#killian as a salesman

[awitchsheartif]

An upcoming 18+ fantasy interactive fiction with a focus on Romance.

As the Assistant to Professor of Magic and Alchemy Simeon Harrow you have a particular interest in the mystical. When you’re not meddling with magical ingredients or delving into taboo history, you’re helping Professor Harrow with his quest to harness real magic.

When witches are spotted in your city a literal witch hunt begins. It’s said a witch’s heart can give pure magic to whoever consumes it, but just how true could that possibly be?

Customise your character! Gender, height, sexuality and more.

Learn magic, uncover secrets, and protect a young witch child from those that wish him harm.

Befriend and ally with a cast of characters. Romance one (or two) of four: your academic rival, an energetic witch, a morally questionable salesman, or ▮▮▮.

Consume a witch’s heart?

Characters

Yousra/Youcef ‘Court’ Courtney

(Gender Selectable RO)

Harrow’s other assistant. Noble blood, less noble intentions, but at least they’re good at what they do.

With a razor-sharp focus and an overbearing personality they excel at almost everything they do. Always impeccably dressed with sharp features and eyes that watch you like a hawk when they think you’re not looking. They consider you their closest friend, but that’s never made them any less willing to throw you under the bus when they think it will let them win.

Professor Simeon Harrow

He made you what you are, he gave you what no one else could, and he could take away everything you have.

Harrow’s ambition has faded in recent years, with very few people willing to fund his research. This recent stroke of luck could be just what his career needs.

Killian MacKay

His father was a witch, and that’s all he knows. A powerful bargaining chip and a useful tool.

The boy’s power has only recently awoken and he isn’t sure who he can trust yet, can he trust you?

Lillias ‘Lily’ Keene

(F RO)

A young witch, lost in an unfamiliar city. Perhaps less naïve than she lets on.

She’s here for a reason, one she isn’t keen on sharing. There’s a mischievous spark in her sandy grey eyes and she’s reluctant to let the mortal danger that she’s in ruin her fun.

‘Robin’

(M RO)

A dealer of magical paraphernalia. When he isn’t conducting barely-legal business he’s off enjoying the finer things in life.

It’s hard to tell if you’ll get him in a good mood or a bad one, but whichever way you find him it’s clear he’s not your biggest fan. Unfortunately for him you’ve got the money to pay for his services.

[spartanguard]

cryptid chaos (A Tall Tail)

Summary: It's almost Halloween, and the recently freed Author has decided to make Storybrooke into the setting of a horror novel. Emma suddenly has actual swan wings; Killian is even more of a mer-creature than usual. But how do they undo all the changes when no one knows how the Author's power works? Can they figure it out--or are they stuck? a/n: Welcome back to the A Tall Tail verse! So I definitely meant to have this done for Halloween, but…it's still spooky season, right? Hope you enjoy some silliniess! rated T | 8.7k words | AO3 | A Tall Tail

Emma let out a long sigh as she stared across the water of the harbor, the full moon’s dappled reflection dancing in the waves. What a freakin’ week. In all the chaos of the so-called Queens of Darkness and locking Gold away, they’d kind of forgotten about one of the bigger things they’d been trying to do: tracking down the mysterious author of Henry’s storybook in search of Regina’s happy ending. 

Once things had settled down a bit, they got back into it—kind of literally; it turned out the Author (whose name was Isaac, apparently) had actually been trapped inside the book. She was becoming more and more used to (or jaded by) magical bullshit, so to see a man emerge from the pages of a gigantic tome from a key inserted to an illustration of a door wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen, but it was still weird.

Although now it’s just a headache, she complained to herself.

Since his arrival—or, rather, escape—the squirrelly man had been causing all sorts of drama across town; I guess that’s what a writer does, huh? It had all been petty nonsense, or people with bones to pick about how their life had gone (and really with no one to blame for it but themselves), but everyone had been demanding her help in dealing with it and she needed a damn break.

Which was why she was waiting for Killian on the deck of the Jolly Roger; he’d gone out for one of his usual swims to calm his magic, but they had plans to spend the night together. Alone. And very close, with few clothes. (Maybe with some rum in there, too.) Technically, Emma was early, but her little brother was teething and, though she felt bad leaving her parents to deal with that, she’d needed to get away from the chaos of the loft.

Being by the water was definitely calming her down, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off; maybe it was just Isaac, and the psychological upheaval he seemed to be inducing in most of the town; or maybe it was just the fact that it was a full moon and they were a few days away from Halloween—gods only know what kind of trouble that can bring to a town like this.

That was a problem for future Emma, though; current Emma smiled when she heard footsteps fall on the gangplank and began to turn around to greet her True Love. 

“Was wondering when you’d…oh.” Her face fell; it was Isaac. “Can I help you?” (...Get out of town, preferably.)

“Actually, I was hoping it’d be the other way around,” he said, in a way that reminded her of an appliance store salesman.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever heard of the legend of swan maidens?” he asked, moving closer to her; she wanted to yell at him about setting foot on deck without the captain’s permission, but she was too confused. 

“Uh, some of it, I guess?”

He pulled out a pad of paper and an antique-looking pen from his coat pocket as he went on. “Well, there’s a few, but I’ve always been a fan of some of the Irish stories—the ones where their goddesses choose to take on the form of a swan, only identifiable by a chain around their neck,” he said, nodding at Emma’s own silver necklace. Instinctively, her hand went to it—to hide it, she guessed, even though her old swan pendant was long gone and the necklace she’d fashioned for her magic seashell was made of leather. What the hell is he getting at?

He looked down at his notepad and started to scribble something down. “I imagine that would come with a lot of freedom—especially from some unwanted burdens,” he continued. Oh, like your presence? Emma quipped in her head. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I guess,” she said, unconvinced. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket; hopefully, Isaac was almost done here. 

“Good,” he replied, with a smile on his face that she couldn’t quite read. Then he tore the page off his notebook and handed it to her.

Not thinking, she took it. She tried to read the drying ink on the paper, but only managed to recognize the word “wings” before a blast of magic sent her falling backwards—and over the railing of the ship into the water below. 

Please let Killian be here, she hoped; but no such luck. Instead, she fell into the sea with a splash and the cold water stole her breath. She tried to move her arms up and down to ascend, but it felt like they were made of lead. Still, she pushed through, and finally broke through the surface. 

She gave herself a minute to float and catch her breath before swimming back over to the ship (and punching the crap out of Isaac). 

It was odd, though—usually, she needed more lower-body effort to tread water, but her arms alone were keeping her above surface-level.

So that’s when she looked at her arms—and screamed. “What the fuck? What the FUCK?” She didn’t care who heard her swear—but, on second thought, she did care who saw her. 

Because she now had freaking wings where her arms had been. Not, like, angel wings coming from her back or something—literal long, feathered appendages where her much-shorter arms had been a minute ago. In fact, they looked like…”A swan,” she realized on a breath. Just what the hell did Isaac do?

She glanced around for the piece of paper he’d given her, but it was floating ahead of her, completely soaked—and illegible. But it had to be him, right?

Well, first thing first: she had to get out of the water. Can I fly? She flapped her arms—wings—whatever they were, if only to see what would happen. Astonishingly, she did rise out of the water a bit, before falling back even farther in.

Undeterred (and starting to feel self-conscious), she did again, and again, until, somehow, she was in the air. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but some new sort of muscle memory took over and all too soon, she was soaring around the harbor. This is actually kind of cool, she acknowledged, but definitely not something I want permanently.

Isaac was no longer on the ship; she should probably try to track him down, but she had no clue how to counter…whatever it was he was doing. She was still pretty fuzzy on his powers and how they worked. Regina was the most likely person to find, but for some reason, she didn’t want to bother her just yet; nor did she want to terrify her parents by turning up at the loft like this.

