#but I suppose when he does at last hand a final revelation in the epilogue. it is quite devastating so maybe it's for the best :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tchallasbabymama · 3 years

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All For Us Chapter 9

Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me on this one, but it’s finally done! Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but there’s only one chapter left (and maybe an epilogue) on our journey with Mira, Erik, and Cupcake. If you’re just here for Killmonger, I have a couple Erik oneshots heading y’all’s way in the next few weeks. Also, check out The Temple. 😉

As always, don’t forget to look at my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Like, comment, and reblog away! 🥰

CW: a little smut

Word Count: 6,481

Erik’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright through the sand that covered his body in his temporary grave. He was in the heart of the temple where the Black Panther ceremony took place, the City of the Dead. The lost prince pulled himself from the sand and brushed the clay-colored sediment from around his eyes as he climbed the stone staircase leading up into the garden of the heart-shaped herb. When he made it to the top, Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the garden. To his surprise, nothing caught on fire like in his previous dreams. His shoulders relaxed as he took another step into the garden, and another, and another until he was face to face with Bast’s statue. A smile took over his face as he knelt at her feet.

“Took you long enough, Jaguar.”

Erik lifted his head, and her celestial glow nearly blinded him as he laid his eyes on the panther goddess once more.

“Long enough for what?”

“For your senses to come back, obviously.” Bast circled him and laid down, licking her paw. “Pretty soon, you won’t have to be asleep to talk to me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it.”

Erik turned to face her and sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never took them away. You did.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your guilt blocked your senses, Erik,” she sighed. “You had been holding onto pieces of it, but you finally let it go.”

“I felt guilty for ruining our marriage,” Erik mused aloud.

“But you didn’t, so congratulations,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

Bast chuckled at his informality.

“Last time we spoke, I said I would need you to do something for me. I’ve finally made up my mind as to what that is.”

Erik sat with bated breath as he waited for his assignment. For a moment, he was reminded of his military and mercenary days, except this time, he was being given a mission from a goddess. His goddess.

“As you know, Wakanda has never had a Golden Jaguar before. You are an anomaly, but that is a good thing.” She stood up and started walking, making him rush to his feet to follow after her.

“It is?”

“Yes. You know, the good thing about cycles is that with destruction comes rebirth…change. You’ve forced Wakanda to change, and you’ve forced me to think some things over. Truthfully, after the little stunt you almost pulled, I did think about removing your powers. I don’t need to preach about it, though, since you already know all about your wrongdoings, but I heard what you said about your people. We have neglected them, and for that, I have no words of apology that would adequately ease your pain. The Lost Tribe, as my people have come to call you, needs a champion. Wakanda already has theirs, but since you seem to rather enjoy toying with colonizers, I have an assignment for you.”

Erik’s ears were trained on Bast as he hung on every word she said. He walked next to her as they made their way through the catacombs towards the temple’s entrance.

“Before you came to Wakanda, you were involved with Klaue and his hunt for vibranium. Your vast knowledge of African and diasporic artifacts combined with your training makes a great equation for what I need you to do.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to act as the Golden Jaguar on the Lost Tribe’s behalf. I recognize that as just one person, you can only do so much, which is why I will talk to T’Challa about you heading his Wardog program. I would like for you to have an army of spies at your disposal to act instead of just watch and report as they have done in the past.”

“So basically what I wanted to do before but without the world domination?”

“Precisely,” Bast chuckled and stopped walking at the door to the temple.

“Ok,” Erik thought on it as a smile crept up his cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would. I think you’ll like my first assignment. Well, second. First, you need to stop avoiding the City of the Dead in your waking life. You need to go visit the garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said, his nerves twisting in his gut at the thought of actually stepping back onto the sacred land.

“Now, my second assignment: artifact reclamation. Instead of searching for vibranium, which you might find, I want you to return items to their rightful owners.”

“So, stealing,” Erik deadpanned.

“Yes, but for a good cause. I will let you work out the details, but the point is to return the power to the people by building them back up, brick by brick. They were separated from their gods, so the Ancestors and the Orishas are working on bringing them back to us spiritually. They are still working on getting other spirits and pantheons on board...alas, my brother and sisters are choosing to take a more passive approach.” She sighed. “The Lost Tribe was taken from the land, so T’Challa has already spearheaded initiatives to build up other African countries that need his assistance and bring the Lost home to the continent. Now, I need you to bring our belongings home. Our thrones, our art, our history. Take it back. Bring it back to its rightful place.”

“I’m with it, but, um...how am I supposed to do this without getting caught? If shit just starts disappearing en masse, somebody’s gonna notice.”

“They won’t disappear. The colonizers won’t even know they’re gone.” Bast flicked her tail mischievously. “Your wife designs kimoyo beads, does she not?”

“Well, yeah-”

“And your cousins are scientific geniuses, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’m sure that between all of your big beautiful brains, you can figure out a way to make replicas of the artifacts.”

“Why does that compliment feel like an insult?”

“I like you, Jaguar,” The goddess chuckled. “Now go enjoy your time with your wife.” She winked at Erik as she nudged him out into the brightness shining from outside the wide-open temple doors. Erik returned to consciousness, and he was shocked by the feeling of Mira’s mouth traveling up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, girl. This how you waking Big Daddy up now?”

She popped her head off his tip, and he groaned at the sight of a bridge of spit still connecting her to him.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Mmmm, good morning to you, too,” he grabbed her loose curls that she had forgotten to tie up the night before. The silk sheets kept her hair soft and bouncy as her hair spilled over his fist while it rested at the back of her head. He pulled her in for a kiss, and then she went right back to taking him down her throat. “You’re gonna make me nut all down that throat, Princess.”

Mira’s hand cupped and massaged his ballsack while she sucked on his bulbous head. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and her other hand traveled up and down his length, making his toes curl.

“Fuuuuck, you remember just what Big Daddy likes. Imma bust a fat ass nut, girl,” Erik groaned through gritted teeth. Mira giggled at her control over him and continued to work his dick. Her nose reached his pelvis as she took him down her throat, and he came with such force that she almost choked. Almost.

When she pulled off of him, she tongue-kissed his tip before sitting back on her haunches and wiping her mouth. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik let out a breathy laugh, “Like the dead.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t feel me moving. You were out cold.”

“That’s because I was talking to Bast.”

“What’d she say this time?”

Erik sat up against the headboard and motioned for her to come to him. Mira crawled up his body and straddled him, sliding down on his dick so that they were connected as deep as they could be. They had always been like this; whenever they needed to have a serious conversation, Erik would set her in his lap and have her take all of him. They both reveled in the connection they had in that moment, and even in their stillness, their united bodies responded to each other as the words fell from his lips.

“She wants me to be the Golden Jaguar officially,” he said as he kissed down from Mira’s ear to her shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Mira asked, barely above a whisper.

“She wants me to be a champion for us, the Lost Tribe. Wakandans have T, so I’ll be protecting the rest of us with the Wardogs.”

“How, though? That’s so many people.”

He came up from kissing between her breasts to look her in the eyes. “Well, remember how I told you about the museum heist to get the vibranium?”

Mira nodded.

“She wants me to steal artifacts from museums and shit and return them to where they were stolen from.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Mira snarked, and he tickled her sides, making her pussy clench around him, and he let out a groan at the feeling. He grabbed her hips and moved them back and forth.

“It is. I can’t do anything until I visit the garden of the heart-shaped herb, though.”

“Why?” she moaned.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” he sighed.

Mira pulled him into a kiss and cycloned her hips as she wound on him. “Do you need to go alone, or do you want me to come with you?”

He connected their foreheads as he pushed his hips forward into her, and she called out his name.

“I need to go alone.”

Their hips ground into each other as the sexual energy inside them built up slowly and erupted through their bodies. Erik placed kisses all over Mira’s face and neck as she caught her breath from the intensity of her orgasm.

“How about I make breakfast?” Erik asked, and Mira simply nodded and kissed him. She moved to get up, but he held her down. “Nah, I didn’t say right now.”

After another round, the two of them separated from each other, if only because of the rumbling of their bellies. They showered together, and Erik couldn’t help himself from bending her over and eating her pussy and ass from the back. Pretty soon, he was balls deep inside her again, and when he came all over her cheeks, he about keeled over from the way the orgasm shook through his body.

“Aight, I need a break,” Erik said, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their shower without any more funny business.

“Can I have one of your t-shirts?” Mira asked as they slathered themselves in shea butter.

“You can have anything you want, Princess. MIT or Navy?”

“MIT please,” she cheesed at him.

“Coming right up.”

Erik left the room and returned with his maroon-colored MIT t-shirt. The same one she wore the first time she stayed over at his apartment back in the day. He knew it was her favorite and the look on her face when he handed it to her was priceless. She quickly shimmied into it while he slid on a pair of sweatpants that left little to the imagination.

The two of them relocated to the kitchen, and Mira toyed around with her latest kimoyo design on her tablet while Erik got to work on breakfast.

“That a new one?” he asked, nodding towards the design hovering over the counter.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten it to work right, though,” she grumbled as she stared at it. “I want it to be able to apply cloaking tech to whatever it touches, but so far, I can only get the bead to disappear.”

Erik listened to her complain about her failed design for a little while, and when she was done, she turned off the tablet and hopped up on the counter.

“Anything I can do?” Mira asked

“Mhm,” he came over and stood between her legs, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Just sit there looking fine as hell.”

“I’m serious,” she smiled.

“So am I,” he said incredulously with a hand over his heart, making her chuckle at his dramatics.

“Fine, I’ll be your muse.”

“And my guinea pig. Here, try this.”

Erik lifted the spoon to her lips so she could taste the yam hash he had been working on, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I forgot you turn into Top Chef after sex.”

“Gotta feed my woman,” he kissed her cheek and cracked a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the skillet.

Mira giggled, and an idea struck her. She reached back for her tablet again and pulled up her latest work in progress, a story about a decades-long whirlwind romance that she had gotten stuck on. All she needed was a little inspiration, and Erik ended up being just what she needed.

He watched his wife type away with a smile on his face. Erik loved watching her work; the look of determination on her face was always so endearing to him. She’d bite her lip and squint her eyes as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Erik always thought it was adorable.

The smell of fresh vegetables coming in contact with hot oil filled the air, and Mira’s mouth started to water. She looked up from her work to see what Erik was doing but got distracted by his body. She watched his sinewy muscles moving beneath his textured skin, and a chill went down her spine.

“What the fuck is that?” Erik sniffed the air, following the sweet scent that had just wafted from out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” Mira asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

He turned to face her, and his pupils blew wide as the smell hit him again.

“It’s you,” he turned off the burner and stalked over to her, standing between her legs again and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent and let out a growl.

“What is that?”

“My bodywash?”

“Nah, it’s you. What-” he cut himself off when it dawned on him. When he was king for a day, he only smelled fear from those around him. Fear smelled like decay, it smelled rotten, but this was the exact opposite. It was enticing, like the most beautiful forbidden garden, and Erik knew exactly what it was. Her arousal. He bit into her neck, making her moan out as he ground his hips into hers. The aroma grew, and Erik’s composure slipped away the more he inhaled it.

“E-erik, the food.”

He took a deep breath as he stood to his full height. “I can smell when you want me.”

“What?!”

“I wonder if it’s different for every person...shit, I wonder if I can smell other people. I hope not-”

“What are you saying? You can tell when I’m horny?”

“I guess so. I only smelled fear before, but it makes sense. I’m just caught off guard because it hit me out of nowhere, like last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I could hear your heartbeat.”

Mira’s face lit up, “That’s good, though, right? It means your senses are coming back!”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised by that one. I wasn’t expecting all that,” he laughed.

“So...I smell good?”

“You don’t know how good, Princess,” he grumbled as he finished cooking. Mira crossed her legs, making him chuckle. “That’s not helping. It’s all over you.”

“Damn...what else can you do?”

“I need to test out my strength and speed, but my sight was different, too. Everything was brighter, more vibrant. And my brain moved faster...I don’t know how to explain it. Bast said my guilt was the blockage, so they’ll probably slowly come back over time. After they’re back, I’m supposed to start on my mission.”

“You still felt guilty?”

“I thought I broke us. I mean, I did, but I felt like it was unfixable, you know?”

Mira nodded, “Yeah, it felt like that sometimes.”

Erik pulled the dishes out of the cabinet and set them down next to her.

“Mira, I’m-”

“Erik, if you say you’re sorry one more time, so help me, Bast,” Mira said, making a dimpled smile appear on Erik’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while Erik plated the food, and when he handed Mira hers, he left a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and hopped down from the counter to sit at the table. When she sat down, she couldn’t help but stare at Erik as he walked over. Her man, her formerly violent man was really chosen by a goddess to protect Black people around the globe.

He noticed the look on her face and couldn’t quite place it. “What?”

“Nothing, just...look at you, doing the work of gods now.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say that about your mercenary husband,” Erik winked at her.

“Sure didn’t,” Mira laughed, “but it fits. You always had it in you. You know, I’m glad I came out here. I wouldn’t get to see this new side of you otherwise, and so far, I like it.”

--------

A couple of hours later, Erik found himself in front of the City of the Dead with his palms sweating and his breath shaking. He wasn’t sure why the temple unnerved him so much, but it did. Erik knew he had to do what Bast told him, though, and took a step forward. He climbed the stairs to the ornate stone doors and waited as they slowly opened for him. Erik was met with the sight of a surprisingly calm woman in purple robes. He recognized her as the woman he had choked out, the new head priestess.

“My prince,” she saluted him. “Welcome. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He hesitantly stepped forward again and entered the temple. A chill went down his spine as the doors shut behind them, and he looked around the space. He had only been there once before in his waking life, but this time it felt different. It probably had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t scared of him this time around.

“What’s your name?” he asked nervously.

“I am Zaya, my prince.”

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘my prince’ thing. Especially since I...you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should’ve never put my hands on you.”

“I have spoken to Bast about it, and I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

Erik put his hands up in defense, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, you are here to see the herb, no?” She started walking, and he followed behind her.

“How’d you know?”

“I spoke to Bast, remember?” She quipped with an eyebrow raised.

“Heh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious.”

“I assume that is a normal reaction when reckoning with your past.”

The two of them traveled deeper into the temple, and when they reached the door that led to the garden of the heart-shaped herb, he froze. Zaya looked back when she no longer heard his footsteps and smiled warmly, reaching out her hand to him. He took it, and she led him through the doors. Erik almost wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to face his past actions head-on.

He looked around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw there were dozens of tiny glowing purple buds just begging to become full-grown flowers. He laughed in disbelief at what he was seeing. He had burnt the garden to ashes, but now here it was, thriving in spite of him.

“It took us a while to get them to grow again, but thankfully we were able to put out the fire before the roots were harmed,” Zaya spoke as he wandered through the garden in awe.

“And these...they still work?”

“The princess took a sample and tested it in her lab. According to her, this new batch might be a little different, but they should still work. Bast has given them her blessing, so that is enough for me.”

“So, I didn’t ruin Wakanda’s future like I thought...”

“No, just a bump in the road,” she smiled.

Just as he was about to respond, the strangest thing happened. His eyes were trained on one of the buds, and suddenly he could see every little vein in the leaves and the detail of the curled-up petals. The color became brighter and even more purple than most people could comprehend, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled.

He could see again.

“Are you ok?” Zaya asked tentatively.

Erik cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just my senses are coming back, and...they’re beautiful.”

“And resilient.”

He laughed and wiped the tear from his face.

“How about I give you some time alone?”

“Thanks, Zaya, that’d be great.”

She bowed her head in deference and went back the way they came. When she was gone, Erik let out a sigh as he took in the sight before him.

“They really made it…”

“Of course, they did. Did you think I would leave my people defenseless?” Bast’s silky voice rang out through the temple, and he turned around to see her standing there in her mostly-human form. She was a statuesque and curvaceous woman with the head of a panther and locs that spilled over her ebony shoulders. Erik dropped to his knees as she walked towards him. “No need for all of that. Stand up, Jaguar.”

He laid eyes on her once more as he rose from the ground. Her glow was almost blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

“Get used to it. I like to pop in on my champions every now and again. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in your thoughts, and sometimes in person. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you and what you need, or what I need from you.”

“Ok, so what do you need from me?”

Bast chuckled. “Truthfully, nothing this time. I just needed to see you face-to-face.”

“You don’t have an assignment for me?”

“Not yet. I know how much you enjoy the sanctuary, so I’ll let you stay there a little whille longer. Plus, you are just now mending your marriage and need time to spend with your wife and child before I call you away.”

“How much time?”

“Enough,” she winked.

“You’re so cryptic,” Erik chuckled.

“Yes, your cousin thinks so, too. However, I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she sighed. “You have some party planning to do. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Especially when you miss a couple of years,” he murmured.

“Which is why I’m giving you at least a year before I call on you. Make good use of it, Erik.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, Erik.”

“Yeah?”

“Try running back to the palace,” she winked again as she shimmered away, leaving him alone in the temple.

Erik tried to contain himself as he left the garden and ran into Zaya.

“Was your ‘alone’ time fruitful?” she asked knowingly.

All he could do was beam at her with his megawatt dimpled smile.

“Very.”

Erik said goodbye and ran back through the forest to the city, his heart beating out of his chest in excitement. His superhuman speed carried him back in no time as the wind whipped against his body. A smile was plastered on his face the whole time, even when he slowed down as he reached the outskirts of Birnin Zana. He hurried to the palace as inconspicuously as he could and happened to run into Mira just as she was leaving. When she saw the look on his face, she couldn’t help the grin that took over hers.

“So, how did- Erik!” She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around with barely any effort.

“They’re back!”

“Your powers?”

“Well, yeah, but the heart shaped herb is coming back!” he peppered kisses all over her face and neck while she giggled. “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you could be.”

“So I take it your vision came back, and you’re super strong again?”

“And fast. I ran here in like twenty minutes.”

“From the CIty of the Dead?!”

“Mhm,” he nodded as he set her back on the ground.

“Damn, baby, that’s...that’s amazing.”

“I need to test them out some more, so I’m gonna see if T has some time to spar. You going to the lab?”

“Shopping, actually. Okoye and Ayo took Imani so I could get some last-minute party stuff.”

“Need someone to carry your bags?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Especially since you got that jaguar strength again.”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

--------

Early that Saturday morning, as the sun crested over the trees, Mira and Erik stood on the tarmac watching as the Royal Talon descended from the sky. Mira was almost shaking with excitement as the doors opened and T’Challa stepped out, followed by some of her favorite people in the whole world.

“Titi!”

SJ ran down the ramp past the king and flung himself into his auntie’s arms. She held him tight and rocked him from side to side as Stef and Ana approached, with Daveed teetering between the two of them.

She looked up at them and gasped, “Oh my god, he can walk now? How long have I been gone?”

“Girl, too long,” Havana complained as she wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Stefan was next to greet her, and his eyes stayed glued to Erik the whole time as he enveloped his sister in a bear hug, “We missed you, Sammy.”

“No, you miss my cooking,” she laughed as she crouched down to say hi to her littlest nephew.

“You remember Titi Mira?” Ana asked him, and he shook his head, hiding behind his dad’s leg.

“That’s ok, we can get to know each other while you’re here,” Mira smiled at him and stood back up.

“Who are you?” SJ asked when he finally noticed the man standing behind his aunt.

“SJ, this is your Uncle Erik. You might not remember him but-“

He thought about it for a moment before it dawned on him. “Do you still have all those bumps on you?”

Stefan tried to hold in his snickering, and Havana hit him in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Heh, thanks, lil man.”

“So, brother in law…It’s good to see you,” Stef deadpanned. He was clearly not feeling Erik anymore.

“You, too, man,” Erik went to dap him up, and he stared at his hand in contempt.

“Stefan, behave,” Havana said with a roll of her eyes. “Hi Erik, how are you?”

“Much better since I’ve been here.”

“Good, good…”

T’Challa had been standing to the side while the family reunited but decided to intervene when things got awkward.

“Stefan, Havana, let us show you to your quarters.”

“Oooh, our ‘quarters,’” Ana sang excitedly. “Sounds so fancy.”

“It’s a palace, Ana. Of course it’s fancy,” Stef grumbled.

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t act out in front of company.”

Mira chuckled. She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing their playful bickering.

As they made their way through the place, Stef and Ana stared slack-jawed at their surroundings while SJ ran ahead of the group.

“You live here?” Ana asked.

“Mhm. It’s gorgeous, right?!” Mira bragged.

“That’s not even the word…”

T’Challa smirked as he listened to them compliment his home.

“So, where’s the birthday girl?” Stefan asked.

“She is with my mother and Ororo.”

“Ororo?” Stef stopped in his tracks. “Munroe?!”

“The one and only,” T’Challa grinned proudly.

“Holy shit…”

“Language,” Havana chided her husband as she covered SJ’s ears.

“What is it with these men and cursing around children?” Mira shook her head at her brother.

“Girl, I don’t know, but let’s get back to Storm. How’d y’all meet?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Erik nodded towards his cousin.

“Dang, how’d you get her? I mean, I know you’re a king and all, but- Wait, are you a mutant, too?” Stef asked.

T’Challa and Mira made eye contact, and she nodded for him to continue. They were family and would most likely be seeing a lot of Wakanda, so they’d find out eventually.

“I am enhanced, yes.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” SJ chimed in excitedly from a few feet ahead.

“He wishes,” T’Challa complained under his breath as they stopped in front of the door across from Erik and Mira. Both of them chuckled at the king’s arrogance.

“So...you’re enhanced. Why, though?” Stef asked.

They entered the suite, and the interrogation was cut short when the Greenwoods saw how beautiful their temporary home was.

“Holy shit…” Ana mused as she covered SJ’s ears.

Mira gave them a quick tour while T’Challa and Erik hung back in the living area.

“So, you and Stefan-”

“He never liked me, and I made things worse by disappearing,” he shrugged.

T’Challa nodded as he changed into his suit.

“Oh, so you’re coming all the way out?”

“They will find out eventually, so I might as well get it over with.”

Erik nodded as Mira rounded the corner and saw T’Challa in his suit. She smirked and called SJ. He ran back into the room and froze when he saw Black Panther standing there next to his uncle. Ana was next to round the corner and looked at her son questioningly before she looked up and saw what he was staring at with his mouth open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said with a hand on her hip.

“About what?” Stef came next, and T’Challa’s mask disappeared into his necklace. “This place is insane.”

SJ couldn’t move. He was looking at his favorite hero in the entire world, right there in the place he’d call home for the next week. His mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing, and he couldn’t process his emotions. Tears started flowing down his face, and a sob wracked his body.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, baby,” Ana crouched down and wiped his tears as Stef came over with Daveed on his hip.

“You’re not excited to see Black Panther?” He asked his eldest son.

SJ shook his head, and T’Challa deflated. Erik kept his snickering to himself, but Mira shot him a look anyway.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“He’s just in shock. It’ll wear off eventually,” Ana said as she brushed SJ’s locs out of his face.

