#whose clothes is she wearing for the rest of s7??

[faith-thee-slayer]

In your opinion, what are Faith's best looks over the run of BtVS/AtS?

anon i am SO glad you asked this, because i was already thinking about making a compilation post of her best looks. it took me a while since i had to go thru every single appearance of hers so i didn't forget an outfit...

here are my favorite Faith outfits, loosely in order starting with most favorite:

the RED SHIRT. i will never cease to be floored by how well she pulled it off. very much giving HAEBILF (homoerotic angry evil bestie i'd like to fuck).

the amends outfit!! the "girlfriend visiting her gf's parents for the first time" outfit!! i love soft lighter colors on her, especially light blue. the tan jacket slays every time it makes an appearance.

this denim jacket + lace black top + choker... super underrated look i think, considering we only saw it in this scene and the scene where she tries to get angel to shoot her.

my god, this look. she showed up -> served cunt -> killed a man -> left

this is almost like a companion to her amends outfit. obsessed with how comfy and cute she looks

the tan jacket!! i hope she got a new one, this one's probably at the bottom of sunnydale... this outfit looks cute without the jacket too, just the simple red tank + blue jeans combo.

the partial turtleneck + black denim jacket combo. i feel like this is another underrated one.

she should've worn this more... yup

honorable mentions: orange tie-dye top from the graduation day dream; all black tank top + jeans she has on when buffy confronts her in sanctuary (the brown jacket she wears with it is cute too); denim jacket + dark red top from dirty girls (the scene where she's smoking with spike and she removes her jacket while stretching... YEAH); homecoming dress; sheer longsleeve top + leather pants she wears while angel has her chained up in consequences (both hair up and hair down deliver two similar but unique vibes for the look); white longsleeve and black vest from That Patrol in bad girls; blue longsleeve in empty places; and last but certainly not least, the "i was shooting for sultry, but hey" bombshell look from this year's girl.

thank you so much for this ask, this was fun!!

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Dada Hook

Merry Christmas @mayquita!

Tis I, your Secret Santa for @cssecretsanta2k19!  I have had a blast getting to know you.  I hope you enjoy this fluffy, Swan-Jones family Christmas fic.  It was partially inspired by my nieces and nephews.

Summary: On Christmas morning, Killian discovers that 2 year-old Hope Swan-Jones is a lot more observant than he thought. (Not S7 compliant)

AO3

**

          “Up! Up! Mama!  Dada! Up!”

          Still half asleep, Killian Jones smiled as he heard his daughter yell through the baby monitor.  He cracked open one eye and turned over in bed until he could see the small, digital screen that showed video of Hope’s room.   He saw Hope standing in her crib, little hands grasping the wooden rail, staring directly into the camera that linked to the tablet.  She was an observant little child and recently had worked out that she could get her parent’s attention by yelling at the camera.

          He felt Emma curl herself up against his back.  “What time is it?” she murmured against his shoulder.

          Killian squinted at the clock. “7:15 am.  She let us sleep in.”

          He heard Emma groan all the same.  She wasn’t a morning person.

          “I’ll get up with her,” he said as he started to remove himself from her embrace.  But her arms around him only tightened.              

          “No, it’s my turn.” She pushed away from his back and when she threw the blankets off, he felt a cold breeze against across his skin.  He shivered and reminded himself to check the houses heating system.  It may be winter, but there was no need for the house to be as cold as the Jolly Roger while at sea.

          Emma pulled a pair of lounge pants and a large Storybrooke Pet Shelter t-shirt on over her underwear.  “You got up with her the other night when she had that nightmare.”

          Killian grasped his wife’s hand as she headed toward the bedroom door.  “Regardless, love.  If you want to stay abed a bit longer, I am happy to entertain our little early bird so you can rest.”

          That earned him a smile.  “I’m already up.  Try and get some more sleep; we have a busy day ahead.” Emma gave him a quick kiss as she turned off the baby monitor and headed out.  

          Killian groaned and dramatically pulled the blanket up and over his head. He could hear Emma’s laugh as she made her way down to Hope’s room.

          A busy day…

          That was a bit of an understatement.

          It was Christmas, one of this realm’s winter holidays.

          It was a day filled with family, friends, many odd traditions, and copious amounts of food and drink.  He quite enjoyed the holiday, personally, especially the food and drink.  

          But last year had been a bit of a disaster.

          Emma, Henry, 1 year-old Hope, and himself had all gone over to Mary-Margaret and David’s house for an early Christmas brunch and to exchange gifts.  Afterwards, they’d all gone into town and had a small lunch at Granny’s.  They then continued onto Regina’s house, where the combined “royal family of Storybrooke” hosted a large Christmas party that the people of the town flitted in and out of the rest of the day.

          Normally, this would have been a long, if tiring, day.  But any event was made more complicated when there was a toddler involved.

