Fic: He Likes Snow
Omgggggggggggg words cannot express how much I LOVE Once Upon a Time. Utterly utterly obsessed. And of course I ship the good ship that is Snow/Charming and David/Mary Margaret. I'm so tired of hearing people slagging off on some of my other ships, it actually kind of brings me down, but this ship is forever. Also, Ginnifer and Josh have AMAZING chemistry.
Word Count:1,428
This is basically a short fic from the perspective of Prince Charming and from David Nolan.
Charming
He’s always liked snow, even as a child. He found it enchanting. Even when his mother would chase after him, scolding him for not wearing a cloak in the cold, he would squirm impatiently in her arms and twist his head so he could catch snowflakes on his tongue.
He doesn’t know why he can’t get Snow out of his mind. He’s always been obedient and diligent, always doing what mother- and later, father told him to do. You won’t love her right away, his father had sighed after they first met Abigail, but you’ll learn to, son. And learning to love someone despite their flaws is what makes a strong marriage.
Obedience trained him to be an excellent swordsman, an even better archer. Diligence helped him slay the dragon. What use were those things now, he thought glumly as he sat and watched Abigail preen in front of the mirror, surrounded by glittering jewels. He briefly thought of slipping away a few gems for Snow to sell, but Abigail would surely find out and fly into a shrill rage. He would hate to get a poor servant fired for something he did.
You’re lucky, his father would often reassure him. Thomas’ parents are thinking of holding a ball in the next few years unless he can find someone to marry. A ball! his father sounded scandalized. For anyone in the kingdom to go to. What if he falls in love with a commoner?! We’re not those types of people, James.
His eyes wander to the nearest window. It’s snowing again, and he wonders where she is, and if she’s warm. He knows that the latest batch of WANTED posters have upped her reward, but he also knows those same posters have been ripped apart by the wind, or battered by the rain, or, ironically, disappeared under the snow.
Sometimes he sought her company, and he would find her. During their last brief visit, she said that she was taking advantage of the cold weather and moving further away, past the vast lakes. She heard that there were several mines out there, and she was going to try to seek shelter in an abandoned one.
So I’ll see you less, he had said, trying not to sound disappointed.
She had smiled. You’ll miss me? she teased, before nicking a small knife from him and skipping away.
Not really, he said, easily catching up to her and backing her against a tree. He snatched his knife back.
Methinks the good sir doth protest too much, she said breathily, gazing into his eyes. Her breath smelled like cinnamon.
He had wanted to kiss her, right then and there. Instead, he had moved his hand to her hair, gently picking away a few stray leaves. It was a tender moment, and for a moment he swore her eyes flickered with a sad longing. Methinks the lady is a thief, he said teasingly, wagging his finger at her. He pressed the small knife into her hands. Keep this, for protection. I should go. Be good, Snow.
Right, she said, reaching a hand upward and grabbing the frigid air to feel it. You should head back before it starts to snow.
I like the snow. Love it, even.
He could see her breath catch at his words. He had meant them when he said them, but now, looking wearily at his fiancée, he wondered what he had been thinking. He shouldn’t have implied that he had feelings for Snow. Realistically, it could never happen. Oh father, actually I’ve decided to disgrace you because I’m in love with a fugitive. I plan in hiding in the forest forever, if you ever need to reach me please hang a blue banner from the shortest elm tree in the forest and I shall send my herd of deer to respond.
Snow was a fantasy, Abigail was a reality.
He doesn’t know why he thinks about her all the time when he knows he shouldn’t, that it’s just a passing infatuation. Marrying Abigail would save his kingdom; it was his duty to do what was right.
It didn’t matter that Abigail didn’t have a quick tongue, or never wore pants, or would never in a million years think to save him from a band of trolls. He had gotten so used to saving maidens that he had never realized that it was actually quite nice to be saved yourself. He liked that about Snow.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He needs to stop thinking about her.
He knows why he keeps thinking of Snow, it’s because he’s in love with her. At the very least, he’s intrigued by her.
He also knows though, that he needs to stop.
//
David Nolan
He doesn’t know why he keeps adding cinnamon to his hot chocolate. It tastes awful, but for some reason, it’s also comforting. It makes him feel…safe. He wonders if maybe someone he used to know drank it like that, but Kathryn said that she’s never seen him drink hot chocolate, ever. That he prefers coffee, black with one sugar to cut the edge.
He tries it some time and she’s right, he does like coffee more. But that doesn’t stop him from drinking hot chocolate.
One day he tries to put cinnamon in his coffee. It’s even more disgusting, and he pours it away and makes a mental note that he doesn’t like cinnamon, except that it’s okay in hot chocolate.
