#liamma

A/n: This is my current freaking WEAKNESS right now. So basically the idea is that Liam ended up coming back with them from the underworld instead of Killian. He did not move on to the better place. Killian is gone gone, not just in the dungeons. He either moved on or is in the river of lost souls. No need to overthink it. xD

She had thought it might be cathartic, drinking with him. No matter how muchit hurt toasting to the man they both cared for so deeply that it was like apiece of them was missing, she truly thought that it might help. He would have wanted them to get along. She thinks it’s what he had always hoped.(And she couldn’t even give him that before...)

And so they had a drink once.

She thinks it’s some sort of sick punishment he’s put upon himself, working at the Rabbit Hole, working the job he was meant to still be working in his mind. Apparently bartending for Hades held up on a Storybrooke resume and there were only rare times that Liam wasn’t found there.That first drink was quiet mostly, a couple of shots of rum and moments of silence. Theyhad another one the next week. And then it was every Thursday, drinkingthemselves into oblivion at The Rabbit Hole in a tense mostly-silence. (Fridays were never great after thosenights, but what day was anymore?)

It became a ritual for them – not apleasant one, but at least it was something consistent. Hell, sometimes they actually forgot how painfully their personalities had clashedfrom the first moment of their meeting. Unfortunately, other times they didn’t forget at all.

Liam slams his glass down, a grimace sort of set to his jaw as he staresat the table.

“You wanna say something?”

She watches him as he carefully chooses his words.

“I’m afraid I want to say quite a lot things, but I still have a small senseof good form left in me.”

His prim and proper accent almost makes the words cut deeper, though for what reason, Emma has no idea. She waitsfor an explanation that doesn’t come and then simply says “oh” as she takes a sip of her whiskey. She really couldn’t stomach rum anymore.

“So, it’s about me then.”

Liam doesn’t say a word. He stares at his own drink for a moment,considering it, before he drains it and mechanically pours himself another.

Typical. Typical Liam. Self-righteous andcryptic as fucking ever. You know, if it hadn’t been a month of this crap withhim, they might have actually learned to get along but no. He’s just asstubborn as–no. She doesn’t want to go there.

“Well?”

He sighs, but it’s a frustrated sound, like what one might make to a petulantchild, and it irks her. Why? Why her? If he blames her, fine, but she’s prettysure that they already had this conversation back in the Underworld or whereverthe hell they were. She only stares as he empties his glass again and then sets it back onto the table with a clatter.

“You know, I think I’ve had enough to drink tonight.” He begins to stand,swaying with drink, and his chair scrapes across the floor.

“No.” She stands as well, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you havesomething to say, then say it.”

Liam grumbles something incoherent, shaking his head as he stumbles backtowards the bar.

“I’m the sheriff. I could have you arrested for drunk driving, you know.” Sheknows she shouldn’t say things like that, especially not in the snide tone that she used, but his holier-than-thou attitude isreally starting to bother her. He’s not the only one that lost something thatday, he’s not the only one that hurting, and to take it out on her–

Liam whirls on her and stops abruptly, as if not sure what to say first. Hisexpression doesn’t soften, but his tone does, if only slightly. “Out of respectfor my brother, Sheriff, I’m going to go.”

He dares her to stop him with his eyes, blue and angry and flashing at herin such a familiar way that it makes her flinch. She hates him for that. Shehates that she sees so much of Killian in him sometimes that it makes her chestliterally ache and tighten.

“It’s my fault.” She throws up her arms, frustrated. “Is that what you want me to say,Liam? I should’ve let him die the first time, right? Let him die a hero. Maybethen you both could have moved on together. Maybe there wouldn’t have been anymistakes that landed you here and him there, right?”

“Me ending up in this hellhole isn’t a mistake. It’s downright cruelty andHades knew that.”

“But I’m to blame.”

He huffs a harsh breath out through his nose, his piercing eyes neverleaving her gaze. Emma sighs so heavily her shoulders slump and she feels tears begin to prickthe back of her eyes.

“What was I supposed to do, Liam?”

He answers her, but this time the edge is gone from his tone. “I don’t know.”

It’s merely a laughable coincidence that it happens to be his favorite color, but it’s nothing of the sort that new bits of lingerie of that exact shade seem to make their way into her wardrobe on the days that she walks by a particular shop while running her errands.

Emma had never considered navy her color, but it's his, and the way his breath catches in his throat when she casually disrobes those nights to show the stark contrast of dark blue against creamy white skin, well, maybe it’s her color after all.

Oh maaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnn this is totally Victorian AU. Like, 1850s.

Killian had to go off and fight in the Crimean War or something and Emma couldn’t bear to lose him without knowing him as a man knows a woman. Liam’s had a leg injury or something which takes him off the active duty rosters.

