Sorry this is a bit of a late post guys, but you guys really wanted to continue this even though the season is starting so we are going to have another cs gtky tomorrow, March 9 (PREMIERE DATE) at 3 pm. The topic is YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY. It can be anything from knitting to skateboarding to…
I wanna run my hand through his hair so badly
TVFanatic On-Set with Sean Maguire and Jared Gilmore
Holy shit, Jared’s voice. Our wee baby is not so anymore.
Killian is a fucking hero, you know. He’ll fight a flying monker for his true love. I have tears in my eyes.
As part of my “I can’t believe there are people who follow me!” prompt ask, the uber talented seastarved requested that I write a drabble based on Matt Nathanson’s “Come on Get Higher.”
I realize that this is strange and abstract and probably not at all what you had in mind, but this is where my mind is tonight - thanks a lot, Colin O’Liferuiner and your I don’t know what Hook was thinking about (and where the lyrics took me, I suppose.) Hope you like it, Chinx!
drown me in love
There are times when he’s sleeping in the Enchanted Forest, in the depths of the woods, when he thinks he hears her. A throaty, sound that echoes somewhere in the recesses of his mind, his memory.
And in those desperate moments (when he feels like the madman he believes he truly is) he compares the noises and vibrations and syllables to the catalog of words he has come to classify as Emma’s – those that she has stolen from the lips of others and inadvertently claimed as her own.
Good. Handle. Understanding. Hope.
They’re not the same. Every noise he’s heard in this year, this first in a lifetime of heartache (he should be accustomed to), are quiet and flat. They’re whispers and suggestions compared to the body-thrumming, earth moving language of his Swan.
It’s been only weeks and already he feels deaf.
I don’t know if anyone has said this yet but
COLIN O’DONOGHUE’S HAIR IN THOSE SNEAK PEEK
ARE YOU A BEAVER CAUSE DAAAAAAMMNN
|I'm always a sucker for CS neighbors! Ya know, running into each other in the hallways and at building meetings. Plus there is always an added bonus with some crazy neighbors thrown in that try to actively set them up.|
right so, this might actually have to be continued at a later date because i just got a flood of snippet ideas. thank you for the prompt! hope this works a little.
Emma had been living there for almost a year when he moved in. And she wouldn’t have noticed but the ceiling/floors were thin and she’d never noticed before because the prior occupant had been an older lady who’d spent most of her time watching the soaps and commenting on the goings on of the young people in their building.
She kinda missed Mildred.
He was not an old lady. Unless old ladies play guitar at all hours of the night. When she got home from either her night classes, or the bar (bartending was paying her rent), all she wanted was to crash into a dreamless sleep. She did not want to hear someone attempting the guitar riff from ‘you really got me’ (van halen version, obviously) or the acoustic strumming of ‘falling slowly’ even if it was pretty good inspite of being muffled by the slab of plaster between them.
She gave him two nights. Two nights to figure out that there were OTHER PEOPLE in the building. But the third night, she whipped herself out of bed, threw on a hoodie and her cheap imitation Uggs. She took the stairs two at a time, muttering to herself and practicing what she was going to tell him. She stopped at the door, something sounding very Creedence Clearwater Revival coming through and she knocked brusquely. The guitar stopped and she listened to the approaching footsteps, crossing her arms over her chest, ready to give him a serious ‘what for.’
The door opened and she mentally blanked on what she was going to say.
He had a few inches on her as far as height was concerned. It was hard to say for sure, because the moment he saw her, he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest in almost a mockery of her position. He wore blue jeans, hung low like men liked to wear them and was barefoot (it was actually a little chilly, wasn’t it?). She brought her eyes up from the fact that he was not wearing a shirt and the light covering of dark hair over his skin and up to his face.
Blue. Bright, delighted and mischievous blue eyes in a face almost angelic but for the lighter (ginger?) scruff on pale skin of his jaw. The lips, pinkened, were smirking at her once her eyes lighted up on them. His dark head of hair was tousled in a way that reminded how unfair is was that men had to spend so little time on themselves to look attractive.
“Can I help you?” Oh, of course, the guitar playing, shirtless angel also had an accent. Some form of British, her ear detected.
Of course he did.
“I’m under y—” She stopped before making a grave mistake on her wording. “I live below you.”
“Do you now?” He tilted his head so it also lay against the frame, looking boyish as his eyes took in her in much the same way she’d done with him. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.”
She huffed, remembering her original plan, and a bit miffed that she was absolutely distracted by the shape of his arms (god, her coworkers were hot too and she never responded like this). “The guitar riffing at midnight and beyond…not gonna work for me.”
He straightened up, not quickly, but more languidly like he had all the time in the world. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that the division between us was so thin.” His eyes dropped again, but on her legs, which she didn’t really get. “I can’t usually practice during the day because of work.”
“Yeah, well, I need sleep, so you’re gonna have to find a better practice time.”
His eyebrows rose at her blatant displeasure. “Oh really?”
“Yeah really. It’s an apartment building which means, you have to be considerate of other tenants, guitar boy.”
He chuckled, dropping his gaze from her, then looking back up. “Name’s Killian.” He offered his hand.
“Emma.” She didn’t shake it. “Don’t want to notify the landlord of any noise disturbance.”
“That’d be tragic,” he shot back. “Appreciate the welcome…Emma.” He moved close for the last bit, invading her personal space fluidly like he was a master. He probably was.
And why did her name all of a sudden sound sound sinful?
“Just cut it out, alright?” She turned to go, but was stopped by his voice.
“Only if you show up again like that.”
She turned back to look at him, his eyes practically burning her before she looked down at herself. Suddenly his interest in her legs made a lot more sense.
She wasn’t wearing a thing on her bottom half except a pair of bright blue boycut panties.
That’s how pissed off she’d been when his music had kept her up.
She knew her face was red, despite her best efforts to keep calm. She looked up and met his eyes head on.
“Doubt you’ll ever be that lucky again.”
He grinned, wide and full of mirth. “We’ll see, love. We will see.”
She didn’t wait for him to shut the door or watch her, she just spun back around and moved to the stairwell. She could feel his eyes on her and hear his chuckle even as the stairwell door swung close.
As if I needed any more reasons to love her…
If what you say is true, that woman in the other room is my mother. And I want to believe that more than anything in the world.
The one and only Emma Swan (a.k.a. Jennifer Morrison) stopped by our office today — and gave us her best Maleficent face.
Some sketch of Captain Swan as if they were in Pride and Prejudices