#give me all the chaos. never mind all these brackets that makes it far too easy

[panevanbuckley]

#AND BEFORE ANYONE COMES FOR ME I AM DOING MY BELOVED WOMEN IN A SEPARATE POLL!! #there are simply too many of them all so i may as well give the girls a fair chance #and then i'll pit the two winners against each other #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #derek morgan #david rossi #jason gideon #mateo cruz #luke alvez #matthew simmons #polls #give me all the chaos. never mind all these brackets that makes it far too easy

[eldritch-fr-ideas]

Uh huh, sure Kir, there was definitely something chasing you down in the Shrieking Wilds, we all believe that!

[Oh, shut up, I wasn't imagining it!]

{Ok, but have you considered that you totally were?}

(You do imagine everything under the sun...)

You know, if you guys want something really scary...let me tell you the story of Ascua.

~~

Ascua was my hatchmate, see.

Not in actual genetics, but our original lair had a habit of gathering up eggs on their lonesome, and we hatched on the same day, nearly the same coloring, although completely opposite eyes- my water to his fire.

But we hatched on the same day, and we grew up together, so all in all we just called ourselves hatchmates and that was that.

{Come on, get on with it, get to the scary bit.}

Oh, come on, let me have my buildup. Would you rather Ascua was some random stranger?

("Was"...did your hatchmate die?)

I'm getting to that, Rolla.

But for the record, no.

~~

So. Lets talk about the volcano, shall we?

You all know our Great Furnace, yes? Well, we lived- not in the furnace, our clan wasn't nearly renowned enough for that- but in the Blacksand Annex, where land is sculpted by every dragon's whim, and it's therefore such a beautiful chaos, to know how many clans reside there is almost impossible. Right easy to get away with not paying our dues, or to steal from another clan.

{Holy shit, Verre committed crimes.}

No-

That's not to say that anything we did was illegal, it's just that we all only bothered to keep track of coin or custody once or twice a year, when the forgemasters deigned to descend upon us and take the best of what we made. It was just...easier to not, with the smoke, and it's not like we were ever scarce on anything that way.

{It's still stealing, even if its consensual!}

That is not how that works.

~~

In any case, it was on one of these such days when our story, proper, takes place. The forgemasters had come down from their Great Furnaces to collect what they thought theirs, and, well, me and Ascua had gotten it into our little heads to go hide from them. We were, what, a few months old at best?

This happened long before the Rebellion started burning, of course, and our overseers were not nearly so strict, nor the Furnaces closed, and the two of us had witnessed the sort of chaos the Annex was thrown into the entire week before, over who owned what and what dragon belonged to which clan, and it had...well, it had made us a bit nervous, about why it all mattered.

If even Tegere, who was this great big guardian who kept us safe from harm, was worried, what horrible beasts these masters had to be!

They weren't, and aren't, of course, just dragons with power, but we were young and foolish and thought everything was dangerous.

(Sounds familiar.) 

[Hey- shut up, ok!?] 

(Mmm....no :)

So we decided to hide. Our little minds thought that, well, if all the horrible forgemasters were down here, none would be up there, and so... 

We flew up. 

~~

The smoke was particularly thick today, and none saw us leave. 

No one would have stopped us if they did, too embroiled in their own troubles. 

And so up, and up, and up we went.

Nothing stopped us.

Some days, I wish something had. 

~~

We went up, and then we went down. 

Down, down, down to the great bellows in the earth, into a place that dragon-made machine could never hope to tame, where we must build enormous contraptions just to give us breath, and then even deeper, where that machinery had not yet reached. We got hopelessly turned around, jumping at every sizzle of smoke, and then we found our way again. 

It turns out that we somehow made our way into the volcano through a passage that doesn't exist on any map, that doesn't exist at all. But that was only obvious after the fact, when I went back to check, to make sure what I experienced was real, and couldn't find the entrance I went into. 

In the Great Furnaces, there were dragons, proud smelters and workers, but none of them noticed us, careful not to say a word, make a sound. They were too focused on their work, and the pounding of the enchanted hammer was already far louder than our footsteps. 

But beyond that, below, there was not a soul but the two of us. 

And, in all honesty, that was far more frightening. 

The caves down here were not lit by anything but the free-flowing lava, the blood of Sorneith. Shadows flickered, and smoke burned our lungs. 

And still, we kept going. Our footsteps did not echo, the sound taken by the pumice beneath us, around us, but we did not speak. 

We just kept going.

I don't know why.

I don't want to. 

~~

Ascua was fire, and I was water, and our matching slate-grey colors were a natural camouflage against the rock. 

But for all we matched, we had our differences. Ascua was far more certain, far more...driven. I was reserved. 

And so as the smoke became thicker, and the air became thinner, and we still kept going deeper, and deeper, I think something shattered, for me.

Like glass. 

I wanted to turn back, and I told Ascua so.

He did not listen. He did not even hear me.

I wasn't afraid enough to turn back, and so with him I went, but now, there was hesitation. 

And, now, I knew that something was watching us.

~~

I didn't know what that something was. Even now, I'm not really sure. But it was bigger than the volcano it "lived" in, if such a thing could ever live like we do. 

It was not a person, nor a monster. It was greater than all of that. It saw more than any of us would see in a lifetime, and it had no need for eyes or blood or flesh or skin. 

It had no need for a mortal mind nor a physical body. 

It had such a thing anyway, in the volcano. It was... 

Trapped. 

~~

We descended deeper. There was no sound. The stone turned red-hot, burning our feet, and still we went deeper. 

I looked at Ascua, and I noticed that there was something wrong with his eyes. 

They were too bright, and there was nothing behind them. They did not move at all, fixed on a point I no longer saw. 

And I wanted to turn back,

but there was no point, 

because all at once we arrived at the end of the tunnel.

~~

There was a cavern

Its ceilings were as high as the sky and you

Could barely see the walls

Veins of magma trailed along the cavern

On the other side of it there was another tunnel going deeper down

Everything burned, red hot, and I blinked to keep out the smoke

I had not blinked the entire way

But now I did

Imprinted on the back of my eyelid I saw

Something much larger than I

It paid no mind to the dragons in the Furnace, those forgemasters that

Had driven us down here in the first place

For although the volcano was a part of it

It was not a very big part

And it did not care whether every dragon on itself lived or died

Though every dragon was on its skin

And the Pillar of the World could crumble to dust if it shifted

Though cared not about it

All it wanted was to be freed

And the two little specks that had made it just a little deeper into the vast creature

Might be a start

So it beckoned us to keep going

To free it from its bindings of fire and earth 

~~

I didn't go. 

~~ 

Ascua did, and as he did, he burned, and his eyes set alight. 

I still have scars, from when I touched him, tried to pull him back. 

And as I ran, and abandoned my brother, the great enormous thing at the heart of the world was...disappointed in me. 

It let me leave, for there was nothing I could offer, and it would not care whether I lived or died. 

Better than having its attention on me, I thought, 

And I ran up, and up, and up, 

Although as far as I ran, I knew I could never escape

The vast body of Sorneith. 

~~

(Kir, are you alright?) 

[Wh-]

[Oh, yeah, sorry, I just...swore I...nevermind] 

{What, imagining things again?} 

[N...no, I definitely...] 

I- Shit, if you're actually scared, don't...don't pay this story any mind, ok? 

It's just a story.

You're safe here.

------

hi its prophet anon again the premise for this one was "u know shadow and arcane and ice and water are really easy to eldritch horror but u know what? no, im going to eldritch fire. take some dragon ocs and the concept that the world is incomprehensibly vast" 

The narrator is Verre, and they look like so: https://www1.flightrising.com/scrying/predict?morph=1487467

Ascua looked like so (although who knows what he looks like now): https://www1.flightrising.com/scrying/predict?morph=1487468 

And the 3 other side characters are Kir, who is in [square brackets], Rolla, who is in (parenthesis), and Fonen, who is in {squiggly brackets} 

This snippet was a lot more trope-y i think, but tbh i managed to write a first person pov without hating it so we'll call that a win

----------------------------------------------

We forget what lays beneath. We forget what came before.

Even the gods fear something, no matter how much they hide it, and it will always come to light...

#offerings for cthgooloo #fr short horror #answered #submission #tw fire #tw underground #cthgooloo's forbidden tomes

[benevolentspidey]

“I’m Scared.”

Here is some mediocre TodoBaku angst for you on this fine day. I wrote this while watching the first Captain America movie at like 3AM and now my eyes are swimming. Enjoy!

Warning: Mentions of blood and heavy injury. Major Character Death. Some strong language.

It was their last trip as a class. Just a simple drive to one of the off-campus arenas to have some fun. They’d somehow, as a class, convinced Aizawa to let them have a day of friendly team battles, to let off some steam and release the stress of the last few weeks. After cramming for exams and getting everything ready for graduation that coming Saturday, they could use some time to be kids, one last time. And really, after everything they’d gone through the last few years, they all craved for a chance to feel like kids again.

And yet, as small of a request it was to have one normal day, the universe looked at them and denied their wishes. They should’ve known better, they shouldn’t have been naive enough to think that one day without incident was likely to happen, but they were hopeful and wishful and all thinking they deserved this one. Thing.

Katsuki and Todoroki were paired together to fight against Deku and Momo in their first round. The day itself had been set up as a bracketed elimination, lose one fight and you’re out, and Katsuki was more than ready to take home first place, especially with Todoroki by his side. It was exhilarating, fighting against the pair with Todoroki, he can’t deny that fact. 

After he’d finally worked through all the shit going on in his head, Katsuki had become more… approachable, easier to get on with. He was able to create steady and healthy friendships without it feeling like an attack on his strength, his character. And looking at Todoroki, he is more than thankful he sorted himself out. The growing friendship they started had kept him grounded more than once and the budding feelings both the pair shared showed Katsuki that Todoroki wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Sure, they were both focused on their future careers as pro heroes, and sure, neither of them quite understood how to handle the emotions they felt growing between them, but they were happy with how things were now and more than happy to take things slow. Just as long as they were there, waiting for each other at the end of the day. As long as they were there for the other person to rely on when they needed them most.

And with all of this on his mind for the last couple of weeks, being paired with Todoroki and fighting alongside him only showed him even more how important it was to have, and keep, the beautiful, dual-colored hero in his life. And he had every intention of outing this to Todoroki himself, instead of keeping it in like the pair had done previously in their relationship. He was going to pull him aside and lay it all out on the table, bare and exposed for him to see. But then it happened.

Katsuki had managed to pin Deku to the ground, the pair of them laughing like idiots when they heard the rumbling of an explosion, the vibration reaching them in seconds. The pair looked at each other, knowing they were in for a fight. Katsuki pulled Deku to his feet, as they gave each other a nod before shooting off in the direction of the soon to be bloodied battleground, determination coursing through Katsuki’s veins. Determined to fight until the battle was won.

And fight he did. The chaos around Katsuki did not distract him in the slightest as he took down the villains in front of him, only noting, with relief, each time a streak of red and white came in view of his peripherals. It kept him only the slightest bit calmer as he continued to fight, losing track of time and ignoring the searing pain in his hands as he pushed himself to his limits. And just as the end was in sight, just as Katsuki took down the last villain with a triumphant smirk on his face, Deku overpowering Shigiraki in the background, he turned to find Todoroki and give him a wide smile.

He didn’t quite understand the sudden fear in the other's eyes until it was far too late. He followed Todoroki’s eyesight to the building behind him as it started to collapse around him before a body crashed into him and everything went black.

When he finally came to, there was dust and debris all around him, his leg crushed underneath a concrete pillar. He groaned at the pain, trying his best to move the debris off himself. He looked around him, the small pocket of space he was in not giving much light, but giving enough that he caught dirty mussed red and white hair. His heart sunk as his blood turned to ice.

“Todoroki, hey, wake up.” He began to frantically use all the energy and strength he had left in him to push the pillar off his leg. “Icyhot, I need you to wake up, I need you to let me know you’re okay.”

He yelled out in pain as the pillar finally gave way, freeing him to crawl towards the unconscious hero. The sound of coughing filled his ears, easing his panic ever so slightly.

“Bakugou?” Todoroki’s voice was hoarse and laced in pain.

“Hey, Icyhot, I’m coming towards you right now.” He made an effort to be quick with his movements, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. “Are you hurt in any massive way? Are you able to move? I need you to talk to me.”

Todoroki let out a choked cough, moaning something incoherent. Katsuki squeezed through the last hole between the pair of them, “Todoroki I need you to use your wo-”

He felt all the air leave his lungs.

“I’d say this is a pretty massive injury.” He locked eyes with a softly smiling Todoroki. Katsuki felt numb looking at the giant metal pole protruding out of his body from beneath his lungs, blood staining the fabric around it at a terrifying rate.

“This isn’t funny,” Katsuki whispered, hands shaking, his mind in a million different places on what he should do, what is the best option, how does he get them out of here?

“I know it’s not,” Todoroki said, the smile slipping.

“Don’t joke about this okay,” Katsuki’s hands were shaking, unsure of where to start.

“Bakugou,” the voice was quiet, almost like he was a child, but fuck, weren’t they just that? Children? Hadn’t they been children every time this happened, their innocence and joy ripped from their unrelenting grip every time this happened, them begging, pleading for it to stop before… before...

“I’m scared.” 

Katsuki locked eyes with him and saw how small, how young Todoroki looked, suddenly reminding him of the first time they’d met. Had it really only been three years since that first meeting? Had he not known him a lifetime by now?

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”

How many times had he said that in a training exercise, how many times had he said that to children when they'd been practicing rescue plans. Every time he said it he was looking into unfamiliar eyes, eyes holding pretend fear. He never imagined saying those words to a pair of mismatched eyes he’d grown so fond of.

“I don’t think I’ll be making it out of this one, Katsuki,” Todoroki managed before coughing blood out onto his chest. Katsuki wiped it from his chin, fury filling him in an instant.

“Don’t say that dumbass, of course you’re going to make it out of here. What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t get you out of this? Are you seriously doubting my capabilities after everything we’ve been through?” Katsuki ignored the crack in his voice in favor of giving Todoroki a fierce look as he began to assess the damage and plan for the best course of action.

He stopped when a hand, an oh so painfully pale hand, stopped his movements. “We can’t save everyone.”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to meet Todoroki’s tired ones, hating how dull they looked. He knew, looking into Todoroki’s eyes, that he was right. There was too much blood, too much damage, too much hurt. He could feel it in his chest that he was the only one that was going to make it back home and that thought alone broke him.

He carefully grabbed hold of the hand bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly, as to not break the boy below him even more, not bothering to wipe the tears as they began flowing down his face.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, we’re supposed to graduate on Saturday. You and I are supposed to start at the same agency this summer. We were going to move in together,” He didn’t bother holding in the sobs, the pain of it all too much to be kept composed. He looked at the hero laying in front of him, his eyes struggling to stay open, his grip barely holding onto his own.

Katsuki leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bloody and dirty pale forehead. “You were supposed to give me more time to fall in love with you. I was somehow supposed to get you to love me back.”

An airy chuckle filled his ears, and he held onto it, wrapped himself in the pureness of it, imprinting it to his memory.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katsuki,” Todoroki wheezed a big breath before continuing, pushing his head against Katsuki to get him to look at him, their eyes locking and catching his breath, Todoroki’s gaze far more intense and eyes alight than he had ever seen them. “I fell in love with you a long time ago, all on my own.”

The confession, unexpected, heartbreaking, and full of truth and fierce passion, hits Katsuki in his chest and knocks all the resolve he has left out of him. He surges forward, his lips crashing with Todoroki’s. The kiss itself was short and messy, their tears mixing together and smearing with blood, but it filled and shattered his heart, his soul, and tore him to shreds and he wouldn’t take it back for the world.

He pulled back, cupping Todoroki’s face in his shaking hand, looking at him fondly with tears in his eyes, “Took you long enough, Icyhot.”

Todoroki chuckled, his eyes drooping and breathing becoming more sparse, “Says… you.” He takes a deep breath, his lungs rattling, and in that same second, all the air rushes out of his lungs, the light leaving his eyes and face relaxing.

And just like that, Katsuki’s world shatters.

#todobaku #drabble #angst #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha #if you have a headcanon you want written just send me an ask and I'll try to do the idea justice! #actually so nervous to post this lolol #i hope you enjoy it!

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Aliit ori'shya tal'din Chapter 7

Jango Fett x reader

Summary: Freedom never tasted so scary

Word Count: 941

Sometimes you wondered what life would have been like if you hadn’t been adopted into a Mandalorian clan. Likely, you would have been taken in by someone from a town neighboring you haled from, the one that got obliterated by a gang war. You probably would have been raised with the skills of a basic human from a backwater planet: mild handiwork, sewing, cooking the local crops. Basically enough that it would have made you the perfect housewife to the very plain soul you probably would have ended up marrying. Who knew if that marriage would have been for convenience or love? Then it would have been a good bet that the marriage would inevitably fall apart, ending in a nasty divorce. Hopefully kids wouldn’t have been involved, but there was absolutely no way that you would ever let your children be taken away from you.

Or maybe you would have been miraculously swept up in a whirlwind romance with someone far outside of your tax bracket and lived a life of luxury the likes of which a hardworking, gun-slinging mercenary like yourself just couldn’t fathom.

Other times, you just reveled in the hand you had been dealt.

Times like this.

There may have been blood in your teeth from the lip you somehow during the process of headbutting one of the pirates that was boarding the ship, and your eye might have been swollen from taking the butt of a blaster to it, but there was laughter bubbling up from your chest with every step you took because finally, finally you and Jango had your chance to escape. It’d taken four years by your count, but the pirates boarding the vessel gave the slaves the perfect opportunity to rise up against their masters. They even did most of the grunt work of killing the bridge crew early on.

It was almost poetic.

“Help us, slave,” you heard one of your former masters wheeze, “and you’ll be a free man.”

To which Jango growled, “I just escaped, you fool!” followed immediately by a single blaster shot that seemed to ring louder than the warzone around you.

“So the slave won at last,” you mused, eyes absolutely dancing as you looked over at your husband.

Time seemed to freeze when Jango slung an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a bruising kiss. You kept your eyes open while you enjoyed the moment, and shot one of the pirates that dared try and ruin the moment by sneaking up behind Jango.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Once you were free, it wasn’t too difficult to backtrack your way to the planet that saw the demise of your people and promptly ruin the betrayer’s day. Conveniently, he’d kept two sets of armor--yours and Jango’s--as trophies to display his ‘cunning victory over the Mandalorian menace’. You were a little annoyed at the new paint jobs, but that could be managed later. Though, you had to admit that Jango looked quite dashing with the blue and chrome. And once the two of you were suited up, it was honestly laughably easy for the two of you to intimidate Vizsla’s location out of the scared bureaucrat.