          The excitement of the day had made getting Hope down for her afternoon nap nearly impossible.  It had taken over an hour to get her to sleep and she refused to stay asleep unless she was in either his or Emma’s arms.  Even then, she only slept half the normal amount of time she usually did.

          Which resulted in everyone having to deal with a very cranky toddler for the remainder of the holiday.  Tempers frayed, words were exchanged, and Killian had had to pull Emma out of the house and into the cold before she roasted the Christmas ham without the aid of an oven.  

          In the weeks leading up to this year’s event, he and Emma had made the decision to spend the morning at home and join the rest of their family after Hope’s nap.  Mary Margaret had been disappointed and tried to convince them otherwise.  David, however, had understood and had been instrumental in getting his wife to let them make their own decisions.  

          “Dada! Up! Dada get up!” Hope’s voice drifted down the hall, pulling him from his musing.  

          He heard Emma shushed her gently, “No duckling, let Dada sleep.”

          “No… Dada up!”

          The sound of Hope running down the hall told Killian that his time in bed was about to end.  But he decided to have some fun before his daughter dragged him out of it.  He settled himself down and pretended to be asleep.  

          “Dada!” He heard Hope yell as she ran into the room.  The bed shook as her tiny body barreled into the side of it. There was a soft tug on the blanket as she said, “Get up Dada! Get up!”

          Killian let out an exaggerated snore in response.  Her small, soft hands patted at his face.  Before she could move, Killian quickly wrapped his arm around her and pulled her onto the bed.  Hope shrieked in laughter.  

          “Don’t you know better than to wake a sleeping pirate?” He asked as he snuggled her close.  She smelled like baby powder and the soft lavender scent of the baby-specific detergent they used for her clothes only.  

          Hope babbled something too fast for him to understand completely, but he did make out the words “strawberries”, “pancakes”, and “newt”, the last being his daughter’s current word for milk, so he figured she was talking about what she wanted to breakfast.

          “I don’t know love, I’m very comfortable right here.  Why don’t you and Mama bring me breakfast in bed?” He winked at Emma as he said this and received a roll of the eyes in response.

          “No Dada.  Up!” Hope continued to insist.  She squirmed from his arms and out of bed.  Once on the ground again, she grasped his hand and pulled.  At the sight of her determination, Killian relented.

          “Alright, alright, you win.  I’m getting up,” he said as he moved the blankets aside.  He swung his legs over the side and sat on the edge of the bed. This seemed to satisfy Hope, who released his hand.  Killian ruffled her dark hair before stretching his arms above his head, hearing a few joints pop in the process.  His 200 years were finally catching up to him.

          As he brought his arms down, he noticed that Hope had a look on her face that he hadn’t seen before.  No, that was wrong.  He saw the same speculative look on Emma’s face every time she was presented with a new situation.

          He started to ask her what was wrong, but stopped when Hope slowly reached out and placed her hands on the blunted end of his left arm.  Her small fingers explored the scared skin, in much the same way Emma had the first time she had seen it.

          “Hooky.”

          Killian blinked, unsure at first if he heard Hope correctly.  

          “Hooky,” she repeated.

          He looked up at Emma, whose face now wore an identical expression to Hope.

          “I think she is wondering where your hook is,” Emma cautiously suggested.

          Killian frowned.  He knew Hope had seen him without his hook many times.  He wore the fake hand nearly as often as he wore the hook nowadays, especially when at home.  

          Hope poked at the end of his stump.  

          “Hooky.”  Her small voice was starting to take on a slightly hysterical edge, which both he and Emma knew meant that a meltdown was on its way.

          Without taking his eyes off of Hope, Killian stretched his arm out and pulled his brace from the drawer of his nightstand.  He places it on his lap, careful to position the point of the hook away from his daughter.  It’s duller now than it used to be, but it was still a weapon.

          Hope’s attention shifted and she placed one hand on the leather of the brace.  Her voice was soft as she almost whispers, “Hooky.”

          Killian nodded as he said, “Yes duckling, this is how Dada wears his hook.”

          Hope moved his arm closer to the brace.  Figuring out what she wants, Killian guided it onto his arm.  The straps of the harness that secure it hang loose, but Hope appeared much happier as soon as the brace and hook are on his arm.

          “Dada Hook,” she yelled, triumphant.

          Killian wraps both his arms around his daughter and pulls her close.  

          “Yes duckling.  Dada Hook,” he whispers against her hair.  He feels Emma’s arms encircle both of them. They stay that way for a moment, before Hope begins to wriggle.  

          “Henry up!” She says before running out of the room, presumably to go wake up Henry.  

          Without prompting, Emma positions and fastens the straps of the harness along his arm and shoulders.  This simple act help sooth some of the insecure feelings that had settled in his gut. Once finished, she placed a kiss on the back of his neck and said, “Come on, Dada Hook.  It’s time to have Christmas breakfast with your family.”

fin?

[crossedbeams]

Small Talk

Happy Birthday @damselindistressmya - you wanted Office Party fic and this is what I came up with. Thank you for your honesty and your friendship.