Kathryn leaves him mostly alone during the day, since she has a job. She’s sweet, but he doesn’t know why he’s just not attracted to her. He’s tried, knowing that they were married, but he wonders what kind of person he was if he married her. He knows he should love her, even if they were having troubles before she’s trying ten times harder now than he is.
The only one that had felt real to him was Mary Margaret Blanchard, but evidently she had quit being a volunteer. He’s sure that it’s his fault…of course someone’s going to be uncomfortable hearing certain things from a married man. It was probably just a case of mixed signals but…he really thought there was something there.
There are so many things wrong with wanting to be with Mary Margaret. For one, he’s married. Even though he doesn’t love Kathryn, he knows it’s wrong to just dump her without properly trying. For another, he doesn’t really know Mary Margaret. They’ve spent some time together, and he’s instantly at ease with her, but he doesn’t know that much about her. He’s learned that he’s really sort of a practical and logical person. He can’t explain being drawn to her and knowing so little.
He doesn’t seem to have many friends, but the mayor’s son, Henry, has taken a shine to him. Henry’s chatty, and he likes to read from a story book he totes around everywhere. In a way, Henry’s become a good replacement to the previous hospital volunteer. Henry rather enjoys name-dropping Mary Margaret though, and David tries to not be suspicious as to why. Henry’s just a kid, she’s his teacher, and it’s natural that she’s going to come up in conversation. He wonders though if Henry isn’t using him at times, for when the mayor inevitably finds them, she always seems irritated. At least I’m not hanging around the sheriff’s office, Henry always says innocently, giving David a surreptitious wink as his mother drags him off.
It’s Henry who tells him that no two snowflakes are alike, and while he doesn’t know if it’s entirely true, he likes to use it as an excuse to stare out the window when it’s snowing. Maybe he’s a man of science, he wonders. Or maybe, the idea of a snowflake knowing it’s different and being okay with it is appealing to him. A snowflake only has one purpose, to fall down. It doesn’t have to worry about terrible dog names or cranberry muffins that are, to be frank, quite dry.
He likes snow. It’s pure, it’s white, it’s a blank slate, just like him. Sometimes when it snows he pretends it’s covering the rest of Storybrooke in a memory charm too, and everyone else will be starting over just like him. It would make his days less lonely.
His memory’s not really coming back, not as fast as he’d like. All he knows is that he likes snow, and hot chocolate with cinnamon (even if he doesn’t really like it).
That’s not much to go on.
Word Count:1,428
This is basically a short fic from the perspective of Prince Charming and from David Nolan.
Charming
He’s always liked snow, even as a child. He found it enchanting. Even when his mother would chase after him, scolding him for not wearing a cloak in the cold, he would squirm impatiently in her arms and twist his head so he could catch snowflakes on his tongue.
He doesn’t know why he can’t get Snow out of his mind. He’s always been obedient and diligent, always doing what mother- and later, father told him to do. You won’t love her right away, his father had sighed after they first met Abigail, but you’ll learn to, son. And learning to love someone despite their flaws is what makes a strong marriage.
Obedience trained him to be an excellent swordsman, an even better archer. Diligence helped him slay the dragon. What use were those things now, he thought glumly as he sat and watched Abigail preen in front of the mirror, surrounded by glittering jewels. He briefly thought of slipping away a few gems for Snow to sell, but Abigail would surely find out and fly into a shrill rage. He would hate to get a poor servant fired for something he did.
You’re lucky, his father would often reassure him. Thomas’ parents are thinking of holding a ball in the next few years unless he can find someone to marry. A ball! his father sounded scandalized. For anyone in the kingdom to go to. What if he falls in love with a commoner?! We’re not those types of people, James.
His eyes wander to the nearest window. It’s snowing again, and he wonders where she is, and if she’s warm. He knows that the latest batch of WANTED posters have upped her reward, but he also knows those same posters have been ripped apart by the wind, or battered by the rain, or, ironically, disappeared under the snow.
Sometimes he sought her company, and he would find her. During their last brief visit, she said that she was taking advantage of the cold weather and moving further away, past the vast lakes. She heard that there were several mines out there, and she was going to try to seek shelter in an abandoned one.
So I’ll see you less, he had said, trying not to sound disappointed.
She had smiled. You’ll miss me? she teased, before nicking a small knife from him and skipping away.
Not really, he said, easily catching up to her and backing her against a tree. He snatched his knife back.
Methinks the good sir doth protest too much, she said breathily, gazing into his eyes. Her breath smelled like cinnamon.
