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based on this post by @snarkycaptainswan4. and also because they still haven’t had a peaceful ily!!!

Emma sighs as soon as she struts inside, the exhaustion of doing her Saviour and Sheriff duties all day taking a toll on her. She smiles tiredly as she slumps down on the couch beside where Killian is currently reading a book.

Her head falls on his shoulder as her hand grabs his hook, pulling it to her lap as she curls around him.

“Tired, love?”

“Hmm.” Emma shuts her eyes, sighing loudly and burrowing more into his neck. 

“Would you like a hot chocolate?” He asks her, shutting his book and throwing it on the table.

“No.” Emma tightens her hold on him once he starts to move, “Just you.”

“Well, you have me.” He turns, resting his back on the arm of the couch and turning Emma so she’s cradled between his legs, her cheek resting against his chest, as his arms wrap around her shoulders.

“Is Belle okay?” she murmurs.

Killian smiles, shaking his head slightly. Even after spending the entire day running around town trying to find any clues, find Hyde, the Evil Queen – anyone – she’s still worried about Belle. But this is what drew him to her – not just her fierce and badass (as Henry calls it) exterior, but her kindness and unfailing worry about others. Living up to her title quite perfectly.

Emma looks up at him once he doesn’t reply, “Why are you smiling stupidly?”

 “What?” He looks down at her, the smile still etched on his lips. He tends to do that a lot he notices, despite all the upheaval in their lives – he’s never been quite this happy.

 “Why are you smiling stupidly?” She repeats, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb making small circles.

 He grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, “Nothing, love. I just really love you.” He whispers, offering her a sweet smile as his gaze runs all over her face, still in awe that this absolute perfection of a woman somehow loves him too.

 Emma smiles, biting her lip from not smiling too widely. She knows he loves her more than anything but hearing the words still make her heart flutter and a stupid grin spread across her face.

“I love you too.”

He smiles brightly, the tiny creases beside his eyes deepening as his eyes light up. Emma moves her hand to clutch the collar of his shirt, pulling him to her, their teeth clanking as they can’t help but grin widely from all the happiness and giddiness as their lips move against each other’s lazily.


In the morning when Emma has to leave to meet her dad at Granny’s for a promised father-daughter pancake breakfast, she brushes a kiss at a barely awake Killian’s cheek. “See you soon. Love you.”

 She blushes profusely as she descends the stairs, his hoarse and loud, I love you too Swan. Have a great day! still loud and clear.

NANCY WHEELER & JONATHAN BYERS The movies don’t warn you about this: The woods will forget, but you won’t. In the hallways, you’ll both flinch at the sound of a locker door slamming like the howling November wind ( and teeth and teeth and teeth ). Your eyes will meet over your camera and Steve Harrington’s letterman jacket, and you’ll both smile sheepishly as if you haven’t shared the same nightmare every night for the past two weeks, the scars on your palms like aching tattoos.

The movies don’t warn you about this: Neither of you know what to do with the love that came without a chance to grow. Will Byers is home, but the monsters still live under the bed, in her eyes. You make it a habit, meeting up at the library to talk about cryptids until midnight, drawing maps and almost touching in the worst kind of way. Every Saturday, you make a plan to get in your car, go and never look back with the bear traps in the backseat. Every Saturday, you make it to the second stop sign down Mayberry before you both exhale and turn back home.

The movies don’t warn you about this: You should have never spent that first night in her bed, for now your sleep can’t get acquainted to anything else. You and Steve are friends now, in the loosest sense of the word, but you’re not sure if he’d be too jazzed about you sleeping in his girlfriend’s bed every night. You say things like, we’re protecting each other and they can’t get us here when she wakes up screaming Barbara’s name and her skin feels like gunmetal.

One night, your hand slips from her knee, and she lets it, both of you breathing hard and staring even, asking for permission. Both of you already saying no. ( You learn how to sleep alone after that. )

The movies don’t warn you about this: Getting the girl and ending up with the girl are not necessarily the same thing after all.


New Final Fantasy XV character models from Famitsu


“I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.”

he knows that her legacy will be the resounding echo of water dripping from the faucet, soggy cigarettes, and the ladies whispering poor ophelia, poor ophelia, poor ophelia.

poor ophelia, who drowned in newspaper clippings and dead roses, scrawled his name across the wall over and over again until she forgot her own.

poor ophelia who used to lay across his bed sheets like skeleton bones, collecting the parts of him that died in that bathtub, eyes staring at nothing like she used to stare at him.

poor ophelia, Hamlet whispers to himself, all whiskey-washed hair and bloody lips. poor ophelia, poor ophelia, poor ophelia. I know what it feels like to be a ghost.