And she definitely didn’t want Killian to see her. So she headed to the only place she could think of—the cove; he wouldn’t think to look for her there, and she could stay away from prying eyes. And gods only know what this wind is doing to my hair.

Somehow, she managed to land on her feet on the rocky shore, though she wouldn’t call it graceful. Her wings instinctively folded in on themselves; that’s gonna take some getting used to. And she paced the beach while thinking of what to do—and coming up with no ideas.

She was the Savior and the Sheriff; shouldn’t I be out there trying to stop him? But how could she when she didn’t know how? And was this a targeted attack, or was he going to do this again? Is this why I can’t shake this weird feeling about him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by splashing near Killian’s rock. Oh crap; that better not be him. Cautiously, she stepped closer, but extended her wings in case she needed to make a hasty escape.

Something reached up from the water—but it wasn’t her True Love. It had webbed fingers, and blue-toned skin covered in scales, like some creature out of a horror film. 

Nope. Not dealing with monsters, too. Before whatever-it-was could climb out of the water and terrify her further, she took flight (much faster this time) and flew off into the night. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she was getting as far away from the water as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian broke through the surface at the cove to see something flying away. Bloody hell; I bet that was her. Given what had just happened to him—and comments that bloody author fellow had made—he had to assume something similar happened to Emma. And whatever that creature was looked particularly like a swan.

He’d been out for his regular swim, with plans to meet Emma at his ship for a much-needed evening alone. There were times when he was under water that he lost track of time, but tonight was not one of them—not when he knew he’d be having much more fun above the surface. 

But when he ascended to the deck of the Jolly Roger, he was shocked to see Isaac there. Alone. When he asked if he could assist him, the man instead returned the offer, then pointed to Killian’s tail, on full display as he perched on the railing. “What a plot twist,” the man commented. “I never could have anticipated that. Makes for an excellent story.”

“Aye; I suppose,” Killian had responded, confused. Isaac continued on, though, talking about other creatures of the deep; honestly, Killian was distracted, and starting to get worried about Emma, when he mindlessly agreed to something Isaac had said—perhaps about truly embracing his powers? 

The author had written something with a queer-looking quill on a notepad, then tore it off and came closer to Killian. “I’m glad you agree; Emma did, too.” Then he handed the sheet over.

“What did Emma—” Killian started to ask as he took the slip of paper, but he didn’t get to finish his question before a wave of magic came from nowhere and toppled him off his seat.

He was distinctly aware of the way some odd magic was wrapping around him as he fell back into the ocean—it was definitely transformation magic, but unlike the kind he usually felt, which focused on his lower half, this went all over. It’s like when the Dark One cursed me…but at least not painful.

Once he regained his orientation underwater, he gave himself a checkover; for starters, he could see much clearer than he should have been able to at this time of night. He definitely had gills on his neck again—but also a few along his ribcage as well. He ran his fingers over them, which when he noticed that the webbing between them had returned—but rather than his usual pallor, his skin seemed to have taken on a bluish hue and was covered with even more scales. And he took my bloody chest hair again.

The real question was if it had the same effect on his ability to breathe out of the water; thankfully, when he broke the surface, he didn’t suffocate. That will at least make this easier—whatever this is. He hated to make a retreat, but he didn’t want to draw any undue attention by his odd appearance now, so he dove back under and made for the cove; he had to hope Emma would understand—and prayed she wasn’t dealing with a similar transformation of some sort.

But seeing the winged creature fleeing the beach seemed to confirm his fears; and knowing Emma, despite everything, she’d want to deal with it on her own. Like hell I’ll let her, though.

But he’d give her a moment to calm down, and took one of his own to assess if this new spell had altered his powers; thankfully, as a whirlpool formed in the water in front of him where he sat on the edge of the rock, he seemed to be alright on that front. He wasn’t sure what was ahead, but had a feeling those would be necessary.

Then he reached for the shell necklace that always hung around his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was trying to live up to the bird stereotype by perching in a tree in the middle of the forest. Trying being the operative word; oh right—swans are waterfowl. But she eventually managed to find her balance high up in a birch. It was only a temporary solution, but it was the one she felt most confident about right now. She just wished her unexpected dive hadn’t fried her phone so she could let her parents or Killian know she was fine; not like I could really use it now anyway, what with the lack of fingers and all.

Of course, that’s when her other means of communication made itself known. “Swan?”

She cringed for a moment; normally, she loved the way Killian said her chosen surname, but it was a little too on the nose right now. (At least I don’t have a beak too, I guess?)

Taking hold of the shell was a whole other thing, though; it worked best when held in a hand, but she wasn’t sure how it would work with—gods, what even was her bone structure right now? She’d never had an ornithology class like Henry did. 

Regardless, she had to figure out how to get some sort of grip on the shell hanging around her neck; it took a fair amount of fumbling, but she somehow managed to bend her wings just enough to prop the shell on her elbows(?) and bring it closer to her mouth.

“Hey, I’m here,” she finally answered, though her tone was far from casual.

“Are you…okay, love?” He sounded like he already knew the answer; it wasn’t her thing to stand him up without a word.

“I…don’t really know,” she answered.

“Something happened,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Isaac?”

Uh-oh. “Yeah,” she replied, a bit more confidently. 

“Me too.” He at least sounded less morose than she did, but this—this wasn’t good. “I’m at the cove; meet me here?”

“I, uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know if you’d, ah, want to see me right now.”

“Emma, you know I always want to see you. Besides, I likely have more reason to say that—although I dare say you’ve seen me looking less than ideal before.”

Gods, what had happened to him? He was right, though; he always freaking is. “Yeah, okay; just—give me a few.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiled; regardless of—whatever was going on, she knew he was telling the truth.

Flying was getting easier; she wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but was really just concerned about what kinds of phone calls were coming into the station about some giant bird flying over Storybrooke. Not a problem for tonight though.

Landing, however, was still hit or miss; in this instance, a miss: she didn’t quite slow down enough as she came into the cove and ended up rolling across the pebbled shore. “Owww,” she moaned as she stood and shook the sand from her feathers—then froze when she heard a gasp come from behind her.

She turned—and her own breath stilled. It was definitely Killian seated on the rock (who was definitely the owner of the hand that had scared her earlier, she was embarrassed to admit). His whole upper body was that blue color, made all the more apparent by his lack of body or facial hair (goddammit, Isaac took his beard?)—like when he was under that weird merrow curse, but apparently without the confinement to the water.

Slowly, she moved closer, noticing other new features and—was it just her, or were his eyes an even brighter blue? Or did they just seem like that with how much younger he always looked without his scruff? She wanted to touch his skin, to see what it felt like; she started to reach for him until she remembered—she couldn’t.

Killian, for his part, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her; his expression was unusually unreadable. “What?” she had to ask, feeling even more self conscious.

He smiled, his dimples even more visible. “Still so beautiful, Swan.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, emphasis on the swan part.”

“I dare say you ‘rock it’, as Henry says.”

Well, that made her laugh. “Okay, fine, but they shouldn’t be here at all,” she complained, her subsequent huff even more visible now.

“Nor should this,” he countered, waving his now-webbed fingers at her. “And we’ll figure out how to get back to normal. But perhaps we'll leave it for tomorrow?” He stroked the edge of her wing with the back of his hand, sending a chill up her spine—a good feeling for the first time since…has it only been an hour? Damn.

She knelt down next to him and, awkwardly, wrapped her wings around him in the best approximation of a hug she could manage. He slipped his arms around her waist to pull her close; he was even colder than usual, but it was the closest she’d felt to normal since this all started, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

It certainly wasn’t how she planned on spending their night, but it’d have to do for now; with any luck, they’d at least be able to go without interruption for a bit.