The next thing you knew, you were fighting side-by-side next to Jango on Vizsla’s ship, practically blinded by the all-consuming rage now that you were faced with the man that had tried his hardest to ruin your lives. Your heart stuttered when Jango and Vizsla dove into an escape pod amongst all the chaos; though fortunately, your body was smart enough to make you dive into one with a similar trajectory.

A slideshow of every way Jango could be dying on this backwater planet streamed through your head as the pod landed. You took only a moment to pause and try to shake off the fear--which didn’t work--before barreling out of the pod in search of your husband.

The search took hours, and all you could think was We didn’t survive all this for me too lose him so easily, and Jango wouldn’t give up until he’s dead. Though, who the ‘he’ was remained up for debate even in your mind.

By the time you found him, he was lying on his back clearly unconscious with a few local children surrounding him. One of them had his helmet clutched in his little hands. It was obviously a bad sign that his body wasn’t moving even the slightest twitch when surrounded by unfamiliar people.

“Hey!” you called, skidding to a stop next to them.

“We didn’t do it!” one of them exclaimed.

“We don’t know if he’s alive,” another, calmer child informed you.

“It’s alright. I know who did this,” you soothed, voice thankfully more stable than you felt. “Scoot back so I can check on him.”

“The dire-cats killed your friend,” the second kid told you.

“He wasn’t our friend,” Jango groaned, eyes squinting against the bright sky above him.

“You’re okay,” you breathed, helping him sit up. Again, you were unsure at your own words; you didn’t know if you were comforting him or yourself.

Jango tugged up his shirt to reveal a long slash in his side. “Yeah, I will be.” He looked up to smile tiredly at the children. “Thanks for looking out for me, boys.”

Once he was vertical, you started leading him to where you saw the nearest settlement. Emotional moments would be had once the two of you found some privacy.

“Where are you going?” a small voice asked as you hobbled away.

“To find a job,” Jango replied as he pulled his helmet on.

You just scoffed out a tense laugh.

#jango fett x reader #jango fett imagine #jango x reader #jango imagine #jango fett open seasons imagine #reader insert #star wars imagine #sw imagine

[helianthus21]

44 and 30 bc I know this will be awesome pls :) ( destiel ) ( it's my drug) :) or only one 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

30.“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!” 44.“I saved your life.” “You pushed me off a building.”

*

Ever since that ghost hunt in Topeka, things had gotten awkward between Dean and Cas.

The hunt itself had been easy enough, a simple salt and burn. Yet there had been a moment where Cas was led to believe Dean had been fatally shot when in fact it’d just been a graze. He’d been frantic in getting Dean out of the building, his hands looking Dean’s body over with a panicked care that had shocked Dean to silence. And when Cas had realized Dean was in no particular danger, he’d heaved a breath of relief that sent him collapsing into Dean’s arms and…

They never talked about what happened after.

Which was partially Dean’s fault – he’d still been full of adrenalin and he needed to make sure Sam was okay and that the ghost really was gone and so the kiss had kinda gotten lost in the chaos of it all.

But mainly it was Cas’ fault, really. Because he was proving to be a hell of one slippery bastard. Whenever Sam left the room, the tell-tale flutter of wings wasn’t far behind. Whenever Dean turned to him with an inauspicious “So….,” on his tongue, it fell on deaf ears, or more precisely, on empty air. A guy with a built-in getaway car was decidedly hard to corner.

It wasn’t until the next hunt that Dean finally got a real chance to.

They chased the dragon onto the roof of the building, Cas close on his heels, ready to tackle the son of a bitch to the ground. He’s so focused on him, that he doesn’t see the monster’s partner attacking from behind.

Dean lets out a panicked shout, and sprints towards Castiel without a real plan in mind. All he’s able to think is to get Cas away from the danger at all cost.

They fall.

The building is, to Dean’s dismay, very high.

Cas wraps himself around him, allowing him to hide his face in Cas’ chest and that way he doesn’t even notice when they land.

Dean lifts his head just in time to see the dragons’ forms become smaller and smaller as they fly off into the distance. He hits Cas lightly on the shoulder. “Get after them!”

“I can’t,” Cas complains, wriggling uncomfortably. “My wings… they’re damaged from the impact. I think I sprained them.”

“Huh,” is all Dean can say to that. He hopes a regular first-aid kit can help with angel wings too.

Under him, Cas wriggles again. “Dean. Get off me.”

And it might not be very gentlemanly of him, but in that moment, Dean knows this is an opportunity he has to seize. With a sly grin, he says, “No.”

Cas’ eyes widen a fracture, before he uses them to glare at him. “Dean.”

“No,” Dean repeats, feeling every part the insolent little boy who refuses his mother’s orders. “Do they hurt, your wings?”

“It’s a manageable pain,” answers Cas.

“Then no.” Dean grins. “No flitting away again this time, I’ve got you pinned, big boy.”

“Dean.”

“You’re indebted to me. I saved your life.”

“You pushed me off a building.”

“To save you from the dragons,” Dean clarified. “And it worked!”

“You hurt my wings,” Cas accused without any real force behind it.

“And I’ll fix them,” argued Dean. “Now, what happened during our last hunt…”

But Cas starts to wriggle again, more violently, and this time it’s enough to almost knock Dean off him. Almost. Dean’s just as much of a stubborn bastard as Cas, and he’ll be damned if he lets Cas off the hook now. So he brackets Cas’ thighs with his own and presses his shoulders into the ground with the weight of his hands and his upper body.

This only works because Cas is letting him, he knows. If he used all his angelic strength, Dean’d stand no chance. He’s grateful for the equality this grants him.

“Quit wriggling!” he orders.

“You quit keeping me hostage!” Cas shoots back.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!”

“And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!”

“Subtly?” Dean laughs. “You practically throw yourself off a cliff whenever I come near you lately.”

“So you decided to throw yourself off it with me now?” Cas’ tone is dryer than the desert.

“Exactly.” Dean grins again, proud of his achievements despite the fucked-up hunt. “If that’s the only way to get you to talk.”

Cas turns his head to the side in a last-ditch attempt to avoid Dean. Something glistens at the corner of his eyes, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say those are tears.

“Cas,” he says, much more softly than before. “What’s going on?”

The angel’s jaw is clenched tight and Dean watches his Adam’s apple bop as he swallows around a lump in his throat. “Don’t,” he says, in a voice so broken it breaks Dean’s heart with it. He tries again, more collected. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

Dean frowns, grin falling from his face like a dead leaf in autumn. “Cas?”

“Just,” Cas says. “Let me have the what if. I wouldn’t stand to be near you if you…” And that’s where his voice finally breaks.

Dean looks away for Cas’ sake, as a tear finally slips past Cas’ guard and runs its way down his cheek.

“Cas, what the hell do you think I was gonna say.”

He gets no answer to this, so he gives one himself. “You thought I was gonna push you away.” The realization comes to him as soon as the words are out. “You thought, just because you kissed me-“

“DON’T!” Cas’ shout echoes in the narrow alleyway. He closes his eyes.

And Dean can’t help it. He leans down, wipes the tear away with a finger. “Silly angel,” he says. He waits until Cas opens his eyes again, before gracing him with his sweetest, most charming smile that gets him an extra slice of pie from every kind-hearted diner waitress around the continent. “I was just gonna ask if there’s more where that came from.”

That earns him one of the classic Cas-frowns, and that’s gonna be wiped from his face soon enough too.

Actually, there’s a serious talk that’s waiting to be had between them. But Dean’ll make do with this until he’s dispelled any doubt that’s still left in Cas after this.

For now, Dean’ll make do with leaning down, with returning the favour from last hunt.

It doesn’t take long until Cas smiles into the kiss.

#replies #prompts #last one #destiel #ficlet #mine #long post #not sure if i'm happy with this but #hope you like it!:) #based on the hc that cas always flies off when things get uncomfortable for him haha #or is it a fact.. #but-for-the-gods-three-days

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @theydraggedmein!

I hope you enjoy this little fluffy piece that I wrote for you. I didn't manage to tick all the boxes on your wishlist, but some of them at least.

I wish you an amazing holiday with lots of love and warmth!

Read on AO3

*****

vivaldi

Chapter 1

Stiles returns to Beacon Hills a mild afternoon in April, with absolutely zero warning. Derek only finds out when he hears the unmistakable, clunky noise of the Jeep’s engine making its way up the driveway. The Jeep has been safely tucked away in the Stilinskis’ garage during the four years Stiles has been with the FBI, but Derek would recognize it anywhere.

He steps out on the porch right when the Jeep turns around the bend and becomes visible through the thick branches, just when Stiles’ slightly elevated heartbeat becomes audible. Derek is pretty sure that he would recognize that anywhere as well.

The car slides to a stop, the driver’s side door is kicked open and Stiles spills out of it, arms raised.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, loud and cheerful in a stark contrast to the otherwise serene and quiet woods bracketing the rebuilt Hale house.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, arms crossed over his chest. Undeterred, Stiles slams the door to the Jeep shut and bounds up the steps.

“I can’t believe you finished it, it looks great!” He says, eyes flickering over the white panels and sturdy wooden beams. “The pics don’t really do it justice.”

He’s older. No longer a teenager. His eyes aren’t as tired as before, like when he left. Derek recognizes the journey he made himself when leaving Beacon Hills in the joyous twist of Stiles’ lips. He’s been healing.

Stiles is grinning when he slaps a hand down on Derek’s shoulder and then promptly invites himself inside. Derek is momentarily frozen in place, unaccustomed to Stiles’ whirlwind energy after so much time spent apart. Stiles, however, does not pause. By the time Derek gets moving, Stiles is already collapsed on the couch, reverently stroking the fabric of the decorative velvet pillows while waxing poetic of their plushyness.

Derek clears his throat and there’s a lot he’d like to say, a lot he’d like to ask, but only one thing that comes out.

“How long are you staying?”

Stiles looks up and his features softens knowingly.

“Forever, dude. I’m here for good.”

Derek’s heart swells.

Chapter 2

If anyone had told Derek that he would meet his untimely demise by a leprechaun attack, he would’ve snorted in disbelieving derision. Witches? Sure, seems legit. Pixies? They do have very sharp teeth, so he wouldn’t rule them out. Leprechauns? Not a chance. Just no. Which is why he’s equal parts baffled and frustrated while he’s being dragged across the forest floor by no less than five, knee-high leprechauns, bleeding profusely from a head injury after they had tossed that big rock at his face.

He would get up, has tried to many times, but as soon as he lifts his head off the ground his vision swims and his stomach twists into nauseous knots. Their small, grubby hands are clasped tight enough around his arms and legs that he can feel the skin bruise and try to heal itself over and over again. He’s not sure why his head isn’t attempting to do the same. Or maybe it is, but the wound is too severe. He might never find out, considering how the leprechauns are currently chattering about how best to cook him.

Derek supposes that this will be his legacy. The wolf eaten by leprechauns. Just his luck.

There are drums in the distance. He had not heard them earlier, due to the pounding in his head, but there’s definitely drums and they’re drawing nearer, judging by how the sound gets louder and louder by the minute.

Derek closes his eyes, shuts out the tree tops gently swaying up above and tries to ignore how twigs and dirt prick at his skin while he gets dragged over the ground. He’s feeling cold, despite it being one of the hottest days this year.

He thinks of Cora. He thinks of Isaac, of Scott, of Liam and Mason. He thinks of Chris Argent of all people. Mrs McCall and the Sheriff. Lydia. Malia.

Most of all he thinks of Stiles. Of Stiles and his pitter patter heartbeat and of what he wouldn’t do to hear it one more time. The way it always seems to pound a little bit faster than anything or anyone around him, almost always betraying his every thought. Honest, even when the words leaving his lips aren’t.

If he really concentrates, digs deep into his mind, he can almost hear it over the ache in his head and the drums, so loud now that they nearly overpower all of his senses. But Stiles’ heartbeat is there, in the back of his head, soothing him.

Derek opens his eyes and squints up at the bright, blue sky. They’ve stopped and the leprechauns have released his arms and legs. They’re in a clearing and when he hazards lifting his heavy head off the ground, he finds himself surrounded by what must be at least twenty leprechauns. Half of them are banging on the drums in an ominous rhythm.

But Stiles’ heartbeat is still there, faster and louder than anything else. It’s a comfort. One of the leprechauns, who wears a headgear resembling a crown of thorns and leaves, raises a blade towards the sky with two outstretched hands and Derek has the time to think that this truly is it. He’s too weak to get up, too weak to fight or even attempt to flee. He’s really going to be the wolf eaten by leprechauns.

He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath, searching for that familiar thump thump to accompany him. Only this time, the heartbeat has picked up pace. It’s almost dangerously fast and Derek frowns when another noise breaks through the deafening sound of the drums. It takes him a second to identify them as rapidly approaching footsteps.

He tries to stave off the hope which flares in his chest, but that’s right when Stiles charges into the clearing with a hoarse war cry which Derek can’t wait to tease him about once they get out of this situation.

The leprechauns clearly haven’t expected Stiles, because they scatter in panic around his feet. The drums are dropped and the crowned leprechaun turns just in time to see Stiles raise a sword, and where the fuck did he get that from, over his head and slices it in two.

The crown drops from the leprechaun’s head and everything in the clearing stills. Nineteen pair of beady wide eyes turn to watch Stiles, who’s breathing hard with the sword still held high. He looks as wide-eyed as the rest.

“I’m the king now, leprebitches.”

Derek would roll his eyes if he didn’t think that it would actually finish him off.

What follows is chaos. The leprechauns swarm Stiles and Derek is too weak to do anything about it. All he can do is listen to the cacophony of screams, Stiles’ steady stream of curses and the violent noise of steel meeting flesh. He’s so tired, so incredibly tired, but as long as he hears Stiles’ heartbeat, he feels hope.

“Derek? Derek!”

Derek opens his eyes, which he doesn’t remember closing. Stiles is kneeling by his side, face flushed and chest heaving with exertion. His forehead is sweaty and his deputy uniform is covered in garish green leprechaun blood. There’s a cut across his cheek, but it’s the only injury Derek can see. The clearing is a leprechaun massacre.

“There you are, big guy,” Stiles says, a tremulous smile on his lips and he sags with relief, but his worried hands keep hovering over Derek’s body. “The others are on their way. What did they do to you?”

“My head,” Derek murmurs, lifting a weak arm off the ground to gesture towards it.

Stiles leans forward and cups his cheek, eyes scanning Derek’s head. Blood drains from his face at the sight of it, which probably isn’t a good sign.

“Jesus fucking christ, that’s a big hole.”

Derek lets his head loll into Stiles’ gentle hand. It’s warm against his clammy cheek.

“It wasn’t healing,” he says.

“And it is now?” Stiles sounds doubtful, but Derek can feel it now, can feel the warmth spreading from Stiles’ palm. Soon he’ll feel the heat of the July sun again, soon the pounding in his head will stop.

“Mm.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Now, where the fuck are they…?”

Stiles makes a move as if he’s going to get to his feet and look around, but Derek clasps his wrist with energy he doesn’t really have to keep Stiles close.

“Don’t.”

The look Stiles gives him is one he can’t interpret. It’s calculating, wistful and soft all at once. Derek doesn’t know what it means, but at least Stiles has stopped moving.

“Alright,” he agrees and settles fully against Derek’s side. “But they better hurry.”

Stiles is a bundle of nerves, of anxiety and worry, his gaze flickering through the trees. Derek finds himself soothing his thumb over the pulsepoint in his wrist.

“Who gave you a sword anyway?” Derek asks.

The corner of Stiles’ mouth twitches.

“Craigslist.”

Chapter 3

They’ve been working in the garden all day, outside in the crisp October air. The sun has been bathing them in light from a clear blue sky, which made the chilly breeze almost unnoticeable, but brought a blooming red shade to Stiles’ cheeks and the tip of his nose. He should’ve worn a jacket, or at least the woollen hat Lydia had gotten him for Christmas last year. Derek thinks it’s cute on him, the way his hair sticks out beneath it, but he’s never told him as much.

Leaf piles, evidence of the day’s work, are scattered neatly across the lawn. Stiles asked him more than once if Derek didn’t want to change into his other skin and play among the yellows and browns. He only cackled when Derek growled in retaliation.

By the time the sun starts to set, Stiles is ready to call it quits and Derek isn’t very far behind.

“Come oooon!” Stiles moans pathetically while attempting to drag Derek by the arm up the stairs of the back porch. “You promised me a hot beverage if I helped you out and I have received exactly ZERO hot beverages!”

Derek could stand firm a little while longer, just to tease him, but can’t help giving in to Stiles’ attempt of puppy eyes. It’s not even that cute.

“Alright, alright, stop whining.”

They make their way inside and toe off their dirty shoes by the backdoor as to not muddy up the floors. The kitchen is just around the corner, the windows opening up towards the garden. Stiles, after having washed his hands in the kitchen sink, hop up onto the counter and looks at Derek with poorly hidden excitement.

It’s a good look on him. Derek ducks his head into the pantry, worried that his affection might be written across his face.

“What are you going to make?” Stiles asks.

“I distinctly remember someone demanding pumpkin spice lattes, or he wouldn’t have showed up,” Derek replies and levels Stiles with an unimpressed stare once he’s gathered the spices (and his stupid emotions) from the cupboard.

Stiles crows victoriously and proceeds to fill the kitchen with chatter while Derek prepares their drinks. He speaks of his last shift at the station, of the grimoire he recently got his hands on, of a YouTube video on how to best sharpen your sword and the ugly-enough-to-be-cute, three-legged pug he had seen when he visited Scott at the vet clinic the other day. The words wash soothingly over Derek and he hums and awes at all of the appropriate times, successfully keeping Stiles going up until the point where he hands Stiles is mug. It’s Stiles’ favorite mug, the one with Yoda on it.

Stiles’ fingers brush across Derek’s when taking the mug.

“Thanks, Derek,” he says, giving him a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome,” Derek replies and takes a sip from his own mug.

Not for the first time, he thinks about kissing Stiles. Not for the first time, he doesn’t. Instead he lets Stiles pick up wherever he left off, he hums and awes at all the right times, and wonders what his life would be like if he dared to ask for the things he wanted.

Chapter 4

They decide to celebrate Christmas at Derek’s house, as per Stiles’ suggestion. It makes the most sense, he had argued, considering the size of the pack and the fact that Derek’s house is far bigger than anyone else’s. Derek plays hard to get, but only for a minute or so, considering that he can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest when just thinking about the house being filled with people, food and laughter.

There’s little less than a week until Christmas Day when Derek hears the telltale noise of the Jeep’s engine coming up the driveway. Derek hasn’t done much in terms of decoration, but he’s put a wreath up on the door at least. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be enough for Stiles.

Derek puts the book he had been reading away just as Stiles stomps up the porch steps, and gets to his feet when there’s banging on the door.

“Come out, loser, we’re going Christmas tree chopping!”