————

It took way longer to wear off than they thought, and by the time they arrived at the party venue in the palace’s botanical gardens that afternoon, he still hadn’t said a word. T’Challa tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he shied away behind Mira or his parents. Eventually, Erik convinced him to give the kid some space and pulled the dejected king away to the other side of the garden. While the other kids and their parents arrived, SJ kept looking at T’Challa out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, he doesn’t bite...or scratch,” Mira leaned in and said to her nephew as she sat down next to him at the kid’s table. “In fact, he’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

“Does Imani know?” he spoke up for the first time in hours, and Mira was happy to hear his voice again.

“Oh, yeah. He told us when we got here, but it’s a secret so she pinky promised not to tell. You know, I screamed when I saw him.”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. He really needs to learn how to ease people into it, huh?” she asked as she poked at his side, making him giggle. Stef and Ana watched from a few yards away and smiled with him while they kept a watchful eye on Daveed as he waddled around the flowers.

SJ nodded in response, and Mira kissed his temple before getting up and leaving him to ponder her words. Right when he had worked up the courage to speak to his hero, Erik announced that Imani was on her way with Ororo and Ramonda.

“I can’t wait to see my baby girl!” Ana squealed.

Mira excitedly grabbed Erik’s hand, and he kissed her knuckles, making Stef narrow his eyes as he and his family hid behind a mango tree.

Imani appeared with her auntie and future cousin, and T’Challa recorded as she squealed excitedly at seeing everybody. A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, Ade, and all her other friends from school greeted her with a loud “Happy birthday!” The newly five-year-old’s tunnel vision made her almost ignore her parents and other adults completely until Erik picked her up and gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Cupcake!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Mira sang.

“What is it?” Imani asked excitedly.

Erik set her down and turned her around as Mira motioned for her family to reveal themselves. SJ ran out from behind the tree and nearly tackled his cousin to the ground while her aunt, uncle, and baby cousin took a calmer approach.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Stef exclaimed while his eldest son continued to squeeze her tight. SJ let her go, and she ran into her uncle’s arms. Ana crouched down next to him, and Imani threw her arms around her neck.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ana said as she fought tears.

“I missed you too. Wakanda is so cool! I can’t wait to show you everything,” Imani babbled.

“Did you know about Black Panther?” SJ asked, still a little nervous about meeting his hero.

Imani nodded, “I promised to keep it a secret, or I would’ve told you. It’s so cool, right?”

SJ nodded, and Imani dragged him off to meet her friends.

Erik couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as he watched his little social butterfly play with her friends and cousin. It wasn’t until Mira came up and nudged him that he even realized he was staring.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Just reliving some things.”

Mira looked at him curiously and he continued, “One of the few good memories I have from childhood that we talked about in therapy was my seventh birthday party. This kind of reminds me of that.”

Mira smiled as they stood there and watched Shuri, Ororo, and T’Challa play with the kids. The king regaled them with stories of his adventures, and Shuri let them ride on very slow hoverbikes while Ororo harnessed the wind to lift them up and let them fly a couple of feet off of the ground. The kids were having a ball, and their parents seemed to enjoy themselves as well. Okoye, M’Baku, and a couple other people gravitated towards each other and fell into conversation about being single parents. However, the rest of them spent most of their time ogling the royal family.

Eventually, it was time to eat and the parents were able to corral the kids into sitting down at the table. After stuffing their faces with an array of Imani’s favorite foods, Mira led the “happy birthday” song as she and Ayo carried out a huge Doc McStuffins birthday cake. Imani and SJ were the only kids who knew who she was, but everyone enjoyed the cake nonetheless. Erik couldn’t help the tear that almost came to his eye as he listened to his wife sing to their daughter, just like his mother had done to him. Loudly and slightly off key. Next, Shuri led the group in a Wakandan birthday song, and Imani blew out the huge number five candle in the center of the cake.

Mira kept stealing glances at Erik as he sliced it up and handed out pieces to everyone. He looked so happy. Even when one of the kids tripped and got icing all over his pants leg, he just kept on smiling.

Even Stef noticed the change in his brother-in-law’s demeanor and brought it up to Ana, “He smiles too much now. It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that he’s happy?”

“No, it’s just weird to see. He used to be so…”

“Surly and unapproachable.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Maybe you should get to know him?”

“Hmph,” he grunted in response. Ana decided to leave it alone for the time being and left his side to go talk to Erik.

“You think you can handle the sleepover?” she asked him.

“Thank Bast it’s not all of them.”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no, just her little crew,” he pointed to A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, and Ade. “I’m not taking care of all these kids.”

Ana laughed, “Understood.”

“So...your husband still doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” Ana deadpanned.

“Nah, I’d be the same way in his shoes.”

“He’ll come around eventually...maybe,” she said as she placed a comforting hand on his arm before being pulled away by her son to watch the Black Panther and Storm show off their powers some more. SJ still couldn’t bring himself to speak to T’Challa, but it was a start.

As the party wound down and most of Imani’s classmates went home, the few that stuck around relocated inside to the Stevens’ suite in the palace. Even with a handful of screaming children in his home, Erik was on cloud nine. He loved to see a smile on his Cupcake’s face, and he wondered if he looked that happy when he was a kid. He concluded he probably did, and as the kids watched an animated movie, he and Mira curled up on the couch behind them. While the rugrats were distracted, he pulled her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she smiled.

“I’ve just been thinking…”

“About what?”

“About making more good memories, you know? Some of the happiest times in my life were times just like this…and time spent with you.”

Mira looked down with a smile on her face and he brought it back up to look in her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

Her eyebrows damn near reached her hairline and a Grinch-like smile crept up her face as she nodded.

“I’d love to.” Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger x oc #black!oc #all for us

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Text

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 2)

It’s back! Dumb boys in love! Also Grandpa Vesemir gets some feels and Geralt does some math. Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

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Watching Winter at Kaer Morhen melt into early spring was always a beautiful process, but this year brought Geralt trepidation as well. Watching Ciri train had been wonderful, helping her learn the basics kept all the wolves on their toes, for the first time in many years actually thinking about motions that normally came from muscle memory.

Yennefer had flourished into her role as “Aunty Yen,” not sweetly nurturing, the way one often thought about with children, but a clever tongue and tough love that Ciri, granddaughter of the Lioness, seemed completely at home with.

Geralt was doing his best too. Ciri had started calling him dad about halfway through the winter, the first time happening at dinner and he’d very nearly choked on his ale. It sent something warm running through his veins every time, like good brandy that burned all the way down.

He was trying, words still didn’t come naturally, but somehow Ciri always seemed to be able to see exactly what he meant. Maybe it was Destiny, maybe just a hurt, lost child clinging to whoever was consistent in her life, but Geralt hoped it was more. More than anything, he hoped Ciri truly understood how cared for she was, not just by himself, but all the wolves, Jaskier, and Yennefer.

Ciri had whispered to him one day, still panting after training, asking if he thought Yen would mind if she called her mom.

Geralt had replied that he didn’t think Yennefer would mind at all.

Yennefer came to him later, a tender look in her eyes. There was something, not fragile in her eyes, but Jaskier had pointed out in a marketplace once, a beautiful porcelain vase that had been broken and artfully repaired with gold. Yen’s expression reminded him of that.

They sat for a while, then Yennefer said, “Will you be able to let go of her in the spring?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, although he was less than sure that parting from Ciri would be so easy. “She needs you, and time away from me. And to be around women.”

Yennefer nodded, gave Geralt a pat on the shoulder, and left. Geralt stayed, cloak wrapped around him as he sat looking out over the walls.

There was much that would happen in the spring, and his life, which had been pretty stagnant before, was changing more in these past few years than it ever had. He felt like Kaer Morhen itself, built to last and yet crumbling still, the weight of change and time and destiny tearing down walls.

He watched the sun go down.

Vesemir joined him, carrying two bowls of stew. Geralt took a bite of his and winced. It had been Eskel’s turn to cook. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vesemir’s mustache twitch with a hint of a smile. They ate the oversalted meal in silence.

“You know,” Vesemir said, and in the starlight the crags on his face looked carved in. “I come up here to think too.”

Geralt knew, but Vesemir wasn’t interested in talking about the battlements, he could tell.

“I think, most nights, about the ghosts within these walls. All of the little boys who died so that the School of the Wolf could be.” The wind picked up, howling like, with an excellent sense of the dramatic, a wolf.

“The Trials haunt me, Geralt. More than anything in my life, and it has been a long life indeed.”

“You saved me,” Geralt said. “Saved Eskel.” But he too remembered the still bodies carried out and buried in the night. How few boys remained. Remembered the screaming in the night, unsure how much of the sound was torn from his own throat, and what came from his brothers dying around him.

“I let them put you through it twice. That wasn’t salvation, lad.” Vesemir sighed. “I couldn’t have put a stop to the Trials, don’t know if I would have if it were possible, there have to be Trials to be witchers, and the world needs us, whatever it may believe. But maybe there was a better way. A kinder way. You were boys, little lads who went through so much pain.”

Geralt was startled to see a tear fall down the craggy face, burying in the moustache. Witchers could cry, but it happened rarely, tears could blur vision in a fight, and only very strong emotion, the sort they had been taught to suppress, could override the mutations.

And then Vesemir put an arm around Geralt’s shoulder and gave him an oddly nice hug. It could have cracked a boulder.

“Someone should have held you boys more,” Vesemir said, a touch abashedly. They looked out over the walls some more and Geralt wondered if the conversation was over, but Vesemir didn’t take the arm away.

“Ciri called me Grandpa today.”

Ah. That would explain a lot. Watching Vesemir interact with Ciri over the winter had been a delight and a surprise to the wolves. He’d even sat her on his knee and told her stories of when Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt were young like a, well, like a doting grandfather. Jaskier had been enthralled as well, naturally, but seeing Vesemir so soft, and sometimes looking a little sad, around Ciri, had been an education for the men who would always think of themselves as ‘Vesemir’s Little Lads’.

“She won’t be a witcher,” Vesemir said. “Couldn’t be even if we would want it, and I never would.”

“No,” Geralt said.

No,” agreed Vesemir. They looked out over the darkened landscape.

“I never wanted a family,” Vesemir said after a while where their breaths hung in the air before them. “‘O course, witchers aren’t supposed to, but you’ve built a nice little family for yourself, laddie. It’s not as may be, not like you’d find in villages or in your pet bard’s fancy songs. But you’ve a brave and rather headstrong daughter, and she has a mum, and a dad, and two already very protective uncles.”

“And a grandpa,” Geralt cut in.

“And a grandpa,” Vesemir agreed. “But a family needs a little more than that. There’s gotta be someone to teach the lass how to love.”

Geralt was about to protest that he’d seen plenty of loveless marriages, but then considered the results in the children. Jaskier was one, he knew. The sort of lost way Jaskier sucked up approval, when they’d first met, the way he’d drank up compliments like a man with water in the desert, whenever Geralt thought on it there was a sort of humming ache. He’d consulted with Eskel on the feeling, concerned it was illness. Apparently, it was just what happened when someone you loved was hurting and it wasn’t something you could kill or fix.

“It doesn’t need to be romantic love,” Vesemir said, obviously seeing Geralt’s face. “And she’ll know how to love family fine, and how to love friends, as you and Yennefer figure that out between the two of you. But your bard loves you, and the way you love him can teach her how to love others and herself. And if Ciri has another dad maybe you can worry less.”

Geralt chuckled. Ciri could have fifty parents, and Geralt would still lose sleep worrying. Vesemir smiled back at him, eyes crinkling and moustache lifting like a bristle brush that had learned to fly. Then he slapped Geralt on the back, and Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher who had twice survived the Trials, felt his spine compress like a spring and he was sure he felt a rib creak.

“Love Jaskier, lad. Hold tight to him. We rarely get good things.”

Then Vesemir walked back inside and Geralt stared after him. There weren’t many old witchers, dangers of the job and all that, but Vesemir was proof that witchers, like oak wood, only solidified with age.

Geralt followed him inside.

The next days passed in a flurry of activity. Ciri had been let off of training with the wolves to pack for her journey with Yennefer, and to be quickly given the rundown of the basics of magic. The wolves were packing as well, preparing to leave Kaer Morhen. In between final preparations and weapon repair, Geralt checked over The List.

The List was supposed to help him court Jaskier. It was the combined brainchild of everyone (except Jaskier, of course) at Kaer Morhen. More importantly, his intention to court Jaskier met with Ciri’s approval.

When the day arrived, Geralt felt a curious lump in his throat. He watched Ciri say goodbye to Eskel and Lambert, the latter picking her up and swinging her in an arc, letting her joyful whoop echo about the courtyard. Then she hugged Vesemir, and he crushed her very gently to him. And then she turned to him and Jaskier.

He was thankful that Ciri bade Jaskier goodbye first, watching the bard wipe a surupticious tear away as he held the blonde girl. It was Geralt’s turn and he didn’t know what to do. He cleared his throat.

“Follow Yennefer’s instructions,” he said. That didn’t seem like enough. “And don’t talk to strangers,” he said. It still seemed insufficient but he was out of advice so he stuck out his hand to shake. Ciri laughed and leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He held her there, reveling in hugging his daughter, his child surprise, who was so full of surprises and he felt, for the first time in many years, the feeling of rather full tear ducts. He blinked them away.

“Good luck,” Ciri whispered in his ear. Jaskier wouldn’t have heard, but the witchers with their enhanced hearing surely had. Geralt nodded and set her down.

He coughed awkwardly and pulled out a little packet wrapped in burlap and some rough twine. Ciri beamed and pulled at the string so that the packaging fell away. A long piece of metal, bent into a thin U shape lay in his palm, the ends were surprisingly sharp. Ciri picked it up and examined it, then looked up at him questioningly.

“Hair pin,” Geralt said gruffly. “For your hair. And stabbing.” He mimed a clumsy, underhanded stab. “Eskel helped me silver plate it. For monsters. But also men, if they’re close enough.” He trailed off, knowing he sounded awkward. Who gave a self defense implement as a gift?

Ciri beamed at him again. “I love it,” she said, also miming a few stabs. He supposed that as a parent he shouldn’t be so proud of the light in his daughter’s eyes when she talked about stabbing, but he was almost certain that she got that trait from Jaskier, who tended to get...pointed about disagreements in pubs.

Yennefer stepped forward and carefully took the hair pin from their daughter, swooping her silver blonde hair back into a twist and sliding it in place. She placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and smiled at Geralt, and he was reminded again of that vase, stronger and more beautiful for the cracks in the facade. She then gave him a quick side hug and and even one for Jaskier, and opened a portal.

Geralt stared after his friend and his daughter long after the portal closed, until Jaskier, hand wrapped in a heavy mitten, gently took his wrist. They waved to the other wolves, and left, Roach walking obediently alongside.

And then it was just the two of them. Again. Just like the last twenty years. That thought occupied him as they made it down the Killer. The path down from Kaer Morhen was deadly, but that year Geralt made it down without thinking, keeping half a thought to Jaskier’s ambling form as he went.

How old was Jaskier?

He’d been eighteen or so when they met. Eighteen plus twenty-two was forty. Forty wasn’t that old for a human but Jaskier didn’t look too much different than he had at...Geralt did the math. Twenty-five? But there were signs. A few lines here and there, although Jaskier was insistent about his skincare. A line of silver, just a few hairs, probably unnoticable except to Geralt’s enhanced eyes. He was aging better than a human should.

Or perhaps not. Time was tricky for witchers, never staying in one place, never knowing people long enough to watch them age, he didn’t really know what to compare Jaskier to.

He did know how long humans lived though. And at the base of the mountain he came to a resolution, felt it settle in to his bones as deep as his mutations, deeper, even.

Twenty years, or nearly, where he hadn’t known Jaskier. Twenty more where he hadn’t admitted they were friends, or that he loved him. Eighty years in a human life span. And Geralt would love Jaskier, and make sure he knew he was loved, for the next four decades, give or take. He looked at his companion, paused as they were to give their feet and Roach a rest. The weak, watery sun of the early spring day fell on Jaskier’s face, dappled through the branches, which as of yet held no buds.

He pictured lines appearing, laugh lines, smile lines, crinkles carving themselves into the landscape of the familiar features. He pictured silver through the hair, more, in thicker streaks at the temples. Geralt saw a lifetime, Jaskier’s lifetime, in an instant. Silver covered warm brown, strong legs grew shakey, lines crowned a forehead and swept about clear eyes.

What would happen, Geralt thought, when Jaskier could no longer keep up? But Geralt knew what would happen. He’d take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, or go with him to Oxenfurt, and spend his days with him. It had been a few short months since he’d realized he was in love with Jaskier, but that was only because Geralt’s skill with emotions was roughly similar to Jaskier’s apparent self preservation. Why had he let the lad talk to him in a pub? Had he loved him then? He remembered the shock of not being feared, of looking into clear, bright eyes and seeing admiration, the fierce protectiveness that had flared when he woke and saw the fool tied to him in an elven lair. Had it been love?

Watching Jaskier whisper softly to Roach as snow melted around him, Geralt was sure it had been. Destiny, Fate, the two bit tart who kept fucking him over, had given him his greatest blessing in a form that Geralt, up until that very second had considered a myth. Love at first sight. Love had brought him Jaskier, and Ciri, and a fast friendship with the most powerful mage on the Continent. Love had brought him a family in the form of a wayward bard with bread in his pants. And Geralt had forty more years to cherish him.

Step One the list had said in Eskel’s clear writing. Kiss his hand. Being mindful of Step Two, to mind his manners, Geralt crossed the clearing to Jaskier and took the thick woolen mitten in his gloved hand.

“May I?” he said. Jaskier gave him a baffled look, but nodded.

Geralt pressed chapped lips to a palm wrapped in knitted wool, and Jaskier smiled, albeit a little confusedly. It didn’t matter. Geralt wanted to spend the next forty years wrapped in that smile.

Then Jaskier asked him if he was feeling well.

#its a lot #tons of feels #did i shed a tear writing this?#no these falsies dont put up with water #but it was a close thing #grandpa vesemir #good mom yennefer #lowkey buffskier but not yet #geraskier #dyslexic Geralt #he's doing his best but emotions are hard

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ichika27 · 3 years

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TWEWY 12

Grande Finale already!

I felt the same nervousness and excitement I felt when I watched the first episode while watching the last one. I’m excited, half knowing what I’d see but not knowing what else to expect.

Can’t believe we finally got to this point. I took so many screenshots... I had to limit myself cause they’re not all gonna fit in one tumblr post.

Also I don’t have to give a spoiler warning anymore. Length warning though cause this is super long!(longer than the usual posts I made for this series at least).

Kitaniji transforms into a three-headed monster and unlike in the game, he doesn’t capture any of Neku’s partners nor use Josh’s power to do so. I’m not sure what explanation there is as to how he got more than one noise form but I guess he’s the Conductor so maybe it’s part of his powers here.

Shiki and Beat awaken in the middle of Neku’s fight and help out. The trio then forms some kind of three-way pact (four if Rhyme actually counted although now completely sure?) and continue battling Kitaniji. The fight scene was pretty cool especially Beat’s attack with the chains. It just sucks the fight ended too fast. I guess all of TWEWY anime’s boss fights end kinda fast even though they’re uh, boss fights.

Final attack beam like in the game! It was too fast and I couldn’t get a good shot of the white version this transforms into (which looks like the one in the game). They have an explanation later as to why it looks different at first but they’ll talk about it later.

It’s sad Joshua isn’t part of this. This is supposed to be the four-way fusion attack. (;-;)

They defeat Kitaniji who disappears, sad that he was unable to protect Shibuya. Joshua never showed up in this boss battle so Kitaniji never got to talk to Joshua for the last time. In the game he at least dies happy in a way - he lost but he gave it his all and his Composer praised his efforts. He was also able to tell Neku that the rest is up to him now. Here in the anime, he just... he lost and felt bad. I wish they had Josh show up here but they had other ideas.

A new door opens and Neku braced himself as he knows the fight isn’t over cause there’s still one last guy on top.

They find themselves in this room/hallway (is this supposed to be the Trail of the Judged?) filled with CAT murals. This somewhat confirms the “CAT = Composer” theory and Neku has now accepted it, calling out Mr. Hanekoma to show himself.

And yeah, the last episode’s title is the show’s title as well “It’s a Wonderful World”.

Someone else showed up instead. Joshua finally makes his reappearance!

Boy, have I been waiting for you! I wish you were with them in the final battle earlier so you guys could be a team (and you could be one of Neku’s partners) one last time.

Neku is surprised but happy to see Joshua again. He thanks Joshua for saving him before and is glad that he’s okay.

In the game, this never happened cause Josh appears in the middle of a fight. Things were too hectic and when the battle with Kitaniji finally ended, he and Josh talked about their own game and so after Kitaniji disappears, what’s left is questioning what was happening. Since Josh didn’t show up earlier, they were able to reunite in a more peaceful way and Neku had no suspicion until Joshua himself brought it up.

And I guess that’s why I was so nervous when I watched this. It’s a bit too peaceful. I know what’s gonna happen next but not exactly how they’d adapt it.

Joshua finally explains the truth to Neku and his friends.

This felt more... awful to watch. Like we had both Joshua and Kitaniji giving bits and pieces of the truth in the game via their conversation so there’s two people to focus on. Here it’s just Joshua. But in a way, I guess this works cause there’s no one else there to soften the blow and Joshua could make the revelation hurt more if he wishes so. It also kinda feels worse cause you see Neku happy to see Joshua earlier before the reveal happens. Kinda heartbreaking.

“I’m the Composer of Shibuya.”

He finally says it clearly to a confused and surprised Neku.

We get a flashback of Joshua and Kitaniji talking about Shibuya’s impending destruction, why it must happen, and Kitaniji making a deal to try and save it. He has a month to change things for the better and if it works out, he wins. If not, Joshua continues the destruction plan.

Joshua’s Composer form is more vague here. It’s human shaped but you don’t see his face and the outline glows like this so you don’t properly see the shape. I think this is better cause there’s no way you can tell who the Composer is like this and he looks less human.

Beat gets angry at the revelation and tries to attack Joshua which he couldn’t do because of Joshua’s powers. I wasn’t able to get a screenshot of this but Josh is twirling his hair after this while Beat struggles to try and punch him. He’s cute and I know this is kind of inappropriate to say in this situation given he legitimately made someone mad and he deserves that punch to his pretty face.

Joshua uses his powers to freeze the others (and later renders them unconscious to keep them quiet). Neku is worried about his friends and is mad.

Joshua tells him he won’t hurt Neku’s friends. He then explains about how he found his proxy. Which is Neku much to his horror at what this meant.

I just had to get this with the subtitles on. I replayed the scene several times to hear if there was no error. Joshua says “Daiji na Neku-kun no tomodachi...” and I google translated it. It says “daiji” means “important”. So yeah, he definitely called Neku “important” to him. It’s surprising although this wouldn’t be out of place in the original game since they had more moments to just talk on there.

