jay emma

the importance of being idle, 11/12

A/N:  another delayed update, but this time not as long as the last which I’m pleased with! we’re very near the end now folks, just remember to clap your hands and believe and it’ll all work out in the end. ;) as always, thank you so much to all the comments and kudos I’ve received so far, it means the absolute world! so, enjoy!

Rating: M

Catch up on AO3

the importance of being idle
get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

“Well that’s what they get for having a goddamn brawl in the middle of your house.”

Truthfully, Emma didn’t even see who threw the first punch, the entire altercation was a blur. All she knew was one moment Malcolm had been gloating about something, spewing some crass comment about her or Tina and the next moment he was flying backwards, crashing into some antique coffee table and sending it in pieces to the floor. Killian and Tina had both been standing over him, and in all honesty she was sure it could’ve been either of them — or perhaps in an unprecedented show of synchronicity from the oft-bickering pair, they’d hit him in unison.

The following ten minutes were manic; Blackbeard and Isaac had jumped forward to defend their fallen bandmate and even Robin had been pulled into the fray. Emma had tried to step in and stop things from escalating too badly, but she’d received a swift elbow straight to her nose which sent her reeling backwards. It was hardly clean fighting, it was clumsy and involved a lot of grabbing and fumbling, and by the time Jefferson and August came sprinting from the other room there was only Killian and Blackbeard left rolling around on the ground to be separated.

That was over an hour ago. Since then, the injured parties had been marched into a private room full of executives who’d been attending the party, only Jefferson exempted for reasons that appeared unclear to Emma, and the rest of the guests had been sent home.

“It’s seen worse,” the bassist said, mumbling more into the trash bag he’d brought from the kitchen than to her, “the house, I mean.”

“Still,” she said, before pinching the bridge of her nose and testing to see if it was throbbing any less. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t start it.”

“No, but I wasn’t much help finishing it.” She bent down to pick a couple of pieces of splintered wood. “This wasn’t worth anything, was it?”

Jefferson shrugged, offering a rueful smile. “Nothing I can’t come up with myself.”

Guilt and unease both roiled in Emma’s gut, warring for which could make her feel worse; nothing about that private meeting felt particularly promising, and the Jolly Rogers’ place on the tour was already a fluke. Starting, or even just participating, in a fight in Jefferson’s house was hardly the gracious thanks they should be giving their hosts, smarmy as they were. In a tour full of unpleasant surprises, this appeared to be just the latest in a long line.

An unpleasant surprise of his own, Neal had slinked off somewhere else the moment any sort of formal executive had entered the scene, likely slightly fearful one of them might recognise him or call his father, or worse. That didn’t stop the spike of irritation Emma felt towards him — it was his fault Blackbeard’s Revenge had known about Killian and Milah, undoubtedly something he’d let slip in an attempt to curry some favour with the band. Or perhaps he’d just wanted somebody to vent to about the apparent frustrations he’d been harbouring over the situation. Whichever it was, she was pissed and she at least felt like she had a right to be.

Emma carried her own garbage bag around the room, picking up discarded bottles and cans and dropping them in without ceremony. It was only as she was clearing the surface of a dresser that she came across a few scattered photo frames, apparently of the same girl at various ages. There was one of her perched on shoulders that were clearly Jefferson’s, his face lit up in a wide smile.

She turned her head to look at the other man beginning to sweep some glass. “She yours?”

Jefferson looked up, eyes seeking what she was pointing to before nodding mutely.

“My daughter, Grace.” He answered her question before she could even give voice to it. “She stays with her grandparents while I,” he waved a hand around absently, “tour.”

Emma hummed quietly to herself. “Don’t you miss her?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards sadly. “Endlessly.”

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Recovery Road -  Monday, January 25

Brink, 3/?


But this woman was neither mermaid nor Brave, radiant but fierce — and the cool touch of steel to his skin reminded him of the sword she had pointed at his throat.