“Mom? Hook?” Spoke too soon. She didn’t move away from Killian, but she did sit up and look over her shoulder; Henry was standing not far from them, looking confused and concerned. “Something weird is going on.”

Obviously. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s the matter, lad?” It was obvious to Killian that Henry was avoiding eye contact, and he didn’t blame him—he was sure they were quite the sight. But hopefully if he remained somewhat calm, Henry would, too. 

“Well, I…uh, I was going to say that Isaac has been going around and changing things, but I think you might kinda know?”

“What else has he done?” Emma asked, stiffening in Killian’s arms. 

“A bunch of things,” Henry explained. “It started with my mom—I don’t know exactly what he did, but she ran off to her vault, and was covering her face. So I went to see Grandma & Grandpa, but they didn’t answer—I just heard some weird noises behind the door. No one was at Granny’s but I think she’s a wolf again, because there was a big silver one hanging out with Ruby. And I think I saw a swarm of fairies or something? I’ve never seen them small like that.”

Bloody hell; what a mess. It would have been naive to assume he and Emma were Isaac’s only targets, but he’d thought the man was trying to help Regina; why had he attacked her, too?

“What the hell is he doing—making his own little circus sideshow?” Emma complained; that’s certainly what it felt like. “I didn’t think he could even do that.”

“I’ve been working with Belle to figure out how his powers work, but we haven’t gotten very far,” Henry said. “And he won’t say.”

“To the library, then?” Killian posited; one of the best things about regaining his legs was his ability to help out there again. But, speaking of— 

“How can we get you there?” Emma wondered, reading his mind. “I can barely fly myself, let alone both of us.” 

“Maybe my cuff still works? It’s still on the ship.”

“I’ll go get it.”

Watching Emma take flight was somewhat amusing, but also somewhat beautiful, particularly when she opened her wings fully to lift her off the ground. And much like how quickly he adapted to a lack of legs, there was something almost natural about her flying. 

“Wow,” Henry gasped as she took to the air. “That’s…wow.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed. “Obviously none of this is ideal, but I don’t think anyone would complain if you managed to get some pictures with your talking device?”

Henry smirked. “I’ll try.” But his face quickly fell. 

“Hey—we’ll figure this out,” Killian assured him. “We always do.”

“I know,” the boy answered. “It was just—the way my mom looked at me before she left. It was Ike she was scared…of me.”

No wonder he’s shaken; poor kid. “Whatever it was, I’m sure she was just trying to keep you safe; I’ve never known her to have any other motivation,” Killian told him, hoping that comforted him. 

“Yeah; I’m just worried.”

“Understandable. But let’s try to channel that into focus, aye?” He’d had many an anxious deckhand over the years, not to mention his time spent with Henry’s father, so coaching a nervous young man was nothing new. 

Henry nodded just as Emma returned; damn, that was quick. Her land was much more graceful this time around (still far from perfect, but just as endearing). 

She had the cuff in her mouth and nearly spat it at him. “Sorry; wasn’t sure how else to hold it,” she explained, before opening her mouth to stretch her jaw. 

“It’s fine,” he waved off, ignoring the new teeth marks in the leather. “Here’s hoping this works.” He slipped it on and felt the familiar transformation magic take hold; at least it’s welcome this time.

It worked—mostly. “Huh,” was all he could manage to say when he pulled his legs from the water. He had them, at least, but they had the same pallor and texture as the rest of his skin. (At least, for Henry’s sake, my briefs returned, too.)

“Well? How do you feel?” Emma asked as he stood up. 

“Parched,” he answered honestly. Despite being able to breathe out of the water, he immediately felt dehydrated. 

“Yeah, you look a little…dull,” Henry confirmed. 

He mused for a second, then called up some water from the sea. It swirled around his legs and waist, creating a sort of aquatic garment. It likely looked strange, but he immediately felt better. 

“Shall we?”

The three of them surely made an odd sight as they walked through town—of all the weird things Storybrooke had seen, a harpy and a creature from the depths traipsing down Main Street was definitely up there. Despite knowing he wasn’t the only one in a new form tonight, Killian couldn’t help but feel rather like a fish out of water, quite literally; he didn’t often feel self conscious, but the sooner he stopped dripping water down the sidewalk, the better. He just hoped that idiot author hadn't done anything too drastic to anyone else. 

The library was unlocked—unsurprising, given the unusually late hours Belle kept it open (typically for situations just like this)—but the mess that greeted them in the foyer was a shock. What in Poseidon’s name happened here?

“Belle, love? You here?” he called out; the worry in his voice was obvious. It wasn’t like her to leave things like this unless something was wrong.

“Back here,” Belle’s voice said, but—why is she so loud?

The three of them made their way to the back part of the library—he was careful not to drip on any of the strewn books—to where it looked like even more of a disaster area. Shelves were knocked down domino-style and ceiling tiles were scattered over them. A few lights had been knocked out, too, making the farthest part of the library dark—but not so dark they couldn’t still see Belle.

It would be hard for her to hide—she was probably 20 feet tall now, if not more, but she’d somehow managed to curl up along the back wall.

“Well, you’re finally taller than me,” Killian eventually quipped, once he found his voice again. What else was he supposed to say? Emma tried to slap him with the back of her hand, but only ended up smacking his chest with the end of her wing and making him stumble backwards.

Belle chuckled—making the whole building vibrate—but then admonished, “Don’t you dare drip on any of these books?”

I’m bloody trying! Regardless, he acknowledged the order with a salute, but Henry got down to business. “What happened?”

“Isaac,” Belle spat. Now that they were closer to her, though, her voice boomed in the comparatively smaller space, making them all wince. “Oh, sorry,” she said softer—but that just brought her back to normal volume. “Something tells me you lot have seen him too?”

“Yup,” Emma confirmed, concurrent with Killian’s “aye”.

“He was commenting on my height,” she started—throwing a pointed look at Killian— “and how impressive it was that someone so small had such power over the Dark One.” The roll of her eyes was almost audible. “Then he said something about my stature matching my personality; I thought he was joking so I said ‘sure’, then he handed me a piece of paper and—this happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what he did to us, too,” Emma said; evidently, Isaac could alter things by writing them—but how?

“Do you have the paper?” Henry asked.

“Um,” Belle hummed, glancing around at the debris surrounding her. “Yeah, here it is,” she said when she found it, placing her (massive) finger on it and sliding it across the tile to them.

Henry picked it up and read aloud: “A giantess: so your stature matches your spirit.” His brow furrowed. “He’s turning people into cryptids?”

“At least, various kinds of mythical beasts,” Killian concurred; if there were actually any beasts out there that resembled him at the moment, he’d have likely encountered them by now. “But you had to agree with him first, right, Belle?”

“I guess so; was it the same with you?”

“He can only change our fate if we want him to,” Emma concluded; he agreed with the hypothesis. “Isn’t that why he was working with Regina?”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed. “But he did something to her, too.”

“Do you know anything about how his powers work?” Killian wondered, turning back to Belle.

“Only what I saw firsthand,” she supplied. “It’s definitely connected to writing, but I don’t know yet if it’s his own magic or if there’s a conduit, like the pen or the ink. Regina might; or…” She chewed on her bottom lip and ducked her head. “Or Rumple would.”

Of bloody course he would. But they all cast their eyes downward, knowing the Dark One was still locked up in a cell a hundred feet below them. 

Before he could start to steel himself to face the Crocodile again, Emma decided. “Regina first,” she stated. “Before we go, do you need anything? Like, can we help you get out or anything?”

“No; I’m fine for now; but I might need some food if this goes on much longer.”