Yeah, I know I focused on this a little but I’m a nekujosh/joshneku shipper so forgive me for latching onto this.

Neku slowly sees the bigger picture as Joshua continues to explain himself. As a reward for getting this far, Joshua returns Neku’s memories.

He really had to get that close while saying Neku’s name, didn’t he?

Neku’s death flashback. The scene plays almost similar to the game right down to the censored guns (is this a creative decision to make it faithful to the game or are they really just not allowed to draw actual guns?). I was gonna make a joke about how Joshua stopped Minamimoto’s bullets using an AT field but the shot was different and the bullets just looked like they froze midair and not stopped by some kinda force field like in the game.

Neku ends up getting shot by Joshua complete with bleeding unlike in the game. I just have to wonder if I was the one who got it wrong cause in the game, Joshua looks like he’s aiming for Neku’s head and here, Neku gets shot on the chest. Did they change it cause a headshot would be too much or has it always been a shot to the chest?

Neku angrily walks over to Josh and grabs him by the collar. Joshua stops Neku with his powers as he continues to explain about what happened regarding the death scene and Minamimoto. Joshua then materializes two guns out of thin air and places one on Neku’s hand as he tells him the rules of their final duel: just shoot and if Neku wins, he could save his friends and he becomes Composer and do what he wants. What stood out with how he said it is that he didn’t exactly go “If you don’t beat me, Shibuya is destroyed.” and instead went “If you win, these are what you get to be Composer and whatever else you’d like! Sounds good, right?”. As if saying killing him has a lot of perks.

It feels weird seeing Josh physically placing the gun on Neku’s hand cause in the game, the gun was by Neku’s feet and Neku had to pick it up on his own accord. Anyways, I like the effect they used to materialize the gun cause it’s the same effect for the names of the routes when they show them on screen. Like graffiti or something.

At this point Neku’s crying. The shot didn’t feel as dramatic as in the game in my personal opinion. Neku is tearing up here but he looks tired and was about to sob in the game. Joshua meanwhile, counts down from ten.

Before Joshua’s count hits three, Neku hears a somewhat distorted voice (which we know is just Mr. H) saying “Trust your Partner”. This reminded Neku how he got to where he is: by trusting his partners. (I have something to say about this later)

In a very shocking turn of events, instead of just lowering the gun and letting himself be shot like in the game, Neku drops his gun and with a hand outstretched tells Joshua “I’ll trust you”. Oh my god... they really did it. I love this change not gonna lie. I think they might have added this cause they didn’t adapt Neku’s ending monologue where he does say he trusts Joshua. It’s less dramatic than the game though since Neku doesn’t say anything while Joshua is counting down. In the game, he was crying and saying how he thought Joshua was his friend and how all of this really hurt him. Guess we take what we can get and they gave us this.

Joshua smiles as he shoots but as Neku falls, the smile on Joshua’s face disappears.

Mr. H didn’t show up at the end here either so Neku didn’t get to see him.

Neku wakes up in the middle of Scramble Crossing like usual but he bumps into people and so he realizes that he’s alive now. He doesn’t scream after the very stressful crap he went to like in the game. Might not be entirely the same but Joshua still left him lying down in the middle of the street. Nice.

We then see a short timelapse from above Shibuya which is probably supposed to show a week has passed. Neku’s monologue wasn’t added in and no ending music as well. I’m disappointed “A Lullaby for You” wasn’t used. Here I was hoping for a miracle.

By the way, Shooter, Yammer, and I think Makoto all passed him by the scramble. They really didn’t get much screentime but at least they made cameos.

Neku finally meets up with the Bito siblings like at the game’s epilogue! The shot they did was almost the same as with the game, too. They have dialogue here instead of just stills with Neku showing how happy he was to see his friends alive again, too. I’m happy the anime version showed him smiling more at the end cause he needed that after everything. It’s nice to see him smile.

RG! Shiki is here! With the same shot as in the game! They really aren’t gonna show us her face, huh? Also, all of the shots with Shiki on them has her back towards us. Like there are scenes where Neku and the rest are looking forward and she’s in front of them with her back turned on us. Why? They could’ve used the lighting on her glasses to obscure her eyes, too. So her bangs are a secret as well then?

They show Eri later, too enjoying a concert, by the way. I was hoping to see a reunion between her and Shiki as well and them finally talking after the stuff from before. Oh well.

Neku takes off his headphones and he and Shiki do a proper introduction with each other with Shiki being herself this time. (Is Shiki the same height as Neku? It looks like that from this angle.)

Anyways, this was a nice way to adapt Neku taking off his headphones since they can’t do it like in the game.

They adapted the secret ending but expanded it to add stuff from the secret reports to explain other lore stuff which would’ve been missed by the anime-only watchers since those are part of bonus game contents. Mr. Hanekoma and Joshua talk about the events of the long game and Joshua says he knew it was Mr. H whose responsible for Minamimoto.

They also talk about the Red Skull Pins and how Mr. H made it for Kitaniji. Mr. H says the pins imprints Kitaniji’s will on people and that he himself (Mr. H) doesn’t need that cause he could do so with all the graffiti he left all over town.

Which brings me to earlier in the duel: Neku hears a voice, clearly (to us) is Mr. Hanekoma’s and it’s in a place filled to the brim with CAT graffiti. Did he imprint the words “Trust your partner” to Neku?

Meanwhile, Beat wonders how they were able to pull off the final attack. Neku says it was probably the pin Hanekoma gave them (the keypin looking thing). I guess they needed an explanation for the last attack but they didn’t have the fusion pin so they used this keypin instead. It’s why the attack looked different in the beginning when the attack was powering up.

There’s apparently a new CAT graffiti at Udagawa and of course, CAT-fanboy Neku has to see it. On the way, they meet Sota and Nao who are now alive! I’m so happy!! Joshua brought them back, too! I always felt bad about what happened to them in the game. I’m glad they got a happy ending in the anime.

Def March, 777′s band, are back as well and look... they got their winged mic back! It makes me wonder if they found it later on or if Joshua gave that to them back the same time when he brought them back lol. I’m just really happy for all of them.

Joshua’s wings!! This is, unfortunately, the best shot I could get since they never really zoom in on this. In the game he is in his Composer form in the secret ending and turns into a ball of light when he leaves. Here, we see his wings. It’s smaller than the one he has in KH:DDD. At least we canonically see it here.

I can now use the term “Joshua Maji Tenshi” and be accurate!

Mr. H points out that Joshua looks lonely and is in denial and Josh just leaves. Mr. H also shows his wings and leaves afterwards, too. I didn’t take a pic of it since we see it in the game’s secret ending anyways. His wings also seem smaller than in the game.

Final shot of the new CAT graffiti. I was so close to crying the entire ending and this nearly tipped me over but it didn’t. If “A Lullaby for You” was playing, I’d have probably bawled my eyes out. This graffiti is beautiful. I want a sticker of it.

Also, I just noticed but CAT’s old graffiti at Udagawa had mostly darker colors. This new one is brighter and is more colorful.

First of all, I wanted to thank tumblr for not giving me an error for posting more than 15 images like I usually did. I was bracing myself for the error pop up and was gonna make a part 2 instead but there was some kind of miracle and I got more than 20 pictures on here.

I have a lot of melodramatic things to say about the anime but I’ll save it all for later. For now, I’ll say something else. I’m sad they didn’t adapt Neku’s monologue. Those words from Neku still hits me in the feels to this day. Him saying that the entire ordeal really affected him in more ways than one and it wasn’t all good even though he’s happy about changing and what he learned from the experience. His line about how he can’t forgive Joshua but trusts him was cut along with it and it would’ve been nice to have to know what he thought of Joshua.

The thing I missed the most was the “I have friends now. We’re meeting each other for the first time in a week. See you there?” lines. It shows how happy Neku is that he now has people to call his friends which is super heartwarming and the line implies that he counts Joshua as one of those friends, too (which is properly confirmed in KH: DDD which I’d probably make a post about later if I get the motivation to do so). That would’ve also made the last scene with Josh hit harder. In the game, knowing Josh wanted to be with them and is sad he couldn’t already makes me sad but also knowing Neku is waiting for him makes it much worse (and I still feel pain thinking about it even after all these years).

Maybe we’d see them get reunited in NTWEWY. Hopefully. I really do hope so.

The anime isn’t perfect but it did what it could with the limited amount of time it had. The show would’ve been better if they had more episodes but we don’t know why it ended up with just 12 so we can’t really say anything else. They did it and it wasn’t as bad as I was fearing in a way. Would I recommend it? I’d probably rec the game first, to be honest. I was only okay with watching cause I have played the game and could fill in the missing stuff but the anime-only fans couldn’t and the thought that they won’t be able to fully appreciate the entire story of twewy is kinda sad. It was a nice watch though and I’d miss waiting for it every week.

I wonder if they’d make “A New Day” OVA since the anime is supposed to help the ones who haven’t/couldn’t play the first game but would go play NTWEWY and that scenario has story stuff that’s connected to the sequel.

Anyways, thanks for reading this far if you did! I’ll be watching gameplays of NTWEWY when it comes out in full (since I don’t have the money nor the console for it).

#Subarashiki Kono Sekai #the world ends with you #twewy #subaseka #sana_post #joshneku #nekujosh

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davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

How'd you like the new Death Metal special (and, more broadly, this week's comics)?

pretenderoftheeast said: Comics this week (12/9/2020)?

Batman: Black and White #1: The first of a platter of anthologies today:

* The Tynion/Moore story is predictably fire.

* JHIII is JHIII. Also he does a really nice surprising story about how Batman’s relating to this moment of the time, but let’s be real, you’re here because JHIII, and be assured he is JHIII as helllll here and it’s great.

* Dini/Kubert plays as the former building a story around accommodating requests by the latter, but that’s not a bad thing, and glad to see Kubert’s kept up the pace since his DK3/Up In The Sky creative rejuvenation.

* Ok I’m a philistine who has no idea what that Emma Rios thing was about but it was certainly pretty.

* Wilson doing Batman is surprisingly disappointing, but Smallwood doing Batman definitely isn’t.

DC’s Very Merry Multiverse: Not a very merry time! I hate to say it given this should be so geared to my interests, but this is the weakest overall effort we’ve gotten from one of DC’s quarterly anthologies in a good long while, at least among those I’ve picked up. Not to say it’s a dud, there are several nifty little stories in here including the much-hyped first appearance of Kid Quick (destined to become the Flash of Future State) and really almost everything here reaches ‘pretty okay’. But for $10, and a creative space that should reach so much more than ‘pretty okay’, I don’t know that this is a justifiable recommendation unless you’re understandably desperate for all the President Superman content you can get your hands on.

Tales of the Dark Multiverse: Flashpoint: I’m surprised I got it too, but the preview grabbed me and in practice it was a fun, mean little high-concept adventure of Reverse Flash being a total cock.

Wonder Woman #768: Credit where it is due, this has been getting a bit better in its closing stretch.

Dark Nights: Death Metal: The Last Stories of the DC Universe: This ruled. Obviously there was the one story folks are most interested in, but almost all of the tales in here lived up to being a ‘final’ story of sorts for their leads.

* The Titans bookenders were pretty nice even if it’s hilarious that their big rallying cry basically amounts to “by god, our book may be shit, but we’re valuable IP so we’ll never be cancelled!”

* Green Lantern is basically an epilogue to Johns’ run sans the baggage of bringing back Johns (that we get in two weeks with Secret Origin and god forgive me I’m so looking forward to that), and definitely one of my favorite efforts from Lemire.

* Wonder Woman’s the stinker in what’s nominally her own event. I can parse the roots of most bad Superman stories one way or another, but I just can’t understand what’s behind most bad Wonder Woman stories beyond that the people handling it simply don’t give a shit.

* Astonishingly, the Green Arrow and Black Canary chapter in here might be my favorite of the bunch? Simone at her best, a really sweet slice of playful, sincere romance about two characters I’m not by default invested in but ended up quite caring for here.

* This Aquaman story is everything I generally hate in Aquaman stuff, a big long maudlin speech about the weight of the world as he swims through a black featureless ocean, except here between the real heart Sebela brings to the script and the mood artist Christopher Mooneyham manages to evoke, it all clicks together.

* The Batman Family story feels like it can’t quite make its pacing work, but it’s still a heartfelt little ode to the theoretical power of the concept.

* Hey, that Mark Waid guy? Turns out he can write him some Superman. It’s not perhaps the total barnburner you might have expected - I imagine he’s saving his biggest hits for later - but it’s a very solid execution of a gangbusters concept, and Manapul steals the show with absolutely sensational, gorgeous scenic Superman imagery. I’mma say 60/40 in favor of them doing a Superman project together on either a main book or Black Label (I know Manapul was supposed to be locked into a creator-owned thing with Scott Snyder but that was ages ago), because this is a paring that’s yielded some immediate results and I imagine everyone knows it. And given my upbringing, nice to see a big, iconic, beautiful Superman story with him rocking the mullet.

Anonymous said: Haha holy shit Crossover is literally Cates taking that page where Spawn meets all the corporate heroes locked up and spinning it out into a series

Anonymous said: Does Crossover #2 hold the crown for the funniest, dumbest, most baffling opening page ever?

Crossover #2: Readers I’m not too big to admit I laughed my ass off at the first page, and at least a little bit for the actual reasons intended. The sense of homaging that Spawn scene in the context of a book about “Gosh, isn’t IP the best folks?”, or Cates’ dialogue...(shall we say) proving why he likes the concept of ellipses enough to name a character after them aside though? That it’s already crossed the line with its central metaphor from “indefensibly insensitive in its ridiculous self-centeredness” to “out-and-out cartoonishly offensive” somehow actually makes it more rather than less palatable; there’s no longer the secondhand embarrassment of waiting to see how bad Cates is going to handle this, it simply is the worst it could possibly be and readers have to accept and perhaps revel in the sight of him stepping on rake after rake. I cannot wait for him to finally give an interview on this book where he explains what the hell he thinks this looks like, and I hope my dad keeps somehow enjoying it forever because I totally wanna see what pit this descends to next.

Penultiman #3: This is absolutely agonizing and probably the most relatable take on a ‘superman’ ever.

Home Sick Pilots #1: A new creator-owned book from Dan Watters (whose big two credits include the stupendous “Afraid of America” with John Paul Leon in the last Batman Secret Files, and the upcoming Future State: Superman/Wonder Woman) and Peter Cannon’s Caspar Wijngaard, this new book set against the backdrop of a Californian high school’s punk scene in 1994 describes itself as “Power Rangers meets The Shining (yes, really)”. The former influence isn’t much in play yet, but thus far this is a book that merges building tension and freewheeling dopey teen bullshit to an extent that’s subtly impressive as hell, and seems likely to proudly take a place among the current horror comic renaissance.

Warhammer 40,000: Marneus Calgar #3: Ok again I don’t have any experience with this franchise but you’d better believe that cultural osmosis was enough that I popped for BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

King in Black: Namor #1: Kurt Busiek’s return to Marvel...sucks? Such is the power of Knull I guess even if he doesn’t manifest within the actual story here, this is a complete nothing of a comic and I’m not tuning in for issue #2.

Avengers #39: Eh, I’m not liking Aaron Avengers when it gets remotely serious nearly as much as when he’s doing stuff like having them finally help Blade with all those vampires or Captain America assisting with the delivery of an exploding space-baby in the back of a muscle car.

Anonymous said: That new Guardians of the Galaxy was something else. What do you think the odds are that Comic Books, with a decade or two of hindsight, recognizes Ewing as one of the best to ever do it?

Guardians of the Galaxy #9: I lack much context here beyond recalling from an interview that this is Ewing’s way of grappling with the ideas from Steve Englehart’s original unrealized vision of Star-Lord’s character arc, but wherever it stems from this is a hell of a comic.

S.W.O.R.D. #1: This is everything I’ve wanted from the non-Hickman X-books since the moment HoXPoX ended, and so much more, and also it is basically hilarious that Ewing is all but explicitly using his clout to force Marvel to let him to Ultimates3 under a currently cancellation-proof banner. Most importantly of all, Ewing has already mastered the subtle art of writing not merely Magneto, but the infinitely superior Jonathan Hickman Magneto. And good lord Schiti and Gracia, I already knew they were top-tier but these pages’d make a grown man cry.

#Week's Comics #Opinion

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justanother-unluckysoul · 3 years

Text

Working My Way Back To You 8/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

I promised you guys some more comfort and here it is! For the prompts “panic attacks” and “exhaustion.” In which our poor pirate has just had a tough session with Archie and finds himself in dire need of some comfort. Thankfully, Emma is close at hand to give it to him. (also chapter count has gone up because these guys need a fluffy epilogue after everything they went through haha)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Panic Attacks + Exhaustion

Killian gets better. He spends some time on the Jolly Roger, though his fingers still struggle to do much of the finer work on her and Henry picks up the slack with great enthusiasm. He goes out for drinks with David on a Friday night and only imbibes an appropriate amount of liquor, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz and not so much it leaves him hungover in the morning. Killian takes Emma in his arms regularly and kisses her and lets her hold him – though after the disaster of their last attempt, any further enjoyable activities are focused on Emma’s needs, and his trousers stay on until he’s alone in the privacy of the bathroom. But it’s okay. Emma continues to be supportive and gentle and like she promised that night, she doesn’t do anything he’s not comfortable with. Meanwhile, Killian keeps his appointments with Stacy and with Archie. He loves and laughs and lives, and does his best to move forward. But the way to healing is not smooth sailing. Other days every sound still makes him flinch, makes him want to hide away even from Emma. Some nights his terrible dreams have him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Sometimes his hand just won’t stop shaking.

-------

It’s a combination of a bad day and Archie poking at his trauma that finally does him in. His sessions with the cricket often leave him feeling drained, but this is something else – a dark, roiling storm of fear and horror throughout his body as his legs carry him onward without conscious thought. He can’t even remember leaving Archie’s office at the end of their appointment, but the overwhelming urge to get away has brought him to the Jolly’s deck and he can’t bloody breathe. He trips on something and slams onto the deck, hard. For a moment it all stops, recognizable wood under his cheek and his hand steadying, grounding. But up, up his mind screams, wild with fear, and he’s helpless to refute it. He should be feeling calmer now, standing on the Jolly like this, and maybe he would if he could get any of the salty air into his lungs or hear her familiar sounds over the roaring in his ears. The need to hide away lest someone sees him in such a frenzied state overwhelms him, driving him below deck to his quarters before his wobbly legs give out once more. This time he doesn’t have enough strength to follow the commands of get up, Hook! And it’s been a long time now since his subconscious has called him by that name. Killian’s losing himself, he’s going to fall right off the damn world, his head is spinning so much and he knows, knows he needs to breathe but he can’t quite get that message through to his ribcage that seems set on squeezing his lungs. He crawls rather pathetically to the nearest vertical surface to lean against. He fights his body’s instinctive desire to curl up and instead focuses on the feel of the solid thing at his back, legs sprawled in front of him, because he needs to breathe and folding in on himself is just going to make it more difficult. Just focus on where you are right now. Breathe. I’m safe. I’m safe. Just breathe. He’s so single-mindedly concentrating on trying to calm himself down that when his phone jingles, he nearly jumps out of his skin. And that sets him right back at where he started, undoing all the efforts he’d put into slowing his breathing and he bites out a strangled curse between ragged breaths, furious at his own weakness. He tugs the phone from his pocket, fingers trembling so bad he nearly drops it, and squints at the screen. Emma.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma’s voice comes through almost immediately once he presses the answer button, “How’d it go today?”

He doesn’t know how she seemed to sense all is not well and called him at this exact time. He hadn’t thought to ask for her help, but now her voice is in his ear, he’s feeling rather desperate for the comfort she could provide. But the words falter on Killian’s lips and since when did they start tingling like that?

“Killian? Are you there?”

“S-swan, I need…”

Help. Killian’s mind is at war, one side screaming that he’s going to die and the other, a quiet bit of rationality saying he’s actually fine, he’s experienced this before and he knows how to deal with it. Just relax, slow your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay. He knows what he needs to do to bring himself out of it but dammit, it’s been centuries since he’d been felled by one this powerful and so he’s out of practice, okay? (He doesn’t know who he’s trying to justify himself to.)

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Jolly…” he gasps and that’s all the breath he has.

The phone slips out of his hand. His fingers push into his chest, over his racing heart, as he tries futilely to draw a decent breath. It feels like his heart is trying to beat right out of him, an almost painful hammering that echoes in his ears.

“Killian?”

Emma sounds close. Real. No longer tinny through the phone, although the blood rushing through Killian’s head still muffles it. He startles at the sight of her face suddenly appearing in his darkening vision as she kneels beside him, the flinch making his head smack against the wood behind him.

“Hey, easy, you need to calm down, Killian, you need to-”

As if Killian’s not painfully aware of that fact and doing his best to manage such a feat. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Can I… can I touch you?” Emma asks, her voice a carefully steady tone, like she’s panicking as much as he is and trying not to.

Speech is beyond him now, but he nods, a tiny motion as his eyes flutter closed. Emma’s hand is on his shoulder at once and her fingers are tugging his fingers away from his chest to hold onto them firmly, a solid counterpoint to the terrible whirling of the world. It only makes him want to pull away a little bit, his scrambled mind briefly unsure if this contact is safe or not, though she asked and he gave permission. And he knows it’s safe. It’s only Emma. Gods, he really needs to calm down.

“Killian. Killian.” A soft mutter of don’t make me slap you, and Killian thinks he should respond to that strange comment. He can’t though, he’s too preoccupied with trying to get air. “I need you to slow it down a bit, okay? Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do this.”

He’s probably crushing her fingers right now, Killian thinks dazedly. Last time, he’d gripped the charms on his necklace so hard the marks on his hand remained for hours. The time before, he’d twisted his fingers into a rope, pulled it tight enough that it chafed his skin, desperately trying to find something solid to drag him back to reality as the tempest rattled his mind. Huh. Killian hadn’t even thought of those events in probably a century. It’s funny where the mind goes when it thinks you’re about to die.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Killian.”

Oh, right. Emma’s still here. And he’s still not able to take a decent breath. He lifts his heavy eyelids and she’s so close, and so beautiful, green eyes wide with concern for him and her hair framing her face. He’s not sure at what point he’s ended up laying on his back with his head on her lap, but he’s not complaining.

“There you are,” she’s saying, and he’s earned a wan smile, apparently, “That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Take a nice, slow breath for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Gods, she’s far more patient with him than he deserves. But his breath is flowing easier, her gentle touch and her calm voice quelling the storm within him. She’s caressing his face and he tries to pull his hand from hers because he’s surely hurt her fingers during his episode, but he’s trembling quite strongly now as he comes out of it and she won’t let him go.

“Ssshh, just relax,” she murmurs, soft and tender, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good, Killian.”

