#gremma appreciation

[ryik-the-writer]

All of your flaws and all of my flaws Are laid out one by one Look at the wonderful mess that we made We pick ourselves undone

[theresoneicouldcallking]

emma looking at graham (graham’s version)

[bobnorley]

gremma + sheriff’s station

[foreveracharmedone]

Gremma + Incorrect Quotes

Source: The Good Place

[arianakristine]

[lessawildmoon]

Sheriff Graham - OUAT Season 1 Episode 1 “Pilot” 

[gremma-appreciation]

Important, Serious Question

Good evening, all!!

I have an important question for you all.

December is coming SOON. Do we want another 1-2 week Gremma Appreciation event? Or do we just want a Gremma Secret Santa?

Let me know!

[diddykongfan]

...it is said that the soul of the hero, in which dwells the power of the goddess, is endowed with the spirit of a noble beast...

Gremma + The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess AU; wherein Princess Emma’s kingdom is cursed into Twilight, and she works together with a Hero with the soul of a Wolf to set things right again.

[sydneysageivashkov]

okay, gremma mamma mia!au, because gremma week and the release of mamma mia 2 are too close together for this not to be a thing:

Emma is Meryl Streep, obviously, which makes Henry Amanda Seyfried. I think Henry gets married to Cinderella Mk II in season 7, so she gets to be Dominic Cooper.

Emma had three brief relationships twenty-ish years ago, but broke up with each of them for varying reasons. After her childhood, she’s fiercely independent, and decides she can raise her baby by herself, plus with some help from best friends Mary Margaret and Red.

As for the dads, we’ve got Graham as Pierce Brosnan (endgame), Hook as Stellan Skarsgård (boat), and Neal as Colin Firth (process of elimination).

I guess Red/Hook can be the Rosie/Bill hook up in Take A Chance On Me? Idk. You guys do what you want here.

Anyway. Henry’s got a thing about finding biological family members in any verse, so he decides he wants to have his father there at his wedding. I have a hard time imagining Henry reading Emma’s diary, so I’m gonna say Mary Margaret lets something slip. Henry tracks his three possible dads down and sends them all invitations.

All of them turn up, of course. Each of them slowly puts together that the twenty year old son of Emma might just be connected to the relationship they had with her twenty-ish years ago. Oooh. Well, clearly they’ve gotta do the right thing, right? They’re going to help with this wedding. They’re going to be good dads.

Meanwhile, Emma spots them on the island. Shit, she thinks when she sees Hook. Shit! she thinks when she sees Neal. Oh, she thinks when she sees Graham, and then for consistency’s sake, shit.

Emma met Neal first. She was roadtripping away across Europe, running away from her childhood and wanting a completely new life, preferably one with a lot of sun and surf. Neal was doing the same, running from his terrible relationship with Rumplestiltskin. They stuck together for a while but they didn’t work right and went their separate ways.

Emma met Hook second. She had reached the Aegean. She wanted to look at the islands; he had a boat. It was fun, but they worked better as friends. She stayed on an island she fell in love with, he kept on exploring.

Graham came last. They arrived at the island around the same time, and they both thought of founding a hostel there; the kind of place anyone could escape too, just like them. Of all three possible dads, Graham was the only one Emma wanted to stay with long term. But for whatever reason, he has to leave. This might be Regina-related, but this is all fluff so we’re ignoring the reason for this breakup. Graham just had to go, okay?

Back to the present. ABBA songs are being sung. Henry is having a journey of self-discovery as he realises he doesn’t need fathers (awkward attempts at gaining his approval aside), although he doesn’t really mind having some.

Graham and Emma are reconnecting. “This place is even better than I imagined,” he tells her. She can’t help but smile. “Most people who come through here running from something,” she tells him. “But some of us found reasons to stay. I did. Henry’s Ella did.” I have, hopes Graham, but doesn’t say it yet.

Henry gets married. The three possible dads thing accidentally becomes public at the reception. “I don’t care which one of you it is,” admits Henry. “Mum was enough.” He’ll admit Hook’s boat’s pretty cool, though. And he’s starting to get invested in how much happier Emma looks around Graham. (Tbh I don’t remember enough about Neal to say why Henry is attached to him at all)

Hook and Neal get ready to depart. Graham approaches Emma and asks, “I don’t think I’m running from, anymore. But maybe I could still have found a reason to stay?” Emma turns around and smiles.

Boom. Waterloo and Mamma Mia start playing. All is happy.

(edit: I just got back from mamma mia 2 and it’s amazing how much I got right about the backstory)

[fancytyper]

Emma x Graham (Forgot to post this for the Gremma event last July!)

[amaryllisblackthorn]

— The Princess Bride, William Goldman  

original caps ♚

okay so im a bit late with this but ive been working on these things for a couple of days now and i have a

lot of like alternative images/left overs that i'll probably end up putting in a massive pic spam later. it's not fantastic and im frustrated with how long its been taking and how very very little ive been participating in the gremma appreciation event but pls forgive me bc you know i love you guys & gremma

so yeah, here you go; an enchanted forest princess/huntsman au.