He had wanted to kiss her, right then and there. Instead, he had moved his hand to her hair, gently picking away a few stray leaves. It was a tender moment, and for a moment he swore her eyes flickered with a sad longing. Methinks the lady is a thief, he said teasingly, wagging his finger at her. He pressed the small knife into her hands. Keep this, for protection. I should go. Be good, Snow.
Right, she said, reaching a hand upward and grabbing the frigid air to feel it. You should head back before it starts to snow.
I like the snow. Love it, even.
He could see her breath catch at his words. He had meant them when he said them, but now, looking wearily at his fiancée, he wondered what he had been thinking. He shouldn’t have implied that he had feelings for Snow. Realistically, it could never happen. Oh father, actually I’ve decided to disgrace you because I’m in love with a fugitive. I plan in hiding in the forest forever, if you ever need to reach me please hang a blue banner from the shortest elm tree in the forest and I shall send my herd of deer to respond.
Snow was a fantasy, Abigail was a reality.
He doesn’t know why he thinks about her all the time when he knows he shouldn’t, that it’s just a passing infatuation. Marrying Abigail would save his kingdom; it was his duty to do what was right.
It didn’t matter that Abigail didn’t have a quick tongue, or never wore pants, or would never in a million years think to save him from a band of trolls. He had gotten so used to saving maidens that he had never realized that it was actually quite nice to be saved yourself. He liked that about Snow.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He needs to stop thinking about her.
He knows why he keeps thinking of Snow, it’s because he’s in love with her. At the very least, he’s intrigued by her.
He also knows though, that he needs to stop.
//
David Nolan
He doesn’t know why he keeps adding cinnamon to his hot chocolate. It tastes awful, but for some reason, it’s also comforting. It makes him feel…safe. He wonders if maybe someone he used to know drank it like that, but Kathryn said that she’s never seen him drink hot chocolate, ever. That he prefers coffee, black with one sugar to cut the edge.
He tries it some time and she’s right, he does like coffee more. But that doesn’t stop him from drinking hot chocolate.
One day he tries to put cinnamon in his coffee. It’s even more disgusting, and he pours it away and makes a mental note that he doesn’t like cinnamon, except that it’s okay in hot chocolate.
Kathryn leaves him mostly alone during the day, since she has a job. She’s sweet, but he doesn’t know why he’s just not attracted to her. He’s tried, knowing that they were married, but he wonders what kind of person he was if he married her. He knows he should love her, even if they were having troubles before she’s trying ten times harder now than he is.
The only one that had felt real to him was Mary Margaret Blanchard, but evidently she had quit being a volunteer. He’s sure that it’s his fault…of course someone’s going to be uncomfortable hearing certain things from a married man. It was probably just a case of mixed signals but…he really thought there was something there.
There are so many things wrong with wanting to be with Mary Margaret. For one, he’s married. Even though he doesn’t love Kathryn, he knows it’s wrong to just dump her without properly trying. For another, he doesn’t really know Mary Margaret. They’ve spent some time together, and he’s instantly at ease with her, but he doesn’t know that much about her. He’s learned that he’s really sort of a practical and logical person. He can’t explain being drawn to her and knowing so little.
He doesn’t seem to have many friends, but the mayor’s son, Henry, has taken a shine to him. Henry’s chatty, and he likes to read from a story book he totes around everywhere. In a way, Henry’s become a good replacement to the previous hospital volunteer. Henry rather enjoys name-dropping Mary Margaret though, and David tries to not be suspicious as to why. Henry’s just a kid, she’s his teacher, and it’s natural that she’s going to come up in conversation. He wonders though if Henry isn’t using him at times, for when the mayor inevitably finds them, she always seems irritated. At least I’m not hanging around the sheriff’s office, Henry always says innocently, giving David a surreptitious wink as his mother drags him off.
It’s Henry who tells him that no two snowflakes are alike, and while he doesn’t know if it’s entirely true, he likes to use it as an excuse to stare out the window when it’s snowing. Maybe he’s a man of science, he wonders. Or maybe, the idea of a snowflake knowing it’s different and being okay with it is appealing to him. A snowflake only has one purpose, to fall down. It doesn’t have to worry about terrible dog names or cranberry muffins that are, to be frank, quite dry.
He likes snow. It’s pure, it’s white, it’s a blank slate, just like him. Sometimes when it snows he pretends it’s covering the rest of Storybrooke in a memory charm too, and everyone else will be starting over just like him. It would make his days less lonely.
His memory’s not really coming back, not as fast as he’d like. All he knows is that he likes snow, and hot chocolate with cinnamon (even if he doesn’t really like it).
That’s not much to go on.