“My name is Emma Swan,” she said, in answer to the question he had yet to give voice to, “and I’m here for my son.”

Season 2 Canon Divergence; Hook never escaped Neverland, and once the curse breaks Pan comes to collect the loneliest lost boy of them all - the one in possession of the Heart of the Truest Believer.

A/N: chapter three! again, a longer time coming than I’d hoped, but it’s definitely shaped the way I wanted. thanks so much to everyone following this story, I’d love to hear what you thought! 
Rating: T
ao3 || one || two

If Emma had thought the heat would lessen the nearer Neverland drew to dusk, she was sorely mistaken. As the sun crawled across the sky and the pair of them continued to trudge through the jungle, the humidity levels seemed only to increase, making her head feel stuffy and her mood increasingly irritated the farther they walked. To make matters worse, the cacophony of ominous noises only grew louder as the day wore on, and left a lead weight of unease in the pit of her stomach. Her entire life she had only ever lived in cities, the patter and snaps of street rats the closest she’d gotten to wildlife until that goddamn wolf had run her off the road at the edge of Storybrooke so many months ago. Here, though, the forest had a life of its own. It practically chattered, anything from the muted and melodious to the sharp screeches of creatures she hoped were prowling miles away from where they were.

The entire island hummed with energy — with magic, although it still chagrined her to admit it. A modicum of the courage she usually took from her firm grasp of the hilt of David’s sword had slipped away with the dancing orange of early sunset across the sky, the weight of it finally beginning to settle and make her arms ache from the effort of keeping it aloft. Hook, irritatingly adapted to the island, carried his in a handy scabbard at his side. In her rush to get to Neverland, Emma hadn’t thought to bring one herself.

The only mercy was that for the last hour or so, Hook had grown silent. On the few occasions she had stolen a sideways glance at him he appeared deep in thought, dark eyes scouring the jungle shrewd and alert. Like an animal ready to pounce at any moment. Although their tentative peace lay between them, it still set her on edge to see him like that. His hook gleamed awfully at his side.

After forming their cautious alliance, he had suggested they return to his ship to regroup and find out if his crew had made any recent observations of Pan’s newest recruits. Emma had refused — she’d already lost most of the day, and she couldn’t think of a worse idea than following Hook into what, for all she knew, could be little more than a lion’s den. Her decision had irritated him, but he’d agreed to show her the last place Pan and his troop had been sighted. So far, it was the best lead they had.

“So,” Hook began loudly, snapping the silence between them like loosening an arrow. Apparently, her time for small mercies was up. “Tell me about this magic you possess. How did you come to be in Neverland?” His choice of conversation topic didn’t exactly thrill her, especially since she’d straight up lied to him about having an exit strategy sorted out. Jefferson’s hat had disappeared with Regina, and fuck knew where she was now. “A magic bean, perhaps?”

“A what?” Emma couldn’t hold back her snort of laughter, the suggestion so outlandish to her she figured he must have been joking. Hook only stared back at her evenly, eyebrow arched and looking far less amused. She supposed in a world with magic, something as crazy as a magic bean wasn’t so crazy at all. “No, not a — a bean,” she continued. “It’s a hat, it makes this, uh, purple vortex… thing,” she swallowed as Hook’s eyebrow inched closer to his hairline, “and you jump through.”

Hook left her sentence to mince in the air for long enough for her ears to redden, before merely turning his eyes skyward.

“You’re right, that’s far less ludicrous than a magic bean.”

Emma grimaced. “Shut up.”

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High School VS College

High School:


High School:


High School:


High School:


High School:


High School:


Although each situation and each school is different for everyone, I know so many people where high school sucked for them and they were so worried about going to college. But people at college want to be there, they want to learn and they are as weird and as freaky as you are. I was a nutcase back in high school now I’m pretty close to normal at college.

If you’re worried about college, probably nothing anyone says will make you feel any better. But one year ago today I moved to Chicago to begin my college experience and my life is so many times better because of it.


Recovery Road -  Monday, January 25 on Freeform