“We’ll do our best to get it worked out,” Killian assured her; there was no way he was going to let his best friend essentially become a prisoner in her favorite place. And who’d have thought it’d be an author that put her there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After saying goodbye, they hustled across town to the cemetery. Along the way, they were startled by the two wolves prowling the patio at Granny’s, and it felt like there was something lurking down every alley, hiding in the shadows. 

A stream of colored, bobbing lights flew overhead—the fairies, in their true form, Emma had to assume. Farther up the street, it looked like the dwarves had gathered together, too. Oh gods—what did he do to them?

Surprisingly: nothing. “That weirdo tried to ‘revert us to normal’ or something, but whatever he did, it didn’t work. Probably because we’re already technically ‘magical’ creatures,” Leroy explained, using plenty of finger quotes. “So we’ve just been patrolling for trouble since it seems like we’re the only ones not dealing with shit.” He heavily glanced at Emma’s wings then. 

“Uh, thanks,” she said, studying the pavement. “If anything happens, text Henry or Regina, okay?”

“Will do, sister; think we filled up the answering machine at the station anyways.” Yeah, that checks out; she sighed and carried on. 

The vault door was open once they got there, but the crypt was closed over the hidden door; that was easy enough to move, though. 

“Mom?” Henry called out as he descended the steps ahead of her. “Are you okay?”

Regina was nowhere to be seen in the first room at the foot of the stairs, so Emma called out for her, too—while being careful to keep her wings tucked in and not knock anything over. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” Regina’s voice came from…somewhere farther back in the vault—a part Emma had never been to.

“Wait here,” she told Henry, then crept off in the direction it sounded like Regina was hiding in. It was dusty and, weirdly, she felt it settle on her feathers in a way that itched. But down a passage and behind some shelves, she saw a huddled form. “Regina? You alright?”

“Why are you here, Miss Swan?” she bit back, hiding in the shadows. “And why did you bring our son?”

“Because he’s worried about you,” she tossed back. “And honestly, I am, too; what’s going on?”

“That stupid author—that’s what,” Regina spat. “Supposedly, this is how he’s helping me get my ‘happy ending’.”

“...By making everyone else something out of a horror movie?”

“And by making me an immortal, apparently.” Regina stepped into what little light there was. She looked a bit pale, but not a lot more than usual. If anything, she was somehow more gorgeous. (Yes, despite their past issues, Emma could still admit that Regina was an impossibly beautiful woman.)

“Immortal how?”

Regina smiled—kind of; more like bared her teeth. But that’s when Emma saw it: she had fangs. Like a… “Vampire?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Regina said sadly. “I didn’t even know what he was getting at when he started writing it down; he just went on about ‘getting away from my problems someday��. I didn’t think he meant outliving them.”

Who on earth would think that was a good idea? “Is that why you ran away from Henry?”

Regina nodded. “This is going to sound awful, but…his blood smelled amazing.”

“Shit.” I’d run away, too. “Uh, do you need me to leave, too?”

“No; apparently, I don’t have the palate for bird blood.”

“Hopefully you don’t want fish, either,” she quipped back.

Brow furrowing (in a way that absolutely made her look like something out of Buffy), Regina sniffed the air. “Hook? What did he do to him?”

“Did you ever see The Shape of Water?”

“Oh, wow. Well, uh, have fun with that.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No—and definitely not in front of Henry.”

They both giggled, but it was only a brief moment of levity. “So can you tell me anything about how this happened—like, how the author powers work? So we can undo it?”

“Some, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming with the details,” Regina answered; she confirmed that his powers were tied to his pen and ink, as well as their theory that it has to be something they want. “He can change things but he still needs some level of consent from at least one party. We should be glad he didn’t write us into an entirely new reality.”

Emma shuddered. “So, what—we just track him down and force him to change it?”

“Maybe? It’s a good theory, but Rumpelstiltskin knows far more about this than I do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Sorry. Just…don’t bring Henry down there, okay?”

Emma was about to protest—where the hell else am I going to take him to keep him safe from Isaac?—when Regina’s phone rang. 

“Crap—what did he do to them?” the mayor complained when she saw who was calling—Snow. She answered the call with a snarky “And what shape are you in?”

Except—she didn’t get a response. Normally, Snow would huff at Regina’s sass, but the only thing that came across was just a series of grunts and grumbles.

“Snow?” The grunting seemed to make a noise of affirmation. “What is going on over there? This better not be the world’s worst butt dial.” (“They don’t sound like that,” Emma quipped, cringing.) But then crying came over the speaker—definitely Neal.

“He’s still teething?” Regina winced. “That was the worst.”

“Yeah—but who’s there with him?” If her parents were fine, nothing would be stopping them from trying to soothe him; Neal pretty much only wanted to be held by her dad right now. “We better check that out first.”

“Absolutely. And let me know how everything else goes.”

“Will do. Do you need anything before we go?”

Regina chewed on her lip, her fangs even more apparent. “Did you see any squirrels up there? I’m starving.” Emma bit back a giggle. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. And if you ever bring this up again, I can make sure those wings are permanent.”

Emma definitely laughed to herself all the way to the loft, though. Until she heard the sound of her brother crying and her motherly instincts kicked in. “Wait here; let me see what’s going on first,” she told the boys, then knocked on the door with one of her elbows (or whatever those joints were). The same grunting she heard on the phone came from the other side, but somehow more urgent.

Henry ended up having to turn the knob for her, but then she slipped in—and, yet again, her jaw dropped.

“Well, Mom does always say you have big feet,” she said, once she regained something resembling her faculties.

The sandy-blond sasquatch that had David’s eyes huffed in annoyance. Meanwhile, the snow-white yeti that vaguely looked like her mom wasn’t hesitating to take her by the wing and drag her to the bassinet, where Neal was inconsolable.

“He’s scared of you?” Emma guessed; Snow nodded sadly.

(Seriously—Snow, a yeti? At least Isaac has a sense of humor.)

“Okay, but I can’t do much either,” she said, flapping her wings. “Henry? It’s okay; can you come in?”

She saw his phone come through the door before he did, no doubt taking plenty of photos and videos for them to look back on. “That’s just wrong,” he concluded at the sight of his (much hairier) grandparents; Killian was clearly holding back a quip, no doubt in response to David’s many jokes in the past about his chest hair (especially given the current reversal of that situation). 

“Kid, think you can take care of your uncle while we figure the rest of this out?”

He pocketed his phone and quickly scooped up Neal. “Sure thing. We got this, right, little dude?” Neal quieted for a little bit, but then let out another ear-piercing scream. Everyone cringed.

“Okay; good luck with that—bye!” she called over her shoulder as she shoved Killian ahead of her in a hasty escape. 

“Will they be okay?” Killian asked as they headed back down the stairs.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be fine. My ears will not be, though.” They shared a laugh. “Alright; let’s get this over with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Back again?” Belle greeted them at the library, having moved slightly from her cramped spot in the back to a no more comfortable, but at least larger spot, having shoved the ruined shelves aside and laying across the whole room.

“Aye; into the belly of the beast, as it were,” Killian replied as they headed to the elevator.

“Good luck,” she said, sounding more bored than anything; despite the public’s requests, the library had yet to seriously invest in any large-print books that might help her pass the time.

As they descended in the creaky elevator, he wasn’t sure if the creeping chill he felt slipping up his spine was due to the inherent cool temperature of the caverns below, or his own emotions at facing his longtime foe for the first time in a long while—since Rumple nearly killed him that day on the docks. 

Emma’s feathers brushed against his hand, startling him from his thoughts. “Sorry; I was trying to grab your hand, until I forgot I can’t. You gonna be okay?”

“I will,” he answered, hoping he could convince himself as much as her. There was nothing the Crocodile could do to them, he knew; but despite thinking he’d moved past what he’d experienced at the Dark One’s hands, his anxieties were creeping up.

