Watch That Blonde Hair Swing
A/N: Yes. Hello. My name is Liz and I had really bad writer’s block for most of the year, but I finally kicked that sucker’s ass. Also I gave Emma Charming-Swan-Jones a haircut because I could. And also because I still have nightmares about those horrible extensions they made Jen wear her last episode. So here have some Emma Haircut fic with a side of CS Domesticity. (Also, please be gentle LOL) Xx
Summary: A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life. Or so Emma’s heard before.
Words: 2,177| Rating: FD for Fluff with a side of Domesticity | ao3
A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.
Or so Emma’s heard before. From some beauty influencer or other. Audrey Hepburn, maybe? That doesn’t sound right, though. Miranda Priestley? No, no, she was the uptight, no nonsense boss from that one movie her mother made her watch during one of their girls’ nights. Oh! Coco Chanel? That sounds vaguely familiar, she’ll have to check to be sure but regardless of who said it, she has to admit they were on to something.
She can’t even remember the last time she’s done something this…drastic. She’s worn her hair long for as far back as she can remember, only trimming it when needed to maintain its health. It’s definitely a change, she muses, pursing her lips while she contemplates her image in the rearview mirror of the bug for what feels like the millionth time in the last twenty minutes. Her head moves slowly from one side to the other and she feels both the twinges of regret and the excitement of something different, something new. It was a rash decision, if she’s going to be honest, a last-minute tack-on to her mental to-do list when she’d gone into town to run a few errands late into the morning.
The salon was just there, across the street from the market, and after tucking the groceries away in the backseat of her car and tracing the outline of scissors on the illuminated sign with her eyes over and over – her fingers drumming persistently on the top of the door all the while – she’d finally said, screw it, slammed her door shut, marched straight into the shop, and announced that she’d like a haircut, thank you very much.