Look who's back!
And he brought friends:
The only elf allowed on my shelf, Astarion!
And the man voted "Most likely to be visited by three spirits", Elijah Kamski!
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Look who's back!
And he brought friends:
The only elf allowed on my shelf, Astarion!
And the man voted "Most likely to be visited by three spirits", Elijah Kamski!

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Happy birthday @wyntereyez!
Cheeky Assholes
I love these two!! â¤ď¸
DollyPartonChallenge
Killian jones
Detective Rogers
Old Hook
JJ Sneed

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âSaved From What Might Have Beenâ
(A bit of birthday whump for @hollyethecuriousâ)
By: @snowbellewellsâ  Â
Iâm honestly not sure if this is much good, or really worth giving as a gift, but Iâve tried something new here, and Iâm hoping you may like it, Hollye. Youâve provided the fandom (and our pirate!) a lot of painfully delicious whump over the last few years. Particularly with âWhat Lies Beneath the Maskâ - my personal favorite! You also wrote one of my favorite examples of KnightRook fic in your recent MC âWe Make Our Own Fateâ.  Iâm attempting to incorporate those things in this little drabble for you. I donât really know where this came from otherwise; I had something else in mind, but then this is what I ended up with instead. Contains Season 7âs Wish!Hook/Old Hook and Rogers, KnightRook, and of course some whumpage, if those are things people arenât interested in. Most of those are new things for me to try writing as well.
Enough of my rambling - here goes:
âSaved From What Might Have Beenâ
Rough hands grasp him harshly, grappling at him from all angles and lifting him bodily from his seat at the gaming tables. He brays out in displeasure, swatting at those forcing him to the tavern door, at first thinking it is a ill-timed and less-than-humorous jest. However, as raucous voices laugh and jeer in approval, hooting and hollering and stamping feet accompanying shouts of âGood riddance!â and âBout time ye boys were takinâ out the trash!â, Jones begins to struggle in earnest. He jerks within the hold of many, bucking and swinging wildly, though his punches go wide, made effectual with too much drink and the number of opponents holding him back. His attempts to dig in his heels only lead to him tripping over the raised board at the tavern entrance when the group pauses to open the door. Their combined grip lessens slightly, but before Hook can gather himself to whirl and fight, he is tossed forward unceremoniously, hurled into the street face first.
Once he would have been on his feet in an instant, charging forward to take all comers, but the air is knocked from his aging lungs, and he feels the ache and disorientation throughout his aching joints as he pushes himself to scruffed hands and knees, glaring at those who mock him from the doorway, barring re-entry to the one place able to temporarily silence his demons.
A shaking, unsteady hand wipes away mud from the rain drenched streets and the coarse and unkempt gray hair hanging in his eyes as well. His voice is a hoarse growl when he warns, âYou lot should know better than to cross a pirate!â He attempts to stand imposingly to his full height, hand tucked in his belt and hook in plain view, to inspire the sort of respect and fear he had once done and ignore the shooting pain in his knees and hip.
The mob of half a dozen or more look unimpressed, but still Jones moves forward, meaning to shoulder his way through them and back to his table indoors. However, upon nearing the group, he is shoved back harshly, sending his still unbalanced form staggering back again. Rage blinds him along with the dizziness of a half-drunken haze. Brandishing the hook, he makes to charge into the fray once more, when he is stopped cold by their leaderâs words.Â
âThink carefully, ye doddering old fool,â the manâs deep tone orders. âYeâve cheated yer last at my tables, and used up the last of me goodwill. Payinâ customersâve complained long enough. Youâre no captain. Whereâs yer ship? No sailor nor pirate; no more, at any rate. Yer a has been, a worthless old drunk. And this be yer warninâ  - stay out of my tavern or face the consequences!â
The words sink in just as deep, and perhaps even more painfully than the hard landing had moments before. The grizzled man seems to shrink, his shoulders slumping as he faces the small mob barring his way. Though his bravado does not leave him, he sees that it will not serve him victory and there is no swaying the men standing against him. Thereâs nothing for him here - no longer can he seek refuge, drown his sorrows and try to forget. He wants to wipe that hateful sneer from the taven keeperâs face; to carve his mark in the skin of all their thick hides with the sharp point of his hook and prove their insults wrong. And yet⌠defeated he knows those words have long since turned into ugly truth.
365 Days of Captain Swan [Day 99]