waiting here for so long. I just became...a little overwhelmed."

"Waiting for what?" Spinel asked now.

Glancing at Spinel, the girl not only appeared confused, but also rather surprised. "What is your name?"

The former mermaid was already getting a bad feeling about this. "Spinel," she answered finally.

The girl appeared troubled now, shaking her head and searching her brain for an answer to which neither Spinel or Steven knew the question. "No. That's...you're not supposed to be here."

"What is going on here?" Steven demanded now. "Are you the one that sent the Lion to help us? Is this your home?"

"...I...I was waiting here. I was told to wait. She told me to stay here. ...but...Spinel was not supposed to come back here..." the girl muttered anxiously.

"Back?" repeated Spinel. "I've never been here before. Look, you'd better start answering some questions. That Lion of yours brought us here and I want to know why."

Steven watched the pink haired girl as she looked back up at them. Finally regaining a bit of composure, she took a deep breath and bowed her head. "My name is Volley...and I've been waiting a long time to see you again, Steven."

#steven universe #su #change my world #spinel #mermaid au #mermaid spinel #steven Universe au #fanfiction #chapter 18 #stevinel

34 notes · View notes