There’s blood on his face when they reach the town line and find him lying on the side of the road. It’s staining his lips, a stark contrast of red against the white of his paled features, and he looks crazed, mad; dangerous and damaged, and her chest tightens inexplicably with something that feels like worry, but couldn’t possibly be.
Though the cut on his lips is far from his only injury and/or wound (take your pick), and she’s never been a particularly squeamish person, she tells herself it’s that blood which has her eyebrows pinching together and her mouth going suddenly drier than charred toast.
(He says hey beautiful and she grimaces at the croaked and broken delivery, but also because he’s an idiot, and the number one idiot on the current list for dead guy of the year at that.)
She’s saved of contemplating her ridiculous instinctive responses to the pirate’s blood a second later, because her main issue becomes distracting the cro- Gold, and making sure Belle and the newcomer – a whole other bag of questions she’s not ready to deal with – are taken to the hospital.
Later, though, when he’s lying down - again - and she finds herself at his side again, and as he blinks his eyes open, gasping in unbidden agony, she’s struck by the same feeling – as though someone’s fingers are tangled in her rib cage, trying to fit through and grasp hold of her heart - only there’s no blood on his face.
The nurses have been in, have done their assessment of the damage and wiped his face clean, rid his handsome features of the rain and dirt, too, and so Emma -
Emma has no excuse.
(And in another moment, when he says everything else is still intact, she’ll pretend like she hadn’t been glad of the same thing, though perhaps for slightly less lewd reasons.)
Send me a number and two characters - get a “five
paragraph sentence” drabble.
And what exactly do you think fairy tales are? They are a reminder that our lives will get better if we just hold onto hope. Your happy ending may not be what you expect, but that is what will make it so s p e c i a l .
pridesrock 100 favourite Disney songs [in no particular order]
#6/100 | One Jump Ahead - Aladdin
↳ "Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat. Otherwise we’d get along."
TWO FOR YOU MR FITZY. YOU GO MR FITZY.
It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.
you could be sad about your otp but consider:
- one making awful breakfast for the other and the other eating it because they appreciate it that much
- one putting their ridiculous music on in the car and singing along while the other sits in the passenger seat with their head in their hands
- the two of them going down to the beach and one getting sunburned really badly so the other slathers them with aloe gel when they get home
- one getting home from work later than the other and stretching out on top of them like a big lazy cat while they sit on the couch in front of the tv
- one inexplicably bringing home an animal and refusing to drop it at the shelter so they and the other have to take care of it
- the both of them going out to a park and getting ice cream to sit with and eat on a bench
- one sending memes to the other while they’re at work so much they turn their phone off in exasperation
- one giving the other their jacket and not getting it back from the other until it stops smelling like them
86. Seeing Red
The worst damned snowstorm in centuries. Centuries. And even that was a guesstimate the Blue Fairy gave him and Snow as a few of them huddled together inside Granny’s for an impromptu council meeting, the cups of piping hot coffee nearly sloshing out their contents because they were all shivering so hard.
And of course the worst damned snowstorm in centuries would hit Storybrooke, like freak incidents had confused it with the Bermuda Triangle, honing in on the anything-but-quaint coastal town. (How many other places saw curses and wraiths and giants and magical portals opened by the Wicked Witch? Because he had no interest whatsoever in going there, even if it were sunny and warm, the exact opposite of right now.)
And of course his daughter was nowhere to be found in said worst damned snowstorm in centuries, nor was another equally noticeable figure.
As he navigated the precarious path to Emma’s new apartment, he found himself feeling more than a little perturbed that Snow couldn’t have made this trip herself. It was her idea anyways, to check on Emma. He, on the other hand, had wanted to take Snow and Neal home and heed the gnawing suspicion knocking around in his brain trying to find a place to steady and settle into full-blown certainty. Which he definitely did not want.
David heaved a sigh that instantly crackled into frozen fractals in front of him. Nothing against Killian…but just…well…what the hell was he going to do if he was correct?
(He wasn’t though, right? They’d only come back from the Enchanted Forest a week ago. So, surely they wouldn’t…no. Surely not.
A tinny knock sliced through the air, and David started, ripped from his volleying thoughts. Blinking a long minute, he finally realized that yes, he had in fact walked up the stairs, had in fact crossed to Emma’s front porch, and definitely had used the door knocker because his fist was still clenching it. Plus, he could now hear mumblings coming from inside. A thud. Another thud.
He couldn’t take it anymore—did not want to be there one second longer—was turning to shuffle away as fast as the ice-covered sidewalk allowed him to go—
You still might be wrong, you still might be wrong. The mantra filled his head as he squared his shoulders and faced what he was sure was to be one of the most awkward moments of his life.
He wasn’t far off.
A shirtless Captain Hook stood in the doorway, able to do nothing else after the long silence that followed other than clear his throat and scratch behind his ear. “Do you—do you want me to go and get E—”
He hadn’t meant to yell. But as the man folded his arms across his chest, whether from the cold or in an ironic show of modesty (David didn’t really care to ponder), his brain seemed to be able to understand nothing else besides the fact that it hadn’t been Emma to answer the door. Which snowballed into why she hadn’t been at Granny’s, why she hadn’t answered her phone in the first place, which had then prompted Snow sending him on this stupid errand anyways—even though they all knew what was going on between these two, much as they tried to hide it—in the worst damned snowstorm in centuries.
David took a deep breath, wincing at the cold sharpness in his lungs. “Just—”
His eye caught something small, bright just inside the door on the floor. Something lacy and red…and oh hell.
He’d been right.
"Just tell her to call her mother," he blurted and bolted away, not caring one bit about his dignity—because how could there be any left?
Worst damned snowstorm of his life.