[ryik-the-writer]

“Emma? Is that you?”

“Graham...”

“You shouldn’t be here yet. Come on, let’s get you home.”

[theresoneicouldcallking]

graham looking at emma (emma’s version)

[bobnorley]

It's... Because you ran over our sign?

ultimate shipper challenge + gremma appreciation july event: [1/5] funny scenes

[foreveracharmedone]

He isn't coming back, whispered my head. He has to, sobbed my heart.  

(Insp.)

[arianakristine]

On the fourth day of Shipmas ...

the only seat left in this dark, depressing bar is at the bar next to you but I don’t really want to talk.

There is No Without

               She shifted her weight on her left side, looking out over the dank recesses of the Rabbit Hole. Shady and disgusting even during the brightest of summer days, on this cold winter’s night it looked dank and depressing. Even the tinny version of Jingle Bell Rock playing over the speakers only added to the desolate tone of the town’s one dive bar.

               It was exactly what she was looking for.

               She sided up to the bar and dropped into the stool, huddling into her puffy winter coat. She pulled off her hat and shook her hair from the last flakes of melting snow. She glared down the man behind the counter and unzipped her jacket. “Whiskey, straight,” she commanded gruffly.

               She felt the presence at her side, the eyes set on her as the bartender slid the glass over. It was heavy, the look, and she swallowed thickly.

               She swallowed back a third of her drink and winced at the sharp taste. She stared down at the smudges across the bar. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

               His hands raised and he settled into his seat, keeping his blue eyes trained on her.

               She scowled and drank back the rest, signaling her empty glass. “I don’t want to talk.”

               “I know,” he said softly, the stir of his accent barely heard over the clank of pool balls in the dimly lit corners.

               She watched as the next glass filled, the way the bartender looked her over as she polished off the shot. He set the bottle beside to her glass rather than comment on her drinking, and then strolled down to the other patrons. She resigned to give him a big tip. She sloshed the whiskey into the glass and pondered why she bothered with the pretense. Her thumb rolled across the peeling label over the “C” in Crow, his gaze an itch across her spine. She sniffed and glanced blearily up at him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

               He held up his hands. “Hey, if you want to drink yourself into a coma, it’s your prerogative.”

               She scowled again and felt her hold on the bottle waver unsteadily. “That’s right, it is. And you’re judging me for it.”

               “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice barely discerned above the din. “Just making sure your coma doesn’t lead to an early grave as well.”

               She snorted loudly. “You’re one to talk.”

               He was silent a beat, fingers sliding across the chipping wood. Finally he steadied, and gave a tight smile. “Well, nothing to do with that.”

               She didn’t feel pleased with her victory in that argument, just a hard stone in her throat at the notion. Her vision blurred as she leveled another pour, the cheap whiskey slipping out and onto the already sticky bar. Her hand shook slightly as she raised the tumbler to her lips. “See? I can handle my liquor.”

               “I know you can.”

               “And you’re an ass if you think I don’t blame you,” she hissed out, almost surprising herself with the fervor in which she spoke. “I do. I blame you.”

               He said nothing.

               She tensed, gripping the glass tight in her hand. She shook her head. “I do.”

               “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

               She sighed and swallowed down the drink in one go. It no longer tasted like anything, no flavor or burn, but it tingled with numbness. Exactly as she needed. “I don’t.” she insisted.

               He smiled, all squinted eyes and dimpled cheeks. She reached out a finger as if to touch him before yanking back. He chuckled slightly. “Well, I’m glad you chose me to not talk to, then. Even if I’m to blame.”

               “You are,” she insisted stubbornly. She felt her lower lip tremble against her will. He was so pretty, with those deep puppy-dog eyes and chiseled jawline. And he looked at her with such reverence, as if she was the only one to – to—

               “It’s okay to miss me.”

               She sniffed, and busied herself with the bottle instead of his eyes. “Why would I? I barely … I’ve been here three months.”

               Silence responded. It was more a response than anything else, heavy in implication.

               She moved her hand from the label, down her left fingers and hand, across veins and scars and bony prominences. She hesitated, fingers flexing, before trailing down to her wrist. Her nails bit into the roped leather, softly at first and then digging down. “I’ve always been alone,” she said. She wished her voice didn’t sound so hollow.

               She can feel as he moves closer, the warmth of his aura just barely against hers. He lingers there a long moment, then she almost feels as his calloused fingers brush over the laces. “There is no without.”

               Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes as a single tear dropped down her face.

               She could feel his warm, honeyed breath at her ear. “I am not gone.”

               The searing disappointment when she opened her eyes to find an empty seat was the greatest shock.

               Who taught her to believe?

               He was scattered across her life in pieces, fragments of him. His shoelace, the badge, the walkies, a jacket. But it was the ghost of him that felt like new snow on her skin, frozen and numb but also comforting and untainted. So different than that last kiss, the one that was all warmth and sunshine and fiery desire, melting through her walls as if they had always been made of ice.

               The whiskey in her belly was what made her admit it, she thought later.

               She loved him completely.

               And it might be that even still in death he loved her the same.