“I’ll take the lead, though, okay?”

“I appreciate that, love,” he thanked, and squeezed the edge of her wing.

The caves below the library were little changed from his last trip down here, even if he was on the opposite side of things now—with the heroes, rather than against. However, this was the first time he’d seen the cage that had been fabricated to hold the imp. It was set deep into the wall, not unlike the one that had once held him back in the Enchanted Forest, but with solid metal bars clearly from this realm. It wasn’t hard to feel the magic radiating off them, though. 

“Rumple? You there?” Emma called out; this cell went farther back than the light could reach, so it was easy for the man to hide. For the first time, Killian wondered what his mental state might be, given his brief insanity after being held hostage by Zelena (body sharing with his son notwithstanding). 

“No,” the Crocodile’s voice called out from the shadows. “Come back later and I might be, though.”

“Ha. We found the Author.” She stood in front of the far edge of the cell.

She’s wise not to ask for help, he noticed. Handing Rumpelstiltskin any cards was a terrible idea.

“Good for you; what does that have to do with me?” 

Emma had been fiddling with something on the wall with one of the joints of her wings; all of a sudden, light flooded the cell, revealing a rather dusty but otherwise normal-looking Dark One, still wearing the same (stylish, he hated to admit) suit as the day they locked him up.

Rumple blinked his eyes at the sudden brightness, but once his sight had adjusted, he skimmed over Emma and then Killian. “I see,” he said. “I’d be happy to undo it, if you let me out.”

“Nice try, but no. We’ve just been trying to figure out how his powers work. We know his pen and ink are involved. Trying to figure out if it’s worth it to steal it back.”

Killian had to school his features; he was genuinely impressed at Emma’s negotiation tactics here. Obviously, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need help, but outright asking would get them nowhere. As such, it was taking more effort than expected to keep a proud (or smug) look off his face.

“It’s not,” Rumple replied. “That’s only half of it.”

“Really? Regina seemed to think that’s all we needed.”

“Regina is wrong. But the only person who can actually help you is currently locked away.”

“Again, you’re not getting out.”

“Not me,” he hissed. “But the pirate knows who.”

Emma turned to Killian, confused. “Huh?”

For a brief second, he was also unsure—until he glanced over at the Dark One, who was smirking—and wiggling the fingers of his left hand. 

Oh, bloody hell. Killian sighed and curled in on himself a bit. “The old man.”

“Otherwise known as the Sorcerer's Apprentice—and a thorn in my side for quite a few years, until I finally had some assistance locking him away.”

Shame flushed hot on Killian’s unusually cold cheeks. “He’s in the hat box, love,” he said quietly. 

“Ah, crap,” she cursed. “Does Regina know how to get anyone else out of there, or was that a one-time thing?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me—” Rumple started, only to be cut off.

“No!” Emma interjected. “C’mon; I bet Belle knows.”

“How…how is she?” the Dark One asked, suddenly sounding rather genuine.

“She’s a bloody giantess and stuck in the library right now, thanks to that idiot author,” Killian jumped in. “But otherwise fine.”

The Crocodile opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and slumped in on himself. “The fairies,” he said, resigned. “They’ll know how to get him out by now.”

“Thanks,” Killian said quickly, then grabbed Emma by the wingtip and practically dragged her back to the elevator.

What little adrenaline he had faded on the slow ride up, and he simply wrapped himself around Emma. “Hey—this doesn’t feel like okay,” she said softly as she folded her wings around him—a feeling he was coming to quite enjoy, odd as it was.

“Just—being reminded of the man I used to be, even not that long ago,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Hey—we’ll figure it out. And remember: that was way more Rumpelstiltskin than you.”

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, love.”

“This is the one time you should just accept less of the blame, alright?”

He chuckled a bit; she knows my tendency towards self-flagellation well. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. So now, we find the hat, and then the fairies. And then maybe it’ll all be done?”

“Let’s hope.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is this night fucking over yet? Emma took a moment to breathe after Killian left to retrieve the Sorcerer’s hat box thing from Gold’s shop, per Belle’s instructions. The fact that their to-do list kept growing was really annoying, and gods only knew what else Isaac had done in the last few hours.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it still seemed like it was incredibly far away.

And she was craving fish sticks. Is that a swan thing? Or is that an I-never-had-dinner thing?

She gave herself one more minute to brood before starting the search for the fairies. On the bright side, they literally were—bright; she just had to be on the look out for a cloud of multicolored lights (giving off far more Christmas vibes than Halloween). But they weren’t in the middle of town, so that meant actually looking, and she did not have the energy to go traipsing around on her own right now. 

Might as well use these while I have them. For hopefully the last time, she took to the sky, hoping a (literal) birds-eye view would help her locate the swarm of fairies faster. Sure enough, once she was fairly high above Main Street, she saw the floating baubles—near the convent, unsurprisingly.

They were a little miffed when she accidentally flew through the middle of them, but when she explained what was going on and what they needed, they practically carried her back downtown on their breeze.

Killian was already standing outside the library with the golden box, looking visibly uncomfortable with it. Don’t blame him. Before she even had a chance to (try to) properly land, Blue was buzzing in front of him, conducting a few other fairies to take the box and hold it in front of her.

She stood next to Killian and watched as the head fairy went to work quickly, waving her wand and muttering something over the cylinder. The starry blue top began to swirl, like it had when they released the fairies, and glowed as it became something more resembling a portal.

All of a sudden, it stopped, and an old man that Emma had seen around town a couple times was seated on the pavement, looking rather bedraggled (though I think he kind of always did).

Killian didn’t hesitate to rush forward and help the man up, no doubt uttering profuse apologies as he did. The Apprentice was trying to get his bearings, it seemed, but was at least appreciative for his freedom. 

“Hi,” Emma jumped in, not wanting to delay things any longer. “I know you just got out of that hellhole, but we were kind of hoping you could help us with something.”

He looked her up and down, and then Killian. “I can see that,” he said gruffly. “I don’t recall the Savior having wings.”

“Uh, yeah, recent addition. What can you tell us about the Author?”

She didn’t think it was possible for the man’s bushy brow to furrow further, but it did. “That blasted fool…this was Isaac’s doing?”

Everyone nodded—and that was a lot of everyones; at some point, more and more townsfolk had converged on the main intersection, and it was apparent that all manner of mythical creature and cryptid were now among its citizens.

The Apprentice looked around at everyone, then tutted. “Shameful, shameful—abusing his powers like that. That’s why I banished him in the first place. Whose brilliant idea was it to free him?”

“Uh, mine,” Regina said, stepping forward (with a scarf wrapped around her face, likely to block the smell of…everyone). 

“Yeah, that checks out,” the Apprentice huffed. “Well, on the bright side, he’s probably ran out of power by now. He can no longer do harm, but he also won’t be able to undo what he’s done.”

“Can’t you just give him a magical eraser or something?” Emma wondered. (Regina smirked, even under the scarf.)

The Apprentice chuckled. “No; I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. However, if Isaac has lost his powers, then a new Author needs to be chosen, and I have a feeling we’ll find one here.”

“Where?” Killian practically demanded. 

“The Author has to believe in the stories, truly—in their heart,” he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

She and Regina exchanged a look; we know someone who fits that description exactly.

Emma called up to Blue, asking them to find Isaac and bring him there, while she took off in the direction of the loft.

In the time it took her to get her son (and her parents, because they should really be there for whatever was about to happen, too), something resembling chaos broke out in the scene that she had left. An angry mob formed in the crossroad, surrounding Isaac, who lay prone on the pavement, being held down by an irate Regina, baring her fangs.

“You did this to me,” she hissed. “Why shouldn’t I use it against you?”