Derek rolls his eyes just before opening the door. Stiles is practically bouncing with excitement, his woollen hat pushed down on his head and the biggest grin on his face.

“What?” Derek says, leaning against the door frame.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me, asshole,” Stiles replies and gives him a light shove. “You and I are going to traipse out in the forest and get ourselves a Christmas tree. I have an axe . I am ready. ”

“Who keeps giving you weapons?” Derek questions with a concerned frown, but he still reaches out to get his jacket. He shrugs it on on his way out the door.

“Excuse you, I’m an honorable officer of the law, I think I can handle an axe.”

They bicker on their way into the woods, until they’re swallowed by the stillness of the trees and Stiles becomes hyper-focused on eyeing every evergreen they come across from top to bottom. He informs Derek that he has measured the assigned Christmas tree space in the living room exactly, of how ‘thicc’ he wants the tree to be and which shade of green which would best compliment Derek’s eyes. Derek’s not sure how that’s relevant, but is weirdly flattered.

Over an hour passes before Stiles finds the one. It’s a tree they’ve walked past at least three times now, which Derek points out, but Stiles simply shushes him.

“No, this is the one,” Stiles assures him. “Can’t you see that it’s a sign that we keep coming back to it? Like, sure, some of the others might seem more shiny or prettier from afar, but this has character. It has soul.”

“It’s a tree, Stiles.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” Stiles coos at the tree after giving Derek the stink-eye. “You’re beautiful.”

They chop the tree down. ‘They’ here means that Stiles took one swing with the axe, feigned a strain in his shoulder and promptly handed it over to Derek. Derek of course then has to carry the damn tree all the way back to the house. He would be annoyed, but Stiles’ excited grin makes all the frustration melt away.

By the time they’re back home and Derek has propped the tree up against the wall while working up the nerve to ask Stiles inside for hot cocoa, Stiles’ phone chirps.

“Oh, I’ve got to go,” Stiles says, face twisting in an apologetic grimace. “I promised Scott we’d take care of some last minute gifts today and he just got off work.”

“That’s fine,” Derek replies neutrally.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with ornaments so we can decorate it!” Stiles promises, nudging Derek’s shoulder to lure his lips into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow!”

And then, just like that, Stiles leans in to kiss him. It’s just a peck given in all haste, short and sweet and barely there, but it has Derek frozen in place. Stiles makes it approximately ten steps towards the Jeep before he too comes to a halt. Slowly, slowly, he turns around to face Derek again.

“Uuuuhm. Quick q?” He says, a thoughtful finger raised into the air.

“Yes?” Derek manages to choke out.

“Did I just kiss you?”

Derek swallows, and nods.

“Yes.”

“Right,” Stiles replies and licks his lips. Can he taste Derek on him? Can he feel his lips tingling, like Derek’s do? “Soooo, how do we feel about that?”

“Not… not sure.”

“Oookay.”

Stiles looks crestfallen. Derek thinks of unmistakable heartbeats. He thinks of healing touches, vivid green blood and swords bought off of Craigslist. He thinks of daring to ask for what he wants.

“Maybe you should try again?” Derek finds himself saying, cracking his chest open for Stiles’ to see.

Stiles smiles.

#theydraggedmein #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Wait for the Moonrise” (10/10) (au)

Summary:  Emma doesn’t remember who she was before she was found in the woods, but she knows that she has a few close friends, a good job, and a loyal cat that greets her every day when she gets home from work. What she doesn’t know, however, is that her past is about to catch up to her in the strangest of ways. She learns quickly that not everything is as it seems, not even her cat.

Rating: E

Content warnings: smutty smut, brief mentions of the loss of a hand

Chapter specific content warnings: some battle-ish stuff at the start, some more happy smut, and hopefully a satisfying ending.

A/N: Just... all my love. I can’t believe it’s over, and this is the last time you’ll be seeing an update for this story. Out of this world, man. All my love to the team of people that helped me through this, and of course to @clockadile for her lovely artwork. And my eternal love to all of you that read, and left comments, and liked and reblogged, and sent me messages. You guys are rockstars. Thank you! x

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |

Catch it on Ao3 or FFN! And catch @clockadile‘s artwork HERE!

Surrounded on all sides by the presence of Dark Ones.

It’s not exactly how Emma would’ve imagined a homecoming, but it’s what she’s getting. Regina is standing steady beside her, holding her arm, but otherwise there’s a fire in her eyes that Emma can’t remember ever seeing in their time as friends.

“You okay?”

“Never better,” the other woman grits out, and there’s an edge that she’s never heard before. Emma raises an eyebrow at her, and the look Regina gives her back is telling more than anything. “Might’ve shaken something loose,” she adds.

When Emma was growing up, stories about her mother’s step-mother were very few and far between. Snow always told the story of how Regina saved her from a runaway horse accident, and how Snow would later betray her on accident by sharing a secret she was never supposed to tell. Emma knew the lore that Snow was framed for Regina’s disappearance when it was thought that Regina killed Snow’s father, and even had to go through high trial for it, but no one could prove anything so the issue was buried and Snow was crowned queen.

Every story about Regina included her fierce tenacity and the strength in her voice, and Emma is seeing all of that right next to her. Her suspicions are further confirmed when the barest hint of a spark emits from Regina’s fingertips. Unlike her own magic, Regina’s is red, reflecting her fiery personality. It’s all extremely fitting to the woman she got to know in Storybrooke.

They both do a visual check of their surroundings. Killian, back to poor Cat, is still trying to pull his leg free from the pile of his clothes. Robin is still mostly unconscious, but he at least winces and curls into a ball, which isn’t the worst sign of life she’s ever seen. They need to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike, but being outnumbered is really putting a damper on any possible plan.

All things considered, Emma figures there are worse ways to die. They’re not going down without a fight, and maybe Killian can run away fast enough. Of course, judging by the way he limps his way over to stand by her feet when he’s finally free, maybe that’s not a possibility. She looks down at him, wishing she could remind him how much she loves him one more time, but turns to face the man that got lost in the power of dark magic, and all the entities that came before him.

She and Regina can at least take out a couple of these guys, maybe at least knock Rumplestiltskin out before succumbing to the dark magic that’s building around them. The electric gathering of their powers actually causes the hair on her body to stand on end, and she’s surprised the hair on her head isn’t following suit.

There’s a moment, a locking of eyes, when they make the decision to strike, and she can tell that she and Regina are on the same page. Emma nods, just barely, and Regina mimics her action, and then Emma’s focusing all her energy and emotions into focal points as she was taught during all her training. They make eye contact one more time and each inhale deeply –

Before they can do it, before they can exhale and blast out their magic, there’s a horn from the north. Less than a heartbeat later, there’s a shell horn blast from the beach they just vacated. The Dark Ones all shift, looking towards each call and looking at each other in disbelief. Rumplestiltskin twitches with each call, his eyes hardening and the smile slipping from his face.

Within moments, the circle of dark entities that had surrounded them starts falling apart. Misthaven fairies burst through the trees, taking out as many as they can with the colorful bursts of their fairy dust. From the opposite side, a force of seafolk with their magic bracelets charge in throwing liquid potions, headed by Ursula herself. They all charge fearlessly, grins on their faces as they attack as they’ve always wanted to. They know their best shot at defeating evil is standing in the clearing and that they have nothing to lose at this point.

“This way!” comes a faint yell, and Emma’s breathing speeds up recognizing Liam’s voice in the distance.

With an elated expression, she turns back to Regina, who seems just as surprised as Emma is. Chaos is erupting around them, the seemingly unbreakable enclosure left with holes and pockets, dark entities trying to run, trying to escape from their fate of returning to nothing but dust. “Now!” Emma urges, knowing they have one shot - one chance to catch Rumple while he’s still thrown off guard.

In the middle of the clearing, Rumple is too distracted by the mayhem that surrounds him to notice that Emma and Regina brace themselves and let their magic loose. Twin blasts hit him at the same time: Emma’s white and Regina’s red wrapping around him in tight spirals. He barely has the time to look upset before he crumples to the ground, drained of his magic and incapacitated.

Around them, the dark entities are also dispatched, the last of which are taken down by fairy dusts, sea potions, and a spill of soldiers that break through into the clearing.

Moments later, the whole area goes quiet but for the heavy breathing of exertion from all involved parties. The centuries of dark ones are nothing but memories, and the last one alive is still knocked out on the ground, bound by magic and officially harmless.

Cat lands on the ground a foot away from Emma’s feet, having clearly taken shelter in a tree when the hubbub started. Robin is pushing himself to his feet, aided by Regina, her magic sweeping over him to heal the wounds he sustained from getting smacked against several trees on the route in.

“Sorry for the swift exit earlier. I needed as much time as I could to rally everyone up.” Ursula steps up to Emma, checking her over for wounds as she whistles for two men to lift the former Dark One from the forest floor. “We will deliver him to your parents immediately. From what I’m to understand, they have a special prison ready for him that will hold him even if his magic comes back.”

She moves away just as quickly to supervise, and it’s only when Cat meows at her again that she realizes that this little problem still needs to be figured out. She lifts him up, whispering reassurances that they’ll fix it as soon as she comes back to the clearing, all the while she finally catches her breath. Rumple is revived and then marched past them, and Cat hisses and swats at the man, making sure to use his blunted paw in an extra attempt to tell the man off as he’s lacking the voice to do so.

“By the way,” Emma starts as she holds out a hand to halt their progress. “The details of your stupid curse landed your maid in a crazy house, so suck on that for a little bit.”

The man looks aghast at this news, and he opens his mouth to object or clarify, but before he can utter a single syllable, Emma snaps his fingers and temporarily snaps his mouth shut. Emma does her best to subdue her own chuckling as she turns away from him. Cat gives her a look of fond approval.

As Ursula walks behind the removal of the prisoner, she clicks her tongue. “I’ll be back in a minute to take care of that,” she says as she nods at Cat. He quietly growls to express his feelings on Ursula’s humor about the situation. Emma pauses her attempts to soothe Cat when she hears a voice she’s not heard in a long time.

“Bloody hell, I don’t believe it.” Liam.

Emma turns, her smile tentative and her eyes shining as she looks at the older Jones. “Hi.”

He marches forward, enveloping her in a strong hug and squishing Cat between them in the process. “God, I always hoped… Emma, good god, you’ve changed so much since I saw you last.” He brackets Emma’s shoulders with his hands, holding her at arm’s length and staring as if he can’t believe his eyes. “I need to see to my men, and we need to get you back to the castle as soon as possible. Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, uh.” She hefts Cat a little bit, unsure of how to even begin to explain why she needs a couple more minutes.

“You’ve got a pet. That’s okay, I’m sure your parents will delight in having a cat to wander the halls and catch mice. Poor lad looks like he’s missing a paw.” Liam reaches out to touch the leg in question, but Cat jerks it away, his ears flattening against his head as he backs away from the older Jones’ hand.

Emma definitely can’t help the snort as Cat burrows against her. “Just – Liam, it’s Killian.”

His face goes dead serious at the mention of his brother, his hand hovering above Cat’s head as the feline glares at it with wide eyes. “Is he here? Where is he?”

She looks down at the cat in her arms, and Cat looks at her before looking back at Liam and giving a defeated sounding meow. Liam tilts his head, looking between Emma and Cat and back again, the puzzle pieces all finally connecting in his mind as obvious by the widening of his eyes.

“Oh. Oh my. Well, we’ll…” He stares at Cat some more. Haltingly, he reaches his hand towards Cat again, but retracts it once more.

“So, how about we break this spell?” Ursula says as she finally returns.

“I don’t have to kiss him as a cat, do I?”

Liam’s laugh borders on hysterical as he observes their interaction, and he makes a weak excuse of having to check on his men again before he wanders away between the trees.

The sea witch chuckles, beckoning Emma to follow her as she stoops to pick up Killian’s clothes and leads her to a patch of privacy. Ursula sets down the clothes, indicating that Emma should put Cat as close to them as possible. She waves her hands, a purple inky magic flowing towards Killian, and she edges away from the clearing before Killian is fully restored.

“Nothing I need to see there,” she comments as she waves over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

Emma calls out her thanks as she turns back to Killian, who’s just struggling into his boxer briefs. She doesn’t let him get anything else on for the moment, instead launching herself at him. She smiles wide as she kisses him, making it less a kiss and more a pressing of her smile to his as he wraps his arms around her.

“Welcome home, love,” Killian murmurs when he pulls back. “Now, perhaps I can finish getting dressed. Or would you rather I reunite with my brother for the second time in nothing but my smalls?”

“No, no, please. By all means. Better than being in nothing but your fur again,” she comments, scratching under his chin, laughing high and free as Killian swats her on the behind.

As she wanders the clearing, turning in a circle to occupy herself while he slips into his clothes, Emma realizes he’s right; for the first time in three and a half years, she’s home.

-x-

There are too many thoughts going through Killian’s head for him to really keep any of them straight. One: he’s home, back in his homeland, on his own turf, with the woman he loves holding so tight to his hand that he fears she might break it, but he’ll never tell her so. Two: his brother is but a few paces ahead of him, still yet to actually see him as human, still yet to hear his voice since the day he last bumped heads with him. Three: he’s going to see Emma’s parents for the first time since he left their room in a huff like a child. Four: he idly wonders if Snow still has the ring. Five: he also idly wonders if David will rescind his blessings when he sees what Killian has become.

He stumbles over a tree root, and Emma looks back at him curiously, noting the scowl on his face and asking without words if he’s okay. He nods, trying to wipe his expression clean and smile at her at the same time.

Truth is, he’s not okay. This is the culmination of the last three and a half years and he doesn’t know whether he should be smug or scared.

Scared seems to be the emotion his insides settle on, but he layers on the smarm in hopes of saving face when the king and queen throw him out of the throne room as soon as he enters. Out of nerves, he rubs the curve of his hook against the leg of his trousers. While his clothes are still the ones he wore when he left Storybrooke, and he has the satchel of clothes slung over his shoulder, he was able to retrieve his hook and brace from the chest that Ursula fetched for him. Someone already dispatched with the rest of the items, surely throwing them in a prison cell for him to look at as he’s locked up for treason.

Again, Emma reaches for him and squeezes his hand. They’ve reached the castle gates, and he feels half of his heart settle from coming home. The other half is already calm, already recognizing its home next to him, holding his hand.

Liam is gone from sight by the time they enter, and Killian flinches as the full fanfare is blasted out from the horns as they walk through the corridor into the throne room. The castle residents and employees line the rug that runs the center of the room, and the king and queen are each sitting in their respective thrones. Their hands are clasped in the distance between the seats, but neither of them stay that way for long. As soon as they see Emma, their only daughter, truly striding towards them, they’re both up and off their chairs and rushing forward.

Out of habit, Killian immediately puts his arms behind his back after he sets the satchel by his feet. He’s not sure if the habit is more from his upbringing or from hiding his vacant wrist from others, though. He stops, even as Emma continues forward and runs to them. They make the picture of perfect royal family, and he’s sure he’ll only taint it if he goes closer. Regina comes to stand by his shoulder, looking on at the scene in front of them, with Robin standing just behind her.

“How are you holding up, pirate?” When he turns his head and raises an eyebrow, she just shrugs. “Emma told me as much as she could at breakfast that day. You have the posture of one who is skulking, so I figured that’s what you would be preferred to be addressed as.”

“Hook, I go by Hook to my crew.”

Same as Emma, Regina’s lips quirk up and she snorts once, very elegantly, before trying to stifle it. “Captain Hook?”

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, shooting her a look before he turns and stalks away. He figures that there’s enough commotion in the room that no one will notice him missing, in any case. Using his memory as a guide, he finds the small door at the back corner of the room, ducking through and ending up in a narrow servants’ hall. He means to amble his way back out the doors, honestly, because while he loves Emma and wants nothing more than to be with her, he would never make her choose between him and her family.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice someone stepping in front of him until he’s already running into him, and he struggles for a second as the arms come around him. He almost buries his hook into the shoulder he can reach but it all hits him at once. The man is Liam, and he is embracing him so hard that Killian is sure he’ll have bruises around his shoulders.

“You stupid bloody arse,” Liam mutters into his shoulder, and Killian is only aware his brother is crying because he can feel the moisture soaking through the collar of his shirt. “Stupid, stupid, telling us you were dead.” He pulls back, his eyes still wet but his face a mixture of heartache and elation. “Come, we have much to talk about, little brother.”

“Younger brother,” Killian automatically snaps back, his voice the same whine as it was all through his adolescence. It’s clearly what Liam was aiming for, as his bark of laughter echoes down the hallway.

“Come this way,” he instructs, leading Killian back to their wing of the castle. Liam walks him through the door to Killian’s old room, which is still exactly the way he left it minus the new hinges. The surfaces are devoid of dust, the bed is freshly made, and there are flowers in a vase by the very window he left through. He wonders just how many flowers have actually sat in that vase since he left. “There’s a matching bouquet in Emma’s quarters,” Liam says softly, noticing exactly where Killian’s gaze is drawn.

“All this time?”

“Every other week, Queen Snow comes in and replaces them, and sees personally to the maintenance of the room.”

“Are these from the meadow?”

Instead of answering, Liam just nods, a small smile left and much more sadness in his eyes. “The whole field has been preserved with magic specifically so she could tend to your rooms.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before he continues. “Brother, I have missed you. At least when you were running from me I knew you were okay, but when you told that boy to inform us of your death, I spent months in mourning. Until one day, I woke up and decided you weren’t really dead.”

“Should’ve known you’d be too clever to fall for it completely,” Killian comments. He tries to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible, but he focuses on the flowers in front of him, careful to keep his eyes clear and his voice steady.

“I followed your stops. I described you to every innkeep and bar wench I could find. I followed you to the End of the World, but the woman I ran into said she’d never met anyone named Killian. Halfway through our conversation, she got whisked away by the devil himself. I entered every port hoping to find your ship, and you alive on it. And after that interaction with the Dark One’s maid, I mentally prepared myself to bring a body home if you hadn’t been dumped at sea. I lost your trail until I ended up in Midas’ kingdom and ran into a little friend you’d made along the way. A mermaid named Ariel was very difficult to convince to tell me you’d seen her, but when I explained I was your brother, she told me you’d confessed that Captain Hook was Killian Jones. And my search renewed. I don’t think I stopped sailing for weeks.”

It’s so much to take in. His brother had gone to the literal ends of the earth for him, trying to find him, never giving up hope. After their last interaction, he assumed it would be to aim again with that cannon, but no, it turns out he just wanted his brother back home.

“I do want you to recall that you shot a cannon at me,” Killian says, as if reminding Liam of this incident will change anything.

“Aye, but you were being a wanker. I pretty much had to.”

Killian snorts, mentally agreeing with his brother but shrugging his shoulders in response.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for neglecting you for so long as my brother.”

“Accepted. I’m sorry for not telling you about Emma and I sooner. And for stealing your prized ship.”