Killian thinks he’ll never get over how much he loves hearing her say his name like this, or any other way, truthfully. After so long being Hook to everyone he met, in both title and deed, the way his true name sounds in her mouth sends a wave of warmth through his whole body. It’s not desire or arousal; no, it’s more akin to the pleasant burn of rum down his throat. And what a miserable pirate he is that his only point of reference for how good things feel is to compare them to rum.

“Good, good,” she praises a bit more, and he revels in it, “Nice and slow, that’s it.”

With the calming of his body comes the calming of his mind, his thoughts sorting themselves into a functional order and-

“Swan, did you threaten to slap me?” Killian asks, going for dramatically offended but his voice is still weak and trembly. He hopes his face expression conveys his teasing.

It must, because Emma laughs then, a slightly unhinged version of it, testament to how shaken she too is, and Killian feels a rush of guilt for scaring her like this.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t… I saw it in a movie once. It’s supposed to snap you out of it, either that or a kiss. But I don’t know if it would work.”

“A kiss? Well, I’d not make an objection to that method. Perhaps you could even show me right now, just how you intended to kiss me in such a way that I would snap out of it…?”

Slipping back into the easy, flirtatious banter feels good. Normal. Safe. His head rested on Emma’s legs, her hands on his skin, and now the attack has passed he can hear the water lapping against the hull and occasional soft creak-groan of his ship as the ocean moves her gently. But exhaustion seizes him now, abrupt and all-encompassing like every other time, and his head rolls further against Emma’s palm as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Whoa, are you okay?” she asks, startled at his sudden change in demeanour.

“Aye,” Killian says but he can’t quite gather the strength to move, “Tired. S’normal. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Normal? Killian, has this happened before?”

She sounds angry and he slowly tilts his chin up a little so he can see her. She looks angry too but he can’t fathom why.

“Not for a long time, love,” he assures her.

“A long time? Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses, “Weeks? A month?”

He can feel the weariness in his very bones. His eyes are closing against his will.

“Centuries, Emma.”

“Oh,” she whispers after a moment.

Then her hands are holding him a little tighter as she moves them through space in an instant, and the sounds of the harbour are replaced with the soft growling of a heater and what’s probably Henry rummaging around downstairs. He’s back home. He blinks slowly and takes in their bedroom, warm and cosy and Emma’s still holding him.

“Can you stand?” she asks, “The bed’s right here.”

“Aye. Can you-”

She knows what he’s asking before he asks it, carefully helping him to his feet and bracing him through the dizziness at the change of altitude. He collapses facedown onto the bed once his body allows him movement again, fully clothed but he isn’t intending to move again for quite a time.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” Emma asks.

Killian nods, eyes already shut again.

“Jacket too?”

“Whatever you desire, love,” he mumbles against the pillow.

She snort-laughs, and he allows her to wrangle his limbs through the removal of his jacket and his boots, and then his waistcoat as well and finally his hook. He’s too weary. He feels as though he could sleep for an eternity.

-------

He wakes feeling terrible and it’s dark outside, his mind foggy and his mouth stuffed with cotton. The sensation is so strong that he must work his tongue around his teeth just to be certain there’s actually nothing in there. He probably should have had a drink before passing out. Ah, but it’s too late for that now. He’s just gathering his strength to go in search of water when-

“Killian? Do you want some water?” Henry’s walked into the room holding a bowl of… soup? Potentially. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

Killian doubts his ability to speak with his mouth as dry as it is, so he just nods, and Henry grabs the cup of water from the bedside table – how had Killian not noticed that? His mind is still a little foggy, it seems. He sits up slowly and gratefully takes the cup that Henry gives him. The water feels wonderful, cool and fresh, and his thirst is only barely slaked once he’s downed all of it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Henry asks, “We made soup. But my grandparents are here for dinner, so… Do you want to come downstairs? Or you can eat up here if you want to.”

The weariness has somehow now morphed into a full-body ache, despite the hours of sleep he’s just had, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good company in this state. He says the last part of his thoughts to Henry, who nods in understanding and sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Henry,” Killian says with a grateful smile.

“Ok.”

Henry smiles back before leaving the room. Killian hears him taking the stairs two at a time, and Emma half-heartedly admonishing him for it. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes a mouthful of the perfect soup, gently spicy and warming him all the way to his toes. Emma obviously had some help with the cooking tonight – she’s good, but not this good. He must remember to thank Snow White later.

--------

Archie had called her, Emma tells him when she comes up to their bedroom after Snow and David have left. That’s why she’d called Killian when she had, checking to see if he was alright.

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, her fingers absently brushing through Killian’s hair as she sat on the bed next to him, “He said you left his office in a hurry and he was a bit worried about you.”

He remembers back in the hospital when he’d woken, disoriented and panicked, and she’d used this same method to calm him, gentle pressure and the tiniest scrape of her nails against his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair. It had been comforting then and it was comforting now. After his meal, Killian had gathered the strength to ready himself for bed properly, but that small amount of energy is depleted again now. And if Emma’s not careful, he’ll go right back to sleep before this conversation is over, his belly comfortably full and his tired muscles coaxed into relaxation by her affections. He tries to rouse himself a little more. It’s not really working.

“He’s… that was good of him, I suppose,” he says, voice rough with the sleep he so desperately wants more of, “It’s just… My mind got a bit… stormy. It does that from time to time, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state.”

He can’t help the hint of loathing in his voice. Now that Killian’s had some time to think on the events of the day, he’s rather mortified that Emma had witnessed his moment of vulnerability. It would have been better if she hadn’t shown up, then it’s likely Killian would have blacked in his quarters and woken sometime later, once his mind had settled. It had happened that way before. And then nobody would have known how pathetic he really is.

“Did you tell him what happened?” he asks, trying to keep his mind on the present.

Emma’s fingers in his hair are helping to anchor him here, though they’ve stopped moving, just settling amongst the dark strands instead.

“Yeah. Was that… was that okay?”

No.

“Aye.” He’s lying through his teeth and Emma can probably tell. “I suppose he should know.”

“He wasn’t really surprised to hear about it, anyway. He said you guys went into some pretty dark topics today.”

Killian’s breath hitches, and his hand curls reflexively into a fist.

“Is that all he said?” he asks carefully, and he looks intently at her for any sign she’s not being honest with her answer.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Killian. I’m not going to hear any details from him, and I wouldn’t ask anyway. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that, you know.”

Of course. He does know, logically, that Archie would never share with anyone what Killian tells him about those two weeks in captivity, not even Emma. And he knows Emma would never ask Archie to do so either. But still, Killian can’t help that little thrum of fear in his heart.

“But if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of it, I’m willing to listen,” Emma says quietly.

Killian’s mind cries yes and gods no in equal parts. The two sides of him wage a brief but intense battle on the other, one wanting to open up to this beautiful woman who cares so deeply about him, but the other part wanting to hide away all the hurt in some dark corner of his soul.

“Perhaps one day,” he compromises, “But it wasn’t… I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, love. It’s bad enough having them in my own.”

“I’m the one that found you in the cellar, remember? I know what they did to you.”

Killian swallows, hard.

“It’s one thing to see the aftermath of that sort of situation, Emma. Quite another to hear the details of how it was done.”

She nods once.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

They don’t talk for a long moment, but the silence is far more tranquil than any sort of awkward. Emma resumes her soothing motions through his hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp. His hair has got to be sticking up all over the place by this point and he knows it’ll take more than a little combing in the morning to get it tamed again. Killian’s just about to drift off to sleep when Emma finally speaks again.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Killian mutters, his words coming out a little slurred, “But I wouldn’t mind having you under the covers.”

Emma chuckles, her cheeks getting a bit pinker. Oops.

“To sleep, Emma,” Killian specifies quickly, because he’s definitely inadvertently dropped a potential innuendo in having you, but he is bloody exhausted and he really didn’t mean it that way, for once, “But I can have you the other way in the morning, if you like.”

“Sure,” she says with a grin, “Let me get ready for bed and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He loses his fight to stay awake while she’s brushing her teeth and slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He wakes with the sun, like he so often does, and feeling much improved, with Emma sleeping pressed against his side and her arm across his chest like she’s trying to hold him in place.

to be continued...

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fic #killian whump #ptsd #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfics

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shireness-says · 4 years

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Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [5/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~4.0K. Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

~~~~~

A/N: Last chapter of plot - next week is an epilogue. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!

~~~~~

The days to come are a kind of blissful in-between: after the date and the kiss that changes everything, but before Killian’s tires have arrived and he’s back on the road again. The days are simultaneously too short and wonderfully long, the days too few and yet seemingly endless as Killian savors every moment together that he can. He makes a point to spend as much time with Emma as he can, knowing that their time will be far too short, taking her for ice cream and evening strolls and even letting Emma drag him down to the local bar and dance hall. He’d tensed as she’d pulled him onto the dance floor, far too aware of the many eyes around him — he’s far too aware that others think he’s trouble, and can only imagine what they think to see him arm in arm with the local golden girl — but the other townsfolk never show it. He thinks he might even see a few smiles among them, though that seems like it could be too much to ask for. As happy as he is to take Emma on the kind of dates she deserves, dancing and the like, he truthfully takes just as much pleasure in simply keeping her company during her late shifts at the diner, sitting in what is now his usual booth and flashing a smile just for her. There’s a gentle intimacy to this, being allowed to watch Emma in her own environment.

Still. As much he tries to revel in the moment, the future looms just ahead.

“I don’t know what to do, Belle,” Killian groans as softly as he can manage into the phone. Granny’s back hallway probably isn’t the best place for this conversation, but it begs having, and Killian isn’t willing to drive up David Nolan’s long distance bill. The downside of the public pay phone is that it’s not exactly private; other customers pass periodically, searching for the bathrooms or winding their way back through to the attached inn. It’s odd to even think, and Killian isn’t sure how it truly happened, but he seems to have earned some level of acceptance amongst the locals, just by virtue of becoming a regular face at the garage and at Granny’s in the last handful of weeks. Most even nod a greeting, or offer him a brief smile. It’s jarring, in the most pleasant way, to be met with a kind of amiable neutrality after growing so accustomed to distrust everywhere he goes.

That’s the benefit of staying in one place, he supposes: people come to know you, even just a little bit, even just enough to grow used to you and start to trust you. Those could be the seeds of a more settled life, if he wanted.

But that’s the whole problem — Killian isn’t sure he’s ready for that. Which brings him to this moment and this phone call, because it’s been nearly three weeks, and they’re expecting the replacement tires any day now, and Killian has a decision to make. Three weeks ago, there’d been no question — he’d be gone as soon as the tools were put down. Three weeks ago, however, he hadn’t yet met Emma — and Emma just might change everything.

The truth of the matter is that these last days with Emma have been the happiest that he’s lived in a long, long time, and he likes to think he makes her happy too. Her smiles and laughter and the way she chases after him for just one more kiss would suggest that to be the case. They went into this with open eyes, both knowing that whatever they became was subject to a ticking clock, but Killian still pauses when he thinks of leaving her behind. She deserves more than that; they both do.

At the same time, staying still isn’t an option. Killian’s great cross-country trek has, more than anything, been a search for a sense of self, a sense of purpose; finding someplace to call home is a far distant third on his list of concerns. Ghosts still haunt him, and though he knows the wind on his motorcycle can’t permanently blow them away, it helps. It’s nice to just not think for a few minutes. Even hours, if he’s lucky.

(Then again, kissing Emma achieves much the same effect, in a much more pleasurable fashion.)

“I can’t stay. I really… I don’t think I can stay,” Killian continues. “But how can I leave, either? What if I’m throwing away my one real chance to settle down, and be happy like that?”

“But is that really true happiness, convincing yourself into something because it’s the smart or honorable thing to do?” Belle asks. “Or is that just a compromise?”

Killian stays silent, letting her words run through his head. This is why he called Belle in the first place: she has a way of pointing out the real questions he needs to ask himself without any judgement or demands.

“You don’t need to have an answer now, and you don’t have to tell me when you do,” Belle continues, “but if you’re as taken with this girl as you tell me, it’s not fair to her if you stick around but constantly dream of leaving again. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Killian can hear the soft tenderness in his own voice; no doubt Belle can as well. “And that’s the biggest reason I can’t stay. She deserves more than a man who would always wonder what he gave up. It’s not just places I want to see either, Belle. It’s… at the risk of sounding like some terrible cliche, I’ve felt like a shell of myself for a long time. The words shouldn’t be me, but they were an important part, and I lost them. Flying down the highway, seeing all the wonders this blasted place has to offer… that’s the only time it feels like the words might be in my reach again. I deserve the chance to figure out who I am after all this, even as Emma doesn’t deserve a man who will otherwise always be a little bit empty.” Killian sighs. “That doesn’t make it any easier to think about leaving her behind.”

“You could always ask her to come with.”

Killian’s heart leaps in excitement at the very idea, but he quickly forces reason to tamp it down. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Whyever not? I thought you said she had a bit of wanderlust herself.”

“Yes, but…” Killian struggles for an answer, feeling like his brain is tripping over itself. “Storybrooke is her home. She’s got a family here, people who love her and would miss her. I can’t take her away from all of that.”

“Maybe that’s a decision she gets to make,” Belle replies gently. “Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe she wants the same thing, a chance to see what else is out there. You won’t know unless you ask.”

“Maybe.” Even as Killian says it, he knows that it’s a dream too big. He’ll never risk it — and Belle probably knows that too.

“It’s up to you, Killian,” she concludes, “but think about what’s best for you, now and later, okay? You deserve to be happy just as much as she does.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once Killian hangs up the payphone, he fights the urge to slide down the wall into a crumpled heap. Even after his talk with Belle, there’s still no good answers.

He’s got a lot to think about.

———

As long as Killian doesn’t think too closely about their looming, unknown deadline, he can luxuriate in the sheer quiet joy of spending time with Emma. It’s easy to get used to her kisses and easy affection and the way that she has a special smile just for him when he walks into the diner. It’s a beautiful respite he didn’t know he needed and is certain he doesn’t deserve.

But far too often and too quickly, good things must end.

The new tire arrives on Thursday. Killian does his utter best to ignore it. As eager as he was to get in and get out of this little nowhere town three weeks ago, that’s all changed because of Emma. The itch under his skin is as strong as ever — the desire to blow all the dreams and pain away upon the winds — but his attachment to Emma, though new and young, is deep. She’s a balm to all his lingering wounds, a bright spot in his days that he never thought he’d find again, and the idea of leaving her is near unbearable, even if the idea of staying is just as suffocating.

There’s only so long he can pretend to work off a debt he’s long since paid, though, and while David will never say anything, Killian sees the confused looks that the other man sends his way each day those tires continue to sit on a shelf.

“You know, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” David mentions with an affected air of casualness as he works on the undercarriage of someone’s truck. Killian has been drafted to assist — though it seems to be just an excuse to trap him into conversation, considering that the only way he’s been helping is to hand over tools that David could just roll out and retrieve himself.

Killian braces himself against the truck’s bed, sighing heavily. He can’t help the exhalation; inside his head, all of Killian’s different desires war with each other — to stay with Emma, to leave for her own good, to leave for his own good. Underneath it all, though, is that same itch that’s driven him forward ever since he landed in this country, and it only grows stronger every day.

Staying was never really an option — not when he still needs wind whipping past his face to ground him every day.

“I know. But I can’t,” he finally replies, head bowed in a pointless instinct to hide his gaze from a man already obscured.

David rolls himself back out to the light. “Why not? Has anyone made you think you couldn’t? Besides Graham, I mean, and that really was just a misunderstanding —”

“No, it’s not that. I’ll have to disagree about the sheriff’s intentions, but you’ve all been… wonderful. You, and Mrs. Nolan, and… Emma.” Killian stutters for a moment over her name; though they both knew going in that this wouldn’t end in anything lasting, it had been easy to forget that in a week and a half of bliss, and she’s the one who stands to hurt the most. Still, he must press on. “Better than I deserve, really. And I know you’d welcome me with open arms should I choose to make your little hamlet home. But it’s… I’ve got this compulsion to keep moving. Chasing something, or running away from something, I don’t even know anymore. But one day… I hope I’ll figure it out, and that feeling will settle.”

David hums, taking the time to replace his tools. If Killian’s not mistaken, it’s a stalling tactic. “You know, Emma has this theory,” he finally says, “that home is the place that when you leave, you just miss it. She and Mary Margaret spent a week — not even a week in Portland shopping for wedding and household things. And that was it for her. She and Mary Margaret were still in this terrible little apartment, but I’ve never seen her happier to be there. Gave me the biggest hug when she saw me as I came to pick up Mary Margaret for a date.” David smiles fondly at the memory. “I suppose what I’m saying is… maybe it takes some distance to realize what you want. And we’ll always be happy to welcome you back, if you choose to return. You’ve got a job here if you decide that’s what you want.”

It’s a lot to offer him, Killian knows — more than he expected. This entire town and all the people in it — especially the Nolans, especially Emma — are all more than he ever expected. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

David just nods before grabbing a different wrench and wheeling back under the body of the truck, but Killian thinks there’s an understanding there — that I can’t stay doesn’t mean not ever, just not now. There’s a time and a place for everything in life, and the place Killian’s at right now isn’t nearly settled enough for tranquil little Storybrooke.

He shouldn’t have counted on David keeping that information to himself, however. Half the reason he’d avoided the matter of the tire in the first place was his own uncertainty about how to broach the topic with Emma. She deserves to hear from him that he’s leaving again, but all attempts he makes to imagine that conversation feel inadequate — too flippant, too detached, too lame. Decidedly not what she deserves.

Trust his Swan, however, to bring it up all on her own.

“So,” she starts, arm linked through his as they walk down Main Street together, “what’s this I hear about a tire?”

Killian’s heart jumps into his throat; without even intending, he slows their pace to barely a shuffle. “So you heard about that, then.”

“David’s not great about keeping secrets from Mary Margaret, and Mary Margaret isn’t great about keeping secrets from… anyone, really.” Emma chuckles at her little quip, but it doesn’t hold the joy Killian’s grown accustomed to in the past weeks.

(God, when did he allow himself to become accustomed to that — or anything? He was never supposed to stay longer than a few weeks, and this only makes it harder.)

“I want to tell you, but…” Killian trails off. But what? He was scared? He was conflicted?

“It’s alright, Killian,” she smiles back, albeit weakly. “We always knew this was coming.” Emma gathers a deep breath as if to steel herself for what else she has to say. “So how much time do we have left, then? I know the road must be calling you again.”

But you are too, Killian doesn’t say.

“Two days,” he says instead. “Three at most. David and I got Mr. French’s delivery van settled today, so we’ll be able to put the bike back together tomorrow and I can hit the road the next day, or the one after.”

“That’s not much time,” Emma replies softly, looking down at their shuffling feet as if she can’t bear to meet his eyes.

“No.”

(You could always ask her to come with, whispers Belle’s voice in his head. He’s not nearly brave enough to listen to it.)

Killian feels Emma take a deep, strengthening breath before she lifts her gaze to meet his again. “Then we’d better make the most of it.”

———

The next evening, Killian takes Emma for a ride on the newly-functional motorcycle, trying the whole while not to think about how this feels like goodbye. He remembers how she’d asked, one of those first nights, flirting even though Killian couldn’t see it, didn’t want to see it. Emma had gasped in surprise and delight when Killian came to pick her up after her shift (an early one, today, that lets them take a little cruise as the sun sets before them), drawn out to the diner’s front windows by the putter of the engine.

“Are we going to go for a ride?” she practically demands. Not that Killian minds, as long as he gets to see the grin that splits her face from cheek to cheek.

“As far as you want,” he promises.

(It was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but ask her to come with echoes louder and louder in his head with each passing hour.)

Killian helps Emma onto the bike as best he can while straddling the seat himself, but she doesn’t prove to need much assistance, still steady even as she swings a leg over the body. It takes some doing, but he manages to crane his body around far enough to press a lingering kiss to her lips.

(Not their last, not their last, his heart insists, but his brain still whirs in a panic of not enough time like another engine he’ll have to fix.)

“Are you ready, love?” he asks when they finally break apart. Emma nods enthusiastically. “Then hold on tight.”

It’s almost idyllic, cruising through Storybrooke’s back roads with Emma’s arms twined around his waist. She particularly seems to love the straight stretches of road where he can really test their speed. As the wind whips past their faces, Emma giggles and shrieks with glee behind him. Other women might have been nervous about the bike, or fretted about the number the wind will undoubtedly do to their hair, but not his Swan. It’s obvious she’s having the time of her life, and Killian feels grounded in a new way to feel her body perched behind his.

(Come with, come with, could come with…)

“God, I see why you love that so much,” she chuckles as they roll to a halt at the pier. Killian will never get back in the water, but there’s still something soothing about the endless horizon. “It’s exhilarating.”

And maybe it’s the joy in her voice, or the way she smiles as she swings off the bike again. More likely, it’s the result of the words that have been rattling around inside his skull ever since he talked to Belle. Whatever it is, it dissolves any filter between Killian’s brain and his mouth and the words come tumbling out before he can stop them. “You could come with me,” he blurts out in a rush, only to flush red as he realizes what he said. That was not remotely something he meant to say, but it’s out there in the world now, his heart dropped at her feet for her to pick up or kick aside.

Not that she’s done either, yet. Emma stands shocked and still in front of him, eyes wide like she can’t believe what she’s just heard. That’s a reasonable reaction; Killian certainly can’t believe that he just said it.

“What did you say?” she whispers.

“Nothing, Swan, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said anything —”

“But you did,” Emma says, interrupting his backtracking. “Did you mean it?”

Killian sighs, sweeping his hand through his hair in yet another nervous tic. She probably knows all of them by now — the hand in the hair and the scratching behind his ear and all the rest of it. He’s a mess of a man, which makes him all the more certain that no matter what he might want, he can’t possibly deserve her. “Aye, I did,” he finally admits. “And I know it’s foolish, because I can’t possibly ask that of you, not when you’ve got a place like this to call home, with people who love you. Not when you’d have to put up with me. But it’s what I want.” He whispers it like a shameful secret. And maybe it is, a little bit — after all, he knows better than anyone that no matter how much he wants doesn’t mean it can ever happen.

“And why would you ever think that’s foolish?” Emma asks softly, stepping into his space to rest her hands on his shoulders.

“I mean —”

“I told you once that I wanted to be brave with you, and that it was my choice to make. I meant it then, and I mean it now, too.” As Emma pauses to stare into his eyes, Killian feels hope flutter in his chest, stronger and brighter than ever before, only to burst to glorious life as she finishes. “So ask me.”

It only takes a moment to swallow his nerves. “Come with me, Emma. Let me show you the world.”

Emma’s hands move to his face, stroking her thumbs along his cheeks to coax him into a smile to match her own. “Yes,” she says, softly, emphatically, lovingly.

And Killian finally allows his dreams to soar in flight.

———

Their goodbye is sad, even though Emma assures everyone that it’s not forever.