The man looked terrified; serves him right. The crowd was shouting for him to fix what he’d done (her parents grumbling incoherently in agreement), several voices demanding he undo it.

“I can’t!” he shouted back. “The pen doesn’t work for me anymore!” To underline his point, he tossed the enchanted quill away.

“I warned you not to abuse your power this way,” the Apprentice said, his voice deafening even the most frantic shouts around him. “You deserve everything these people might do to you.”

Isaac glanced at Granny and Ruby, who were snarling at him, and whimpered.

Emma was distracted, though, by Henry. He had something of a faraway look in his eyes, and almost mindlessly passed Neal off to Snow (at least the kid was asleep). His focus narrowed on something ahead of him, on the ground: the pen.

She watched as he carefully moved forward, almost as if he was drawn to it. Emma’s gaze darted briefly, first to Regina, who was also watching; then to the Apprentice, who almost seemed to be smiling where he stood next to Killian. 

The crowd also realized what was going on and a hushed silence fell as Henry neared the object. 

He knelt in front of it, reached out, and carefully picked it up. It glowed as soon as his fingers touched the enchanted instrument. 

“I thought so,” the Apprentice said warmly. Emma couldn’t help but beam with pride and ruffle her feathers; Regina grinned too, not bothering to hide her fangs. 

Henry blinked and stood. “Wait, what?”

“You, young sir, are the new Author,” the Apprentice explained, approaching Henry. From thin air, he produced a vial of ink. “And I dare say far more worthy than your predecessor.” He threw a dirty look at Isaac, who was still cowering. 

Cautiously, Henry took the ink. “Thanks, but…what does that mean?”

The Apprentice chuckled. “I’ll explain it all; don’t worry. But right now, I believe there’s some unnecessary plot twists that need to be straightened. 

“Right!” Henry felt around his pockets for—something, but came up empty. “Crap, I don’t have any paper.”

“Over here!” Belle called out from an open window in the library, her face taking up most of it. “Henry—here!” A few pieces of paper looked no bigger than a Post-it in her fingers as she reached through the window. Henry ran over and grabbed it, but wasn’t sure what to do when he returned. 

“I can help you with this first one,” the Apprentice offered. “Start with the ink.”

A few people chuckled as Henry struggled with getting ink from the bottle to the quill tip, Killian included; assholes—ballpoint pens were invented for a reason. 

“Now, you’re not supposed to change or influence things, but undoing an abuse of power like this—that’s okay. Try writing…this: ‘those whose physical forms had been affected by the previous author’s changes that night were reverted back to their original forms.’”

“To…their…original…forms,” Henry repeated, writing the words, then ended it with a forceful period. No sooner had the pen left the paper than a burst of magic rippled through the crowd. 

Emma curled in on herself as what had been done was undone; she’d been too distracted when Isaac first came after her to really pay attention to the magic happening, but now that it was being reversed—ugh, it’s like my feathers are being plucked. (She wished she’d been standing closer to Killian so she could lean on him, but he’s probably going through something similar.)

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Once the odd sensation passed, she stood up straight, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her arms—just arms once more—above her head. “Thank frick,” she sighed. 

Behind her, her parents laughed; she turned to see that they were back to normal (and Neal was clamoring for David). All around, everyone was standing and stretching as they shook off the effects of what they’d just been through. Regina was hugging Henry tightly in the middle of it all. 

To little surprise, Granny and Ruby were still fierce, and were dragging Isaac in the direction of the cells below the hospital. Well, he’s still gonna be a headache—but one that could wait a day or so. 

Across the way, Killian was talking to a normal-sized Belle while standing in a puddle; his skin was back to its normal pallor and the gills were gone. (His beard and chest hair had also returned, thank the gods.)

He caught her gaze and appeared to excuse himself from Belle, then headed her way. “That looks better, Swan.”

“Not literally, thankfully,” she quipped back. “You look much improved yourself,” she added, resting her hands on his chest. 

“Certainly feel more like myself,” he answered. “Although—I’m not generally this exposed around so many people.” He was only wearing his usual swimming briefs—and a blush that was creeping up his cheeks. 

“Mm, then perhaps we should find somewhere private to be half naked.” 

“I like the way you think, love.”

“Too bad I can’t fly us away anymore, though.”

He hummed, then pulled his hand between them, where a white feather was twirling in his fingers. “Maybe you can channel that?”

She giggled, and transported them back to his ship. Placing a kiss against his (scruffy) cheek, she grabbed his hand (finally!) and pulled him toward the stairs. “Let’s get to what we were going to do earlier.”

“Gladly,” he sighed, and followed her to his cabin…

…where they promptly fell asleep. (But got to the fun stuff the next morning.)

Cryptid Night, as it came to be known, went down in Storybrooke legend; and thankfully, no one experienced any long-lasting effects. (Well, other than David complaining about finding fur around the loft for a few weeks after.)

Emma did notice, though, that the pure white feather Killian had picked up was displayed prominently on a shelf in his cabin. As much as she never wished to relive that night, she always smiled when she saw it—and was glad Henry had taken plenty of pictures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! tagging some mermates: @cocohook38 @kat2609 @mryddinwilt​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy​ @clockadile​ @kmomof4​ @initiala​ @snowbellewells​ @word-bug​ @idristardis​ @wingedlioness​ @theonceoverthinker​ @annytecture​ and I can’t remember who else was into this 

[potato-on-your-head]

listen Emma Swan is morosexual and exclusively attracted to men who are cringefail in one way or another, the most functional person she sort-of dated was probably Graham and even then their first makeout happened after she'd spent the whole day with him while he was having a nervous breakdown. her other flames include a pretend furniture salesman who fake pined after her until she noticed him, a 200-year-old twentysomething conman who taught her how to commit felonies at age 18, and a pirate who flipped from Kitten Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day to puppy-eyed pining for one (1) Emma Swan in the course of like a week. she was a goner the moment Killian Jones sauntered onto the scene. she's kicked his ass. she's seen others kick his ass. she watched him get hit by a fucking car. he said the dumbest flirty shit to her until she mashed her face into his from the sheer sexual tension.

it was always just a contest between which brand of moron she was going to pick in the end. she chose to be ride or die for Hot Eyeliner Pirate and we love her for it

you know who else in funny? Neal. I cannot get over how much of a loser he is. And the fact that he thought he ever stood a chance when it came between him and Hook??? Guy Liner McPuppy Eyes? Emma walks into his his line of sight and his world is instantly rocked. Killian Jones would NEVER get engaged to a random woman on the street because he was too scared to face Emma. Also Neal has zero drip. Man is wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants 100% of the time. Hook is in dashing black pirate attire. He’s got a detachable hook for a hand and has alluded to having ~other~ attachments for it as well. Baelfire calls his dad “papa” despite being a grown man. “When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Neal baby i’m so sorry but you could nevvvverrrrrrr

[searchingwardrobes]

Self Promo Sunday

I have honestly really enjoyed going back to my older fics and making picsets for them to post here on tumblr. This one is a cute little one shot that came to me because I did a brief stint in direct sales and was HORRIBLE at it! (I sold - or tried to sell - scrapbooking supplies). I know Killian is good at charming his way out of trouble and using his charm to steal things, but I imagined that being a salesman wouldn’t be as easy for him. You see, I was horrible at sales because I don’t like talking people into buying something when they clearly don’t want to. Killian Jones is very passionate about choice and free will, so I imagined the following story!

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: G for silly, sweet fluff

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @teamhook​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @shireness-says​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @kday426​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @nikkiemms​​​  @optomisticgirl​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @snidgetsafan​

Emma Swan really hopes Killian Jones has a second job. Because she’s never seen a worse salesman. The first time he comes into the diner, the last thing she would have pegged him as is a salesman. All mussed hair and black leather with piercings and a tattoo. The heavy black vinyl bag leaning against the booth next to him that says Buy the Book: Direct Sales is out of place.

