You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

I third!

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

Hello, friends! I 100% wrote this after @wellhellotragic called me out and asked me to, and then I never posted it because I am now horribly bad at balancing all of my things. I shall link it for you all here:

It's a (Fake) Date

Also, Happy Halloween eve 🎃

I’m so happy I don’t even have the words yet.

I missed the Leslie Knope compliments 😍😭😍😭

You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

I third!

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

Hello, friends! I 100% wrote this after @wellhellotragic called me out and asked me to, and then I never posted it because I am now horribly bad at balancing all of my things. I shall link it for you all here:

It's a (Fake) Date

Also, Happy Halloween eve 🎃

Walking the Baseline (Year: 2015-2016)

Summary: Emma is exhausted. She’s actually always exhausted because of travel and time changes and the constant wear and tear on her body, but this is a new kind of exhausted.

She’s a mom now, which still shocks her, and this is a new kind of exhaustion. She has to conquer training and parenthood, balancing everything as it threatens to all topple over and crush her.

Watching Killian get to live out his dreams while she’s stuck at home certainly doesn’t help.

a/n: Surprise? lol. Or not really as I told some of you guys I would try to write it, but that was months ago. Oops. But here we are with some more detail into Emma’s comeback even before the Olympics that started this whole thing 🎾 

ao3: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (1) | 2015 (current) | 2016 (original one-shot) |

Tumblr: 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 (1) | 2015 (current) | 2016 (original one-shot)|

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July 2015.

“Keep going!”

“Fuck you, David!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Emma holds her hand up and raises her middle finger at her brother, who has the audacity to laugh at her, and she keeps going, putting one leg in front of the other as she sprints across the court. Her sneakers squeak at each turn, and she wants to burn them so she never has to hear the sound again.

So she never has to do drills again either.

Back home, it’s over one hundred degrees out, humid too, and if she were having to train there, she’d be dead on the court, her body sweating and withering away into nothing. In London, it’s a pleasant seventy-five, but she feels like she’s in Florida.

It’s miserable.

Or maybe she’s just that out of shape. Yeah, she’s definitely that out of shape.

Keep reading

UGH I WANT TO RAIL AGAINST THE PATRIARCHY FOR EMMA. AND CURSE WHOEVER PUT THOSE THOUGHTS IN HER HEAD. 

thank goodness she always has Killian, though <3

Feel free to rail against the patriarchy for Emma because I think a lot of people will be joining you! She’s a badass, and I’m glad she knows it!

(And that she has Killian)

To celebrate the today’s final Roland Garros this beautiful fanfic of the marvelous @let-it-raines

@qualitycoffeethings you know I was watching it…and every other match I could these past two weeks 🎾💜

CS Fic Rec Monday: “What Would We Do Without the Internet?” by: @let-it-raines

This lovely two shot (two separate chapters in @let-it-raines one shot collection “If You Ask Nicely”) is just too wonderful and lovely to resist. Killian and Emma are both teachers at a boarding school - with very little internet access and a thriving gossip mill instead. ;) All their students are even rooting for them to get together, but both are afraid to mess with the great friendship they have going. This is funny and sweet and surprising, and all sorts of stupendous joy to read, but I don’t want to say too much more for fear of spoiling some treat within this modern au. You’ll want to discover all of them for yourself, trust me!

(I hope you’ll enjoy my little attempt at some cover art, @let-it-raines​ !)

“What Would We Do Without Internet?”- @let-it-raines​ 

Marta! This is so sweet and cute and I love, love, love the art for it! And the quote within the art??? You make a girl smile!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

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It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Keep reading

@let-it-raines gives this fabulous fic of CS meets Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Absolute perfect mix of two great things!

Look at that. It’s this thing’s anniversary, and I am still waiting on that next season of Mrs. Maisel 😜😊

You know when you have a fic idea that you really want to read but you don't want to write?

Like I really want something where Emma and MM and Ruby are all standing around talking about Emma's all consuming feelings her her best friend Killian, and he walks up and hears the tail end about Emma and her crush. Killian teases her asking who it is (while being completely surprised because this is the first he's heard of it.) She panics not wanting him to know they were talking about him so she blurts out the first name she could think of, August Booth. So now here she is, fake dating August so Killian won't know she's head over heels for him... How do we go about getting @let-it-raines to write it for us? Do we start a campaign on change dot org?

Hi there! Where do I sign? @wellhellotragic

I think we just need a third person and the motion can pass?

I third!

@wellhellotragic How are you just gonna pull me into writing something by calling me out in public like that? 😂🙈😜

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

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“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

incredible, as always. you’d think after a while the amazement would fade away, but it just...nope. you’re incredible. this is art.

@gloriousfemaleworrier I think you are genuinely the sweetest thing, and I never have the words to thank you enough for your kindness. Your tags on your reblog??? Oh my God. That's the most flattering thing in the world, and the little real book author in my heart feels very flattered right now ❤️❤️❤️

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

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“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”