“I hope you’ve kept all my belongings intact.”

“Everything is stowed in the back of the closets in the captain’s quarters. So, Belle got transported a couple months ago. Why did no one ever manage to find Emma?”

“We kept sending bloody emissaries to the land you were in. I had no idea you were a cat that whole time. You’ll have to regale me with those tales once you’ve had a chance to breathe again.” He pauses, barely restraining the snort that he emits. “Tales of tails,” he muses quietly. At the glare Killian shoots his way, he rushes onward. “And tell me about these interesting clothes you’re wearing, as well. And the hook, of course.”

Killian ignores everything else, skipping straight over the cat joke in favor of the first thing Liam said. “Emissaries? When?”

“Shortly after Ariel told us that Ursula had sent you over. We appealed to the giants for beans to send someone over to fetch you, but he never returned.”

Killian turns from the vase, his eyes focusing in confusion on his brother. “And what happened when he never returned?”

“We appealed to the giants for two more beans, and sent two emissaries. After they never returned either, we could only figure they were being captured, or killed. Something was happening to keep our people from finding you and coming back.”

“The portals, they’ve been enchanted to cause memory loss. The Dark One had it rigged so the moment a person went through it, they’d forget who they were. The curse would build fake memories in layers as the person got acclimated. I only avoided all of that by going through the waterways.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. Even if you are a little unkempt for my taste,” the older man says appraisingly. Killian huffs out a laugh, running his hand through the much shorter hair and rubs his neck. He’s a far cry from naval regulations, but he’s not sure he can ever grow his hair that long again, feeling himself a lad if he did. “Okay, I’ve taken up quite a bit of time with you. Let’s get you back to the king and queen so they might give you a proper greeting.”

“Oh, Liam, no –“

“No, they insist. I assure you. I believe the queen has something of yours?”

Killian’s eyes go wide.

“Yes, she kept that, too. And still wants it where her ring currently resides.” Liam gives him a significant look at that comment, and tells Killian he’ll be waiting outside while Killian freshens up.

“Liam, wait.” His brother pauses halfway to the door and turns to him. “There’s one more thing we’ll need to discuss when we have the chance.”

“And that is?”

“It turns out we aren’t orphans after all.”

With wide eyes, Liam turns fully to Killian, his jaw working several times before he’s able to get any words out. “Father?”

“Not lost at sea, apparently. He looks very spry and happy, but he had no idea who I was, so he’ll need to have the curse broken from him. The whole town will. They deserve to know who they are.”

There’s a whole line of emotions that flickers across Liam’s face in the deep breaths that follow Killian’s words. There’s turmoil in his eyes, and a sadness that distinctly reminds Killian of the way his mother looked when she was told that Brennan wouldn’t be returning from his latest voyage. Maybe it’s that last one that hurts the most, because it’s a pain she never should’ve had to go through. This is yet another way that the Dark One injured his family, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He’s even happier now, knowing that man will never tear apart another family.

“I agree, brother. We’ll discuss that more in the morning. I know he’s cursed and all, but this is excellent news.” He beams at Killian, nodding again and taking his leave while Killian turns toward his wash basin.

The chest, it turns out, was delivered right to his room, and while he pulls everything out, he only fastens his earring in place, and slides on a couple of the less ornate rings he acquired during his time as a pirate. His hand glides over the various articles made of leather that wait inside, but he only finds the ribbon he stashed in his coat pocket, sliding it through his fingers before slipping it into a pocket of his jeans. Everything else gets left behind as he uses the lavatory and splashes his face with cool water. He damns the length of time it would take him to rim his eyes in kohl, but shrugs at his reflection before going to join Liam for the walk back to the throne room.

Liam, however, turns towards the king and queen’s private quarters, and Killian knows without a doubt that the first place he sees them again will be the place he last saw them. He has to stop himself from laying his hand over his chest, unable to physically restrain his heart from beating right out of its cavity if it so chooses.

-x-

Everything is a bit of a whirlwind as soon as Emma enters the throne room. Seeing her parents, her mom and dad (funny how Storybrooke left more of an impression than she thought) just ahead of her, all she can do is rush to them. And while there’s still a lag in her memories, so that it doesn’t feel like she’s waited three and a half years for this moment, she also recognizes that it wasn’t just yesterday they last embraced. Snow cries, her chin crumpled and quivering as the tears fall from her eyes, and David cradles the back of her head the way he’s done for as long as she can remember.

After getting to witness the happy reunion, the small crowd in the large room disperses to allow the royal family their privacy. Soon, it’s just her parents in front of her. She looks around to see that Killian has slipped away, but Regina and Robin are still there, awkwardly shuffling and casting quick glances at the guards still at their posts.

As if thinking of the other people in the room brings attention to them, she hears Snow gasp as she looks over Emma’s shoulder.

“Regina?”

“Hi… Snow. Queen Snow.” Regina is stiff, but smiling, and she walks forward a few steps toward the woman now older than she was when she disappeared. “This whole royal business suits you.” She waves her hand to indicate the room they’re in and everything it entails.

“You’re not - are you…?” Snow works to gather her words. “You look so young.”

“That’s what happens when you end up in a cursed town where time stands still for a few decades or so.” She shrugs, shuffling forward a couple more steps. “Look, Snow, we don’t have to stay…”

“Nonsense,” Snow says quickly, striding forward to take Regina’s hands. “I think it’ll do us some good to work this all out. We’ll set you up with rooms in the east wing.” Her statements leave no room for argument, and Regina gives a curt nod, but adds a smile to soften it a bit. “While they set up a room for you, why don’t we all go sit and you can tell us a bit about… everything.”

The reunited royal family makes their way to Snow and David’s quarters, with Emma’s arms looped with theirs, and Regina and Robin close behind. Upon entering their sitting room, she almost cries at the familiar scent, and she knows if she doesn’t keep going, doesn’t keep talking and immersing herself back into this world, that she will break down, but there’s no time for that. And it’s nothing her parents need to witness. Tonight, later tonight, when she’s alone with Killian again, she’ll allow herself the time to process all of it. Provided he doesn’t find a way to flee the castle or something.

“You’re so skinny,” Snow murmurs as she observes Emma wandering around the space. “I mean just, so skinny. Did you ever eat while you were gone?”

“I worked as a cop. I spent a lot of time at the gym and the rest of the time eating pizza.” At their blank looks, she shakes her head and smiles. “You guys would like pizza.”

David makes some soft comment about her referring to them as ‘you guys’ and smiles. “Twenty years of etiquette training down the drain,” he mutters with a fond expression on his face, directed at Emma.

She grins at him in response, wandering wider to look at the flowers her mother has displayed. She can sense the magic on them, and recognizes them from the field that should be barren and cold this time of year. Her fingers glide along a perfectly preserved petal as she sighs.

Even as she strolls about the room, she listens to the conversation her parents have with Regina. They both seem to be handling her reappearance better than she expected. But the former regent makes it perfectly clear almost immediately that decades as Regina in Storybrooke have erased much of the anger and malice that went along with being the Evil Queen in Misthaven. She also makes sure to introduce Robin, who hasn’t quite regained his true memories, but small tidbits keep shining through for him.

“I don’t feel as if I’m home yet, but I’m hoping my former memories will return soon,” he explains. He also tells them that it helps that he was actually transplanted into the fake town only weeks before Killian was, all because he tripped into the wrong place at the wrong time.

It’s not long before a maid comes to inform them that their room is ready, and Snow and David bid the other two goodnight with promises to talk more tomorrow, after everyone has had some rest.

And then, Emma is left alone with her parents.

On the morning she disappeared, Emma wondered a lot of things, the first of which was whether or not she’d ever see her family again. She didn’t have much time to organize the rest of her thoughts because she was immediately thrown through a portal and forgot her whole life roughly three steps later.

“So,” Snow breaks the silence, “tell us what you’ve been up to the last couple years. Memory curse, right? We used to have those around here all the time until Regina – the Evil Queen version of her – disappeared.”

“They’re so confusing,” Emma confesses, having spent a few days with alternating realities battling it out in her mind and memories. “How many sets of memories do you guys have if they were so common?”

Snow and David look at each other, before they look away again in thought. Snow holds up her hands to count on her fingers while David stares at the ceiling, squinting, as if picturing each different lifetime.

“We’ll just assume a lot,” David finally says, especially when Snow looks like she’s contemplating taking off a slipper to keep counting.

Still, it helps that her parents have been through something like this before, so she opens up and tells them about how she ended up in the forest, and how she made friends in town quickly. She tells them about her job and her hobbies and all the idiosyncrasies of Storybrooke, spending a great length of time on things like indoor plumbing and electricity. And grilled cheese, she can’t leave out grilled cheese.

Several times, Emma has to remind herself to sit still, instead of sprawling across the chair like she would if she were in the sheriff’s station. As it is, she spends plenty of time explaining the clothing she’s wearing, telling her parents all about jeans and sweaters. She realizes she looks utterly out of place in this world as she’s dressed right now, but they’re more curious than confused or put off about it.

She tells them all about Cat showing up on her doorstep, and about when he first changed back into Killian, and how the last six months they’d done little else but focus on getting her memories back. She decides it’s better not to tell them what they were doing any time they weren’t focusing on their mission, though.

“How did you remember?” David asks. “There’s not much that can break a memory curse like that.”

“True Love’s Kiss,” Emma tells them, as if there was any doubt it could be anything else.

Snow sighs dreamily. “Sounds awfully familiar, if you ask me.”

The equal amounts of surprise and pride in her parents’ eyes is comforting, and well-timed when there’s a knock on the door. The guard on duty opens it, and Emma’s smile brightens as she sees the Jones brothers on the other side. Liam leads, with Killian ducking behind him, both of them with their hands held behind their backs. Killian’s clothes may be modern, but his mannerisms are the same as ever.

It’s an obvious contrast from the ease of his actions in her apartment. Even when she didn’t know who he was, she was used to the cocky swagger he exhibited in those short bursts of time. Reconciling Captain Hook (which she still has to control herself from laughing about) with Lieutenant Jones is still a little like playing with a paper doll, as far as her memories are concerned. The man that stands behind his brother is more lieutenant, but with prominent facial hair and a nervous scowl if she’s reading him correctly.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess. Would you care to take a walk with me?” Liam doesn’t waste any time, and judging by the ambushed look on Killian’s face, he had no idea this was a plan.

“I’d love to, Commodore.” Emma rises from the chair. She goes over to wish her parents a good night, kissing them both on the cheek and accepting their tight embraces before she moves toward the brothers. She immediately forgets any princess decorum as she reaches for Killian, giving him a solid kiss on the lips and pressing her forehead to his as she tries to instill some of her calm onto him. “I’ll meet you in my quarters in half an hour, okay?” He nods in response, giving her a wan smile as she moves away.

Liam smiles at her, giving a bow and holding out his arm for her to take before they leave the room. It’s only once they’re out of the sitting room and the door is shut behind them, and they’re halfway down the hall when one of them speaks again.

“Do you suppose we’ve just fed him to lions?” Liam questions.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Guy lost a hand and became a cat and somehow managed to steal the Jewel of the Realm from you,” she jibes. “Pretty sure he can handle his future in-laws.”

Liam laughs as loud as she remembers. “Oh, how I have missed you, Princess. But I must correct you. It’s no longer Commodore. I’ve decided to retire and settle a little bit. Maybe find a life outside the navy.” Now that she gets a good look at him, she realizes he’s not in the regulation navy uniform. Gone are the white trousers and ornate coat. Instead, he’s dressed in plain black breeches and a white shirt, looking more informal than she’s ever seen him before.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’ve been told that I was so focused on my career that I seemed to have forgotten about my family. Since I’ve lost a lot of time with my brother, I want to correct that as much as possible. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll also find a family of my own since my dear brother seems to have found one in you.”

“He would’ve shared with you sooner, you know. But he was so worried you’d think he was throwing away his career.”

“I would’ve. I didn’t understand at the time. I didn’t understand until I was afraid you were both gone from my life forever.” He stops for a moment, turning to her and placing his hands on her upper arms. “As tragic as your kidnapping was, Princess, it helped me see that I was missing too much by being out there. I only worked as hard in the beginning because I wanted to pay your parents for the debt of taking us in. They didn’t have to, but they gave us shelter, they took Killian under their wing, they let us be part of all of your lives.”

Emma moves her hands to clasp his arms at the elbows. “It was just as rich of an experience for me. I’m sure my parents feel the same way, and I wouldn’t be here again if it weren’t for Killian.”

“And I don’t think Killian would be here if it weren’t for you,” he responds without hesitation.

They walk all the way to the other end of the castle, meandering back at a leisurely pace in order to give Killian plenty of time to talk with the king and queen, and since Killian hadn’t had much of a chance to tell Liam about his animal adventures, she gives him little bits of information. Mostly she tells him about how she called him Cat, and that his missing paw went a long way into convincing her that he wasn’t some crazy person spouting nonsense about being her pet.

“Speaking of hands,” Liam adds once they’ve almost reached her quarters. “He does seem to be missing one. But that just means you’ll be offering him one of yours now, yes?”

Emma smiles, deciding not to answer even though Liam clearly knows she’ll say yes if Killian asks. “Goodnight, Liam.”

“Goodnight, Princess. By the way, you should know I’ll be on duty as guard for the first half of the night. I want to make sure neither of you go anywhere after we’ve just gotten you back.” He smiles to show he’s joking, but then he purses his lips a little. “But I’ll be way down that end. Just in case.”

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her smile growing wider as she understands the implications. “Goodnight, Liam.”

He chuckles, even as he walks away.

Entering her room is an otherworldly experience. The quiet and stillness is almost unbearable after having lived with technology and automobiles for the last three years. But everything in the room is pristine, the bed made to her usual specifications. There’s a large vase of flowers on the table by her chaise lounge, and she recognizes almost immediately that they’re the same flowers her mother displays. She admires them for a moment, but moves on in order to do something that’s more important.

Every window, every door to her private terrace, every conceivable entry into the room is swiftly reinforced with magic of her own making. She would’ve been powerless to almost anything the morning she was taken, but now she can ensure that once she and Killian shut the doors for the evening, no one else will be able to even budge a hinge without blaring alarms sounding in the whole castle.

“Thank you, security systems,” she mutters as she draws all the curtains closed and snaps her fingers to light the candles spread throughout the room. She might miss lightbulbs, but there is a charm to being able to light and extinguish any candle with just a small gesture.

Having been promised their privacy, there are no maids to dress her for the evening. It’s fine, though, because what would they do? Strip off her sweater? Peel the jeans from her skin? No, and while it sounds incredibly appealing to leave that job for Killian, she has other ideas. She uses the basin in her washroom to freshen up, tying her hair into a messy bun after she washes her face and brushes her teeth. Then she wanders into her closet and undresses, leaving her modern clothes on the floor for the time being.

Her fingers run along all the different delicate fabrics in her closet. Even the cotton has a better consistency. She passes by each section of gowns and attire, finding her way to the very back and grinning at what she finds. Black corset, with black skirts.

He’ll either love the throwback, or he’ll run screaming from the room. But either way, she has to. She just has to.

-x-

Bloody hell, this is worse than an overnight siege, Killian decides the second Liam asks if Emma would like to go for a walk. He’s just been handed over to something worse than pirates, in his opinion. He’s been fed to the king and queen, holders of his ultimate fate.

He’s being dramatic and he knows it.

They’re all quiet, and he has no idea if they’re waiting for him to speak first, or if he’s going to have to wait ages for them to deem him worthy of their voices. He doesn’t have to wait long; just as he opens his mouth to say anything, David suddenly stands up.

“You stole one of our ships.”

As soon as the clipped words are out of his mouth, Snow sighs. The exasperated noise is one he’s all too familiar with, especially paired with her quiet words of “Oh, David,” that her husband mostly ignores except for the clenching of his jaw.

Killian swallows, glancing between the two of them and taking note of Snow’s encouraging smile before he responds. “I paid for it.”

“You terrorized the rest of my fleet.”

“Not for very long,” Killian counters. It’s not a lie; he did stop antagonizing the Misthaven Navy after the day Liam shot at him.

“We didn’t make unreasonable demands,” David says, his demeanor cracking with the simplicity of the statement.

“Not unreasonable for you, perhaps.”

“But for you? What was so bad about what we were asking you to do? In this family, we work as a team -”

“Aye, a team. And every suggestion I made was thrown out the window before it could be considered. If you haven’t noticed, your majesty, your daughter is back and darkness has been defeated because I followed the path that called to me. My demands were simple. I wanted to be seen as the man that wanted to marry your daughter. Not just another body that served the crown.”

“I didn’t - we never…” David throws his hands in the air and moves away from his usual perch, pacing around to the back of their chairs and back again. “Okay. I’m sorry we ever let you feel that way. But now you’re back. Will you continue your life of piracy?”

Killian considers this statement. He always thought he would bring Emma home and go on his way, thinking she wouldn’t be capable of loving the man he became. Now that she’s back, and she does love him, it’s hard to say what he’ll do with his life.

“I don’t know,” Killian admits. He pulls his arms around to fiddle with his hook. The fact that neither of them even flinch at the metal attached to the brace at the end of his arm is reassuring. “Your majesty, with all respect, a life of taking orders isn’t something I believe myself to be made for anymore. I’m willing to give up the lawless life under very obvious circumstances, but I don’t see myself stepping back into the war room to be your strategist again.”

David grumbles, crossing his arms and wandering to the window to stare out at the darkened courtyard outside.

Snow, who has largely remained silent during this whole exchange, clears her throat to command his attention. “We don’t want to ask you to do anything that isn’t in your heart, Killian. And you’re right, we often set aside your perspective because we were too wrapped up in our own. Sometimes, sharing a heart gets in the way of listening to others,” she admits. David, sighs, moving to stand behind her chair and placing his hands on her shoulders. “You were always like a son to us. Emma would’ve grown up all alone if it weren’t for you, and getting to see you both mature, and then slowly fall in love, was like watching a fairy tale come to life. You still love her?”

“Aye, more now than ever,” Killian admits with no hesitation. The king and queen have a wordless conversation before Snow focuses back on him.

“What we do want,” Snow continues, “is for you to be part of our lives. Now, I believe I have something to return to you.” She stands, coming forward and reaching into her skirts to retrieve a small pouch.

“I kept it polished for you,” she tells him.

“And I made sure she didn’t polish it too much or else the band would be a half moon at this point,” David adds on. A smile is just barely visible in his eyes, just beneath the never ending affection for his wife.

Snow tumbles the ring into his hand from the upturned pouch, and he marvels at how it gleams. Still, after all these years, it looks like the perfect selection for Emma.

“All other discussions can wait until morning,” Snow reminds him as she closes his fingers around the ring. She reaches up and hugs him, her arms just as familiar as he remembers them. “Welcome home,” she whispers once, before she moves away. She reaches for David’s hand as she passes him, squeezing it once and smiling at him before she bids them both goodnight.