“I’ll be back, I promise,” she tells Mrs. Nolan, whose eyes brim with tears just waiting to fall. “We both will be.”

“I know that,” Mrs. Nolan insists. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you! It won’t feel right, not seeing your face around town every day.”

“Promise me you’ll look after her,” David says quietly as Killian secures the saddlebags on the motorcycle. Emma has proved to travel light, just like him; she’d showed up with nothing more than a satchel, a tightly coiled bedroll, and a beaming smile. “Because Emma is special, and I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to her. Or, more accurately, I don’t know what I’ll do to you if something happens to her,” he tries to joke, stretching a weak smile before falling back to something more serious. “She’s very precious to us — to all of us.”

“I know,” Killian replies, cracking a small smile as he watches Emma hug her friend. “She’s very precious to me, too. I promise that I’ll do everything in my power — everything and then some more — to watch over her and keep her safe.”

“Good.” David offers his hand to shake, and Killian grasps it firmly in return. Maybe it’s a sealing of the promise; maybe it’s a gesture of friendship; maybe it’s a little of both. Whatever the case, Killian feels something pass between himself and David: an understanding, almost a sort of peace.

Emma slides an arm around his waist, apparently done hugging and bidding farewell to her crowd of admirers. Killian could swear half the town turned up in front of the garage to send her off — Granny and Ruby, Sheriff Graham, Mrs. Nolan, and a whole slew of other people he only halfway recognizes. She’s obviously much loved; Killian could tell that even without David’s little speech.

“Ready to go?” she asks with a wide and happy smile. He’d understand if she was nervous, or scared, or sad, or anything else; that would be reasonable as she’s about to embark on a journey into the unknown with him. There’s only excitement in her gaze, however; it’s obvious she’s got a wanderer’s heart of her own.

“Whenever you are, love,” he smiles back.

It’s a matter of a moment to swing his leg over the body of the motorcycle and let Emma clamber on behind him with David’s help. As Killian starts the engine, the other man drops a kiss to Emma’s forehead that Killian pretends not to notice.

“Godspeed,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Killian to hear. “And you make sure to call and keep us posted, alright?” he concludes in a louder voice.

“Of course, dad.” Killian can practically hear her roll her eyes, but he can hear the fondness, too. In a last gesture, Emma leverages herself off of Killian’s shoulders to press a kiss on David’s cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Tears gleam at the corner of David’s eyes, but he plasters on a grin anyways. “Now go on, hit the road before the sun gets too hot!”

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice. In a flurry of waves from Emma and her crowd of well-wishers, they slowly cruise back down Main Street, picking up speed as it gives way to a country highway.

“Are you ready for an adventure, Swan?” he asks as she twines her arms tighter around his waist, craning his neck to meet her gaze.

“With you?” she smiles back. “Always.”

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4, @aerica13, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @scientificapricot, @snowbellewells, @welllpthisishappening, @tiganasummertree, @captainswanbigbang, @snidgetsafan, @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan ff #csrt #Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way)#50's au #my writing

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angelic-holland · 4 years

Text

TMO Epilogue

“Love, that is the only thing that can occupy and fill eternity. In the infinite, the inexhaustible is requisite.” - Victor Hugo

Warnings: fluff and mild angst

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: You and Tom attempt to navigate your shocking revelation.

A/N: wowie! thank you all for the love and interest in this series! I’ll be posting the alternate epilogue soon but I hope you all enjoy this one <3

The Birth

“Good job, love, keep pushing, oh my god, okay, I think I see the head,” Tom says, pulling away from your hand.

You let out a shrill cry, pushing with all of your strength, “you think?”

You start to panic, feeling overwhelmed as your body feels like it’s getting torn up from the inside out.

“That’s it love! You got it! He’s, oh my god, he’s here,” Tom shouts, looking up at you with wide eyes as you finally push your baby out, small cries filling your guest bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, your head falling back onto the pillow and your eyes closing shut as Tom cuts the umbilical cord, swaddling your child in a blanket as he continues to cry.

“He looks just like you,” Tom says as your knees fall shut and Tom brings the baby over to you.

You force your eyes back open, smiling as Tom sits next to you, holding your kid in his arms.

“Tom, oh god we don’t even have a name for him yet,” you whine as you take him into your arms, a part of you, 50% of your DNA, a beautiful child that is yours, yet you haven’t even come up with a name for him yet. Your mind starts to race with intruding thoughts, that you’re going to be a bad mother. That going through with the pregnancy was a horrible idea. Even your mother probably had a name for you before she gave birth to you.

“It’s okay, he won’t even remember today, what do you think we should name him?” Tom asks, slowly wiping your forehead with a towel.

“Trevor,” you reply. The name comes out of nowhere, you aren’t even sure you said it until Tom repeats the name twice.

“The name we came up with when we first met,” Tom smiles, “it’s perfect.”

“Hi Trevor, I’m your mommy, and this is your daddy, and we love you so much my sweet boy,” you smile, feeling tears well in your eyes.

You finally felt like you things were falling into place, even though you had worries, that you might fall into the same rut your mother fell into, that Tom is 10 times the man your father is, and he would be there for you in a way your father never was.

Looking down at Trevor with Tom’s arm around your shoulder, you feel like your life is just beginning.

***

9 Months Old

Tom and you are sitting on opposite ends of the living room, you with Trevor’s soft blue blanket, Tom holding onto Trevor as his legs begin to kick up.

You’ve been waiting for this day for a month or so, Trevor’s first steps.

“Come on Trev, you got this,” you praise, watching as Trevor gets solid footing on one foot, his hands reaching out in front of him to pick himself up.

“Should I let go? I don’t want him to fall on his face,” Tom worries, his eyebrows turning in.

You nod, “doing so great sweetie,” you praise Trevor, “come to mommy!”

Tom let’s go of Trevor, letting him begin to walk on his own.

“Mom-ma!” Trevor shouts, feet padding along the carpet, hands reaching out toward you.

The space is small and Trevor gets to you in no time, both of you falling into a fit of giggles as he crawls into your lap, tugging at your shirt.

“Do you want to try walking over to daddy now?” you laugh, helping Trevor stand up again.

“Dadda!” Trevor shouts, clapping his hands together as he begins to walk toward Tom.

You both watch in glee as Trevor continues to walk across the room toward Tom, clapping happily when he got to him and Tom snugly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest.

“Next step, swimming,” Tom chuckles, both of you grinning as Trevor gets up and starts moving around the living room again.

“If the ocean tide doesn’t wash us all away by then,” you murmur, knowing Tom nor Trevor can hear you. You say it in a joking tone, but you can’t help but feel the smallest part of yourself wonder how life would be different if it was actually Tom that you killed.

***

3 Years Old

“What are we supposed to do, Tom? We’re wanted by the FBI,” you say with a low voice, trying not to wake up Trevor.

He’s sleeping soundly with his blanket curled in his fist, the first day on his big kid bed, one that’s still low on the ground but with only a bed rail instead of four sides like his old crib.

“You’re the one who tried to kill me!” Tom shouts as you shut Trevor’s door quietly, scolding Tom for being so loud.

“Why do you think I tried to, Tom?!” You shout back, stalking down the hallway toward your bedroom.

“I don’t know,” Tom groans, his hand running across his face in frustration as you sit on the bed and he follows.

“I knew something was wrong the moment we got back to Idaho. It wasn’t confirmed until I booked a room at the hotel across from my place and I saw the agents setting up shop in my house.”

“So you should have told me! We could have run away together!”

“Why are we talking about this now?” You grumble, turning away from him.

“Because this is the first time we have had a chance to talk, to really talk since Trevor was born. And every time, every single time I attempt to talk to you about it, you ignore me, you change the subject.”

“Why do you think I change the subject Tom?” you cry, feeling his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you tight into his chest as you sob.

“Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to-,”

“You tried to kill me first. You think I- you think I didn’t stay up night after night trying to come up with some way to keep you safe, make sure you didn’t suffer that didn’t end with me killing you?”

“I never meant to hurt you, y/n, to try to kill you. That day, you have to understand, it was the worst day of my life.”

“It wasn’t by chance, you know, loving you,” you reply, turning your head to kiss Tom’s cheek, “it was both the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“What do you mean?”Tom asks, furrowing his eyebrows as you turn in his lap, resting your head against his chest so you can feel the rise and fall of his heartbeat.

“Do you think I-, when I met you, I knew I shouldn’t have done anything. I know I shouldn’t have let myself get caught up in any feelings. I fucking knew this but I chose to fall for you anyway,”

“Why would you chose to fall for me of all people?” Tom asks, feeling himself fumble with the idea of all the reasons why you should love someone else.

“You- you treated me not like I was some fragile broken girl, not like I needed to be fixed or put in place. You treated me, you still treat me with respect and dignity and that’s all I’ve ever asked for.”

“That’s just being a decent human…” Tom trails off.

“Shhh, ‘m not finished!” You kiss his nose as he falls back against the bed and takes you with him, “and the way you talked to Harry, about Harry, I know we’re both bad people and have done horrible, inexcusable things no matter the reasons we try to dig up, but the way you talked to him, I was sure that you’re not just a decent human, you’re an amazing one.”

“You don’t need to boost my ego, it’s just, I thought that we had things figured out, in the lake on the way back from Boston. I thought that no matter what happened when we got back from there, we would be together.”

“The FBI, I knew they were onto us after the fire… But when I talked to Jake one day, in this small coffee shop bakery thing, this guy was looking at us, I knew he knew exactly who we were. I was honestly surprised we lasted so long before they tracked us down completely. Before they found our places and were going to arrest us.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Tom pleads, cupping your cheeks and rubbing his nose against yours, a small gesture he does to calm himself down from time to time.

“For my entire life I was never able to trust anyone. I was always alone in this world. Alone when my parents treated me as a burden, alone when I got caught up with Jake and that mess. When I met you, for the first time in my life I wasn’t alone.”

“Y/N, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because! For the first time I wasn’t alone. Do you know how fucking terrifying that was for me? My entire life I went thinking I was always going to be alone, that I’d never be able to find someone who loved me, who I could love back. And you come along and change my entire mindset.”

“I did that?”

You swallow thickly and nod, “you did that. God, Tom, I love you so much I was terrified by it.”

“I love you,” Tom replies, “I love you, I love you.”

You smile softly at Tom’s repetition, knowing it makes him feel safe, makes him feel whole, and in return, it makes you feel safe.

“But you aren’t terrified by it anymore?” Tom asks, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes.

“No, it’s… It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me… Other than Trevor,” you pick your head up to listen to the gentle snores of your child as Tom grins.

“When do you think it’s too early to teach him how to swim?” Tom chuckles, holding you tight to his chest as you begin to fall asleep.

“The water right outside our back door probably means we should teach him now,” you mumble sleepily.

“Now?” Tom says, the skin of his knuckles brushing up and down your back, “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Shhh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, “we need to get him swim trunks.”

“How about Scooby doo ones?”

***

6 Years Old

The best part about going into hiding as a fugitive, nobody was looking for a mom with a child. Trevor was the best thing that has ever happened to you. He looked so much like Tom when he was born, it was insane. He had his eyes, his nose, his uniquely large ears. When he was born, in the bathtub of the house you bought, Tom cradled him in his arms and neither of you really thought of names before that moment. The moment when you rested your head on Tom’s shoulder and he held your child in his arms for the first time. The name came to you easily, as you remembered the first few days you and Tom spent together. You remembered Tom’s smooth midwestern accent, his alias.

“Trevor,” you whisper, one hand cupping the back of your baby’s head as he cooed.

“Trevor, Trevor Samuel Johnston, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Tom says later that night as you fall asleep to the sound of ocean waves.

“Sounds perfect.”

You bought this place after you found out the FBI was tracking you and Tom. Inconspicuous, creaking blue shutters and an eggshell colored exterior, a porch with a rocking chair. It was tucked away amongst other houses that all looked the same but slightly unique in the small village in the Marshall Islands. Nobody questioned the three of you, one small happy family starting their life here.

Tom is out grocery shopping while Trevor does his morning newspaper run, ending back up at your house.

You press the cool glass of the pressed flower into your palm as you wait for Trevor to come riding back down the cobblestone path.

“Mom! What kinda flower is that?” Trevor shouts, waving at you as he tosses his bike to the side.

He holds out his hands and you let him cup the flower in his hand for a moment. He took in the dark purple that curled along the curve of each petal, the pinkish red as it neared the core, turning to a light greenish yellow.

“It’s called a black hollyhock.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It’s about taking a situation in which you feel powerless, and letting the energy of the flower transform you.”

“It’s pretty,” he smiles, handing it back to you.

“Come on in, let’s get you something to cool down, how was the newspaper run today?” you press the cool glass into your palm, flipping it over a few times.

“It was good, can I have an ice pop?” He asks excitedly as you run your hands through his curly brown hair.

That was something you missed about Tom, ever since that night he kept his head shaved. He was gorgeous either way, but you understood why he needed to keep his head shaved.

It helped him feel safe, your names were still on the FBI’s most wanted list, any second they could show up at your doorstep, arresting both you and Tom.

So if Tom wanted to shave his hair, hell, you’d let him shave it.

“Of course, what kind?” you ask, following Trevor into the house.

“Blue raspberry! Duh! Our favorite!” Trevor laughs, holding his arms up when you reach the kitchen counter.

You lift him up, nodding, “our favorite.”

His legs swing out in front of him as you search the freezer for two ice pops, tearing both of them open for the two of you.

“Cheers!” Trevor laughs, tapping his ice pop against yours.

“Cheers,” you laugh along, finding comfort in the blue food dye that stains both of your lips as you wait for Tom to come home.

***

8 Years Old

“What’s all this?” You giggle, squeezing Tom’s hand as he pushes open the sliding back door of your house.

“A date,” Tom says, picking up the picnic basket from the porch after he dragged you outside.

“But Trevor-,”

“Trevor is asleep, plus, I got the baby monitor out of the attic and if anything happens, if he wakes up,” he shakes the picnic basket, indicating that the other part of the baby monitor is inside of it.

“Date night,” you grin.

“Been wanting to do this for years,” Tom chuckles, guiding you down to your private beachfront, “so, I’ve got sparkling cider,” he says, pulling out a big beach towel, the one you always lay on while Tom and Trevor swim.

You take a seat next to Tom, shrugging off your cover up and tightening your bikini top.

“My favorite,” you smile, and it’s genuine. You didn’t keep alcohol in the house, it was a small argument and an issue after Trevor was first born, but you knew what Tom needed. He needed a place where he didn’t have to think of alcohol and the thing that took his family away from him. You could give him that, god, if there was one thing you could give Tom, it would be a safe space.

Tom pours both of you a glass, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“What’s this?” you ask, peeking at the fruit tucked away next to the baby monitor.

“Papaya,” Tom smiles, “your high school, uh, was it English?”

“History teacher.”

“History teacher said this place has the best papayas, ‘fraid we’ve been running around like crazy trying to start a life here for us, to make us as inconspicuous as possible, that we never got the chance to have the one thing that made you buy this home in the first place.”

“Thank you,” you mumble as Tom starts to cut open the papaya.

He feeds you the first piece, raising an eyebrow as your eyes crinkle and your face scrunches up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Tom asks, sitting up and bringing you with him.

“Mrs. Meade was so wrong about papaya being good,” you shake your head, placing the fruit down.

“No way,” Tom grabs a piece, wanting to try it for himself.

When he swallows his piece he coughs, clutching his chest as you rub his back.

“Told ya.”

“Mhm,” Tom groans, pulling you up.

“Where’re we going?” You ask, turning back to the baby monitor, “Trevor is-,”

“Trevor is fine,” Tom assures you, squeezing your hand three times.

“One second,” you say, breaking away from him and grabbing your glass, finishing off the sparkling cider.

“What’s that for?” Tom asks, pulling off his T-shirt and throwing it back on the towel.

“Papaya was incredibly disappointing,” you laugh, handing him his glass so he can wash away the taste as well.

You don’t shiver as you step into the water, it’s warm and inviting as Tom follows you out.

“I’ll never get over how great this ocean is,” you laugh, splashing around at the very clear water as Tom pulls you into his arms.

“It is pretty great huh?” Tom rubs his nose against yours, letting you rest your forehead against his shoulder as he holds you tightly to him, drifting further out to sea.

“How’d you know?” You murmur, “how’d you always know?”

“I know you better than you know yourself,” Tom replies, he knows what you’re talking about, neither of you need to voice it, “you’re the one person I know more than myself. You let me know you more than I know myself. Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

You’re grateful for him, for always being one step ahead of you, for choosing to be by your side after everything that’s happened.

Tom pulls you in for a papaya and sparkling cider flavored kiss, something you haven’t stopped thinking about since the cold lake in Utah almost nine years ago. You’re grateful that the rather repugnant fruit taste is almost disappeared from your taste buds.

“I love you,” he murmurs, keeping his lips against yours.

“I love you,” you reply, holding him tight in the warm water, the moonlight rippling off the waves.

“I love you,” Tom repeats, pulling you tight into his arms like he wishes he did that night almost nine years ago. Both of you wonder what your life would be like if he kept you safe all that time ago instead of pushing you away. But looking back on it, with one happy, healthy boy and the love of your life you wouldn’t have changed any of the moments leading up to get you to where you are right now.

***

Taglist: @gioandreolli @honeymoonparker @itsjusttor @averyfosterthoughts @worldoftom @angelhaz11 @rebekkah4766 @murdermornings

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Chapter 11 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula 2020 fanfic

A/N: Hi guys. Thanks again to everyone who has commented and liked and reblogged and interacted with this fic and with me! It means the world. Here is the promised smutty reunion! I think that Chapter 12 is probably going to wrap this up as the final part. I’m sure there are some who would prefer that the story keep going and going and going, but I’ve always intended to finish this with the Count turning Emilie. So depending on how it paces out I’ll have one more chapter to post after this one and *possibly* an epilogue, but we’ll see. I have at least two other plot bunnies scampering around my head right now just begging to be written.

Summary: The Count’s visit with Emilie turns fluffy and then distinctly raunchy!

Rating: Explicit!!!

Count Dracula, in his flowing dark cape and richly tailored suit, looked positively exotic sitting in the worn chintz armchair surrounded by the Andrews family’s aggressively feminine decor. The parlor was a charming mix of floral patterns, old lace, china knick knacks and displays of the girls’ various attempts at pastoral landscape watercolors. Dracula, with his long, lithe form and aura of dark monstrosity, tucked into the little chair and looking about himself with an expression of polite curiosity was enough to break through the miasma of Emilie’s sadness. She giggled in delight at the picture he made.

Dracula raised his eyebrows at her laughter and smiled softly. It was strange to see him here in her family home. But it felt so pleasant and natural to see him looking at her with that crooked smile on his face.

“Shall I make tea?” Emilie asked automatically, shifting into hostess mode in the absence of her mother and sister who were both already asleep upstairs.

Dracula huffed a laugh as he replied, “If you like.”

Emilie felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment almost as soon as the words had left her mouth.

She stammered an excuse, “Oh--I...sorry, force of habit. I think I will make some for myself if that’s not terribly rude?”

Dracula waved a hand dismissively and Emilie vanished into the kitchen where she could privately melt at her own stupidity while she waited for the water to boil.

When she reentered the parlor she found Dracula standing with his hands folded behind his back, inspecting a brightly hued watercolor hanging over the mantle. She set down the tea service tray and went to stand beside him.

“My sister, Anna, painted this one,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the brilliant splashes of red, orange and violet. The painting showed a line of birch trees on the horizon, a little village nestled safely in the foreground as the sun rose into a crisp, blue sky.

“It’s wonderful,” Dracula whispered in a tone of sincere awe. Emilie looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes moving over the image as if to memorize every detail. She felt her heart clench at the look of boyish longing on his face.

“You miss it?” she asked hesitantly. “The sun?”

She was unsure of how familiar she was allowed to be with him now. Was he here as her friend? Her lover? Her employer...her landlord? She pushed her insecurities away, unwilling to lose this moment of connection with him after she’d so longed to see him again.

Dracula tore his eyes away from the canvas and looked down at her, a sad smile crinkling his eyes, “Yes, very much so. Appreciate her, Emilie, while you have her.”

They moved away from the mantle and took their seats. Emilie pondered his words as she poured herself a cup of tea. She supposed he referred to her mortality, the limited number of days she would spend under the sun. After his anger, his rejection, she couldn’t assume he meant anything else. Even if she’d come to think...to hope...he meant to take her as his dark wife. That was all over now.

She sat back in her seat and cradled the cup of tea in her scarred hands, taking comfort in its warmth, “She is radiant and lovely. And I’ve seen her in a new way since...well, since you showed me how. But...you know, I did come to love the night. For a while…”

She held her breath and felt her heart beat in her throat as she watched his face for a reaction to her words. Dracula’s expression was a mask of stoicism but his eyes burned as he leaned forward and reached toward her, cupping his hands around hers over the tea cup. His gaze fixed on the red, cracked skin of her fingers and he let out a sympathetic hiss.

“My Emilie. Your poor hands. What have you done to yourself?”

Emilie stared down at their joined hands for a moment, transfixed, before answering in a firm tone, “Only what I had to do. For my family.”

Dracula came fully forward, kneeling before her to stay at eye-level. He clasped his hands around her too-thin waist and looked up at her in silence for a moment. Emilie could feel his emotions through their bond. She felt his fear, his shame, his anger...and love. She still felt the bright jewel of his love shining out at her and it felt better than the warmth of the sun ever had.

“Emilie,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, “I have not forsaken you. Or your family. I won’t let you starve or turn you out of this house. Do you understand? You don’t need to work yourself into ill health. Please...don’t.”

Emilie choked back a sob at his words. She felt relief, gratitude, adoration...but also the echoing pain of betrayal and rejection. Only a few weeks ago Vlad had turned his monstrous cruelty against her. He’d hurt her and insulted her because she had the audacity to make him feel vulnerable. And now here he knelt before her like a supplicant, avowing his devotion and loyalty? She’d dreamed of this, but the actual event felt like being suddenly knocked about. She couldn’t keep hold of her emotions.

“What was I supposed to do, Vlad? How was I to know if you would continue to support us after...after…”

She couldn’t speak the words to evoke the final scene between them at Carfax. It was too painful a memory.

“I’m sorry, Emilie,” Dracula whispered. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her cheeks, laying chaste kisses across her face, each one a plea for her forgiveness. “I was afraid, Emilie. I’ve never...I wanted to make you my bride. You knew that, didn’t you? I wanted to make you like me and I’d never come so close to succeeding before. I was afraid...I am afraid that I’ll fail. I never planned to get so attached...for there was always the risk that you might not come back...in the end. And when I felt that you had finally staked a true claim on me--on my heart and soul--I panicked and I was...unforgivably cruel to you. I--I love you, Emilie. I’d forgotten that I was capable of the emotion…”

Emilie set down the teacup and took his face in her hands, leaning forward to press her lips to his and letting her tears finally fall to stain his cheeks as well as hers. She was passionate and energetic, finally allowing herself to let go of the hurt and mourning she’d been carrying these past few weeks. She nipped his lower lip and delighted in his deep, rumbling purr of pleasure. Her fingers twined in the hair at the nape of his neck. Every detail was vivid and arousing with her heightened senses: the feel of his soft lips gradually warming from the heat of her own, the restrained strength in his hands wrapped around her waist and pulling her closer, each silken thread of hair brushing through her fingers. She broke away from him, panting and clinging to the collar of his cape with all her might.