He’s so bad at it that it takes him forever that first day to give her his sales pitch. Until his second cup of coffee, to be exact. That’s when he hems and haws as he gives her his business card. She stares at it, wondering how she can politely decline as he scratches behind his ear and slides a glossy catalogue across the table. She normally wouldn’t have any qualms at turning down either a sales pitch or a pick up line with a gruff not interested, but he’s so adorably nervous. He starts pulling sample inventory out of his bag, and that’s when she’s in trouble because Henry sniffs out the books like a bloodhound. Her son hops from his stool at the counter where he’s been doing his homework, and eagerly starts looking through the books.

“Look at this one, mom!” Henry exclaims, holding up a pirate sticker and activity book. “It’s not for babies. It’s got cool facts about the history of real pirates.”

Yes. Emma Swan’s son is not your typical ten year old. He’s both a bookworm and a history nut. And she loves him for it. Which is why she buys it. Not because salesman Killian Jones has killer blue eyes.

She pulls a twenty from her apron pocket, hands it to him (because there’s no way she’s giving a guy she just met her credit card information), and tries not to swoon when he smiles. It’s killer, too. She’s his first customer, he tells her, and she can’t help smiling back. He frowns, though, when he realizes he doesn’t have change for a twenty, and then Emma rolls her eyes because, really? It’s just a nickel. He smiles again at that and, well, crap. That smile!

She rolls her eyes later when she sees the ten he left for a tip along with a note telling her she’s “bloody amazing.” The fool went and gave the majority of his profit right back to her. Yeah, he really sucks at this.

*********************************************************

The second time he comes into the diner, he wisely comes in the afternoon again, ensuring Henry is there doing his homework. But this time, he tries (and fails) to chat up fellow customers to get a few sales. They seem skeptical of a salesman who looks more like a biker/rock star than someone who peddles used cars. Emma almost laughs when the only single woman in the diner’s face instantly falls when Killian Jones produces his business card and a catalogue. Seems his blue eyes and his smile are powerless against a woman scorned. She huffs as she tosses her tip on the table and exits the diner post haste, leaving a clearly baffled Killian behind.

When Emma approaches his table, he smiles half-heartedly and she feels sorry for him. Once again, he doesn’t try to sell her anything until she fills his coffee mug a second time. That’s when he pulls out a book he thinks Henry might like, all about knights and castles of the Middle Ages. Henry eagerly peruses it, and Emma is a sucker once again. She buys it because Henry loves history so much he’s the only ten year old Emma has ever heard of who was pumped about a weekend trip to Gettysburg. It’s not because of the way Killian Jones swipes his tongue over his lower lip when he’s nervous.

*****************************************************

The next time Killian comes into the diner, Christmas music is playing and a garland of evergreen hangs in loops over the counter. It’s mid-morning, so Henry’s at school. After his second cup of coffee, Killian admits he came when he knew Henry would be at school because he was hoping . . . and then he’s hemming and hawing again, rubbing at his neck and scratching behind his ear. Emma thinks for a split second that he’s trying to ask her out until he pulls his company’s Christmas catalogue out of his bag. She tries to ignore her disappointment when he asks if she’s finished her Christmas shopping yet.

She ends up buying a “Daily Inspirations for Teachers” desk calendar for Mary Margaret and Nicholas Spark’s newest bestseller for David (a guilty pleasure she loves to tease him about). For Granny she gets a book of knitting patterns. Killian pulls out a book he thinks Henry would like: a leather bound book of fairy tales with the title Once Upon a Time embossed in elegant script across the front. Emma knows Henry would love it, but gasps at the price. A forty dollar book is way over her budget, and like the horrible salesman he is, Killian doesn’t push it. She orders two graphic novels for Henry instead, and when she places the order she slides her credit card across the table.

Killian tells her it’s his biggest order to date and smiles so wide Emma is able to confirm her suspicions. There are dimples underneath that scruff. She begins to second guess her assertion that he’s a bad salesman. Because she’s pretty sure he could sell beachfront property in Kansas with those dimples.

*************************************************

In January, Emma is alarmed when a dejected Killian Jones enters the diner and slumps in his usual booth, his head in his hands. Emma decides to stop the charade when she approaches his table.

“You don’t have to wait till your second cup of coffee.”

Killian lifts his face to hers and quirks an eyebrow in confusion, “I’m sorry, love?”

“You know,” Emma says, gesturing with her order pad, “selling me books. What do you have for Henry this time?”

Killian sighs and leans back in the booth, “Alas, Swan, I am no longer in the business. I’m pretty much the worst salesman in the world.”

Emma hates that she chuckles, but she can’t help it, “Yeah, you pretty much sucked.” Killian, thankfully, laughs as well. “I’m glad I was your best customer, then. While it lasted.”

Killian winces, “Actually, love, you were my only customer.”

Emma’s jaw drops at that and her sympathy grows exponentially. She never bought that much, really. She glances around for Granny as she slides into the booth across from him. Although, based on Granny’s reaction to the knitting book (Why don’t you kiss the man already instead of buying all his books?), she doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“Are you okay? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re starving and destitute, so I’m assuming you have another job.”

“Several, actually,” Killian says, drumming his fingers on the table. “My brother and I do seasonal work on the Cape with a boat charter we own.”

“Cape Cod?”

“Aye. The Cape is beautiful in the spring and summer, but in the winter it’s downright depressing. So I like to come here to Boston once we winter the boat. The hustle and bustle is a nice change of pace, and I love city life during the holidays. Plus, like your boy, I’m a bit of a history buff. I work seasonally at the bookstore down the street.”

“So why the direct sales?”

Killian sighs, “A foolish notion. The bookstore only hires me through the end of December. I thought with this second job I could stay in the city until spring,” he shrugs. “Turns out convincing a customer in a bookstore to buy J.M. Barrie’s original Peter Pan instead of the abridged illustrated version is a mite different from selling books all on your lonesome.”

Emma’s heart drops at the implication of what he’s saying. “So what will you do now?”

“Slink back to the Cape with my tail between my legs and help my sister in law at the ice cream shop, as usual.”

So he’s leaving Boston. He’s leaving, and Emma is surprised at how much it disappoints her. “An ice cream place on the cape can make it through the winter?” She almost face palms. Can she sound any more desperate to convince him to stay?

Killian doesn’t seem to pick up on any subtext, thank goodness. “Elsa inherited the place from her aunt. She and her sister helped out there since they were kids. They know how to make it through the lean months. Dull as tombs, though. Yet, as they say, spring will come again!”

Emma tries to smile, but she knows it’s half-hearted. Killian reaches into his bag and pulls out the leather bound book of fairy tales she couldn’t afford at Christmas. Emma arches an eyebrow, “Still trying to make a sale?”

“Oh no, Swan, this is a gift. To thank you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept that. You need to sell off your inventory, or you’ll lose everything you invested.”

Killian chuckles sardonically at that, “Too late for that, Swan. Besides, you’re the only one who ever bought anything, and you know it wasn’t for the books. You felt sorry for me.”

Emma’s face flushes, and she wishes she could tell him that wasn’t it. She’s always despised pity and vowed she’d never doll it out. But how can she explain that while still guarding her heart? Instead, she accepts the leather book and hugs it to her chest, mumbling a soft “thank you.” Killian smiles in return and exits the diner without ever ordering a thing. And she hates the finality of his departure and the possibility that there could have been a them, but now she’ll never know.

She looks down at the book in her hands and notices a little rectangle of cardstock poking out of its pages. She pulls it out, expecting it to be Killian’s Buy the Book business card. Instead, it says Jewel of the Realm Charters with the names Liam and Killian Jones and a phone number. Emma’s heart flips in her chest when she sees that Killian has jotted a note on the back.