Killian doesn’t last a week against the Imperial brutes. Emma’s discovered she’s pregnant the same week Liam comes to call on her with the terrible news that her betrothed is dead. He offers to do the noble thing and takes her hand in marriage to save her good name.

They name the baby Elizabeth for the Jones’ brothers’ mother. She has Killian’s eyes. Emma’s terrified of losing her like so many other mothers lose their children in infancy, this last connection she has to her beloved.

Emma and Liam butt heads often, sad and frustrated and angry that for every step forward they make they take two back. They don’t know one another. Liam is frustrated that his injury doesn’t allow him to be as active as he used to be. Emma is frustrated that her new responsibilities as mistress of the house, mother, and wife don’t allow her the freedom to come and go as she once did; that Liam can’t read her as Killian did, knowing what she means when she says something else. They’re both stubborn, they both miss Killian terribly, they both wonder if this was a mistake.

They both love Emma’s daughter.

It takes time. It takes long arguments that turn into longer, quiet discussions over long-cold cups of tea into the night, illuminated by the dying flicker of the candles on the table in the dressing room where Liam sleeps.

It’s five years before Emma consummates her marriage with Liam Jones, realizing she’s married a good and honorable man who has come to love her in his own way. Who she has come to respect and love in return.

It’s not the same as it was with Killian. Liam lost his confidant, his brother, his best friend. Emma lost her beloved, the person who knew her better than anyone.

It’s different. It doesn’t mean it’s bad.

Liam develops an allergy sometime into their relationship. Red, splotchy patches of raised bumps that it takes them a couple of weeks to figure out. A random reaction to laundry detergent that they’ve been using forever. She switches it out for one of those more expensive hypoallergenic, boring, non-scenty ones and the problem seems to go away (even if her clothes don’t smell quite so fresh and inviting fresh out of the dryer anymore).

When she gets the news that Liam has been killed in combat (or at least that’s what they tell her, but there’s so few details it seems like they’re guessing), it’s one of the first things to go. It’s not exactly a conscious decision, not an active rebellion against everything in the house that reminds her of him and the grief that’s threatening to eat her alive everyday (though perhaps a more passive one), just a way to save some money.

4 months later, their son is born, and when the little raised bumps appear on his soft, perfect baby skin, just the same as his father’s, and her fingers wrap around the handle to that old detergent that stupidly reminds her so much of Liam, she nearly breaks down right there in the middle of the grocery store.

1. Emma and Liam were together for 6 months before he left on deployment.

2. Killian was going through a rough patch after his break up with Milah and Liam leaving on deployment didn’t help his stability or his drinking.

3. Liam was both Emma and Killian’s anchor in rough points of their life (they are both around 22-24, while Liam is about 10 years older) and with him gone, they both kind of spiral into depression and end up sleeping together... it doesn’t happen only once and they both feel terribly guilty.

4. Killian falls in love with Emma; she has feelings for him as well, but not as deeply as Killian does.

5. It all goes to hell in a hand basket when Liam gets back from deployment and all three of their hearts break into about a thousand jagged shards.

Hello, friend! It is Liam Jones x Emma Swan, usually in a very AU setting. It’s become very near and dear to my heart, even if I am a huge CS shipper and always have been. It’s just a fun and often angsty AU that gives me lots of joy.

I have talked about what the ship is and why I think they’re good together in a few different posts - here’s a general one, here’s a more in depth one, and here’s Kristen (another Liamma shipper) explaining a thing about them.

You can find most of my Liamma fic from this blog here, as well as a few I’ve reblogged. Other Liamma shippers include qqueenofhades and tersaseda and I know that there are a few more of us. They have both written fic for them as well.

Emma doesn’t recall ever feeling so incredibly calm or appearing so visibly casual, while simultaneously wanting with all of her heart and itching with every nerve to kick the shit out of everything and everyone in sight. She moves through the pristine hallways of the hospital - away from the room that she no longer has any reason to visit - feeling like a zombie, the reek of chemical cleaner making her feel ill, and the whiteness of the walls reflecting off of the shiny, freshly mopped floors causing her head to ache. She’s pretty sure that if anybody says one word to her, she’s going to scream about the person who thought that making hospitals so damned bright was a good choice, but who even fucking cares anymore?“Why do you have to be so god damned stubborn, Jones, why do you always have to try to help people?” she had asked him once, and damn him, she’ll never forget his answer, even if it was really, really hard to understand it right now - “I think it’s called being human, Darling… it makes me feel better to trust than it does to always assume the worst.”Tears prick her eyes as she stalks down the endless maze of halls towards the nearest exit, but she doesn’t bother wiping them away, all the while wishing he had been a little less optimistic about the human race the night a mugger pulled a gun on him.