#csaesthetic

captain swan + st. patrick’s day   

ends, ways, means, risk → by @blessed-but-distressed​

Emma Nolan was beginning to suspect her dad had some kind of sixth sense where she was concerned. A Dad Sense, even. A Dad Sense that somehow always knew when his daughter was about to get laid. Why else would he be calling her now?

It was Sunday morning, still early. She was kid-free. She had the entire weekend off after coming off a rough two weeks of double shifts. There was absolutely no reason for her dad to be calling her, but especially not right then, not right when the stubbly kisses grazing her thigh were finally, finally nearing their intended destination.

Goddammit.

captain swan au week 2017 | manip

Day 7. Free for All → Storybook P.D. - A new Show on ABC

i thee wed → by @justanotherwannabeclassic

He thought back to their first ceremony. There had been no music. He wore common clothes and so did she. It was just the two of them, strangers serving as their witnesses as they vowed to spend the rest of their lives forever devoted to one another. At the time, he thought it was perfect. He did still, but now there was a not so small part of him that basked in the presence of their loved ones, in the teasing barbs made by Liam, the unwavering support of Leo, and the soft smiles of Emma's parents.  Eventually, he heard the opening bars of the wedding march, and his heart nearly leapt from his chest, pounding wildly as he watched Emma escorted down the aisle, a vision in white. His world stopped then, everyone and everything else fading to the background as their eyes met across the room. It was just like the first time, his world stopping until everything was Emma, Emma, Emma. 

Summer in Storybrooke feat. CS Honeymoon

every letter→ by @bleebug

But you must know that what I felt for her never even came close to what I felt for you. I craved your approval and love more than anything. And just the thought of losing you made me physically ill; it absolutely wrecked me. I couldn’t possibly fathom a world in which Emma Swan and Killian Jones were no longer best friends. And my heart ached for a world in which we were more.

Spring in Storybrooke

from under the ground → by @caprelloidea

“You’re not alone, Swan,” Killian tells her, across time and space. He’s being ridiculous, he knows. She’s dead, and he is nothing but a scribe with a sordid past. He’s alone in the wreckage of plane from the twenty-first century, nursing a bottle of weak and fizzy rum, watching the bioluminescent plants flare to life under the burgeoning starlight, while the lady Swan haunts him from within a dusty old player. Before her breath can even out, and she can say what else is on her mind, Killian pauses the recording, and allows silence to settle. Were she before him, he could duck his chin and soften his expression, entreat her to reveal herself, or at least convince her she’s not alone, as he says…