Hey guys, let’s all make a CS Fandom pact that if something happens to Captain Swan throughout the season (a break up, a horrible fight or something) that we won’t send Adam and Eddy hate or get angry…
I don’t think that new Taylor Swift song actually killed you, but we say that it slayed us because the experience of it was so awesome that now we are metaphorically dead.
|Me wearing my Pizza John shirt at subway:|
|Sandwich Artist:||Who's that guy?|
|Me:||Um... John Green.|
|Sandwich Artist:||I've heard that name before. Is he like running for president?|
|Me:||No.. He wrote some books. You've probably heard of The Fault In Our Stars.|
|Sandwich Artist:||oh yeah. That thing . Well he should run for president. I'd vote for him, since I take it from your shirt he's a pizza fan. I'm pro pizza.|
why do straight boys think their opinion on girls clothes matters at all….. do they really think their nike socks and cargo shorts grant them authority on fashion….. get out of my face
A/N: Emma’s childhood abandonment issues return to haunt her as she raises her two-year-old daughter, Ella, with Killian. Captain Swan family fic. Feels ahead folks.
Word Count: 1,400+
Emma’s eyes shot open in panic as she fought to steady her breath. Her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. She raised her hand to her forehead to brush away a stray curl only to find her brown glistening with sweat. She lay in her bed for a few minutes, trying to steady her racing thoughts with no success. The room suddenly felt so stuffy; she was burning up under the covers. Emma sat up in bed slowly, careful not to shake the mattress and wake Killian. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to sit by the crib. That always helped calm her; it assured her that everything in her life, in both of their lives, was alright.
Emma found herself sitting by her daughter’s crib, watching as her own sleeping beauty breathed in and out softly, a lone snore escaping every now and then. Emma knew it worried Killian, that is had him confused, but she couldn’t tell him why she did it. He didn’t understand how painful it was seeing their precious daughter with her blonde curls and emerald eyes alone in her crib. The sight was achingly close to what Emma imagined another little girl must have looked like: a girl who didn’t have parents to care for her, to worry for her, to wonder if she was sleeping well. A little girl who used to cry herself to sleep every night, left alone in a pitch black room until someone bothered to show up in the late morning.