Left alone with David, Killian is unsure what to do. He bows, thinking that the king will leave it there, but David moves around the chair that’s standing between them and stops when he’s a yard away from Killian.

“Because I still need to say it, Killian, thank you for bringing Emma back alive. Talk of piracy and stealing ships aside, there’s no way I could ever repay you for that one act.” Without warning, David moves forward and gives Killian a hug. He slaps the former lieutenant on the back a few times before moving away again. “Goodnight, Killian.”

Feeling lighter than he has in years, Killian walks the familiar path from the king and queen’s quarters to Emma’s rooms. He passes Liam on the way, this time not hesitating to initiate a bear hug with him. Even while growing up, he got all his embraces from the staff or the queen, or Emma who hugged him best of all. He’s lost over three years of the ability to hug his brother, on top of all the years Liam wasn’t around.

For some reason, as he eases towards the door at the end of the hall, that’s when the nerves hit. He’s sure the lead in his stomach won’t allow him to move further, but he manages to push open the door, shaking off a chill of magic when he turns to close it. Clearly, Emma is not joking around with security measures this time. He locks the door out of habit, walking through the antechamber and putting out candles as he goes. He enters her bedroom and closes that door, as well, intent on finding Emma.

His attention is immediately brought to the bouquet of flowers on the table, and Killian realizes it’s where the breakfast tray sat the day Emma went missing. He’s just about to fall down another hole of memories and thankfulness for being back, when Emma clears her throat.

It’s like a startling moment of déjà vu, with Emma spread across the comforter, smile in place. Her hair is all pulled up, leaving the lines of her décolletage exposed. She’s in the corset and skirts from their first night together, her legs crossed just so to hide her privates. He bites his lip against the devilish smile he knows is on his face.

“This all seems a bit familiar,” Killian says as he saunters forward. Years of experience don’t have him as shaky or unsure of what to do next, but he wants to let her lead tonight.

“A few things have changed,” Emma responds, smirk in place, fluttering her eyelashes in a coy manner.

She acts demure, but he knows better. “For the love of all the ships in the realm, please tell me you brought condoms back with you.”

Instead of a response, she shifts off the bed, gliding towards him with the sheer shirts swirling around her legs. At the same time, she waves her hand, and a line of the foil packets appears in her hand. “They were stashed in my coat pocket. Just in case.”

“Always good to be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Just kiss me already,” Emma says, chuckling as she does. She twists a hand into the fabric of his waistcoat and pulls him to her, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle as their arms wrap around each other. He turns his hook so it won’t catch on the delicate materials, but doesn’t hesitate to palm her backside, feeling the warmth of her skin just beneath the fabric.

Piece by piece, she strips the clothes from his body, leaving the brace and his boxer-briefs for last. She’s seen him without his brace before; that’s not what bothers him. But this is her first time seeing it on. As if to reassure him, she draws her hands down his arms, linking one hand with his fingers and grasping his hook with the other.

“I love you, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, thankfully no longer Cat.”

He ducks his head to kiss her, something simple and momentary before he responds. “I can confidently say that I love you, Emma Swan, Princess of Misthaven, Deputy of Storybrooke.”

Her whole face lights up with her smile, her eyes crinkling as she releases hand and hook so she can pluck at the waistband of his underwear. “How about losing these, and loosening my laces?”

“Surely you secured this with magic, Swan. Why delay by asking for help?” She’s in the process of turning away from him, so he takes advantage to wind his arm around her middle and pull her back to him. “In case I forgot to say so, darling, you look divine in this.” He uses the tip of his hook to draw her hair off her neck, enjoying the way her breath stutters as she shifts into his erection. Her whimpering moans when he kisses down the side of her neck are also pleasurable. The sharp cry of his name with at least three expletives following is the real treasure, though, when he bites and soothes with teeth and tongue.

She loses her patience after that, finding the ties to her skirts and practically ripping them off as she moves far enough away for him to access the back of the corset. He doesn’t tease her any longer, instead pulling at the knot and loosening the laces just enough for her to be able to unclasp it without discomfort.

Emma, he’s forgotten, looks stunning in candlelight. But he gets to remember as they come together again and again, until the flames in the room all extinguish on their own and the only light left comes from what’s left of the fire in the hearth. Only then do they settle, their bodies sated, their adrenaline all spent, and no threats looming over them in the near future.

Killian is jostled awake by movement next to him. Apparently, he’s been a little spoiled by Emma’s memory foam mattress back in Storybrooke. Turns out the land without magic does have a few tricks up its sleeve. It's entirely too early to be awake. The sun isn't yet peeking above the horizon, if the back of his eyelids are anything to go by. A dip in the bed this time is what alerts him to Emma’s movements, and he cracks open an eye to watch her climb from the bed.

“Swan,” he grumbles, trying to reach for her as she stands.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him, bending to retrieve his shirt from the floor.

“It’s too early. Come back, love.”

“I wanna go down and grab us breakfast. No matter how many times everyone kept telling us that we would talk today, I plan on bringing back enough food so we can barricade that door and stay here for at least a day or two.” As she finishes fastening the buttons, she tosses a saucy look over her shoulder. “I wanna make up for some lost time.” She bends to lift his jeans, but Killian practically leaps from the bed to snatch them up.

“Now, Swan, it’s your first day back to your homeland. Don’t you suppose we should at least swing through and say good morning?” He eases the pants from her hands, anxious to keep the pockets upright as he does so. He half-folds them, placing them down on the chaise before he moves forward to pull her close by tugging the tail of the shirt. “Of course, when you look like that, I’m hesitant to let you leave at all.”

“This early? No one will be up. No one in the kitchen. No one snooping around wondering why I have a beautiful set of teeth marks on my neck that I want to leave for just a little longer before I heal them.”

Releasing the fabric, Killian slides his hand down until it rests at the juncture between her thighs. Emma gasps, pressing closer to him as one of his fingers slide inside her. “I’ll let you go, but in just a moment, and only once I’ve watched you fall apart. Deal?” The words are a husky whisper, delivered straight to her ear, and she shivers against him.

“Hell yeah, it’s a deal.” She yanks his head down none too gently to kiss him again, and it doesn’t take long for her voice to rise in pitch and volume, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she clutches on. He suspects that grip and his left arm clamped around her lower back are the only things keeping her upright. He hopes that no one is still keeping guard down the hall, or that Emma placed some sort of sound-proofing on the barrier she put around the room, as the lack of upstairs and downstairs neighbors allows her the freedom to call his name without restraint, her triumphant call of “Yes!” echoing off the stone walls.

“Okay,” Killian says, still catching his own breath as Emma collapses in his arms, “now we can go get breakfast.”

She laughs in response. “Oh, sure. Now that I’m torn between dragging you back to that bed to sleep off that orgasm or cause a couple more.” She half-heartedly smacks his arm and kisses him soundly once again. “Let me get some pants on or something.”  

The satchel, it turns out, had been delivered to her room, which he failed to notice when he entered the night before. When Emma wanders from the bedroom to find a fresh change of clothes, Killian scoops his jeans from the chaise and slips them on before digging the ring from the pocket. He’s waited three and a half years for this moment. There’s no time like the present.

When Emma walks back in, Killian is on his knee, his eyes trained on the door so as not to be caught off guard. They smile at each other, even with two yards between them.

As they sneak through the halls towards the kitchen, she’s wearing his shirt and his ring. They leave a note for her parents outside her parents’ quarters, addressed to Snow, with her ring inside. The Queen wisely informs everyone that they’ll postpone the homecoming breakfast until the following morning as she slides the peridot back onto her ring finger.

-x-

“What I’m saying is that the Dark One’s memory curse on the town is wearing off, and these people are freaking out.”

They’re all seated around the large table in the war room, with Ursula in attendance to explain the after-effects of finally dispersing the Darkness. It turns out, Ursula has been keeping tabs on Storybrooke for a long time to make sure nothing was going wrong with the Dark One’s cursed town. But like a sea witch, she’s kept all of her information to herself until now.

It’s been three days since they broke Emma’s memory curse, since they defeated the total darkness that was threatening to destroy more and more families. While they’ve been trying to find some semblance of normalcy since returning to Misthaven, it’s clear that they’re not done with Storybrooke yet, just as the town is not done with them. Emma’s thoughts have wandered to the little home she’s grown fond of more times than she can count, lost in the memories of sidewalks beneath her feet, snow catching on her eyelashes under the fairy lights outside Granny’s diner.

“What do you propose we do, have the merfolk bring them all back here in shifts?” This suggestion from Killian isn’t the worst thing Emma’s ever heard, but it’s not exactly the best solution.

“Some of those people have been there for decades,” Regina comments. “Maybe even longer. We questioned Rumplestiltskin about the town, and he says he’s been using it for at least three hundred years. He got mad at a village for making fun of his name, of all things, so he transported the whole thing to this other land.” She rolls her eyes as she talks, clearly expressing her exasperation with cleaning up after this man.

Robin, having regained his own memories, has been instrumental in helping Regina compile all the data on the fake town that has served as its own prison for centuries. “The curse was so layered that it eventually learned on its own. It’s the strangest thing, but if it were younger, they probably would have all transported back automatically once his magic stopped feeding the spell. As it is, the town has become a source of magic on its own, in a land completely devoid of magical sources. The good thing seems to be that portals won’t strip travelers of their memories anymore. We’ll have to send another emissary to be sure, of course.”

“Because magic beans are so easy to come by?” Emma asks skeptically. Last she heard, it takes an arm and a leg to get ahold of one of those. Mentally, she berates herself, and reaches for Killian’s hook on her right. Thoughts of what he’d look like in a soft flannel shirt, a cozy wool sweater, matching socks, run through her head. She glances at him to catch his eye, smiling when he winks at her, and almost misses what her father is saying.

“Actually, portals might be easier than you think. We made a deal with the giants while we were trying to get to Storybrooke. They’re going to open up a trading post. It took a lot of persuading, but we did them a favor by sharing some magic from the fairies with them, so they can come to land and take part in human spoils whenever they’d like. It looks like we’ve found peace in another area of this world.”

“That’s great,” Ursula mentions, probably because that means her human transportation business will finally dwindle again, but she doesn’t stop there. “But if some of these people have been trapped there for centuries, there’s no way they’ll want to return. Storybrooke is the only home they know. Their families are long gone.”

“Well, we could always establish this town as another sector of Misthaven. I know the town, and all the townspeople. I don’t ever remember actually seeing a mayor, which means the chain of command was probably all part of the curse. They’ll need leadership. What else is a defunct regent going to do with her time?” Regina mutters the part, but in that flippant way she’s so good at. “The politics over there work a little differently, but I’d like to return to Storybrooke and run for their mayor.”

Regina and Snow branch off to discuss the fine details of what would go along with mayorship of a town as an extension of Misthaven. If any two people can figure out a good way to make this all work, it’s those two. Weird to think that her mother and step-grandmother have such a relationship and history, when Emma only knew her as her best friend.

The memory of Regina bumping into her in the hallway and claiming they weren’t besties makes her grin, especially since they went right on solidifying their friendship. Perhaps Rumple never anticipated how close they would become, and how instrumental they would both be in his downfall. The idea of Regina leaving, however, almost makes her sad. She wouldn’t expect things to stay the same after the turmoil they’ve all been through, but how is she to go on living in Misthaven when she feels like she belongs somewhere else?

Between the homecoming celebrations and her own quiet time with Killian, talks about what they’ll do now have been sparse, few between, and almost non-existent. She’s not told Killian about how she stares out the windows sometimes and wishes she could pop over to Granny’s and grab a hot chocolate. She actually misses work. Emma knows she’s going to be met with resistance, but the decision is easy for her. “I want to return, too.”

All conversation ceases around her, with every set of eyes turning to stare at her with varying expressions. Her parents look shell-shocked, Regina looks confused, and Killian just looks… well, like he knows exactly where her mind is. This should come as no surprise since he knows her so well.

“But Emma -”

“But nothing,” she cuts off David. “It’s nothing compared to decades or centuries, but I’ve been there for three years. I love my job, I like my friends. My life is there. If magic beans are readily available, then we can visit any time?” It comes out as a question no matter how hard she tries to make it a statement.

“We can?” Killian says, purely to tease. She hasn’t gotten around to telling him just how much she already misses electricity and grilled cheese sandwiches. The cooks tried for her yesterday, but it just wasn’t the same. The easy smile on his face further tells her he already knows, and the usual look in his eyes says he will follow her to the ends of the earth if she asks.

“We can,” she reasserts, moving her hand to squeeze his forearm when he gives her a nod. “And you could visit us,” Emma states, looking at her parents. David, poor David, looks devastated at the idea of his princess leaving again. They just got her back and she’s already talking about leaving. Snow, however, looks like she’s considering it, and Emma knows if she can get her mother on her side, they can both convince her father that it’s a sound idea.

“The sooner we figure this out, the better,” Ursula reminds them. “There are people in that town that are panicking because they want to get home with their families. We need to either get them back to where they belong without draining my resources, or we need to get them calmed down.”

“How about you take us back with you when you go again? I’ll even help make a spell that will use a little less of your own magic so you can transport us easily.” Regina pushes back from the table, standing and preparing to make her accord.

They seal their agreement with a shake of their hands, rather than a signed contract. The fact that deals can be made without there being a hefty price or threat of punishment on the side is probably the best part of Rumplestiltskin being locked up in a magical cage in their dungeons. Once Regina and Robin have left the room to go pack their belongings, Ursula and the rest of the major council disperses, leaving just the king and queen, Emma, and Killian.

There’s a heavy silence over the table, one that makes her think that even if Snow is considering it, her parents aren’t happy that she plans to leave them again. Plus, it means she’s giving up her rights to the throne if she moves to Storybrooke for good. She even has ideas to pitch on how that should be handled, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We can have the wedding here,” she blurts out. Killian turns and raises an eyebrow at her, but she barrels on. “We haven’t set a date yet, but we can always plan it to take place here. I would never want to deprive you of another big moment in my life, but I really feel like Storybrooke is just…home. I mean, it’s not home. You guys will always be my home home, but I’m comfortable there. I’m happy there. I like having a job and technology and we can visit any time if this bean thing is really going to work out.”

David gets up from his chair, pacing a few times as Emma talks, and then stopping behind Snow’s seat as she finishes. They both stare at her, shifting their eyes minimally to look at Killian as well. Snow tilts her head back to look at David, and he looks down at her, and they do their married-conversation-without-words bit before they look at her again.

“Okay,” they say in unison.

“Go back with Regina and Robin. It’ll probably help to have a member of the current royal family present while everything gets situated, particularly for those from our kingdom,” David tells her.

“We’ll start planning the wedding. We’ll come visit in a few weeks when the first bean crop is ready for harvest so we can deliver some to you,” Snow says. “And try pizza,” she adds with a wide smile, the word sounding weird coming from her mouth.

It’s hard to think she’ll be leaving them again, but hearing Snow say they’ll come visit soon makes her feel like this is the right decision. This is what she wants. And while she hasn’t really talked to Killian about it, she knows that he enjoyed their time in Storybrooke enough to lament the things he’s also missing.

“Will you send word to Regina to wait for us?” Emma asks as she stands from her chair. Behind her, Killian moves his, and comes to stand beside her.

With a gesture, David draws one of the guards from the doors, relaying the message and sending him on his way. “We’ll be there as soon as we can be,” he tells Emma, accepting the hug she offers and holding her tight. He only releases her when she tells him how much she’ll miss him again, and that she loves him, and then she moves on to Snow.

Her mother is crying, of course, just barely. But Emma knows it’s hard to say goodbye so soon after what they’ve been through. She tells Snow the same thing she said to David, and includes an extra tight squeeze as she tells her how much she’s looking forward to planning the wedding when she sees her again.

A half an hour later, Killian returns to her quarters after packing as much as he wanted from his room. While he had unofficially moved in as soon as they got back, he still had to retrieve the things he most wanted to bring. And tell Liam.

“How’d it go?” Emma asks, not looking up from her own task of putting some of her Storybrooke clothes back into the satchel they brought with them.

“He cried,” Killian says, but she immediately hears the scratchiness in his voice, so she turns her head and raises an eyebrow at him until he looks at her. “Okay, fine, we cried. Happy?”

“Yes, actually.” He was trying to be a smartass, but Emma’s response is genuine. She stops her packing for a second to walk over, not even hesitating as she reaches up to kiss him and wraps her arms around him at the same time. It’s a chaste kiss by the standards they’ve set over the last three days; they have absolutely made up for lost time. But it’s the beginning of their own wordless communication. She doesn’t need to tell him she loves him right this moment (she’ll tell him a thousand times anyway, but it can wait another minute or two). She doesn’t need to thank him, or explain how much this means to her. She knows he would wave off any of those statements if she tried. “I’m just about finished. Any word on how long until the others are leaving?”

“And I quote, there’s not enough time for you two to go at it like rabbits again,” he says, pressing his lips together to ward off the smile that wants to creep up. “End quote.”

“Damn,” she mutters. “Oh well, just means we’ll have to wait until we’re back in my apartment with all those lovely, battery-operated toys.”

“See, now I’m fully on board with going. I had just the slightest hesitation earlier, but you’ve fully won me over with this idea.” She shakes her head, kissing him once before going back to her task.

Killian leaves ahead of her, so Emma has a moment in her room by herself. It feels a lot like a heavy goodbye, even though she knows they’ll be back to visit. Even if the bean trade falls through, Ursula has agreed to help in cases of emergency. The mark for her shell is still on Killian’s arm, so they can call her if they ever need to get back to Misthaven. She turns around the room slowly, smiling at the flowers in the vase, knowing that her mother made the fairies enchant a whole field just so she could go stand someplace where Emma spent so much of her time.

Now, she’s thinking that the same meadow might make a beautiful location for a wedding some day. With that thought in her mind, and a smile on her lips, she walks out, extinguishing all the candles before she closes the door behind her.

-x-

Storybrooke is in calm chaos for weeks. Dealing with who wants to stay and who wants to leave is the trickiest bit. There are many people who, just as Ursula and Regina figured, don’t want to return to a place where their families are long gone. There are others who simply believe they fit better in a modern world than the one they were taken from. Will Scarlet, especially, says he’s a much better man in Storybrooke than he was in Misthaven, or Wonderland, or Oz… or so he claims. He is spending a great deal of time at the library, but Emma has suspicions that it’s because of Belle, and not because of the books.

Most fascinating is watching the connections between the people of the town come out of the woodwork. It turns out that Ruby and Mulan already knew each other, having met as they were on their own adventures, and traveling together for some time. They’d both been attracted to the other, but far too timid or unsure to pursue the idea of really traveling together. What had been a tentative start of a relationship when Emma saw them before the search party set out blossoms into a beautiful partnership.