Dracula let out an intentional breath and stared up at her, capturing her with the deep pools of his liquid eyes with ease, “Emilie, I want you to understand what this means. You’ve belonged to me since before you even realized it. I own you: your soul, your blood, your life. But...you own me, too. I’m yours, Emilie. Now and always.”

Emilie breathed heavily, overwhelmed by lust and emotion. Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she responded, “In that case...I think I’ll take you to my bed, Count Dracula.”

They crept soundlessly up the stairway and down the short hall to Emilie’s bedroom. She led him by the hand over the threshold and shut the door delicately behind him. Count Dracula, her dark lover, her master, her slave, was standing in her childhood bedroom. The contrast of his presence in this sacred space was deeply compelling to her. She stalked forward, standing before him and reaching up to unclasp the cape from his shoulders. In a stroke of playfulness she wrapped it around her own shoulders and smirked up at him.

“You know...this is where my sister and I would whisper stories to each other at night. About the terrifying Count Dracula and his dark powers.”

He reached up and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, gradually revealing his dark chest hair and starkly pale skin.

“Is that so?” he asked in a tone of bland curiosity.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, dropping the cape to the floor and reaching around her back to loosen the fastenings of her dress and slowly let the material drop over her shoulders. “I’d have nightmares about the evil creature I would one day serve. His devil horns, his cloven feet….his power to transform into a wolf at will!”

Emilie’s soft laughter was interrupted by a sheepish look from the Count, “Well...yes that last one is true, I’m afraid.”

Emilie’s mouth dropped open in shock, “You can turn into a wolf!?”

Dracula suppressed a smug smile as he discarded his shirt and undid the buttons of his fly, “Does that frighten you, Emilie? Or excite you?”

He stepped out of his trousers and moved forward with inhuman speed, grabbing the waist of her petticoat and slipping it over her hips so she stood naked and exposed before him.

“I don’t know...maybe both,” she whispered, leaning forward so the points of her nipples brushed against the taught skin of his stomach. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, reveling in the perfect feel of his naked skin against hers.

“My big, bad wolf,” she grinned and pulled him toward the bed.

She fell backward and tugged him down with her onto the tiny mattress. He had to curl his legs up in order to fit but he was happy to wrap himself around her little body. He enveloped her in his arms and ran his hands down her back and over the rounded flesh of her buttocks, squeezing gently and eliciting a squeak of surprised pleasure from Emilie.

“Shhh, little one,” he admonished bringing a finger to her lips and then pressing it forward, dipping his long digit into her mouth and watching with hooded, lusty eyes as she sucked obediently. “Do you need me to keep you quiet?”

Emilie’s eyes fluttered shut at the suggestion, envisioning her master taking her on her childhood bed as he gagged her with his own fingers. She felt herself nodding in response to the question, still sucking his finger and laving it with her tongue.

Dracula smirked and added another finger, pressing down on her tongue and watching as saliva pooled and spilled over her lips. He ran his other hand over her breasts, playing with her nipples and teasing them with his sharp nails.

“Good girl,” he praised her as she stayed perfectly silent, muffling her little sounds of pleasure by wrapping her lips around his digits. “I’ll always take care of you, sweet Emilie.”

He continued his attentions to her breasts, flicking, licking, biting and teasing until Emilie was near tears at the over stimulation. She struggled to form words around his fingers and he finally relented, pulling them out and looking down at her with brows furrowed inquisitively, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath and nearly sobbed her words, “Please, Vlad, I need you now.”

Dracula’s lips spread in a leering grin and he crawled over her, caging her with his body, “I’m yours to command, sweet Emilie. Always.”

He palmed her hips and lowered himself until he was just waiting at her entrance, teasing her by running the thick tip of his member through her soaking folds over and over again. He looked up at her, expectantly.

“Vlad!” she admonished him, unable to form much more in the way of coherent words. He took pity on her and plunged forward, thrusting himself inside her and hissing at the beautiful, tight, hot feel of her wrapped around him.

Emilie cried in joy and relief as he finally entered her. The sound was jarring in the silent house and Vlad whipped a hand up to her mouth, pressing his palm over her lips to keep her quiet as he pounded inside of her. He ramped up to an inhuman tempo that Emilie was powerless to match. She could only arch upward in needy wantonness, seeking to maximize the friction and deepen his reach inside her. If he’d planned this at all he would have taken her slowly, tenderly, injecting his devotion and apology into every movement of his hips, his hands, his mouth. But he was just as powerless as Emilie in the face of his reaction to her. His blood sang at their closeness as if it flowed in sync with hers. He could read her feelings in the touch of her skin. Her love, her passion, her wanting. It was everything that he felt and more.

He surrendered himself over to her, pushing his intent through their connection and dipping down to bury his head in the crook of her neck, laying sweet kisses over her jugular. He wouldn’t bite her. The next time he gave her his vampire’s kiss it would be her last. The joy and terror of his decision coursed through him as he felt his hips stutter chaotically as his orgasm washed over him. Emilie threw her head back and bit into his fingers as the sensation of his pleasure reached her through their bond and pushed her over into her own climax. Her legs shivered and trembled around his hips as they both relaxed their bodies and clung together.

***

The next morning Mrs. Andrews entered the dining room to find two sealed letters sitting on the table. One was from Emilie and it was a goodbye. The words were simple but heartfelt. The Count had proposed marriage and she had accepted. They would be away for some time...honeymooning.

The second letter was written in the Count’s own severe hand. It explained that his solicitor, Mr. Renfield, would be in touch to discuss the transfer of ownership of Carfax Abbey, along with a substantial sum, to Mrs. Andrews.

A/N: P.S. The “I own you and you own me” thing--I’ve used that little idea in fics before and it’s entirely owed to the sexy negotiation between Claire and Jamie in Outlander when they finally reconcile after he physically punishes her for putting the clansmen in danger.

Tags:

@girlonfireice @charlesdances @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @dracula-s-bride @haleyea @irrelevantwriter @felicityofbakerstreet @festering-queen @kaddis-world @leah-halliwell92

#dracula x ofc #dracula x oc #dracula imagine #claes bang imagine #dracula thirst squad #count dracula x oc #count dracula x ofc #dracula fanfic #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #dracula 2020 #chelsfic

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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Boundless Love

My final story for @drawlight‘s advent calendar is sort of an epilogue (or, if I’m being super literary, coda) to all of my previous stories. It might be a little cheesy (definitely a little more literary than I generally go for) but I’ve had this ending in mind since like...day 3? So I had to see it through.

The longer scenes are epilogues to several of the other stories in this set; I’ll provide links in case you’ve missed them. This will also function as an Advent Calendar Master Post.

I plan to post the entire series to AO3 under the title “Boundless Love” starting tomorrow (I’ll edit as I go, one or two stories need a bit of re-working). Thank you all for reading, it has been a wild ride!!

25 - Love (3,142 words)

Some people think that every choice we make creates a universe.

This is only partly correct.

The fifth night of the festival of Saturnalia, long after even the most determined revelers in Rome had gone to sleep, an angel and a demon stood on a rooftop patio, overlooking the quiet mountainside.

“I think I love you,” Aziraphale said, abruptly, without preamble.

Crowley turned to him, mouth wide, too breathless to respond.

“I’m not…I don’t know whether one can ever be sure in such matters,” Aziraphale hurried on. “It’s a human emotion, after all. Angels weren’t made to love one being above all others. And yet, I think I do.” He smiled at Crowley, as if what he’d said was of only passing interest. “To be honest, I don’t know what to do with this information just yet.”

Crowley moved a little closer, leaned against the raised lip of the patio. “Could be problematic. If your side finds out. I don’t imagine they would approve.”

“No, you’re probably right.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Perhaps not.” Aziraphale stared eastward, waiting for the sunrise. “I suppose I thought you had a right to know. Is that not how this works?”

“Could be. I’m not really an expert, either. Demons aren’t supposed to love anyone at all.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded. Already the sky was beginning to lighten.

“Which makes it a bit troublesome, because I am almost certainly in love, too.”

Crowley shot a glance sideways, watched Aziraphale bite his lip, nod seriously.

“I understand. This person you’re in love with.” His eyes drifted over. “It’s Caligula, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t you –”

Aziraphale burst into laughter at the look on Crowley’s face, even as the demon reached over, pulled him close, held him tight.

“I love you,” the angel whispered, pressing lips to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” As if the fervent whispers, the beating of his heart, could stop the coming dawn.

Each of the infinite universes starts at the same point; they all meet again at the end.

In between, they never touch, never cross, never affect the others in any way. Each plays out its own story, independently.

An infinite number of earths, crossing six thousand years of history. An infinite number of Heavens and Hells, fighting behind the scenes in ways humans can’t comprehend.

And in every universe, there is a demon who asks too many questions, and an angel who doesn’t always obey.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, eyes wide, balanced on the branch of the apple tree. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” the angel said with deadly cold eyes. “But this is the way it has to be. Warriors, attack!”

And the platoon of children pelted the evil spirit with snowballs until he fell to the ground, gasping with exaggerated agony.

The angel bent over the fallen figure, inspecting his enemy, and Crowley reached up, grabbing him, pulling him to the ground, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

“My love, you say? My love? Don’t use that word if you don’t mean it, Angel. You’ll find me quite –”

His rant was rudely cut off by a small child shoving a fistful of snow down the back of Crowley’s shirt. “If you two don’t stop kissing after every tree, this is gonna take all night.”

Why do they always find each other?

Why do they always cling to each other?

Despite infinite universes seeking to tear them apart, why do they always fall in love?

Aziraphale collapsed across the sofa, head and shoulders wedged into the corner, too exhausted to even keep himself upright. The long black serpent lay on his stomach, watching him intently.

“Oh, Crowley,” he tried to keep his voice steady, despite the tears he could no longer hold in. “You were wrong. It was my fault. I’ve – I’ve worked it out now. Obvious, really. Serpent. Human. Two corporations, woven together.” His voice started to crack. “When we changed places I…I sort of dropped a corner. Let one bleed into the other. I – I’m so sorry.”

Crowley took a moment, processing this. “Accccident.”

“Yes, but I…” He held out a hand. Crowley didn’t like to be scratched, or petted, or held. But he did glide across the hand, bringing his snout closer to the angel’s tear-streaked face. “I could have killed you, Crowley. I could have destroyed you over something so…so foolishly simple. You must hate me.”

“No. Nevvver.”

He wiped furiously at his eyes with his free hand. They itched with fatigue as they never had before. “I’m almost there, Crowley. Just a little more. I can see where I dropped it. I can see how to separate them again. I just…just need to figure out how to secure the ends, so it doesn’t happen again.” The sobs broke through again. “I’m nearly there, my love. I’m nearly there.”

“Resssst.”

“I can’t. Not when I’m so close. Crowley I…I need you back. I want to see you human again. And I know you hate this, I won’t leave you in this form a moment longer than necessary, I just…”

“Ssssleeep.” Crowley retreated, coiling up on Aziraphale’s chest. “Ssssleeep. Lovvvve. Sssssleeeep.”

Still shaking, still crying, he drifted off under that watchful golden gaze.

You could call it fate. You could call it part of the Plan.

Something written into them, a command on their souls drawing them together.

Something in their makeup that leaves each incomplete, threatens to destroy them when apart.

You would be wrong.

A fight at an airbase, a long bus ride, not a word spoken after we’re on our own side.

And after more than twenty-six centuries, Aziraphale found himself again standing beside Crowley’s bed. Not a pile of furs this time, but cotton sheets, black as night.

Crowley pulled off his glasses, met Aziraphale’s eyes, and nodded.

Almost without a thought, their bodies returned to the familiar position, as if they had only left the Celtic roundhouse the day before: lying facing each other, eyes locked, hands entwined. Bare inches apart, as if the queen-sized mattress were a narrow sleeping platform.

Nothing had changed, save that this time it was Crowley who trembled.

“I’m right here,” Aziraphale whispered, running his thumb across Crowley’s fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It might. What if they come while I’m asleep?”

“I’ll wake you. Come what may, we’ll face it together.”

“You won’t leave?” Crowley knew the answer, but he needed to hear it out loud.

“I made that mistake once, twenty-six centuries ago. I thought I knew what was important. I was a fool. But I know better now.” He released Crowley’s hand and slowly, hesitantly, slid his arm around the demon’s waist. He’d never done this while awake before.

Crowley melted into it, moving closer, pressing his head into Aziraphale’s throat. “Angel. I’m sorry. I never should have –”

“You did what I asked of you. It was my mistake. But I will never, ever leave again. I promise.”

“I loved you, Aziraphale. Even back then, I already loved you.”

“I know. I loved you, too. I just refused to admit it.” They held each other tighter, as if they were always meant to fit together like this. “Rest now. I’ll think of something.”

An angel who does what he thinks is right, no matter what he is ordered to do.

A demon who rebels against everything, even the rebellion itself.

If you tried to force them together, you would fail utterly.

They go only where they choose.

Crowley woke before the dreams could begin, Aziraphale leaning over him, shaking him gently.

“You don’t have to do that every time,” he muttered, but didn’t pull away. “You can just leave.”

Aziraphale responded as he always did, in a calm, even voice: “I do it because I love you, and you’re safe.”

“Fine, you don’t have to say that every time.”

“I say it because I love you, and you’re safe.” His hand still rested on Crowley’s shoulder. “And I will keep saying both until I’m sure you believe me.”

The demon shifted under the blankets. Aziraphale’s latest idea: breaking the sleep cycle, waking him before the terrors could begin, training his mind to a new rhythm. They would talk briefly, then allow Crowley to drift off again in half an hour. “How will we even know if it’s working?”

“It is working. Your eyes are back to normal. When you have a terror at all, it only lasts a few minutes. You aren’t having nearly as many flashbacks during the day. I know you can’t see it, but it is working.”

“Will I ever be better?” He could see how the weight of caring for him wore on Aziraphale, even if the angel never said a word.

“I don’t know. A human could carry this trauma the rest of their life; it’s generally about managing symptoms rather than finding a cure. But you are a demon. Who can say? I just know, I will keep trying as long as it takes, because I love –”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley grumbled, embarrassed, not quite meeting his eyes. “I love you too, you old sap.”

That, perhaps, is the secret.

In an infinite number of universes, under an infinite variety of circumstances, the two beings who never quite fit anywhere will choose each other, again and again, every time.

Never mind the dangers. Never mind the difficulties.

They choose each other, cling to each other, heal each other.

The words they fear to say they spill out in other ways, weaving themselves into the world.

I love you. I love you.

Pulsing through the roots and branches of the ancient chestnut tree, pounding through the hearts of the two beings walking through the grove.

1967. The telephone rang at 7:43 PM. Crowley had just about convinced himself the call would never come. Now he pounced on it, lifting it before the first ring even ended, hardly able to choke out a greeting.

“– infernal, blasted device. Can anyone hear me? I’m trying to reach Crowley, Anthony Crowley, he’s been waiting for my call all day, but this wretched machine only makes incomprehensible noises! Oh, he’ll think I’m sulking, or angry, and he’ll disappear on me again, as if I haven’t been so worried about him I can hardly think straight. Connect me right now or the wrath I visit upon you and all your kind will –”

“Angel?”

A very long silence.

“Crowley? Oh, dear. How…long have you been listening?”

“Were you…trying to threaten the telephone?”

“Perhaps?” Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried for his angry, blustery tone again. “This horrible contraption is not even remotely easy to use, despite what you told me –”

“I worried about you, too.”

Another silence. So long Crowley began to panic that the line had somehow disconnected.

“Ah.”

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to say.” The voice on the line was much softer now. “I don’t think we should. These things are not…not safe to talk about.” An awkward throat clearing. “But yes. Someday, I very much think I would.”

“When you’re ready,” Crowley said, quietly, gently. “I’ll be waiting.”

Sometimes they say it in actions.

A wordless song raised in a Garden.

I see your pain. I’ll show you mine. Hear me. Help me. Love me.

A hundred healing kisses pressed to the skin.

I hurt you. Forgive me. I love you.

A warm drink by the fire and friendly company on a snowy morning.

Let me help you. Let me comfort you. I love you.

The smooth motion of thumbs on the soles of feet, every weekend, for as many weekends as were left to the world.

I love you. Don’t leave me. I love you.

1982. The phone rang at 10:08 PM. The demon stumbled out of bed, shooing the spiders away, snatching up the handset on the third ring.

“Yes? Who – yes?”

He relaxed. “Angel. Still haven’t gone back to London?” A pause. “Because the time zones go the other way, idiot. It’s the middle of the night here.”

He listened for a bit, teeth clenched anxiously. “You aren’t going to get in trouble, are you? Going over your healing quota?” Crowley nodded, even though he was alone. “Fine, just, you know. Be smart. Don’t take any stupid risks.”

He smiled a little. “No, a new hotel every night is exactly the right thing. Have you been reading spy novels again?” Raised eyebrows. “Oh, really? What kind of mystery have you encountered, Aziraphale?”

Crowley settled back on the edge of the bed as he listened. “Well, yeah, the television does play movies, that’s the point…Exactly two minutes every time? But different parts? Are you sure it’s the same movie?” He bit his lip as he realized what was going on, struggling not to laugh. “No, no, keep taking notes. You’ll figure it out…Yeah, I definitely want to hear the saga of the pizza boy and the babysitter when you’re done.”

The conversation went on, as it did every Thursday, filled with the boring minutiae of everyday life, plans, complaints, grumblings about the state of the food. And yet, through the demon’s habitual tone of annoyance and disgust shone a warmth and love that colored every word. “Yeah. No. Talk to you next week. I’m looking forward to it.”

Sometimes they say it in gifts.

A branch of pine. A remembered song. A clasp of hands on a bus.

Be happy. Be safe. I love you.

A meal delivered just in time. A friendly face interrupting soul-crushing loneliness.

Don’t give up. I need you. I love you.

Forty pairs of tickets to a ballet. A letter. An apology. A wish.

Stay with me. I miss you. I love you.

An angel and a demon walked together towards the Ritz, after a body swap and a narrow escape. Blue eyes turned towards a dark figure, again and again, sly as a puppy and just as sweet.

“So, my dear, do you suppose it’s safe to try flirting now?”

“It could still be dangerous. Especially for you. But I suppose I can’t stop you if you want to try.”

“Well then. Crowley.” The eyes batted as if there was an eyelash caught in them. “I like your…face.”

And Crowley grabbed his lapels, slammed him back against the nearest wall, and kissed him in broad daylight until his legs gave out. Aziraphale clung to him, dragging hands through red hair, kissing back for all he was worth.

When they finally parted, gasping for breath, Aziraphale chuckled. “And I thought you didn’t want a snog in a back alley.”

“This is a main road, Angel. And I said I wanted you, forever.” Sharp nose brushed along the curve of a jaw. “You’re in my clutches now. I will never, ever let you go.”

“Oooh. Promise?” Aziraphale winked with both eyes.

Crowley groaned, burying his face in his angel’s shoulder. “How are you the absolute worst flirt to ever exist?”

“Worst? Or best?” Soft arms wrapped around the narrow waist, pulling him close. “After all, I have a 100% success rate. Cassanova wishes he was as good as me.”

“You are an idiot.”

“I love you too, dear.”

Through every difficulty, every danger, they survive, they save each other, they build a life.

An angel and a demon, again and again, bound together not by the ties of fate or a Plan they do not understand.

Because love is not something you can command.

Love is a choice.

Love is a decision to reach out, to comfort, to communicate, to make a connection and then build it, maintain it, protect it, help it to bloom.

An angel and a demon walked hand in hand through the woods surrounding their cottage on Christmas morning.

“Are you sure you can be happy here?” Crowley wondered, glancing anxiously to the side as they followed the snow-covered path.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale responded with some exasperation. “There is no place in the world I would rather be than at your side. I would rather eat runny eggs and burnt toast prepared by you than dine at the finest restaurant. I have seen the seven wonders of the world and I prefer to walk through your gardens. I have stood before the greatest artworks ever created and they don’t compare to your smile. I will absolutely be happy here, and my answer will not change in a day, or a month, or a century.”

“But how can you be sure?”

“Because, my dear, my darling idiot, we’ve been married for over a decade!” He stood, Crowley’s face cradled in his hands, giving him his sternest glare. “Are you ever going to stop asking me that stupid question?”

Crowley just grinned. “Probably not. I don’t think I’m going to get sick of the answer any time soon.” He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pulled him close, whispered in his ear. “I don’t regret anything, you know. Not one day, not one argument, not one stupid decision in six thousand years. Because it brought us here, where we belong.”

The angel sighed, leaning into the embrace. “Do you think, if things had been different, we still would have fallen in love?”

“No idea.” He pressed a kiss against Aziraphale’s forehead. “Though if you really want to get into that, talk to Adam. He’s on the whole alternate universes thing again. Apparently, we’re the ultimate proof of his theories on the triumph of free will and the continuity of self across infinite iterations.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“I haven’t a bloody clue! You’re supposed to be the clever one.” Twining their fingers together, Crowley turned to walk back towards the cottage. “That kid is too smart for his own good.”

“He’s hardly a child anymore. None of them are.” Aziraphale turned the ideas over in his head as they walked. “I suppose I will ask him about it when they arrive. If he thinks its important, it probably is.”

“Good. I should have just enough time to burn the potatoes down to charcoal.”

“Crowley, you could try not ruining some part of Christmas dinner. Just for a change.”

“What? And break our oldest holiday tradition?”

In an infinite number of universes, an angel and a demon have every opportunity to give up, to walk away, to protect their own existence.

The angel could choose, at any time, to obey, to keep himself safe.

The demon could fall in line, behave as expected, and accept the role he was given.

And yet, over and over –

They choose humanity.

They choose each other.

They choose love.

(Thank you to everyone who has been reading along and sending me encouraging comments! This Calendar topped out at 51,245 words. All written since December 2.

For those who don’t know, I just finished a fic on AO3 that I declared “the longest finished story I ever wrote.” This is longer.

This challenge has not just created a bunch of stories I never thought I would ever write, but also pushed the boundaries of what I thought I was capable of. I want to thank @drawlight again for posting the calendar and getting all this started. Also quick shout out to my cheerleader @angel-and-serpent who constantly checks to make sure I’m working on this.

My contributions to this writing challenge are complete! I’m going to bed.)

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secretsfromwholecloth · 4 years

Text

Deadfire, day 11.

