mercy and swan

In which Killian takes his revenge...by being less dashing.
  • Hook: I want to hurt you...like you hurt me.
  • Emma: We can fight this Hook.
  • Hook: *reaches up slowly...parts hair to opposite side*
  • Emma: Wait...Waht?
  • Hook: *poofs away in a grey cloud of smoke. comes back wearing no leather*
  • Emma: whoa, whoa...slow down, let's be reasonable.
  • Hook: *wipes away guyliner*
  • Emma: *whispers softly* no.
  • Hook: *reaches for the buttons on his shirt*
  • Emma: You wouldn't...
  • Hook: *buttons every single one*
  • Emma: You monster!
  • Hook: No Mercy Swan. You brought this upon yourself.

I thought I had my chill during this episode.  Excited for the payoff that we’ll have after all this angst, enjoying Dark Hook and all of his idiosyncrasies.  Hook’s blood red magic is so unf.  And then.

AND THEN.

NO PLEASE.

HAVE MERCY ON ME.

NO WHY.

I HAVE NOT EVEN WATCHED THE REST OF THE EPISODE, I’VE JUST BEEN REWINDING THIS.  SEND HELP.

The Perfect Sting, Chapter 8

Multi-Chapter Mystery Diners AU :D

On AO3 Here :D

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7

A/N: IT’S ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!

More updates coming soon I hope!  Shoutout to my awesome beta, sarahjdc, for her tireless efforts to make me make sense!!


Of course, one night of forgetting about the troubles of life did not mean that the troubles of life forgot about Emma.  The rest of the week was a whirlwind of preparation for her upcoming jobs–tweaking her sting resume to bring to the White Rabbit, especially.  Working through the details was a constant reminder that she would be forced to deal with the situation with Killian soon.  An even more stressful reminder was her sudden work-related need to start browsing for–Emma could still hardly believe it–wedding dresses.  She scrolled through endless pages of designs on David’s Bridal, trying to find something she wouldn’t hate wearing.  She also kept her sights on the priciest offerings–if she was going to have to do this, it was going to hit Isaac right in the checkbook.

Life didn’t forget about Elsa, either.  The very next day, she came home with dread written all over her face, brandishing the itemized receipt for every single piece of clothing that Mr. Weselton considered ruined by the incident at Granny’s.

“He wants me to replace his shoes, too.” she groaned.  "They’re 750 dollars.  Who pays that much for shoes??“  She slammed the receipt down on the kitchen counter far harder than necessary.

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