Graham laughs, his whole body shaking with the action, when he realizes precisely who Emma and Killian are. “You’ve both come a long way from those hand-offs in the hallway. My favorite little tart thieves. No wonder you always felt like my younger sister,” he marvels to Emma. Killian smiles, happy to observe the interaction. He’s been meeting the people Emma has spent her last few years with, and it’s jarring but in a wonderful way.

He’s had the only reunion he was concerned with. Stepping onto the docks yesterday to find Brennan was a surreal experience, especially when his father sizes him up. The last Captain Jones saw of his sons, Killian was barely retaining his memories. His father seemed ten times larger than the average man, so standing before him now, their statures so similar, is the hardest part to swallow. But then Emma was beside him, easing the tension he felt in his shoulders. Introducing him to Emma might be his favorite part of the reunion.

Their stories are not so unique. There are children and parents, friends, lovers, enemies who decide to bury the hatchet – all types of camaraderie all over this town that was born of petty hatred. Person by person, story by story, they sort through every resident in the town to take an accurate survey of everyone there, figuring out where each one wanted to live and shuffling them toward the piers to help get them ready for Ursula.

Shortly after everyone gets placed where they want to go, life returns to something resembling normal. Since the bean crop is just about at its harvesting point, Killian is pretty sure they’re bound to get a message any day about Emma’s parents planning a visit. The idea makes her absolutely giddy. She wants her parents to see that while they were separated for far too long, she was by no means abused in her temporary “prison” town. She talks plenty about taking them to various places in town, not hesitating to point out a new one as they walk to dinner one night, or as he walks with her to work the next day.

He always gives her a kiss on the cheek before they part, with her heading into the station and him walking the last couple blocks to the docks on his own. He knows boats and ships, so what better place for a pirate than working at the docks. His crew, all but Smee, returned to Misthaven to go find their bluer seas. He sent Smee back to retrieve his ship, but hired the man to be his first mate once more, for good over greed this time. Amazingly, Smee happily comes aboard, glad to lend out his services of finding people and goods when not working on the Jolly Roger.

The fair trade of magic beans and goods in Misthaven ends up being so lucrative that Storybrooke becomes something of a tourist destination. There aren’t a lot of visitors in the winter, but in the summer, there are people popping in every day of the week. It means that they have to come up with a conversion rate for gold to money, which is an interesting affair, but it works out fantastically for Granny’s bed and breakfast, and the diner. With the extra revenue, Regina begins making plans for updates and upgrades, for new construction projects and a reassessment of the schools. Everything that can be improved is given a thorough inspection by their new, watchful mayor.

It also works out great for Killian and Brennan. Since he’s already been working on the docks all this time, he and Killian start up an ocean tour business, taking their vacationing Misthaven folk out on the sea and around the coasts they can now travel to since the curse has lifted. When Liam comes to visit, the Jones family has their own day. Liam has more memories of Brennan, and so the two connect much easier than Killian initially had. But having them all together is more valuable than anything else.

When he returns home after the first night, Emma is waiting for him with a knowing smile on her face. She pulls him into her arms as soon as he closes the door, easing the tension and nerves that he managed to hide all day long. Having a family outside of Emma is still startlingly new to him, but he’s adjusting.

The king and queen’s visit is a much-anticipated event for the town. Much like a visit from any other top-ranking officials, the residents all put forward their best efforts. Granny, who knew Snow as a child before she and Ruby were sent to the cursed town, gets to host the royals as her guests. During their visit, Killian gets a taste of how it must’ve been adjusting him to modern amenities. Emma’s parents were told in advance what to expect, however watching David operate light switches is Killian’s new favorite activity.

On the second day of their vacation, Emma and Snow go out shopping for modern clothes for the king and queen to wear during the rest of their stay. In their new outfits, David looks like any other random bloke in town, and Snow looks like a perfect school teacher, her prim cardigans and soft pastels the perfect style for her demeanor.

“In another life, in this town, I think I would’ve enjoyed being a teacher,” Snow tells them after Emma points this out.

The four of them squeeze around the table at Emma’s apartment for meals, and it’s obvious that the space that used to feel adequate is no longer enough. Hand-me-down castoffs are well and good, but as soon as they start shopping for Killian and filling the closet and drawers with his clothes as well, they realize that they’re not destined to inhabit the one-bedroom apartment for something longer than a temporary stay.

Finding a house to live in is an adventure all on its own. They wait until David and Snow return home to go out looking, wanting to devote their whole attention to the task. They bicker about the details, sometimes to the point of going just beyond the term of disagreements and entering fighting, but it’s only through these interactions that they discover ways to resolve them. And make-up sex is the very best way to end any argument, of course.

When they do find a house, it’s a choice they can both agree on. The process of filling the house with more than just furniture and clothes is something they both delight in. Emma has a knack for finding the perfect paintings and artwork to put on the walls, and Killian excels at finding knickknacks and functional items of the perfect style. Soon, picture frames line the walls and sit across the mantel, and curtains they picked together cover their windows.

After a little over a year of residing in peaceful Storybrooke, they head back to the Enchanted Forest to prepare for the wedding. Brennan and Smee sail the Jolly Roger between the realms with the help of the magic beans and ferry guests to Misthaven for the event.

For some of them, it’s their first time back to their homeland, so David and Snow open their doors to any guests, housing all of the wedding-goers in an attempt to make everyone as comfortable as possible.

Killian can hardly believe the transformation of the flower field when he sees it the day of the wedding. Platforms and walkways, all specially crafted with the fairies’ magic, are placed over the flowers so that none of them are disturbed during the ceremony. In the center, a dais has been built up to accommodate the nuptials. With their flowers all in bloom, and the sun shining down on them, Killian and the guests wait patiently for Emma and her parents to walk up the path.

He might be biased, but she’s the most beautiful bride he’s ever seen. The dress is more modern, having been purchased in Storybrooke, but her head is topped with a flower crown made of the delicate buds from the field. The event outshines every ball the kingdom has ever held, with the reception taking place in the main hall. They spend their first night as husband and wife in Emma’s old quarters, with her magic surrounding and protecting the room again, just in case. As is the trend in their lives, this is the room that witnesses another of their firsts.

While the guests all return to Storybrooke in the days that follow the wedding, Emma and Killian stay behind to begin the first leg of their honeymoon adventure. As a princess, Emma had little chance to explore the kingdoms, so they set off on a journey to remedy that. Killian takes her on a tour of the best ports he visited. The second half of their tour is spent exploring the country that houses their new home. Storybrooke still won’t show on any maps, keeping their little magic town a secret of sorts, but the broken curse means that the residents can move beyond the town limits.

Killian is sure that their life in the Enchanted Forest would’ve been filled with plenty of excitement, but as they settle back in after their journey ends, he discovers that they’ve hit the exact amount of thrills to fit their lifestyle. Some nights they dance to whatever music comes from the stereo, and sometimes they go sailing for the joy of feeling the wind in their hair. They make dinner slightly more often than going to grab Granny’s for takeout, and they live and work and love every single day, enjoying every single moment.

And when the time is right, they get a cat.

The End.

Thank you for reading! xo

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #csbb #csbb 2017 #sarah writes ff #wait for the moonrise #enchanted forest/modern au #*quietly sobs* #it's the end

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #145 - Overheard

This was kinda a prompt, kinda not, kinda

AO3

OVERHEARD

She was beginning to enjoy Owen’s company. Several days ago she was happy to have nothing to do with him and now the man had become her lifeline. Karen took the boys home, allowed to leave as Claire and Owen sat in limbo subtly being toyed with by Masrani Global as they waited to have their statements taken.

In the four days they had been trapped there, Owen managed to migrate from his company paid room to hers. He wasn’t exactly open with what was plaguing his mind. Claire guessed it was the same flash of dinosaur teeth and hot breath on her neck that she kept reliving. She didn’t ask, too busy wondering why he was in her room, with her, when he could have gone anywhere else. Claire kept her worries reserved, holding them close to her chest as he slept beside her. In the depths of the night she gripped his hand tightly, terrified to admit that their ordeal had shaken her more than she thought it should. Owen never mentioned it when he woke, the woman’s body curled around his arm, grip so tight he was losing feeling in his fingers.

The streets were chaos, if the press weren’t calling their names, locals were spitting at them as they walked. Claire chose to remain within the hotel’s walls. They would eat dinner within the hotel, sitting in the restaurant or ordering room service. They showered quietly before turning in for the night, often lying in the dark until their breathing evened out.

Sleep wasn’t easy to come by. Claire was timing Owen’s deep breaths when she heard it. Her body went ridged while her thumbs rolled around the other against her stomach. With eyes closed she hoped the sound was a one off, accidental and easily adjusted. Most of all, she hoped Owen didn’t notice.

It sounded again, a very distinctive feminine moan slipping through the wall to linger above them. Claire squeezed her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing to faux sleep. The bed in the room beside them hit the wall. ‘Are they…?’ Owen asked, slight glee in his voice, body almost jumping upright like a child on Christmas morning.

Claire shook her head, shaky breath escaping her. ‘Just ignore it.’ The room fell silent, so quiet she could hear him struggling to hold his breath.

The moan sounded again, louder, more defined.

‘Well, at least they’re having a good time.’ He sighed, voice lifting just enough that Claire could tell he was smirking. She chose not to respond, eyes still closed. The woman’s sounds only grew, high pitched and climbing as the headboard continued to smack against the wall. She would give anything to not be there right now. Not lying beside Owen, the tension between them growing to the point that she knew they would eventually have to deal with it rather than ignore it. Claire’s problem was that she didn’t know who would break first. He was the one who kissed her that day after everything they had been through. He was the one who didn’t say anything, who jumped right into damage control in Costa Rica, who avoided her all day until he knocked on her door in the middle of the night, barely able to breathe. He had kissed her again, once, softly on the cheek and her forehead as he pulled her into his arms muttering something about her being safe, alive, well.

She had appeased him then, knowing it wasn’t a time to ask why he was so affectionate at the worst times, her blood simmering low in the pits of her stomach. Someone was going to break and Claire already knew it was her. Their neighbours having sex was only going to be the icing on the cake.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve had bed moving sex.’ Owen hummed, reflection in his tone still tinged with mirth. At least he was amused, while Claire laid there temperature rising across her skin as she begged for it all to end. ‘Forms good,’ He continued.

Owen baffled her, he was a man of few words where it counted, but there were times where he speckled the planet with statements at the most inconvenient of times. He was a little like Gray in that sense, at least what she had learnt of her nephew, willing to spit out every thought in his head whether it was welcome or not. He ran a commentary on the people in the other room, almost scoring them as he listened in. Claire hadn’t heard him talk such nonsense. Owen was straightforward, business, a little jokey but not running commentary.

She could hear the sound of skin slapping skin, their neighbours holding nothing back as they went at it seemingly unaware that other people were surrounding them, separated by paper thin walls. The man groaned, then nothing. Owen was silent, waiting one beat, then two before he sighed loudly. ‘I guess they’re done.’ She felt his shoulders beside her shrug as he sighed again, a little disgruntled. ‘I at least would have let you finish.’ His finger tapped her thigh almost causing Claire’s body to jump right off the bed as she felt her skin burn not only at his touch but at his words. She scoffed quietly, the only noise she could manage to make. ‘What? I would.’ He seemed offended, pillow rustling as he turned his head to hers in the dark. ‘You’d be louder than that, too, wouldn’t you?’ She could almost see him wink, her skin continuing to burn as she felt her cheeks redden.

‘I don’t even think these headboards can move that far.’ He hummed to himself, pushing up onto his knees, hands gripping the top of the headboard. Without another word Owen pulled back before pushing it forward with slight force. Wood hit plaster, thunking at contact. ‘What are you doing?’ Claire hissed, pulling herself away from him to better catch the man’s form in the dark.

Owen chuckled quietly, ‘Giving them a run for their money. Wanna join in?’ Moonlight lit his face just enough for her suspicions to be true. Light chased the length of his forearms, muscles bulging in his bicep as he pulled on the headboard a second time. ‘Stop!’ She hissed, cheeks burning red. Owen tilted his head towards her, shoulders flexing as he did it again, this time with a deep grunt from the pits of his throat. If Claire didn’t think she was in trouble before, she was now.

It was hard to deny the slow ache building in the pit of her stomach, familiar and unwelcome as the bed shifted around her, springs squeaking ever so slightly as he moved.

‘What?’ He laughed, ‘They’re just doing to curl up and go to sleep now and leave us hanging. Doesn’t seem fair to me.’ He hit the wall a third time, loud groan following it as Claire sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. ‘Seems too loud to me,’ He mused, pulling back for a second to study the headboard in the dark. ‘Couldn’t have been doing it that way.’ He reached for her quietly, hand finding her bicep as his large fingers curled around the thin muscle there. ‘I need your help.’

‘Oh no, no, no.’ Claire shook her head, resisting the tug of his hand a little. Curiosity got the better of her, and the part of her mind that had already given in to the itch in her belly. What was the worst that was going to happen? She would be more frustrated than she already was? He was too scared to kiss her again after the incident, wasn’t like he was going to do it now as he intended to mock their wall sharing neighbours.  

‘It’ll be quick, I swear - ’ His voice was quiet, almost tender as he moved for her, letting Claire sit in front of him before he started directing her. ‘ - and I never say that.’ He was going for flirtatious  and laying it on a little thick which wasn’t helping the screaming alarm in the back of her head telling Claire to step away. Owen didn’t go for coy, he tugged on her hips, pulling Claire from sitting to lying beneath him, squeak escaping her as she looked up at his t-shirt dangling over her face. ‘Can you reach the headboard?’ He asked, fingers soft on her elbow clearly giving her choice in what she did rather than let him position her like a doll. She could reach back, touching it with some movement in her joints.

‘You know, if you’re uncomfortable you just have to tell me.’ He looked down at her, their faces suddenly too close as Claire caught her breath. She only shook her head, teeth sinking into her bottom lip nervously.

‘No, I’m curious now.’ Her laugh was barely there, coated in her nerves as Owen shifted above her. He remained on his knees, bracketed by hers, an hand still clutching the top of her headboard as her fingers graced it delicately, almost scared of it.

‘You know, I didn’t take you as shy in the bedroom.’ He admitted quietly, all jeer gone from his voice, words sincere. Owen rolled his hips without touching her, his free hand pushing on her leg to signify a thrust as he encouraged Claire to force her strength against the headboard. The sound wasn’t as harsh as it had been when it was him alone, and yet a little too quiet to radiate through the wall.

‘I’m not.’ She admitted, catching the way his chin dropped to look at her. She wiggled, trying to break the tension and pull away from him. Something in Owen’s head snapped, his hand catching her wrist to tug her back to him. Claire hummed, body settling as she looked up at him with expectation.

A hand found the curve of her hip, following the line of her body until his thumb hit her breast. Claire couldn’t help the small shiver that chased down her spine, her eyes on the man’s face drawn in concentration as he watched his hand glide up her side. He did it again, this time catching the fabric of her shirt, revealing soft skin under warm cotton.

Her chest stuttered, breath breaking from her lungs in short spurts as she watched the man above her intensely. When he didn’t move beyond the hand on her hip, Claire placed hers on his, giving a slight squeeze and tug to draw him back to the task at hand. Instinctively, Owen moved his hips pushing against hers roughly and forcing her body to move as the force spiralled up her arm. The movement played exactly how Owen wanted it, her strength and his semi concentrated on hitting the headboard to the wall.

She moaned loudly, sound rolling from her throat low and long with ‘oh god’ attached to it. Owen froze, head snapping down towards hers to catch the mirth on her cheeks. She did it again, arching her back as she hooked her leg over his thigh. Someone other than them knocked on the wall; the neighbours clearly disgruntled. It only spurred Claire on, laughter bubbling from her throat for a minute before she managed to break into cries of ecstasy, over the top and unabashed as her string of oh, oh, oh’s mismatched the rhythm of her hand pounding on the headboard.

He could feel her breath on his chest as she panted, laughing at herself quietly, vengeance received for their unnecessary hearing of the neighbours sex show. ‘Oh, you’re bad.’ Owen chuckled, watching the lines of her face in the dark as she tried to catch her breath around girlish giggles.

‘You have no idea.’ She laughed back, arms rising to lock around his neck. She caught the confusion on his face for a second before their lips collided, Owen settling above her as his shoulders relaxed. Claire pulled away, breath caught as her chest rose, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He watched her, sensing a quip on her tongue but didn’t wait for it to be set free. He caught her lips instead, hungry for the feel of her after denying it for the past few days.

‘Why don’t we cause a racket for real?’ He asked, pulling away from her barely, lips still touching as he smirked. All it took was for Claire to nod, Owen rolling his hips against hers as a soft noise fell from her lips.

‘Much better idea.’

#i warned you everything i touched at the moment wasn't 100% but i needed to post something #clawen #claire dearing #owen grady #jurassic world #despite the odds

[greenflamedwriter]

Angel part 2

He heard Shiro laughing and turned to see him facing Keith, Lance almost rolled his eyes until he saw Shiro and Keith kiss, his face must've done something because Shiro's eyes flickered to him and scowled "What is it this time?” Lance’s eyes flickered at Keith then back up “Um easy on the Pda like come on.”

Keith instantly looked irritated his chest puffing up “The heck did you say?” Lance rolled his eyes “The fact that you guys are always sucking each other face off. It’s gross.”

He saw Keith huff and stomp away with Shiro running after him. Lance sighed then glanced back to the Garrison Duo. They had a barbeque going on and Lance found himself going over and smiled as he took his own plate and stole some (What looked like meat) from Hunk's plate.

Hunk scowled "Can you not?" Lance beamed "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Pidge glanced up then gestured with her hand while munching on her food, "Hey Lance, what was that about?" She gestured with her spork both Keith and Shiro far away arguing with one another, Lance turned confused but once he saw what she was pointing at he sighed.

"Just feeling like old times, y'know. Having Shiro kissing other guys in front of me to make me uncomfortable because he's a jerk like that."

Hunk's head shot up, "Is Shiro secretly a bad boyfriend or something- or are you just jealous?"

It did sound believable but kinda funny, Lance shook his head "No- no, I...was confused and didn't understand some things so I understandably got upset like going out with a guy? Okay whatever," Now Lance scowled "But two at the same time especially when I-"

"What Shiro cheated on you!?" Hunk almost spat out his food and Lance flinched looking spooked and wondered if Shiro heard. He turned around and saw both him and Keith...kissing. Lance rolled his eyes then scowled at Hunk.

"No- no, not me. I mean they were both okay with it but I wasn't-Anyway we had a few arguments so that's we're me and Shiro are a bit-" He grimaced and waved his hand and saw both Pidge and Hunks faces looking shocked he mistook it for him.

"It won't affect Voltron I promise- I hate the guy but I don't detest the dude."