I just noticed that the room with the flesh construct controller is labeled “Flesh Management”. Because of course we had to go for maximum creepy with everything here, right?

Giving the flesh construct controller a prostate massage is one of the highlights of the series.

Oh, hello, Giftwrapper. Here you go, Edér, an adorable spider friend.

“Maybe they are not so smelly after all.” Why thank you, Sissak, that’s one of the best compliments I’ve gotten this whole playthrough!

“You have seen what cannot be unseen!” Some of the shit that goes on in this place? Damn right I have.

I am deeply amused at Edér’s protective outburst at Anlaf sticking his arm down the screamy thing being followed by Fassina nonchalantly saying, “Better you than me.”

Maybe one day I’ll run a Watcher who uses Llengrath’s spell here rather than Tayn’s—I can think of one or two who should have if not for their player’s weakness—but this one’s Team Tayn all the way.

All right, the moment of truth: Is Retina going to hatch this time? At least now I know to reload if it doesn’t.

*sigh* Nope, reload time. Let me try something—maybe it’s going into the Scriptorium afterwards and getting sucked into Tayn and Llengrath’s argument that’s fucking things up?

You know, throughout this DLC in particular, Edér and Rekke have very similar reactions to most things, controlling for their differing experiences and speech patterns. Killing the Memory Hoarder is a striking exception, though—contrast Rekke’s “Why would god let this happen?” with Edér’s “Reminds me of a wedding I went to once.”

Xoti, I realize you want the big man to like you, but you don’t have to loudly agree with everything he says.

Anyway. Back to the Collections to finish mopping up and see if the little abomination actually hatches this time.

It didn’t hatch until I got back to the Temple of Revelations lobby, but it finally did! I’m so glad to not be deprived of tiny hugs this time.

I never took a proper look at the description of Whispers from the Depths before. “Sometimes, it tickles.”

“Now I have two friends, and I feel richer than ever.” Oh no, more Bekarna feelings.

The History of Eora series contains some creepy information from the beginning, but it takes a turn for the far, far creepier when it starts covering the future.

For reasons I can’t really go into here, Volume XVI: The End of the Gods makes me smile and eyebrow a little. ““Who’s there?” the voice of nothing asked, and it was answered by no one.”

Well, Fyonlecg’s hinting that other civilizations did something similar to Engwith, or worked with them beyond the ones we know of, is certainly quite a sequel hook.

I think I’ll put the body back to sleep this time. I like the ending it gets, and it seems a reasonable thing to do.

Well, I was going to put it back to sleep, but apparently I killed it instead? I suppose that’ll have to do.

It’s very sweet how friendly and optimistic Tayn still is even if you kill the body. One day I’ll see if that still holds if you went Team Llengrath all the way and killed the prisoners in the Collections.

Tayn, Bekarna, go on, give each other a hug. You both need it.

It’s a thing people do when they’re carrying a lot of pain around and haven’t been supported in dealing with it that they get really mad when someone else looks like upstaging them, whether with their own pain or with their achievements. Tayn’s jealous outburst, and Bekarna having to talk him down by appealing to his ego before he’s willing to support her, is...yeah, I super get it. But I hope they can stay friends now that they’ve gotten that out of the way.

If someone’s going in cold, I can definitely see them finding out that Magran doesn’t want the three shards put together, doing it to spite her because of all the problems she’s caused throughout the series (you’re not the boss of me, fire mom!), and realizing too late that they played into Woedica’s hands instead.

Anyway. Without a last faction quest to do, I think it’s Ukaizo time. My regular endgame party is Edér, Xoti, Tekēhu, and Rekke, and there’s nothing going on in this playthrough that would make me want to change that up.

So I didn’t have to fight any of the factions in the channel, but on the other hand, oh shit, Guardian. I was really not expecting to meet this thing—I freed Scyorielaphas like I usually do, and he normally takes care of it. Well, let’s take advantage and explore his dialogue tree.

“Where would you even stab something like that?” Well, Edér, I suppose you, Rekke, and Anlaf can figure that out on the fly.

Well, that wasn’t bad at all, but I’m glad I had Story mode on to fight the Guardian for the first time.

Oh, babies. I wish I could hug all of you, but I’ll settle for claiming my Rekke hug. (And if any of you think the hug isn’t the main reason he’s part of my standard Ukaizo party, you don’t know me very well.)

Tekēhu atop Ondra’s Spire. You know the bit I’m talking about. Which is the main reason he’s part of my standard Ukaizo party.

(To round out the rest of it for the newbies, Edér is simply undroppable, and I figure Xoti will want to talk to her god. If I have to start dropping people because of faction alliances or romances or whatever, Xoti goes first, then Rekke, but it does make me sad.)

Looks like my adventures here won’t be completely rival-free; here’s the hazanui come to bother me one last time. I’m glad it’s her, I would’ve been sad to make poor Tekēhu fight his queen again or to have to turn on Aeldys after building such a good working relationship. Or even to have to fight Castol. It’s Castol if the VTC comes after you, right?

I’m a little sad that Karū didn’t bring Atsura with her, I would’ve loved to give him a good stabbing.

Tekēhu landed the killing blow on the hazanui. Good work, fishboy, I hope you enjoyed that.

“All but three hold gargantuan skeletons”—we’ve seen Abydon’s body, we just dealt with Wael’s, I guess the third one is meant to be Galawain’s hidden somewhere on Kazuwari? Erūke said something about the huge skeleton in the part of the Beyond linked to the statue being Galawain’s, but it wasn’t made particularly clear that the remains of his body in the Here were nearby. It does make sense, though.

Oh, Waidwen. Quick, come get a spirit hug while the camera’s back is turned.

I love that the sidekicks have Grand Promenade conversations now, but I wish they could’ve gotten chats with Eothas as well. I imagine Rekke’s would’ve been quite intriguing.

Making my usual last request of Eothas, a haven for the lost souls, since I don’t have reason to do much else.

Ha, I thought so. The narrator pronounces “Ofecchia” as /oˈfε.ki.ə/, about what I’d expect, so Wakoyo’s /ɑ.fə.ˈtʃi.nə/ is clearly a mispronunciation in-universe. My theory that he’s doing it deliberately because it’s a Vailian name and fuck the Vailians still stands.

Yeah, I don’t love the epilogue for the solo ending. But it’s nice to have had the experience this once.

Other than the Gullet becoming a second home for the Príncipi, I’ve gotten most of my usual endings. Including the Dawnstars collectively taking up sickles and lanterns and becoming Harvesters, while Xoti lays hers aside to become what a proper Dawnstar was before this. Clearly a memo got missed somewhere.

Come on, Hafjórn, I told you to leave that stupid iceberg. This “squat in the temple and become reclusive and fanatical about keeping everyone else out” business doesn’t look like leaving to me.

Welp, time for me to take a bow and then find something else to occupy my days with. Whew, that was fun.

#pillars of eternity #deadfire #watcher Anlaf

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alj4890 · 4 years

Text

New Year's Eve

A Choices Fan Fiction of The Royal Romance, Red Carpet Diaries,and Perfect Match

Masterlist

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @gibbles82 @cora-nova @bella-ca @hopelessromantic1352. @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @pixieferry @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker.

A/N I am so, so sorry for this being so incredibly long. I tried. I really did. I will be posting an epilogue to this, just because I have no self-control with these characters, LOL. I hope you enjoyed your gift @krsnlove, I had so much fun writing it.

Song

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 The Revelation

Dec. 31st, New Year's Eve

Early morning, Thomas Hunt's suite, The Four Seasons...

"What is so important that you can't discuss it over the phone?" Thomas asked, wiping the lingering spots of shaving cream off his face.

"I need your permission to invoke your name." Addison sat down and prepared herself for the battle ahead.

Thomas looked down at her in surprise. "I beg your pardon. Why are you wanting to use my name?"

Addison twisted her purse strap around her fingers nervously. "Let's just say it would be used in helping a lonely man win the heart of the lady he has fallen for."

Thomas took a step back. "What are you going to do to Amanda?"

Addison looked up in shock. "Amanda? Who's--" her eyes widened. "It's her isn't it? The one you were staring at the other night. Wait! Did you spend yesterday with her?" Her brow furrowed in thought. "That's why you both weren't at the tea."

He couldn't think of what to say to make her stop discovering all his secrets.

"Thomas! This is wonderful!" She stood and hugged him. "It is about time you found someone you like!"

He untangled himself from her. "Yes, well, I don't want any interference in this."

Addison waived that notion away. "My plan isn't for you. It's for helping Liam."

Thomas ran a hand down his face. How had he let slip what he wasn't quite ready to share with his friends? "Do whatever you want." He held his door open for her to leave. "And try and forget this conversation."

Addison checked the time. "Right, I'm off." She paused at the door. "Don't think though that I will forget any of this. I expect to hear the entire story when I have a free moment, and I mean everything."

Thomas shut the door and pressed his forehead against it. Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

_________________

Across town in Nadia's apartment...

"We're here!" Kai yelled out as she and Damien walked in. "Nadia!"

"I'm coming!" She came out in her white silk ball gown and mask. She twirled around and waited. "What do you think?"

"You're beautiful!" Kai exclaimed. She slowly walked around her cousin and nodded. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?" Nadia lifted her mask off. “Really?”

"I already told you it was." Damien muttered on his way to the kitchen. "Why you Park women only believe it when the other says so is a mystery."

"Well, you’re the detective." Kai teased. "Maybe that’s what attracted you to us."

He rolled his eyes and started the coffee maker. "I don't know why I got stuck with you two."

Kai walked over and kissed him. "Perhaps that explains it."

His smirk appeared. "Perhaps I need more information to go on."

"I love the two of you together," Nadia interrupted, "but I have an emergency here! How should I style my hair?"

"I thought you invited us over for breakfast." Damien complained.

"I did! Breakfast and help before Kai leaves us for the night." Nadia explained.

"I can't believe you have to work." Damien pulled Kai close and kissed her again.

"Don't worry." She looped her arms around his neck. "I'll come by after to receive the kiss I would have gotten at midnight."

"Now that that's settled," Nadia said in a huff, "can we please focus on me trying to look my best to get Maxwell's attention?"

"You already have it. In fact, I don't have to go to this at all now that you've got him." Damien smiled at the thought.

"Wrong." Kai told him. "You have to go for moral support. Plus she doesn't have him completely, yet."

"Thank you!" Nadia gestured to her cousin. "Listen to her!"

"Why do I even bother disagreeing with you two?" He leaned against the counter and sighed. "What time are we to be there?"

"Seven." Nadia told him. During his grumbling, she ran back to her bedroom to change, promising to start breakfast.

_______________

A short time later, Hana's suite, The Four Seasons...

"I'm coming!" Hana tied her robe closed and checked the peep hole.

She opened it and took the large bouquet of pink roses. "Um--"

"Special delivery." The porter told her with a smile.

"Thank you!" She called out as he left. She lowered her face into the perfect blooms and took a deep breath of their sweet smell before setting them on a table.

She plucked the card and opened it.

"Oh!" She softly squealed, reading Rashad's words.

Dearest Hana, I want to do this properly, so there is no mistaking my intentions. I am asking you if you would be my date for the masquerade ball tonight. There is no one else I would rather have in my arms when the clock strikes midnight.

-Rashad

She sat down as she reread his words a few more times.

When another knock occurred, she practically floated to answer it. "Yes?"

Rashad was leaning against the doorframe and smiled at her surprise. "I hope it isn't too soon for an answer."

"I would love to go with you." She told him. "This was such a--the flowers--and you--" she shook her head while pressing his card to her heart. "Thank you."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Then I will come by this evening to escort you."

_______________

Olivia's suite, The Four Seasons...

"Are you awake?" Olivia asked as she finished applying her lipstick.

"No!" Amanda said with a hint of irritation. "Why would I be? It's still dark outside."

"That's because it's cloudy." Olivia tried not to laugh at her friends hatred of being awakened so early.

"Why are all my friends morning people?" Amanda muttered while balancing the phone on her ear. "If you're calling about breakfast, please feel free to eat without me. Always feel free to if you decide to get up at this ungodly hour."

"Very well." Olivia turned to check her hair. "I was going to share some interesting news with you about who I am attending the ball with."

"It's Drake." Amanda said while yawning.

Olivia stilled. "What--how did you know?"

"We've all known for some time now." Olivia could hear Amanda rolling over in bed. "You two need to learn that you both can't disappear and reappear at the same time."

"We don't! We--"

"I'm very happy you two are finally making it official. I think I can speak for Maxwell and Liam and say, it's about time." Amanda yawned again. "May I go back to sleep or was there something else you wanted to tell me at this inhumane time of day?"

Olivia shook her head. "Go back to sleep. Next time I'll hide it better."

"I don't think there will be an opportunity for that." Amanda muttered, already closing her eyes. "According to Maxwell's prediction, we will all kiss the one tonight."

________________

In a tiny studio apartment in the East Village...

Riley stumbled out of bed and hurried to her door. "Who is it?" She asked, yawning.

"It's me!" Daniel answered.

She turned the bolt and opened her door. "What's wrong? Why are you up so early?"

"Remember the table of famous people you worked last night?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said, her tone a bit apprehensive.

"There was one there, a blonde, who does all the costumes and such."

Riley continued to look at him in confusion. "Daniel, why did you wake me up for this?"

"Hear me out." He pleaded. "Her boss is the director, Thomas Hunt. She forgot about needing a dress for the actress in his new movie and--"

"Who's the actress?" Riley asked.

"Oh, uh, I can't remember her name." Daniel stammered, realizing that Addison had not given him a name to use. "Anyway, that actress is out of the country visiting family and the blonde needs someone to use for measurements." He noticed she had not spoken and kept explaining. "She wanted to ask you last night since you're figure is similar to the movie star's."

"Yeah, sure." Riley shrugged. "I can help out, I suppose."

"Great! Get dressed." He ordered.

"What? Right now?!" She asked.

"Yes, she needs to show it to him today and she's afraid of losing her job if she doesn't have a dress ready. It's for some big romance scene or something." Daniel explained.

Riley flopped back on her futon. "Daniel!" She whined. "Do you have any idea how tired I am?"

"She's willing to pay you for your time." He told her. "Every little bit helps us get that place on the beach."

Riley sighed and sat up. "You're right. I should do this since I missed out on last night's tips." She asked him to start her coffee while she got ready.

Once he heard her shower start, he called Addison. "She's agreed. Make sure you have a name ready for who the dress is supposed to be for."

"We will." Addison promised. "Thanks so much for helping us put them together."

He grinned at her excitement. "My pleasure."

________________

An hour later, Liam's suite, The Four Season's...

Liam sat at a table loaded with different breakfast items. He half listened to his two friends as they talked plans for the new year.

"Tonight's the night." Maxwell reminded them. "I can literally feel the teetering point of our lives."

Drake rolled his eyes. "I doubt one night has the power to change what happens."

"You'd be surprised." Liam muttered behind his coffee cup.

"Why are you both so down? Is it because you don't have dates?" Maxwell asked. "None of us do, I think. Amanda might by now. The rest of after us though--"

"I have a date." Drake tried to keep the pride out of his tone.

Liam's eyes widened and he shared a loaded glance with Maxwell. "Do you want to tell us who it is, or would you rather we guess?"

Drake shook his head. "It's Olivia. We--"

"Have been spending secret time together." Maxwell finished. "We know."

"I glad you two decided to admit it to us and everyone else." Liam grinned at Drake's shock. "We wondered when you would finally trust us."

"How did you figure it out?" Drake demanded. “We were so careful!“

"It wasn't hard. There's five of us that are usually together." Maxwell reminded him.

"Hard not to notice a habitual disappearing of two of our members every other night." Liam remarked.

Drake frowned some. "Enough about that, are you two focused on someone or taking a chance?"

"A little bit of both." Maxwell thought about Nadia and smiled. "I expect big things tonight."

"You always do." Liam added. "I'm completely on my own and will not be taking anymore chances."

"Anymore? When did you take a chance?" Drake asked.

Liam lowered his eyes and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The point is that I look forward to celebrating with my friends and to returning to Cordonia." He thought he needed a reminder of where he belonged. Alone.

His two friends exchanged a silent, worried look.

Maxwell raised his coffee cup. "Here's to another new year together."

Drake added his cup and cocked an eyebrow at Liam.

He forced a smile for their benefit and lifted his in salute. "To another new year together."

______________

Amanda's suite, a couple of hours after Olivia's call...

"I will kill him." Amanda muttered while hobbling to her door being knocked on. "I don't care if he is one of my best friends and has brought doughnuts this time. I am sick of being forced awake!"

She stepped wrong on her hurt ankle and gasped while a multitude of colorful phrases sat on the tip of her tongue, ready to be screamed out. She took a few painful breaths while blinking back tears, more determined than ever to physically harm Maxwell. Only he would dare to wake her in this manner. Again!

She jerked the door open without checking, ready to lay into him, and stared in surprise.

"Good morning." Thomas greeted. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, it's fine." She quickly closed her robe and tied it. "Won't you come in?"

He stepped inside and noticed her painful gait immediately. "You shouldn't be on that ankle."

"I wouldn't be if people would stop waking me up." She mumbled to herself as she sat down. “It really is not necessary to--"

Thomas knelt down, took her foot carefully in his hands, and studied her still swollen ankle. "I don't think you will be able to go to the ball tonight."

"I'll be fine." She argued. "I just won't dance. Or wear shoes." She bit her lip when his fingers slid gently against her bruising. "My gown is long enough, so no one will notice."

"I think you shouldn't force yourself to go." His dark eyes met hers. "Unless, it is because you have a date this evening."

"I don't." She quickly replied. "There isn't anyone who will be waiting for me."

Thomas seemed to relax once he heard that. He had hoped that was the case. "We could spend New Year's here." He offered.

"I suppose I should spend it in my room, though I--" Her eyes widened. "We? Thomas, I can't ask you to give up going to the ball tonight. Joelle will have a party worthy of all her guests combined. I believe with your artistic eye that you will enjoy it."

He studied her face, noticing the pink forming on her cheeks and how she was nervously biting her bottom lip. "I think I would enjoy being here more than the ball."

Her long eyelashes fell against her cheeks as she avoided his gaze. "As selfish as it sounds, I would prefer having you here with me. It isn't that I mind being alone, I--" she looked up at him. "I like being around you."

His lips curved in a soft smile. "Then I will go talk to the concierge about dinner and explain to Joelle about our absence this evening." He stood up and asked for her room key. "I don't want you getting up to let me back in."

"It isn't any trouble." She gingerly stood up and tried to hide her painful reaction. "I will have to anyway for room service." She looked down at her robe. "And of course to get dressed for the day and evening."

"You don't have to get dressed up." Thomas reached out and took her hand. "We can be--"

"It's New Year's Eve!" She exclaimed. "And if I am spending it with you then I am wearing my new gown." Her blush was nearly covering her face when she almost let it slip out that she wanted him to think she was pretty.

"Very well." He squeezed her hand. "I will still come up here once I'm done with my errands to help keep you off your feet."

She decided for once in her life to be bold and took a step forward, placing a kiss his cheek. "Thank you for trying to make this New Year's special."

He stared down at her face as he caressed her cheek. "I haven't done much except invite myself over."

She smiled at him. "I beg to differ." She stepped back and retrieved one of her key cards. "Here, once I am dressed for the day, I promise to stay for the most part on the couch."

He chuckled and walked towards her door. "Good." He turned to look at her. "I will see you soon."

_______________

A popular formal gown store along West 35th Street, in the heart of the Garment District , before opening...

"I can't believe that Thomas Hunt wanted to use my store for this, or that Jessica Clark would be browsing through my selection!" The middle aged manager explained.

Addison avoided looking directly at him. "Yes, Thomas is a stickler about clothing and wanted to make sure I had one purchased in New York."

"But to use me instead of going straight to the designer!" He said again. "This is such an honor."

Holly held up a dress to hide her muffled laughter.

Addison nodded again, at a loss for words.

Jessica walked over to try and help. "Hunt had heard that you had one of the largest selections and wanted to take advantage of that instead of being stuck with one single designer's creation."

"That's good." Addison mumbled, impressed with her quick thinking. "I mean it's good that Thomas sees that variety is the best way for me to find what he wants."

"Here they come!" Holly shouted.

Jessica handed her dress to the manager. "I will be buying this for myself once we take care of Hunt's mission."

"Really?!" He asked. "Ms. Clark, I--"

"Words fail you, blah blah blah, go set everything up!" Holly turned him around and gave a push. "Hurry!"

Addison watched him run off then went to greet Daniel and Riley.

"Riley, thank you so much for helping me with this." Addison lead her further into the store. "Thomas can be harsh when I don't have everything prepared."

Riley fought back her yawn. "No problem." She looked at the racks of beautiful dresses and posed a few questions. "So who is the actress that gets to wear one of these?"

"Taylor Carruthers." Addison promptly replied. “This will be her film debut.”

"Oh." Riley muttered. "Do I really look like her?”

"Positive!" Addison turned to her friends to back her up. "Doesn't Riley's figure look like Taylor's?"

"From the neck down she is a dead ringer." Holly replied.

"Definitely." Jessica chimed in.

"Okay. So you just need my measurements?" Riley asked.

"Um, well." Addison stalled. "Would you mind trying on a few dresses?"

Riley tried to control her irritation. She was exhausted from the extra shifts at work and of course meeting a secret king. "I can try on a few, but then I have to get some sleep before I go to work tonight."

"Of course." Holly and Jessica rushed ahead toward the changing rooms. "We have all picked a few for you to try on. Feel free to add any suggestions of what you think looks best on you." Addison explained.

Riley cast a helpless glance back at Daniel before falling into their plan.

The next hour had her trying on a veritable rainbow of gowns. She had to walk around in them, sit, and at one point dance in one. "Is this really necessary?" She asked when they had Daniel dip her.

"I know it seems weird but it is a part of the process." Holly told her, shaking her head no when Addison asked what they thought.

"Definitely weird." Riley whispered to Daniel.

"I have one more dress." Addison held up a dress that made them all stop and stare. "If this one doesn't work then we are back to square one."

Riley stepped forward and touched the light blue gown. Silver sparkles throughout the silk shimmered in the light. She held it up against her. "It's beautiful."

"It reminds me of a modern version of Cinderella’s." Addison admitted. "I love fairy tales."

"Me too." Jessica said on a sigh.

"Try it on, Riley." Holly urged.

They watched her hurry into the room.

"That's the first time she has acted excited over trying on a dress." Daniel whispered.

"I think this might be the one!" Addison bounced with excitment. "If it is, I know just the mask and shoes to go with it."

Riley stepped out and twirled. "I love this one."

The four watching her plus the manager told her how beautiful she looked in it.

"That's the one!" Addison cheered. "Thank you for helping us with this. I will make certain you are generously compensated this evening for your time."

"Thanks." Riley reluctantly changed out of the dress and handed it over. She said her goodbyes and left with Daniel.