S7 || Fluff || MSR || Teen 

Watching from a distance, nobody but Mulder would know how uncomfortable she is in the crowded room. Scully prides herself on it. While he lurks in a corner, all but concealed behind a pillar with a warm beer and a bowl of peanuts he swiped from one of the tables, she works the room, talking and nodding in a way that makes her hair catch the light as it just barely kisses the exposed swoop of her neck. She’s wearing a dress, fitted but not tight, with skinny straps that keep threatening to roll off her shoulders when someone presses past. She’s not carrying a weapon and she smiles widely when the man next to her says something, but the brightness of her teeth never reaches her eyes.

Mulder watches her shift her weight from foot to foot, focussing on the agitated circling of her ankle instead of the slimness of her leg vanishing seductively into a glossy stiletto pump. He watches her fingers flex against her wineglass, notes her flinch almost imperceptibly when one of her circle nudges her arm too familiarly. He sees the platters of canapes whisk by just out of reach, that her glass is almost empty, and he knows her patience will be wearing thin. 

It’s taken them seven years to even start to verbalise what they mean to each other, but he has been able to read her signs from almost the very beginning. Abandoning his beer and his hiding space, Mulder makes a pitstop or two and arrives at Scully’s side just as she empties her glass.

The man next to her, from Homicide he thinks, draws breath to offer her a refill but Mulder has already staked his claim, his finger light on the snowdrop skin inside her elbow, and his head bent in closer than is normal for anyone but them.

‘Scully, we need to talk about that lead,’ he murmurs, not caring that the other Agents present will see intense, “Spooky�� Mulder, spoiling his partners fun at AD Gilmore’s retirement bash.Because he sees the tiny goosebumps rising on Scully’s arm where he touches her, feels her angle towards him as if she were a compass and him true north. She makes her excuses, nervously smoothing the mossy green of her dress to hide her ruffled feelings and follows him through the crowd, his height cutting a swathe she can walk in without having to fight past everyone’s elbows. 

Some days it annoys her, the ease with which Mulder seems to carve his way in the world, but tonight she is grateful for his intervention. Scully had wanted to pay her respects to Gilmore, to show herself willing to participate in Bureau society rather than closet herself ever more intimately in the dark with Mulder, but the small talk was tedious and she could feel her partner’s eyes on her from across the room wherever he turned. She has been waiting all evening for him to object to their presence, to demand her full attention. Part of her appreciates his restraint and respect for her wish to participate in what he calls “normal person stuff,” but the rest of her wants him to rebel and drag her away from normalcy and into the strange new world that has been unfolding before them since New Year’s Eve.

When they clear the ballroom Mulder makes a hard right, pushing open a door and barely letting her through before he pushes her up against it, his hands unruly in her hair and his lips beer-malted against hers. Scully doesn’t know if anyone saw them come in here, she doesn’t know what room it is even, but she doesn’t care. The cool of the wine is burned off her tongue by the force of his need for her, there is no lead, no reason for them to leave beyond how badly she needs him, how desperately he needs her. 

Scully protests only slightly when Mulder pushes the unstable straps of her dress off her shoulders, the tightness of the bodice preventing it from falling down as his mouth whispers down her neck and into the hollow of her collarbone. He’s obsessed with the spot, with the little noise she can’t help making when he drags his teeth across her too bruisable skin and though Scully is still completely clothed she feels naked; the sensations flashing her back to the moment last weekend when he pulled her legs up to her shoulders, thrust deep and roared the pleasure of his climax into that same spot. She moans a little at the memory, at the flush of heat between her legs and the constricting tightness of the dress and Mulder pulls back amused, his hair rakish from her hands. 

‘You look perfect.’ He tells her, and then reaching over her head to a linen-laden shelf and retrieving a loaded plate of canapes. ‘I saw you eyeing the bruschetta in there.’ And though her breath is still short with desire, Scully’s stomach gives an approving growl. She doesn’t wait for Mulder to finish making a tablecloth into a makeshift picnic blanket for them, or for him to pour her more wine from the bottle he produces from behind the fire extinguisher, before she tucks in. They eat in companionable silence, her back still to the door and him opposite, close enough that their knees touch when he leans in to catch a crumb that has lingered too long on her lower lip, and when the food is gone the atmosphere is thick with unspoken questions.

They have never done this before, transitioned from public to private personas in any sort of scenario that resembles a date and for a tense moment it feels like an impossible task. And then Scully leans in, one hand on each of Mulder’s knees and brushes a light kiss, heavy with promise over his lips. 

‘Home?’

Is all she says, and it’s the answer as well as the question. It doesn’t matter where they go now, whose apartment, whose bed. What matters is that they will go there together, wake up together, face what’s next together. 

The wine is left behind with the rest of the bureau, his jacket covers her shoulders and in the silence of the cab they hold hands all the way to Georgetown.