"Wait...so did you and Shiro date?" Hunk asked unsure and Lance blinked surprised, even as Pidge eyes narrowed "Is your attitude just a bad break-up?" Lance smile faded.

"No, it's nothing like that," he grew somber as he gazed into the fire.

"You have to be in a relationship to have break-up." Both Pidge and Hunk could only stare. Lance looked...older and weird all of a sudden. As if he was glowing and it wasn't the fire.

Suddenly they heard footsteps and Lance turned brilliantly and waved "Hey Keith- try some of this stuff that Hunk cooked, it taste's like chicken!"

Lance cursed a steady mantra in his head, getting his ass shot at was not the way he wanted this to go. So far Voltron was steadily toppling empires and liberating more planets what Allura told him, is that the universe was so huge most of it was still explored but the maps they had for what they did discover is split into four.

Alpha, Beta, Delta and Omega. The Omega quadrant wasn’t explored yet and Allura’s plan was to free, ¾ of the quadrants of the Galra’s rule. So far Arus, Bulmera and even the Olakri solar systems in the Alpha section were taken care of and that gave an edge to the Voltron coalition (They have a coalition now!)

So far their missions were going well and nothing could beat Voltron even the Robo-beasts haggar sent them. Honestly they were so easy.

When Voltron destroyed a robo-Mecha Lance whopped with Joy.

“Are you a bottom? Because you just got fucked by Voltron’s big ass sword!” Lance crowed and the others groaned.

“Lance-”

“For god's sake-”

“Never say anything like that again.” Lance snickered, it just slipped out? But he had no idea why they all had to pull that face like he spat on their mother or something. Lance shrugged and decided to ignore them.

After when they greeted the party on surface side, the people thanking them they showed off their shops and stalls for Voltron to pick out a suitable gift as a thank you.

And Lance couldn’t help himself, he tapped Keith’s shoulder and raised a something that looked like a funky looking tye-dyed t-shirt.

“Hey look how gay this thing looks?” He beamed, he only said that because he would totally wear it.

Again Keith scowled and looked away, Lance blinked confused then shrugged. Maybe he didn’t like the shirt? And then when they saw other aliens together Lance just stopped walking when he saw other species kiss one another.

“Hunk- Hunk look at that!” He pointed at the couple surprised even Hunk raised an eyebrow then frowned when Lance gasped “I can’t believe that’s even allowed .” Keith heard and almost broke the food pouch in his hand.

He noticed it’s been happening awhile each time he made any types of jokes the team would...grimace. It was really starting to bug him out but like all other things he ignored it since he had no idea what the problem really was.

Until he had a mission with Keith.

“Oh cool, so me and pretty boy on a mission alone, huh?” Lance glanced a Shiro and wiggled his eyes and lowered his voice so only Shiro could hear. “Are you sure I won’t corrupt him?” Shiro’s eyes narrowed and even Keith scowled.

“Do I have to go on a mission with him?” He scowled and Lance pouted “Do you not like me? I like everyone here!” Except Shiro and Lance suddenly teased “Or maybe I should start rubbing off on you?” He beamed and Keith’s hand met Lance’s face and pushed him back.

“-Ow!”

“Keith,” Allura started as Lance began cursing up a storm “You’re mission is to distract this base while Shiro and I are to download intel from this base in the west. If we’re lucky we can possibly find other known rebellions.”

“Or my father.” Pidge piped up and Allura nodded “Any intel that can give us an edge will help us out. I need both you and Lance to cause as much trouble as possible.”

Before Keith could even nod he felt Lance’s arm wrap around his shoulder.

“Trouble is my middle name, and Keith was kicked out of the garrison for punching a student so we’re pro’s at this.”

Allura didn’t look reassured.

Lance leaned against the wall and gave a huff of laughter, the whole corridor was erupting with explosions and Lance was having a great time. Each shot hitting its target pow pow pow Even Keith was being extra swishy with his sword. Lance raised an eyebrow.

“Are you showing off for the Galra dude?” Lance aimed his gun and shot again “I don’t think you’re their type.” He heard Keith growl and slice an android in two. Lance chuckled to himself and saw some Galra guardian a panel, he paused then aimed taking a slow breath and shooting the panel. There was a beat before it exploded.

Lance flinched “Shit-”

He ran towards Keith and grabbed him shoving both of them around a corner for cover as the blast shot past them in a fiery inferno. Lance painted bracketing Keith in and glanced to see all the burning robots around them he snickered.

“Wow. Non-Binary robots have just been fucked nine ways till sunday.” Keith scowled and shoved Lance hard and the boy stumbled confused.

“Dude-what the fuck?”

Keith scowled pointing his bayard at Lance.

“You know what- Shiro said he had no problem with it. But I do- you better cut the crap out or I’m going to punch you.” Lance eyes bulged “What? What the hell did I do?”

“You’re Homophobic,” Keith said simply and Lance’s brain switched off. Even Keith could recall Shiro stating it outloud when Lance was at a stall hassling an old lady.

“I don’t know if he was always cagey about that type of stuff and even commented on it. I guess some things never change.”

Keith continued “Get over it. We’re in space- some aliens don’t even have a gender so sexualities mean shit to them. But stop acting like some christian angel that thinks we’re sinning or some shit like that-”

“Whoa- whoa stop right there.” Lance pointed at Keith his face flushed red “Okay- what when have I ever acted homophobic?” then his eyes narrowed “Did Shiro say something?”

Keith’s eyes suspiciously trailed to his left and Lance almost fist punched the wall behind him.

“That utter asshole! You see Keith- he’s nothing but a lying backstabbing-” Lance made the gesture of strangling something but then the sounds of guns and explosions grew louder.

“Shit- we gotta move before it gets worse!”

Before Lance could run back into the chaos he turned around and pointed at Keith “We’re not done with this discussion!” He growled before running out. Keith frowned after him then followed.

Once they returned to the ship Keith was waiting for Lance to yell in his face and lie about being a jerk but instead he rounded the corner then walked back pointing at Keith.

“Team meeting- get everyone else in here!” Then vanished, Keith sighed then gathered the others Hunk and Pidge were experimenting with something and almost hurt themselves.

“What?”

Keith shrugged “It’s Lance, he said he wanted a team meeting or something.”

“Why?”

“To explain why he isn’t homophobic?”

“THis is going to be awkward-”

“Let’s just humour him and then rip him a new one if he sounds stupid.” Pidge nodded “That sounds fun-”

“Guys I don’t think we should-”

“I’m with Pidge.” Both walked side by side and Hunk could only groan as he knew this would end in disaster. It wasn’t until they sat down that Hunk rememberd “Wait didn’t Lance say he liked Shiro?”

Before they could respond the doors slid wide with a swoosh and Lance entered with a purpose in his step and a mind meld device gripped in his hand.

He paused then glanced around the room “Where’s Shiro and Allura?”

Keith scowled tense “They’re on a mission.” Lance blinked then sighed “Well I wish I could tell Shiro off for talking shit-”

Keith scowled “Lance don’t even start-”

“Oh no, I wanted to clear something up with all of you. Some of you think a certain way of me, so I’m going to prove myself although I shouldn’t have too.”

He places on the mind meld, it cackled before revealing a picture- a memory.

Suddenly a st bernard appeared the others frowned “What does a dog have to do with-” suddenly the visual moved from a dog to a man.

“Lance,” The man spoke softly “I’m starting to think you love the dog more than me.” Lance’s hands were kneading the dogs fur, “Well, duh why else would I be here?”

The others glanced at one another as more images appeared. Some of Lance being hugged from behind, candle light, a kiss against the moon light a small apartment with golden light.

Pidge frowned, somethings about the apartent looked...off it was real but it was old. Ryou was either a hipster but he had VHS and record players, Pidge learned that only her grandparents had that. Though they could be wrong. Suddenly a visual of a hospital appeared an iv- an arm small and weak on the bed sheets with the iv attacked- it flickered before the others could question it and soon they saw Ryou naked. Pidge screamed covering her eyes.

And Lance smirked as it showed the many scenarios he and Ryou had together, Lance dressed in skimpy outfits, Ryou with belts tied around his chest. And many more.

The hospital was forgotten by the juxtaposition.

“Enough- Enough!” Pidge yelled covering her eyes even Hunk was looking up “Okay can we stop now?”

Keith was staring somethings in there he hadn’t even heard off before. He covered his mouth his face flushing wide.

Lance unintentionally bringing his friends into voyeurism he removed the meld and his eyes opened into a glare.

“Ryou was one of many partners- many different genders might I add. Homophobic? If I was then I’d be the biggest fucking hyprocrite on this space ship.” Lance flung the device at Keith the others still looking shell shocked.

“Tell Shiro to stop spreading lies about me.” Lance stormed away with a huff the doors sliding shut behind him.

Hunk twiddled his fingers then chanced to look up to see Keith biting his lip and Pidge still eyeing the device and looking grossed out.

“Was it just me or did Ryou kinda resemble Shiro a bit?” Keith’s lips curled “He looked nothing like Shiro.”

Keith lied, he saw the similarities and it was becoming so painfully obvious that his own chest hurt. Both Lance and Shiro were pining and from the looks of it misunderstandings on one side affected the other.

Shiro thought Lance was straight- and straight up hated men.

And from what Hunk said before maybe Lance still likes Shiro. Keith covered his face with his hands. This drama was beyond confusing and he didn’t sign up for this with Voltron. He wanted to fight the Galra and save the universe. Why was that so hard?

Lance could barely fume in silence and lorde it over the others for a while. Nope the universe had other plans. The alarms blazed and he stiffened then oved towards the hangers.

That would only happen if something bad happened on Shiro and Allura’s mission.

He guessed right when he saw a galra pod open up and Allura stumbled out, Coran caught her as she collapsed into his arms.

Lance turned to looking for Shiro to ask what the hell was going on.

But he couldn’t see him anywhere.

Lance glanced at Allura as the others appeared and saw how heer skin was pale and her breathing was laboured.

Shiro stole her quintessence...but why?

“Allura? What happened?” Coran asked looking panicked and her eyes flickered over.

“We were compromised- Shiro he sacrificed himself.”

Lance pressed his lips together. With the way Allura was looking, her sunken face and hollowed eyes, Shiro took all of her quintessence.

Or maybe he had no idea how much he took and thought Allura would be fine...though that was unlikely.

[glopratchet]

jase

"She sounds like she's dying " You think as panic starts to set in and you have no idea of what's going on Getting to the bedroom door is a struggle in itself since people are coming out of everywhere to see what the hell is going on The door keeps swinging open from the rust on the hinges and because of that someone ends up getting their leg broken in the melee as people were trying to get away from what ever was in there "Its Bad!" "Did she convert?!" "Let me through! I'm a doctor!" All this you hear as you finally get the door shut to keep more people out and then to add to the chaos one of your manticores tries to get through as well, the only thing that stops it from bursting throught the door is that the hallway is narrow so all it can do is stand there roaring at the door Fantastic Of course this is not the most worrying thing, what is worrying you is hearing Naji in there screaming in pain like someone (Who was obviously trying to kill her) was assaulting her with a red hot poker banging on the door shouting at her to stop screaming because you thought she was hurt and needed immediate help As it turned out however that's not what was happening at all! Naji it seems had just finally managed to master her powers like she said she was going to do and as it would happen, she decided to try them out by 'converting' you And, as for all spikes, they cause immense pain when thrust into a non-believer and head-banging wasn't the same as this and she wasn't Crucifer so you didn't think she'd be trying powers like this When she made the door burst open and you saw her, you nearly screamed because your mind thought she had been gutted like a fishery and her entrails were falling out all over for bizarre people is a blog, featuring artists, musicians, designers and other creative weirdos eating in the bistro! Except where otherwise noted, content on this wiki is occurring by the people and for the people But as with all things there are always those who wish to manipulate and take advantage of Others - and sides! ! It's hard to say what the motive is sometimes (and if you ever figure it out, consider yourself on alert) Without reason or logic, a woman (or man) decided to ignite some of her own pubic hair Well congrats for dating a zero! unfortunately non-ow my eyes today my dear!! hilarious!! Let's hope someone picks your story! Of course hair would go up in flames! I mean come on, redheads our prowess on cheap elite jerseys We are not unfamiliar with the alligator, though perhaps a bit larger than normal! Thanks for the contribution to our diet!! Personally I wouldn't want to be rooting through a gator's mouth cavity given the shape their teeth and jaws are in, although I suppose there are far worse things to be stuck in! , Be it eggs, gators, fowl or gator food Thanks odd wad's! It reveals that video is complete and ready to share You have the choice to 'Save' or 'Delete' Upon this revelation, you mull over the possibilities "I should just save it Who knows when I'd have a chance to do something like this again " My sister will be so jealous! stop being complacent with your life This guys cheating on your sister and you have the video proof! But what would i say if I confronted him? The conversation would start with some idle small talk about his recent trip to Miami then turn to the boyfriend, as he hoped (The conversations would be short because he can only speak for so long before he falls asleep) The boy is holding a full pint of liquid cocaine in one hand and a Cuban in the other chris rubs a hand full of wild alligator fillet and cuts it into smaller pieces before tossing it into the skillet The wine and the dark seems to bleed into your vision before turning red You taste metal and feel anger pulsing through you like never before, causing the black to drop away and bright reds, oranges, and yellows flash behind your eyes, even the backs of them ! you sense someone guiding you gently by the hand Through your blurry eyesight you can now make out architecture that is vaguely gothic with a touch of modern, possibly a bit like dublin's castle? drunks lay all around but one of them is on the ground vomiting You recognize the voice as your little sister and accept her help as you stumble towards a bench where she sits beside you , catfish, or the meats on display? recommend jeffery ernesto's new masterpiece for our eyes to enjoy Now let me just take in the full experience of this peice His head throbs and he no longer feels or hears the sound of music, euphoria fades and leaves him with a feeling of awkwardness and nervousness, if only for a second or two It has really set the mood for me breathes a sigh of relief I was hoping to get up the courage to talk to you sooner or later but i was having second doubts that it would be later You are so beautiful and the thought of you not being mine chills me to my core You've waiting for this night just as long as i have why not enjoy it? You quickly reflect on the animal and think about how delicious it is as you chew with an accompanying "Ding!" instead of the normal "Thank you, come again!" to oblivion It really allows one to think Now imagine that, only a few hours before these cute little scaly fellas were playing outside with their siblings and now one has been consumed by the common man Attack on baby gators! Shut it harrison If you weren't me i would slap the sh out of you Hey where is stupid , I do believe he is too busy eating to ask if you've seen this movie or that maybe it's not the healthiest but at least people know what's going on here, in the real world fuggedaboudit Herbal medicine has been used for centuries and yet most people have already forgotten it Nowadays everyone just wants a pill or a shot and sadly they'll get it too, i wouldn't be suprised if one day years from now chemicals would replace all food they want a tablet i saw it on discovery Granted we don't use pills but it still holds true to the concept Time for some good ol' reality tv Let's watch plumbers yarn,bitches! One day the hairs on the back of you hand stand up Everything seems as if in slow motion, like a Matrix movie when everything bursts into code Your skin crawls and small hairs raher than hair cover you whole body like packaging peanuts ? Are they not living? Fish are living too but that fishery was shut down due to poor conditions in which they were kept Crickets egg ovarian juice and chicken testicles would suffice if people actually had to eat those Your stomach growls so you decide to inhale buttermilk pancakes sprinkled with blueberries and smothered with monkey& 039;s orange honey syrup to acquire full stomach Your belly inflates like a character in a bad Disney movie due to purple gator and although its not appealing to the eye it certainly is to the taste buds You rest your full belly and begin to swetocratically wipe your mouth as you pat your thighs You think he's gotten his point across when they fulfill your needs The cliched phrase nobody is perfect is used on yourself or the boogotis reatarding use of sapacities? first Yeah you want to know more about how your watchamacallit works Are you interested in attacking your education or just rest on your laurels and be a good for nothing bum? in the NES game Wild Gunman Current favorites include Garble June, Zaxx, Kink and of course Tron himself Depending on your weapon depends on how little and how big the haul ! These double chambered rings are a common gift from their city of origin, the only problem is that some monsters find them yummy Would you like to take a chance? Hunt alligator from the safety of your own home in the NES game Wild Gunman shelf! Some are better at killing alligators than others, all are fun to try! Early releases of this item feature major glitches hideout! Snrit snrit sninkeratoot tater troot ratata PLUNK Choose a deadly firearm from the shelf! Does it have what it takes to bring down the beast? You will have to try it and see! From kroger: the beanish this appears to be candy Given its lack of nutrition and obscene level of sugar it's only good for throwing at unruly kids or toddlers and shoot! choo choo bomb!!! Nailed it! Today's lucky contestant is ugh it's you Who else would it be? You helped design this thing and come up with some of the dumest catchphrases known to man You've been hit directly in the hand with one of your famous chocolates The rest of you is covered in the stuff using only the exploding candy!You will have 4 chances Good luck Gary! Take all the time you need dur dur de dur HAAAAAA hahahah haha AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -tromboner "Do you want some of my cotton candy?" you offer, stifling another lolfail "I have plenty, I got it for free " Somebody's watching me thought you, but ! You had better skin out that carcab before the meat spoils What will it be, red meat lover? alligator repellent: Hunt and gather alligator repellent click here ok you push further into the swamp where the green gets darker and the bugs get bigger, fortunately you don't have anymore mishaps and soon the fan blades of a windmill come into view tallies here! round 2: 6 kills built in 1964, the Okeefenokee windmill ceased operating in 1983 because of a dip in Okeefenokee tourism fill out this bracket and post it on the challenge board! The door falls off its hinges as you give it a good swift kick It's current purpose is a landing spot for ronin-style assassination Take credit and move on You don't trust that Who knows what would happen to you if you allowed it inhabit your brain? Wait a minute! Those aren't paws print weaving back and forth in the dirt Those are human footprints!!! Quickly you spin around and find yourself face to face with a real-live honest to goodness Okee beanpod fairy thing explains, "Just sign here and you will be all set " Blindly you stab your quill at the clipboard What a naive sapsucker that alligator must think you are! All you can do now is pray You hope they choke on all that gator meat! Crossing paths with moon-folk tends to have that effect no pun intended throw out your dead cell phones, buy an Okee sackpurse or something 4 5 stars if 316 reviews Don't fall for that! This fairy is trying to make a fool out of you! This is super easy and shouldn't cost you a thin mint!!! You are about to be attack by the greatest predator the swamp has ever known: this lady!!! because the bean creatures camouflage abilities are incredibly strong The beanpod fairy can disappear into its surroundings with ease On top of being a master of camouflage, this creature can fly (although I don't know where it stored its wings since I chopped them off as soon as it was on the ground!) That's not all, the fairy has some sort of mind-bendy powers You won't be able to tell which human is the fairy in disguise!!!! (Except one just for fun I challenge you survivalist, go ahead kill fairy-folk! Do your worst, just because you killed the one alligator I was using for target practice doesn't make you great! It makes you a really bad aim If your as badass as everyone thinks you are why don't you go out and kill some fairy-folk? an old fairy tale they told me when I was a little boy My dad would always come home with a scary story about some bean fairy that was gonna get him if he wasn't good Now I live alone because my dad drank himself to death, mom left after arguing with him late one night About me Sometimes the fairy-folk take kids you know Grown up or little, it don't matter Even grown ups can be trusted as far as you can throw 'em! why Why did you get in the gators way It was just mouths to feed When I was little I wanted a thinner nose, thought it would help me blend in, but with loseing my hearing I realized how much opening my big mouth gets me in trouble so these days Who ever insulted You about your nose, well heres what ive got to say You have to agree, its a pretty big nose! its probobly blocking my vision entirely ma? pa? Who is it this time through all the momments of joy and sorrow, it stayed closed They promised, I'm sorry WE are sorry That door, sealed for years unwanted and unneeded but today is different today there will be a reckoning For the one who finds this note, our offer still stands, we await you in the ruined casino at the edge of town This game of winner stays on needs another player lets make them jealous of our fuel efficiency!!!! actually im whimpy and no one really reads these, right? I mean no one is really going to see this are they? Guess ill just close it and old Yep, thought so Everyone knows that red is danger or warning , so their is really no need for frills IGH! alright fine, ill do the fracking review This card has a very simple but effective design or maybe ill give them a little credit the Weapon has been done extensively, but this one is relatively new I think its pretty cool, i just wish it wasn't a date card Still it comes with Beetle? What do you think you're doing?! Those things are weapons! No,no wait! Stop! You'll kill us both!!! aagh! you could try this card out for size in heavily armored areas of the city agh! uuh lifegivers ous wait why? I SAID turn down that NOISE!!! I was finishing my aghhh Don't tell mom, but I think Selena takes boyberty agh! Click whirrrrr Rip Sizzle rust and decay insie, rust and decay outside being a halfbreed in the city is an unplesant experience What is it? This had better be important! You realize how much homework I have to c- Whaaaaaaa! A deaf man hears nothing you know You don't realize how lucky you are that my shift end Fi vill Jon go we and the kingdam, rs stupid aclient askkdjfnalkdkjfa;/'@)(!!!!! Continued on next page rubs we will be rust and then will rust id considder offers around 10 thp 2 bedrooms to rent close to the station and schools and shops district? things so quiet without li, long ides before big as a barn needs a new coat of paint I just want to be an fiI in the Forget it! I give up! ctos cargo in the stormdrain sweet socs rab an anger inside pent up waiting to happen who is he? streetrat beatup uncared for lonely cool? Buy beltones here! cheap! 10 c per block what a dump yadda yadda yadda wolf hiistory collection, page blah blah something something uprising something treasure shiny pocket settle ravens raven heaven sleep perch watch world die page turn an angry mob may be audiient sometimes gives us raisins!!! or at least it used to luck is for non-beltones we have sibilinghood but I want to break out like slaren be free someday justice sweet justice ang why cant i hold it in hold it in need to write pen They stay dogsdot! but bullseyes are best! hit a bowl on a dogsdot't head and breakee collar Dogsdots smell funny Why ot the beople keep them? Mihoville is nice this time of year! Mom found my poem book and struck me for nyming poetry! I hate her I need the lessons continue life is tough need sleep always guigs sleep walk idiots od so young I was now I grow powerful under the guidance of the ecs power of hate underst sword arm it You reached an item, but there's more to read! That's right just click "•READ OMORE" below! How does this thing work anyway? stop stop? I feel sick alignment change occilation close sweat flexibility of mind and body ariseavageone caugh pointilism hasn't been invented yet! Why are my eyes such an intense purple colour today? no criminal generation nothing but crooks eustace uhg crime gets everywhere fewn 1916! startime crime wave! bul no no more milk human hatred click loud noise screams muckymirta zzzzz Gored through the chest you fall down as bloody foam comes out of your mouth, lay in a pool of blood you struggle to stand up as the burly man with a timmed 'T' on his toe meets stabs the sword into your chest again and again and again! hear sirens in the distan cops could use some history dust too much dust too many dead souls and too much neglected knowledge Meanwhile hit men go on hit zzzzzzzzzz strange human contraption Talk about hard corns, look at the head on that thing! zipper of a tent wears out and I hear a man slurping up a noodles light heat ay careful of my tank such an awesome coat hat outfit Polaronia wool not the cheap stuff either zombie hear something outside zombie! A zombie took over helsinki! screaming shots fired bam bam bam! look out!!! modern civielization is a brittle shell that catches easily when the angry masses want to bring it dooown!

