mercy and swan

Between the lines

This one’s a little fluffier. I hope you like it! A series of missing scenes set during 3B. Based on/around Captain Swan.

Can also be found on AO3

Moment 4: She’ll come to you

During 3x16 - Tink gives Hook some advice and Emma seeks him out.

Murmurs began to fill the silence around them as people started to retreat from the graveside. Emma remained firmly where she stood, Henry at her side as they both stared at the casket below.

Killian couldn’t bear to see her in pain. His own memories of having to bury loved ones spurred him towards wanting to help her; to take away the loss one feels when saying goodbye. He wanted for her to not have to know that emptiness. She’d been through too much already and he was worried for her.

He wanted to comfort her.

“Are you alright, Emma?” he asked gently, stepping forward to be closer to her side.

“I’m fine.”

Her automatic response told him she was neither fine, nor aware of who she’d actually spoken to; too lost in her thoughts to be aware of anyone around her.

“We’re heading over to Granny’s for the wake. You should come.” Snow’s voice addressed him.

The princess was beside him, placing her hand on his forearm; David standing supportive behind her. Her voice lowered, making sure only he could hear. “Give them some time alone.”

Snow wasn’t hostile; Killian knew what she meant. They needed time to grieve in private.

As a family.

“Of course.”

He nodded to them both before stepping back and turning, following the direction of the crowd making it’s way back towards town. He couldn’t help turning to look back, seeing Emma still in her frozen state, Henry by her side, and her parents hovering back a little, waiting for her to come back to them.

“Are you okay?”

He turned sharply, startled by the voice concerned for his wellbeing. Tink appeared, watching him with worry on her face.

“Aye, love. I’m getting there.” he managed to smile, walking with the tiny woman towards town.

“She’ll be fine, you know. She just needs some time right now.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you.” He didn’t mean to snap at the fairy but the need for people to interfere and tell him what to do was becoming tiresome.

“I know you still love her.” she continued, ignoring his irritation.

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Good Morning

Another CS conversation, post 7x02. Mention of early pregnancy loss. 900 words, or thereabouts.

“Snow was asking how you told me.”

“Told you what?”

“About the baby.”


“Apparently, it’s quite the big thing here. A smock embroidered with ‘Daddy’s sidekick,’ a pair of socks for the grandparents, a pie in the oven–”

“Not a pie, a bun.”

“Just a single bun?”

“Yeah, just one.”

“Well, that sounds miserly.”

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Overwatch Fursonas
  • Bastion: Doesn't have a fursona, but has a furaffinity which is chock full of incredibly lifelike nature art.
  • Hanzo: Huge majestic eastern dragon. Has more and more ridiculous powers every time he talks about it. Purposefully dwarfs everyone else's.
  • Junkrat: A rat, okay, listen they can't all be clever
  • Torbjorn: This dude loves pangolins
  • Widowmaker: A spider, but is very extremely specific about the species, and demands absolute perfection and complete accuracy in all pieces she commissions.
  • Mei: Has like 10 different penguin fursonas, they all look pretty much the same but she can tell you the difference between all of them.
  • Genji: A gentle western dragon just to spite his brother. It's really the only reason he even has a fursona.
  • McCree: The only reason he's a cowboy is because he saw Rango as a kid, so a chameleon. Complete self-insert.
  • Phara: One of those very angry small birds. Like a sparrow or something.
  • Soldier 76: Doesn't know what furries are; when asked by tracer "what animal would you be, hypothetically" he just said "probably a dog" and didn't care to elaborate.
  • Tracer: Totally has a sonic the hedgehog OC.
  • Reaper: Black wolf who dual wields katanas and is an angel but also a demon
  • Lucio: DJ Raver fur, probably a colorful tropical bird.
  • Mercy: Swan, only has a fursona so she can buy art with everyone else's so they'll have more.
  • Symmetra: Secretary bird
  • Zenyatta: A human.
  • D.Va: Raver sparklecat.
  • Reinhardt: The oldest greymuzzle around, has a boring husky fursona.
  • Roadhog: Big ol' warthog. See Junkrat. They've bought tons of commissions together though
  • Zarya: You ever see one of those huge, jacked kangaroos? Like the ones that could just totally fuck you up? Yeah
  • Winston: Thinks all of this is silly and unnecessary
woodworks (love lost and lost love)

Because these kids need to have it out before they can move forward, no matter how much they love each other – and if you think they’re ever going to get on with things without a bit of a tiff you’ve got another thing coming

The sky is getting dark outside but the red tint remains, painting the world a strange burgundy hue. Everyone is out searching for the book purported to be Hades’ downfall. 

She moves closer to the kitchen bench, littered with decrepit dust-covered baby toys. Relics of the youth she never had, a childhood lost and damned to the literal depths of hell. Reaching out, Emma’s fingers drift over a small plush duckling perched beside the sink. The grime has turned the vibrant yellow a musty colour.

Voices emanate from the sitting room not far away, and she pulls her hand back only to wind her arms tight around her midsection.

When she said everyone, she didn’t mean everyone.

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Halcyon (1/1)

Summary: “You brought this upon yourself,” she says, as she goes along.  “When you said, and I quote, ‘I’m not ticklish, Swan.’”

Rated: M

Warnings: Smut

Words: ~2.5k

Notes: This is just random PWP.  No plot, just snuggles and silliness and smuttiness on a summer morning.

Also on ff and ao3

“Here’s one.”

Emma prods gently just above his hipbone, fingertips brushing gently over his hip.  He squirms beneath her, chews his bottom lip at the smile that threatens.  He turns his face into the breeze that blows in through the open window.  It had rained overnight, but the morning air is crisp and fragrant.  It smells of the sweet, summer flowers they’d squabbled just a week ago –

“It’s all pokey.”

“It appears to be a miniature rose, Swan.  With miniature thorns.”

“I’m bleeding all over it.”

“Well now it’s surely ours.”

– and the slightly charred aroma of what Emma refers to as blacktop.  It’s late on a lazy, Sunday morning, the sound of the distant, ocean waves punctuated by little more than the occasional passerby.  It would be the perfect day to sail, but then again –

“And there’s one,” Emma says, when she drags her nails lightly over his breastbone.  He laughs – or giggles, according to his Swan – and curls in on himself.  Or, at least, he attempts to do so, but his efforts are thwarted.  She only teases him a moment longer before she leans back. She pushes her hair over her ears, shakes it out of her face.  It catches on the sunshine that billows in through the sheer curtains as she climbs back up to sit just beneath his belly.  Another whiff of roses and blacktop and the indistinct smells of summer ruffle in through the windows.  He sighs, content, watches as she rises and falls along with his stomach.

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