"Phase one of Fairy Godmother duty is complete." Jessica teased.

"I can't wait for phase two!" Addison squealed.

"I prefer phase three." Holly winked at them when they looked at her in puzzlement. "The midnight kiss."

________________

Late afternoon, Amanda's suite at The Four Seasons...

"Why didn't you have a doctor look at this?" Olivia angrily asked. "I believe you might have some torn ligaments and a possible break with that type of swelling."

Thomas stood quietly beside her, nodding in agreement.

"Damn." Drake muttered again, turning away from the nearly black bruise covering the top and side of her foot. "That has to hurt like hell."

"It's fine." Amanda stubbornly persisted. "And I'm so happy I had the idea to invite you all by to spend a bit of New Year's Eve with you."

"Did your eyesight get damaged in the fall?" Olivia snapped. "Your foot is practically mangled and you sit there persisting it is fine!"

"I talked to the manager. A doctor is on his way up with a portable x-ray machine." Liam shook his head in both pity and admonishment. "Why have you downplayed this?"

Amanda folded her arms and avoided their gazes. "Because I know it is sprained. The reason it looks worse is because I stepped wrong this morning and a few times during the night."

Maxwell leaned down closer and studied her ankle. "I can't even see the bone structure on this side."

She pulled her foot back and softly cried out from the pain. "Then stop looking at it."

Drake told Maxwell to leave her alone on his way to answer her door.

After a thorough examination, it was deemed a fracture.

"I know it is difficult, but I ask that you attempt to not say, I told you so." Amanda said to the entire group. She clutched her hands together and bowed her head, as the doctor wrapped a cast around her foot and ankle. "I know I have the moniker of The Clumsy Duchess, but I wanted one time to not be reminded of it."

Thomas walked over and sat on the arm of the sofa. He wrapped his arm around her while the others watched with great interest as she leaned closer to him through the painful process.

"So," Maxwell turned to the doctor, "can she go to the party this evening?"

"She can, though I think after the pain of last night and this morning she would do better to rest." He replied.

"I agree." Liam insisted. "We will miss you there, but you should take it easy."

"But..." Maxwell began. "It's New Year's Eve. She can't spend it alone."

"She's not." Thomas announced. "I will be spending it with her here. We already decided that this morning"

Amanda blushed at the knowing smiles forming on their faces.

"This morning? Then we will leave you to enjoy your evening." Olivia said. She hugged her friend and whispered that she expected details tomorrow.

The others kissed her cheek and wished both a happy New Year on their way out.

The doctor finished the cast and handed her a prescription as he stood to leave. "Happy New Year to you both."

Once Thomas shut the door, she stood up and tried out her crutches. "It isn't too bad." She said while going over to her bedroom then turning back. "I shouldn't have too much trouble getting ready."

"You don't have to dress up." Thomas insisted. "I will enjoy this evening with you regardless of what you wear."

She sat back down with a sigh and shook her head. "I want to dress up. I know it might sound silly but I should, as much as I can, look my best this evening."

"Why?" Thomas asked.

Amanda chewed on her bottom lip before speaking. "Because I will be spending New Year's Eve with you." She lowered her eyes. "That in itself is significant."

"Why?” He persisted. “Because of my being famous--"

"No. Not that." She interrupted. "It is because of all you did yesterday." She reached out and took his hand. "You decided to not only help me back here, but then proceeded to spend what I am certain was an incredibly boring day and evening for you tending to me. You didn't have to, yet your kindness..." She trailed off when he sat down beside her.

"I wanted to." He murmured, pulling her into his arms. "I still want to." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek. His lips touched the corner of hers.

She turned to brush her lips against his. His hand slid into her hair as he deepened the kiss.

________________

Early evening, Matt Rodriguez's suite, The Four Seasons...

"Addison!" Matt tried to grab his things he needed to get ready. "Would you give me a second. I need my shaving kit and--"

"I love your scruffy look." She pushed him toward the door. "I need you to hurry before Riley and Daniel get here."

"Why do I have to leave? Why can't one of the others--" he grunted when she shoved him toward the door. "Hey!"

Once she got him out in the hall, she pulled him close for a passionate kiss. "I love you." She whispered. "But I need all of our suite to do my work. You are too handsome to not be distracting." She shut the door after another kiss.

He dropped his head and walked over to Thomas's door.

Thomas opened his door while tying his bowtie. "What is it?"

"Can I use your room to get ready?" Matt asked. "Addison needs the suite for her love project or whatever she is calling it."

Thomas stepped back. "Come in. I'm nearly done and you can have it."

"Where are you going so early? We still have an hour or so before the ball." Matt dropped his things on a table.

"I'm not going to the ball." Thomas informed him, on the way back to his bedroom.

"You're not? Why? Where are you going dressed up?" Matt called out.

Thomas stepped back out, fully dressed in his tuxedo, and smoothed his hair back. "I have other plans."

Matt waited on him to further explain. Thomas slipped some key cards in his pocket and said goodnight on his way out.

Back in Matt's suite a flurry of three women rushed about to not only get themselves ready but to be prepared to give a waitress and king a night to remember.

When the knock was heard, they tried to calm their excitement.

After a clearing of her throat, Jessica opened the door. "Riley! Please come in."

Riley stepped in and smiled at them. "Hi. Daniel said you needed to see me before the party."

"Yes." Addison motioned for her to come in. "We have a confession of sorts."

"Oh?" Riley sat down when Holly asked her to.

"The dress we had you try on was not meant for Taylor." Addison admitted. “Actually, there is no Taylor at all.”

"We also aren't in the midst of beginning a new movie." Jessica added.

"And though Thomas is cantankerous, he is not unreasonable over a missing dress or two. He would not fire Addison for not having one ready." Holly added. "He can actually be quite understanding when we mess up."

Riley's brow furrowed with confusion. "Then why did you have me come this morning?"

"We want you to come to the ball tonight. The dress is yours along with the mask and all." Addison explained.

Riley stared in shock. “That’s sweet, but I have to work. I--”

“Daniel has that all taken care of. He has a friend that owes him a huge favor and he will take over the waiter duties.” Holly explained.

Riley shook her head again. “I don’t think I should go. Liam will be there and I already refused his invitation.”

“Why did you refuse?” Jessica asked.

Riley hesitated. “I fell for him pretty hard. Then finding out he was a king...I know nothing of his world. I don’t belong. That hurt enough to not spend what I know will be a magical night with him.” She lowered her head and picked at her skirt. “I was nothing but a distraction for him.”

Addison sat down beside her and wrapped her in a warm hug. “That’s not true. We saw him. He has fallen for you too. I don’t think he once thought of you as a distraction.”

Holly nodded. “I agree. He is not the type to do anything haphazard. He likes you. I think he planned on beginning a relationship with you.”

Riley looked up at their earnest faces. She took a deep breath and relented. “I might as well have a fun time at the party if you got me out of work.”

“That’s the spirit!” Addison gave her orders to the others and hugged Riley again. “Tonight is going to be life changing.

_______________

A little after nine The Masquerade Ball, The Four Seasons Ballroom...

“Woo!” Maxwell exclaimed. “This is one more party Joelle has thrown.”

Liam nodded while sipping his drink. “Yes, it is.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I--” Maxwell stared at the woman in white that walked by. She turned back to look at him and smiled before continuing on her way.

“Go on.” Liam said good naturedly. “I promise I am enjoying this ball.”

Maxwell smiled and chased after the woman as she disappeared in the crowd.

“Good evening.”

Liam softly groaned and turned toward the lady who spoke. His eyes swept down her light blue gown and he felt himself drawn to her. “Good evening, Ms.?”

“Riley.” She said with a smile at his surprise. “I was invited by a king, I think. Who knows with that guy.”

“Riley, you look beautiful.” He murmured. “I thought you didn’t want to come.”

“A part of me didn’t.” She admitted. “You should know that you have some guardian angels that think very highly of you.” She motioned toward the three couples that were watching them without shame.

Liam recognized them even with their masks on. He smiled and bowed to them.

“He is so perfect.” Addison sighed.

Matt cleared his throat.

She hugged him. “I’m glad we were able to give him the one he wanted.” She pulled on Matt’s arm and led him to the dance floor.

“I guess we should stop spying on Liam and Riley.” Jessica whispered.

“For the moment.” Holly decided. “I’m still determined to see them kiss at midnight.”

________________

A little after ten, at the Masquerade Ball...

“...and now I have another floor of the gallery being offered to display my latest works.” Nadia finished with a shy shrug.

“Wow.” Maxwell smiled at her. “Cute, smart, and incredibly talented.”

Damien rolled his eyes at their conversation and focused on his dessert.

“Would you like to dance?” Maxwell asked

“Yes!” She hopped up and took his hand.

Damien watched them move closer to one another when a slow song started. He pulled his phone out and snapped a picture of the pair. He sent it to Kai and added the text letting her know who it was.

“He’s cute.” she texted back. “How’s it going?”

“Great.” he responded. “They both think the other is perfect.”

______________

One hour until midnight, The Masquerade Ball...

“Do you want to dance again?” Drake asked, pulling Olivia close.

“I think I am danced out.” She replied. “Who’s that with Liam? He hasn’t left her side for hours now.”

“I don’t recognize her.” Drake looked over and noticed how Liam held her close during another waltz. His smile was one of genuine happiness. “Whoever she is, he likes her.”

Kiara interrupted their observation by asking Drake to dance.

Olivia narrowed her eyes and spoke before Drake could. “He’s with me.”

Kiara lifted an eyebrow. “Really? As in--”

“As in we are a couple now and have been for quite some time!” Olivia snapped. “If he wanted you he would have pursued you like he did me.” She motioned toward a group of men talking. “Go sniff around over there. I’m sure there is someone that will be willing to dance.”

Kiara’s face was flushed with embarrassment as she scurried away.

“Liv,” Drake choked on his laughter. “That was brutal.”

“No it wasn’t. I could have said a lot more but tempered it for the sake of being polite.” She huffed. “And you better start letting all these so called ladies know you are no longer available for slumming.”

“Being with me is slumming?” He asked, surprised she thought that way.

“Of course not!” She rolled her eyes. “You are slumming whenever you get with those women who only plan on using you.”

Drake pulled her into a passionate kiss.

“A little early, isn’t it?” She teased.

“I don’t care.” He kissed her again.

_____________

On the other side of the ballroom...

Rashad twirled Hana, smiling at her laughter when he pulled her back into his arms. “Are you having a good time?”

“I’m having the best time.” She told him. “I’ve never enjoyed a party as much as I have this one.”

“Me too.” Rashad admitted. “I know it is because of you.” He led her off the dance floor and snagged two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter. “Hana, would you...” He swallowed a gulp of his drink and tried again. “Would you like to start seeing each other on a regular basis?”

“Do you mean dating?” She asked with a shy smile.

“Yes.” He stammered.

“I would love to.” She kissed his cheek.

____________

Fifteen minutes until midnight, Amanda’s suite...

“What did you do?” Amanda asked, tears of laughter building at his story.

“I walked out.” Thomas popped open a bottle of champagne. “I made certain to take two pillows to cover my,” he motioned down his waist, “and hailed a cab.”

He smiled at her burst of laughter. He then prepared two glasses and handed her one.

“What should we drink to?” He asked, sitting down beside her.

“I suppose the old year ending in a few minutes.” She replied. “And to what comes next.”

“I am looking forward to that.” He tapped his glass against hers.

“What plans do you have for the new year?” Amanda asked, setting her glass aside.

“I have a few.” Thomas set his arm along the back of the sofa, winding a lock of her hair around his finger. “One of which concerns you.”

“Oh?” She reached over and straightened his bowtie. “And what might that be?”

“Inviting you out to California.” He scooted closer to her. “Visiting Cordonia.”

“I would like that.” She said softly as his lips brushed hers.

“Then it’s settled.” He kissed her once more.

_______________

One minute to midnight, The Masquerade Ball...

“They’re in position!” Addison squealed.

"Why aren’t we this exciting anymore?” Ryan muttered as Holly and Jessica moved with Addison closer for a better view.

Matt shrugged while Seth folded his arms.

As the countdown began the three couples watched as Liam and Riley shared a long tender kiss.

“That has to be the most romantic thing I have ever seen.” Jessica said, sighing at Liam gently caressing Riley’s cheek.

“I agr--” Holly squeaked when Ryan yanked her into his arms for a heated kiss. He smiled down at her surprised face.

“Happy New Year.” He pressed another kiss to her lips.

Matt and Seth followed his example with their own dates.

Liam carefully removed Riley’s mask and then his own. “I know this might seem sudden, but I want you to know my intentions.”

Riley blinked. “Your intentions? What do you mean?”

“I want to court you.” He began. “With the intention of making you Cordonia’s queen.”

Riley shook her head. “Liam, you don’t know me! I have no clue where to even begin with how wrong I would be as queen. I was a fine arts major in college! I--”

“You would learn all the protocols.” He told her. “The most important role as queen would be as the beloved wife of Cordonia’s king.” He kissed her to stop her next argument. “If during our courtship you think it is too much, or I’m not what you want, then I won’t bother you again.” His blue eyes focused on her dark ones. “I can’t leave New York tomorrow evening without knowing I will have a chance to see you again.”

Riley looked around at this world he wanted her a part of. “I--” She looked back up into his handsome face and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He hugged her tight. “Thank you.” He placed a kiss on her cheek.

_______________

On the other side of the ballroom...

Maxwell thought this might be a kiss he never wanted to end. Nadia fit perfectly in his arms.

She stepped back when they paused for a breath. “Maxwell?”

“Yeah?” He tried to pull her back.

“How long are you going to be in New York?” She asked.

“As long as you want me to.” His lips crashed down on hers.

_____________

Afternoon, Liam’s suite...

“You’re staying?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, Nadia wants to show me around.” Maxwell grinned bashfully. “I might be gone a few more weeks.”

“What are your plans?” Liam asked Amanda.

“I’m going to spend another week here and then come home.” She blushed some as she continued. “Thomas plans on remaining here with me then coming to Cordonia for a visit in two weeks.”

Drake and Olivia narrowed their eyes at Liam. “Who was the lady in blue you were with last night?” Drake asked.

“Riley Brooks.” He smiled at his friends. “She has agreed to entering into a courtship with me.”

Maxwell and Amanda looked up at him in surprise. “You met someone?” he asked.

“I did.” Liam said proudly. “I think she might be the one.”

“You kissed her at midnight?” Maxwell asked. With Liam’s nod he turned to Amanda, “You kissed Thomas at midnight too, right?”

“Yes.” She said slowly “Why?”

“And I assume you two shared a tender moment.” Maxwell said to Drake and Olivia.

“I wouldn’t call it tender.” Olivia muttered.

“We did it!” Maxwell exclaimed. “We all kissed the one!”

“Isn’t it a bit too soon for some of us to think of these people as the one?” Amanda asked.

“Just you wait. By next New Year’s, you will all appreciate my awesome soothsaying skills.” Maxwell gloated.

#choices the royal romance #choices red carpet diaries #choices perfect match #happynewyear #new year's eve prompt #super long post

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vspideycaptain · 5 years

Text

The Aftermath (The Real War Sequel) Part 5: Tom Version

Reader x Tom Holland x Chris Evans (not a 3-way)

A/N: Please read ‘The Real War; fic first! This is a direct sequel to that story. Please read part 1 before this part.

In true choose your own adventure nature there are two endings to this story. This is the finale where you decide to Pick Tom over Chris. I hope you enjoyed reading this and The Real War. I plan on posting some prologue and epilogue one shots that I hope you’ll tune into! So no worries, this story is far from over. Thank you xx

Warnings: Angst, swearing, and a lot of fluff WORD COUNT: 1,739 I do not own any gifs

------------------------------

I woke up the next morning finally feeling refreshed for the first time in a week. After last nights revelation I have felt so much lighter on my feet and I had been getting butterflies in my stomach every time I thought about him. “Tom Holland.” I thought to myself, “Tommy, of course, it’s always been him.” I smiled under the covers of my bedsheets trying so hard not to giggle like some weirdo. My phone started to ring and I swear my heart skipped a beat. And then it stopped, my heart, as I realized who was on the other end of the call. It was Tom. I was so caught off guard that I almost let the call go to voicemail but answered just in time. “Hello?”

“Hey, (Y/N)! I-uh-I was wondering if you – um wanted to meet me at the park near marvel studios today?” He asked clearly filled with nerves himself. “yeah!” I said back probably a bit too eagerly. “Yeah?” He asked and let out a little chuckle, “Great. How does 4pm sound?” And now I was returning the little chuckle at his new nervous-excited tone. “Sounds great. See you then.” And with that the phone call was over in flash. I pulled my phone to my chest like and grinned like a giddy teenage girl. Even just hearing his voice gave me butterflies. Giddy and now fully awake I walked over to the bathroom to shower, leaving my phone on the bed.

Minutes later and in the middle of me serenading my shampoo bottle I got a knock on the door and Zendeya yelling over the sound of the water. “(Y/N) you just missed a call from Chris.” My heart sunk in that instant. I had been so excited over the thought of Tom that I hadn’t even processed how I’m supposed to tell Chris that I’m not picking him. I shut the water off and reach out for a towel wrapping it around myself and meet Zendeya in my room, “What did he say?” I ask her but she shrugged as she handed me the phone. I play back his message on speaker: “Hi (Y/N)… Sorry if this call wakes you. I know you like to sleep in but I just couldn’t wait to ask you…. Do you want to meet me for a hike later? At sunset maybe? Let me know! Hope you’re doing well.” His voice seemed forcibly chipper and trying to act cool but I could tell his spirits were still hopeful. And that crushed me. I looked at Z who only shrugged again as she bit her nail. I opened my messages and texted him back, “Could we maybe meet earlier? Maybe after lunch around 2:30?” within seconds he replied, “Sounds perfect : )”

I let out a heavy sigh after sending the last text and started to nervously pass my phone between my hands. “Well, we better get you ready for your date!” Zen smiled at me and rushed over to my closet. She always new that was the way to get me back into a good mood. Together we put together what we thought was the perfect break-up/make-up outfit. Something cute enough to impress Tom but not too hot to hurt Chris more than he already will be. I ended up throwing on a red gingham crop top and light wash and ripped high wasted jeans paired with red strapy kitten heels. I had to admit that the outfit really wasn’t suited for a hike but maybe that was for the best. I kept my hair pulled back into a ponytail and makeup simple. Zen put a tube of red liquid lipstick for the road and advised to only put it on when I’m going to see Tom. Something about, “It would make my lips too irresistible”

I was amazed at the time by the time we were finished getting me ready. It was time to leave for the trail and meet Chris. I got into my car and punched the address into my phone and tried my best to focus on where I was going opposed to what I was going to do when I got there. Before I knew it, however, I was pulling up to the trail and Chris was already out of his truck getting Dodger ready for the hike. He noticed my car instantly and sent me a wave, I waved back of course but as I did my stomach turned with nerves.

I got out of the car and the second I came into his full view he laughed, “Am I carrying you up the mountain? Those shoes aren’t gonna get you to the top!” He laughed some more and I didn’t know what else to do but give him an awkward smile as I approached. He wasn’t dumb though, he sensed my uncomfortableness instantly and his mood completely shifted with me. “We’re not going for a hike are we?” His voice was low and devastated. We were standing only about a foot apart, Dodger sitting patiently between us. “Maybe just a walk.” I said and gestured to the sidewalk that lined up next to the parking lot. He nodded and followed my lead but I could only take about five steps before bursting into tears.

“Woah woah woah!” Chris started and rounded himself in front of me and putting both his hands on my shoulders. We hadn’t even started talking and I was a real mess. “(Y/N)… It’s okay… I know what you’re going to say you don’t… You don’t have to say it. Don’t worry.” He rambled to me and pulled me in for a protective hug. I let him take me into his arms but I didn’t know how to return the hug so I kept my hands up and hiding my face. He pulled us apart moments later and removed my hands from my face and our eyes finally met as he wiped a tear from my cheek. I was surprised to find his eyes were clouded up with tears too.

“Chris I-“ I started and gathered my breath to finish the rest of the thought, “Just because we can’t work doesn’t mean you’re not still important to me. I still want to be fri-“ He cut me off. Understandably so really. I wouldn’t want to hear the word ‘friends’ if I were him either. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m happy-“ His voice broke but pushed through, “If you’re happy. I can be happy… eventually.” He spoke very honestly and directly into my eyes even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry… You can take as much time as you need. I understand.” I said as I stepped away from his grip. He nodded and started to pet Dodger for comfort as he started to jump up onto his owner’s legs aware of his distress. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He said and so he did. Once we reached my car door we exchanged quiet goodbyes and I left too afraid to look back at him.

I drove down the road a little bit and pulled into a CVS parking lot to put myself back together and text Zen that I had done it and that I was heading for Tom now. I took one more look in my car mirror and finished cleaning up my eye makeup and applied the red lipstick and on the way I went. I had arrived about 10 minutes early but I decided to head into the park anyway. I took a seat on a bench near the parks pond but it didn’t take me long to get back up again and start pacing. I couldn’t really stay still when I was nervous.

I kept checking my phone every minute for the time. When the time reached 4:05 I started to worry that he wouldn’t show up. That had possibly changed his mind about me and didn’t want to be with me. I even started to doubt that I was in the right park. Panicked, I sent him a quick text telling him where I was waiting. As soon as I locked my phone again I got his reply: “I know. Nice shoes ;)”

I looked up instantly and when I turned around he was jogging up to me. He wasted no time. He took my face in his hands and pulled me in for a kiss. His soft lips smiled against our kisses which made me giggle and kiss him back harder. My arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled my body closer to his at the waist. He started to back me into the tree behind us but the pulled away suddenly. “Wait. Shit.” He said breathlessly and staring downward. I was so confused and worried as to what was wrong but as I was breathless too I only waited for him to fill in the blanks for me.

“Are you picking me? You picked me right? That’s why you kissed back? I-I didn’t even let you speak. Sor-“ He was rambling and it was so cute. He was so adorable when he was nervous but in this moment I didn’t want him to feel that panic anymore so I cut him off by attaching our lips once more, this time even more passionate than before. We broke away again for air and this time I gave him the answer more clearly, “I pick you, Tom. Since the very beginning, it was you. Only you.”

The smile on his face from my words was so genuine and boyish as he took my face in his hands again. I started to laugh at him however as my lip stick had smudged all over his now plump lips. Instinctually I started to wipe it off and we both laughed. When I went to lick my thumb to help the process Tom stopped me, “Stop. I don’t even care.” He said a little huskily and then pulled me in for another kiss and this time my back was against the tree. Kiss after kiss we were like teenagers making out in public without a care in the world. When we broke away finally he took my hand in his, looking me in the eyes with the happiest expression possible before guiding me over to the duck boats where we were going to start our first ever date.

To be Continued....

Read the Chris’s ending Here

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