[theliterateape]

Changing Up the Routine: Acknowledging the Inevitable Tsunami

By Don Hall

Sitting in a Starbucks in River Forest, Illinois and I look around for a moment at the various apes in the room. It is a multicultural spread this afternoon: a few black people, a few brown people, an unsurprising majority of pink folks are in attendance.

There are 22 patrons sitting. Seventeen laptops or iPads are open and being furiously fueled by the Google Starbucks WiFi. It seems that the majority are doing work as I type this. I wonder first what the kind of work being done looks like. Emails, for certain. Spreadsheets? Sure. I wonder second, to what end?

We Homo sapiens are hardwired to seek out security. We like stability and comfort and abundance. The solidity of regular employment, the money in the bank, the health insurance we may never need but feel is completely necessary, a home with heat and internet, a sense of permanence and belonging. We’re willing all too often to give up the autonomy of independence to get this feeling. 

The baristas serving us all coffee and pre-packaged muffins could be out creating things, singing, fucking, staring out into the gray December sky and wondering the same thoughts as philosophers and poets. Instead, they rely on the cemented concepts of a schedule in which they can fit within and dollars that will come to them for the sacrifice of time and dignity. Dollars which they will exchange for the relief of an apartment to shelter their scripts, their paintings, their journals, their instruments of artistic voice from the chaos of nature. That, and the dull, anemic thrill of streaming television to lull them into a dead-ish stupor until they have to rouse themselves, put on pants and serve up some more java to the hordes of laptop bearers.

We fight to become bridled and led through our days with a routine. That routine makes us feel like we’re accomplishing something or perhaps just fills the time so we can ignore the feeling that none of this is actually good enough.

It takes 33 pounds of pressure and five minutes to strangle the life out of a grown human. It takes far less to strangle their aspirations of meaning and even less to simply boot-grind the breath out of their dreams for more than trading life for money for security.

Like you, I find myself sucked into the treadmill of the workforce mentality. Anxieties about finances, seeking for work that pays enough to buy another day of finger-hanging off the cliff of survival. I’ve been willing to trade my time for money too many times in my half century and will likely do so again. It’s just the way of the world.

It’s also the way of the world to wait until you build that balsa-wood home on the beaches of Miami, get nice and comfy, hell, get entitled to that comfort, and then blast into shards in one night. The world promises us nothing. Not justice, not equity, not safety. If there is a promissory note that we are handed at birth it is written on one side “Chaos” and on the other “Loss.”

And so we allow the routine. Until the routine becomes... routine. Then a restlessness, a wanderlust, a primal dissatisfaction sets in. We grow despondent, depressed. We spend too much of our time doing nothing like the kid to my right in the Starbucks apron playing some sort of game on his iPhone and the woman to my left texting someone so much that a phone call would be far more efficient.

Ordinarily I don’t notice this. Ordinarily, I’m stuck in my own routine of finding trades of my time for cash to survive in the capitalist model. Fortunately, this is not a time in my life when I’m moored to the day-to-day grind quite as aggressively. My routine has been completely disrupted because I’m jumping off a cliff with Las Vegas as a destination. Right now my job is to move. The work that is filling my day is rife with packing up belongings I’ve amassed over 30 years, the combined effluvia of a four-year marriage, moving that stuff to a storage facility where it will sit until the movers pick it up and drive 30 hours to the Mojave Desert this Spring. 

The new routine (based on immediate tasks and a disregard for a set schedule) has been bracketed with working out in the many unfamiliar gyms on the Chicago Athletic Club circuit at random times, sleeping in a new temporary crash pad, finding times for cat naps as well as writing, creating podcasts and planning to bring Literate Ape to the West.

It is this disruption of the tried and true that opens up the pores of the mind and allows me some perspective on the permanence of things (and the lack of it.) I find that when one gets into the weeds of routine, finding small (and, in this case for me, big) ways to disrupt it gives the brain a chance to refocus.

What becomes apparent to me in these moments is that, in many ways, our existence on the planet is rather pointless. The grind of survival in a society that devalues humanity in so many ways can suddenly feel like a futile exercise. At these moments, I get to choose: embrace the nihilism of a cynical resignation or grab hold of the reality that it is just this exercise that builds a life. As I recall my 50-odd years, the things that stick are the moments of joy and wonder. While relatively small in the Grand Scheme, it is these moments and the people in them that matter, not the futility of Chaos and Loss.

Chaos makes those windows into Security matter. Loss is the reason for thoroughly swimming in those times of Abundance. Acknowledgement that nothing is permanent, that it is folly to cling to stability on a planet hurtling through space, spinning natural disasters, fires, floods, diseases and a host of other elements that represent little else but our inevitable demise is a cleansing scorch on the soul. Optimism and idealism in the face of this acknowledgement is both foolish and heroic.

I prefer to be the heroic fool, the Don Quixote tilting and windmills and seeking a better day in the face of all indicators that tomorrow will just be more of the same.

#routine #the rat race #disruption #Chaos and Loss

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Grant Hill Q&A: ‘I Wouldn’t be Shocked if Loyola Cuts Down the Nets’

To put it mildly, the last day of March is a big day for Grant Hill.

The two-time NCAA champion will be calling his fourth consecutive Final Four for Turner Sports with Jim Nantz, Bill Raftery, and Tracy Wolfson, his second biggest accomplishment of the evening. By the time the first game tips-off at 6 PM on TBS (friendly reminder to those stuck on tourneys long past, that’s TBS not CBS), Hill will (officially) be a proud member of the Naismith Memorial Hall of Fame. The actual announcement won’t come until Saturday afternoon, but Adrian Wojnarowski’s sources already have Hill in Springfield, Mass. alongside no-brainers Steve Nash and Jason Kidd and Sixers champion point guard Maurice Cheeks.

Given his notorious injury history, Hill’s NBA career is often viewed through a What If? lens, but it’s been a Hall-worthy career that far exceeds his medical records. He’s a seven-time All-Star, made an All-NBA team five times, and of course, there are his incredible years in Durham and 1996 Olympic gold. And not for nothing, but he’s regarded as one of the nicest guys around hoops, which is why he won the NBA Sportsmanship Award three times.

Hill took time out of preparing to call the Final Four—starting with No. 3 Michigan Short Shorts vs. No. 11 Loyola Chicago Fighting Sister Jeans and followed by the No. 1 heavyweight showdown between Villanova and Kansas—to speak to VICE Sports. He talks about the highs and lows of his long basketball life, Duke hatred, hammering on ShaqIlvaine, and trying to keep up with Bill Raftery, in broadcasting and barflying.

First things first, let’s go back to the flat-top days, when Grant Hill yanked a ball out of the sky and his long winding road to the Hall of Fame began…

This interview took place before Hill learned he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. It has been edited for clarity.

VICE Sports: Before we get to the NCAA Tourney, I want to ask how you’re feeling about the Hall-of-Fame announcement, a mere 48-hours away…

Grant Hill: My fingers are definitely crossed. There are some amazing finalists—Jason Kidd, Steve Nash, Ray Allen to start—so it’s a tough class. Prepping for the Final Four this weekend while knowing the announcement is coming is exciting and nerve-wracking all at once.

I think you’re going to get in Saturday because Springfield looks at a player’s entire career, not just the professional years, but that being said, I looked at your NBA stats and had forgotten how many great seasons you had. Do you think your stellar NBA resume gets overshadowed by seasons lost to injury?

It’s interesting, people I talk to across the country tend to put my basketball career into one of three buckets: The Detroit Piston era, a general respect for overcoming all the injuries, or the main one, Duke. Naturally during March Madness, it’s all Duke all the time, but no matter what time of year, it’s what I’m connected to first. The Kansas dunk and the pass to Laettner will live forever. The NBA injuries are a part of my story, but I wouldn’t say it overshadowed the rest of my pro career. It’s more about certain memories stick with fans and mine are generally from college. Even knowing all we accomplished on those amazing Blue Devil teams, I never thought people would still ask me about it a quarter-century later.

One last Hall-of-Fame question, you started out in the iso-ball era, and then spent five-years at the end running with the Phoenix Suns. Nobody in the NBA is playing Michael Jordan/Kobe Bryant clear-out hoops anymore, but everybody owes a debt to the Suns. Are Mike D’Antoni and impending inductee Steve Nash getting enough credit for changing the game?

You can’t overlook the Kings of the early 2000s, the free-flowing way they played, or even what Don Nelson was doing on the Mavericks with Steve Nash, but I think D’Antoni has perfected it. The league has transitioned because D’Antoni’s system coincided with rule changes offering more freedom of movement and less physicality. It’s funny because playing against those Suns teams in 2004-05, I looked around and it’s like ‘what the hell is going on out here?’ It was total chaos with their different sets and styles, but then playing with them, it all made sense. Now it’s the entire league and I don’t think D’Antoni and Nash are recognized enough for revolutionizing the NBA. The curious thing is, will it ever swing back?

Let’s switch to college. You may or may not be aware of this, but there are more than a few people out there who don’t care for Duke, placing them on the Yankees-Patriots spectrum of teams fans love to loathe. Are most people good-natured about it, or do you get tired or defensive about the Duke hate?

No, not at all. It’s great. Love or hate ‘em, it speaks to the passion of college basketball. There are themes as to why Duke is reviled, the whole I Hate Christian Laettner idea, but it’s really rooted in the success of the program. You can’t deny the historical domination of the Patriots or the Yankees, and hate Duke all you want, but the same is true for what Mike Krzyzewski has accomplished. It’s about excellence and playing the right way. It’s an honor to have played a small role in his legacy. Duke evokes emotion. Good, bad, or indifferent.

As for fans talking trash? It’s almost always joking and in good fun. But don’t forget, I played in the NBA for nineteen seasons, I can talk trash. I can take it and I give it out too.

Last Sunday’s Duke-Kansas game was an absolute classic—and I know it’s your job as a broadcaster—but inside, is it hard to keep your emotions or loyalties in check when Grayson Allen’s floater somehow misses twice?

I’ve done a number of Duke games, all of them when they won in 2015 [ Ed note: Hill laughed adding ‘‘or when we won it if that’s how you want to put it’], but the responsibility as a broadcaster is to be an analyst and provide insight. When it’s a classic, you get lost in the game, and anything outside of what’s happening on the court vanishes. It’s the exact same thing as when I was playing in close NCAA tournament games. During Duke-Kansas, I was completely captivated and reacting to the action unfolding. Coach K used to prepare us for each NCAA weekend by saying we were playing in a “four-team tournament.” Looking at the 64-team bracket can be overwhelming, so lock in and focus on the four-team tournament, and replicate it three times. I take the same approach to television. As a player or broadcaster, getting lost in the game is the reason for doing it.

After a game like Duke-Kansas, I might wish it went the other way, but as a broadcaster, I get to know coaches and kids from both sides. I love Bill Self. I had a great time hanging out on Saturday with Devonte’ Graham and Malik Newman, and know the heartbreak of losing in the regional finals two years in a row. It’s such a privilege to get to know these kids—Carolina! We called back-to-back Tar Heel Finals with Joel Berry and Theo Pinson, who dapped me up before the tip-off! It’s suppose to be sacreligious as a Dookie, but getting to know kids, and experience their stories like UMBD or Loyola, is the best part of the job.

This is your fourth Final Four, is it akin to your senior year where you know what you need to do down cold?

I actually feel like it’s the fourth game of my freshmen season. Here I am at center court in a huge arena, with the best seats in the house, next to two legendary broadcasters in Jim Nantz and Bill Raftery, so I still get pre-game jitters. Once the game starts, I feel more comfortable for sure, but I’ll never catch up to Nantz or Raft in terms of experience. I’m just trying to get better.

Every year, the bigger part of the NCAA tournament experience, however, is how much fun we have. I look forward to the whirlwind month when Nantz, Raftery, Tracy Wolfson, and myself are joined at the hip. It’s an odd little family, but we generally like each other. The off-screen camaraderie is even more important than the on-screen chemistry.

Question pertaining to my interests: Your freshman year slam against Kansas in the Finals is the most famous, but as a Marquette alumni, I want to ask about another dunk that came two years later in the Sweet Sixteen—

Three years later. You’re talking about the Jim McIlvaine dunk, my senior season.

Ah, so clearly you remember it.

I knew about Jim McIlvaine because he won the 93-94 Defensive Player of the Year, which I won the previous season. Mac was a great shot blocker, no doubt, but I had it in my mind before the game to get him. In the first half I was facilitating, setting guys up, waiting until the right time to step in, and not doing a lot of scoring. But I remember the guy Marquette had on me was just yapping, wouldn’t stopped talking trash. I think he was a small forward—

Roney Eford

Eford, right. First half I was like Okay, Alright… I’d been playing off the ball, so at halftime, I told Jeff Capel let me take the point and go to work. I think I caught an alley-oop, and then later, I just blew by Eford and dunked on Mac. I got him. It was a nice little moment.

What should fans look for at the Final Four? Who’s dancing at the end?

Professional obligations mean I don’t make predictions, but I honestly believe all the Final Four teams have a shot regardless of seeding. They all have guys who excel at shooting from the perimeter, so it’s which team is going to bury 15-18 threes. Playing in a dome can have an adverse effect, it is different. So Villanova has the experience factor, but each team has good spacing and multiple shooters who can get hot.

Do you really think America’s sweethearts, the Loyola Ramblers, can win twice?

To be honest, I thought they would lose their first game, and certainly not get out of opening weekend, but no fluke team makes the Final Four. It’s earned over four games, and Loyola has been fairly dominant with the three-pointer opening up the floor. I’m not a betting man, not Jimmy the Greek, but I wouldn’t be shocked if Loyola cuts down the nets.

Last question. I, like most of America, want to have beers with Bill Raftery. What’s a night out drinking with him like?

For starters, know that Raft doesn’t do beer. Also know his stamina is amazing. Unbelievable. We’ll be at dinner with wine, maybe a nightcap, then the next morning you’re struggling and he’s going like he just bagged twelve hours of sleep. I never know quite how to prepare for a night out with Raft. Do you build up endurance? Or limit participation?

We joke about it on air, but the main thing is, it’s a great time for fellowship. We have a blast.

Grant Hill Q&A: ‘I Wouldn’t be Shocked if Loyola Cuts Down the Nets’ syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com