I owe you and Henry a free day of sailing. – Killian

The fool still knows nothing about making a profit.

********************************************************

In February, Emma Swan walks into Any Given Sundae along the shores of Cape Cod. She convinced herself there was nothing stalker-ish about her showing up here, but now that the bell is jingling above the door and the blonde woman behind the counter is smiling at her, she’s having second thoughts. Killian had mentioned his sister-in-law’s name, so it’s not like she had to be a private detective or anything to find the place. Still, who drives all the way from Boston to Cape Cod just to visit an ice cream shop? In February?

“May I help you?” asks the blonde, and Emma fiddles with the end of her scarf. She was kind of hoping Killian would just be there when she walked through the door.

“Um . . . I . . .” and she almost laughs thinking of the way Killian would hem and haw when selling her books. She glances around the store. It’s one of those tiny places that beach goers walk in and out of on hot summer days. There are no tables or chairs anywhere in the place. But in the corner a display table has been set up. A display table of books. Emma walks towards it. “You sell books?”

“Oh,” says the blonde – Elsa, she assumes – with a dismissive wave of her hand, “that’s a failed business venture of my brother-in-law’s. Please buy one. I need to get those out of here before tourist season.”

Emma reaches out and runs her fingers along the edges of the books.

“Swan?”

Emma turns to see Killian standing behind the counter with a large tub of ice cream in each arm. He deposits them quickly into their slots behind the glass then comes around to face her. They stand there staring at each other for a few moments, grinning like a couple of idiots.

“Wh-what are you doing here, Swan?” he stutters, and she swears he sounds more nervous than he did when he was trying to sell books.

“Guess it’s too early for that day of sailing, huh?” she teases with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases back, “there’s a foot of snow on the ground, Swan.”

Emma bites her lip and fiddles with her scarf again, “Actually, I came to tell you thank you. For Henry’s book. He loves it.”

Killian raises his eyebrows, “You drove all the way out to Cape Cod to tell me that?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes Emma blush, and they just stare at each other again like goofballs. She sees Elsa laugh and shake her head out of the corner of her eye, and she thinks that she couldn’t possibly embarrass herself any more than she already has. So with a roll of her eyes and a screw this, she grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses the living daylights out of him.

He dives back in for more when she finally pulls away, and when Elsa tells them, “Easy there, tigers, you’re gonna melt all the ice cream,” they laugh against each others’ lips.

************************************************************

Two months later, Henry brings his book along when Killian takes them sailing. He reads parts of it out loud to them when Killian lays anchor, and Emma finds that it’s modern versions of classic fairy tales. Snow White is a bandit with a bow and arrows, Red Riding Hood is a werewolf, and Captain Hook is a hero who falls in love with a princess. And Emma thinks that she really likes this story. A pirate and a princess.

But she likes theirs better.

A salesman and a waitress.

Make that a horrible salesman and a waitress.

[fruitcd]

hey here’s my hot take

[cssns]

Get to Know Your 2021 Mods!

One of our brand new mods this year is Megan ( @thejollyroger-writer​ )!

How long have you been a part of the CS fandom?

Watching since the beginning, writing since 2014

What is your favorite part about fandom?

Making friends! Getting to know so many people that I would never have met otherwise, all over the world, with at least one thing in common -- our love for CS!

What drew you to this event?

Originally, I had never taken part in an event before and was interested in doing my first one in something that sounded easy and didn't have very many guidelines. I loved that first year so much that I've written both following years, and now acting as a mod for an event that has produced some of my best, most unique stories.

Will you be participating either as a writer or artist? If so, what will you be doing?

Both! I've only ever been a writer in the past, but have recently begun making art for my own stories. I decided to go with both for this year because we had an artist shortage, and am excited to make art for someone else! But the story that I'm writing will be based in a "Bones"-esque universe, with Emma as the FBI agent and Killian as the forensic scientist. What they'll find waiting for them in the mysterious town of Storybrooke will be more than they ever expected, and will make them reexamine their feelings for each other.

What do you do in your "real life?"

I'm currently a part-time grad student who works with college students with disabilities, part-time mom, part-time salesman at the meat shop my husband and his family own.

What are you most looking forward to in this event?

New works! Pushing myself to make new things, and experiencing all the lovely and creative things everyone comes up with every year!

Say hello to Megan on Tumblr or Discord. I’m very excited to see how Bones and the supernatural pair together!

[hvbris]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 & 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐀 @multipleoccupancy

Another burst of laughter left her lips. "Agent Killian as a salesman," she hummed playfully, "well, you've had tough customers before. If you can convince the Scooby Gang to behave, then you can probably sell anything to anyone." But whether or not he had convinced the Scooby Gang to behave was yet to be seen, she supposed. They seemed like a spirited bunch.

Her smile turned into somewhat of a grimace. "They are," she confirmed, "apparently Not Fast, Only Furious has been making waves again. The bad kind of waves. And since you did such a good job in Seattle, they're planning on sending you there to deal with them."

But this bad news might become a good one in the end. She wasn't sure of anything yet, but she still couldn't help but lean in conspiratorially. "Nothing's done yet, but I heard they want to involve HR this time. So who knows, the dream team might be getting back together one more time."

"Alright," Killian smiled and nodded his agreement, raising his mug to meet hers, "Deal." He would let her know he was coming, he usually did but this time had been a little more urgent. "I see my negotiation skills have vastly improved, jam for nothing and a shared lunch. I should have gone into business," he would never have suited that and they both knew it, he cracked a smile and took a sip from his coffee.

"I will hold you to that," he said of the new restaurant and he did look forward to it, coffee was nice and he always enjoyed seeing her at the office and knowing she was ok, but it would be nice to share a meal and have as much of a proper catch up as they ever managed. However, he did worry that there was every possibility that there may not be a next time, it was always the risk in the field but Killian was not going out and making friends, in fact he seemed to be very good at doing the opposite.

"You don't know if they're planning on sending me out to babysit again do you?" He asked casually, "I thought that Seattle would have been much more barrable if I was not going into a group like that alone." He was not worried about them attacking him or anything like that but, well he was prone to problems, especially with unfamiliar agents. Killian did wonder what might have happened if he had lost control with the Scooby Gang without someone there who knew of his issues.

[kidmanjc]

This was far from Kid’s first brush with law enforcement; in fact, he’d seen more than enough to be able to clock them by sight. It was a difficult thing to explain, but cops just had a certain bearing to them- they held themselves ready, and once he’d noticed it, he couldn’t un-see it. This guy, well if he wasn’t a cop he was FBI or something…. In any case, that meant bad news. 

“Then talk.” He said, voice on the edge of sullen, but not exactly rude- more like someone indulging a salesman they had no intention of buying anything from. His gaze narrowed at the other’s point, “S’not the worst thing I’ve seen.” He awoken soaked in sweat more times than he could count reliving the night he saw his parents- those people- eating that poor man; he’d still been alive, the noises… At least that thing, whatever it’d been, was clearly dead when this guy and his buddy chopped it up. “Folk like you don’t many any good deals with folk like me.”

There was always whisperings, rich-looking kinds reaching out to them, offering whatever they needed most for something, a sordid act, a dirty favour, a helping hand to be cut before it becomes a loose end- no one cared with another homeless went missing. Still, the diner was a public place, and they did damn good food- even plucked from the trash it still had flavour. “I know it.” Was all he said, gaze flicking over the man’s shoulder and then to the side, making sure no one else was appearing while they talked. “You already scared people.” And he didn’t mean cause of his face- the kids were like him, and a man like this Killian radiated authority. Authority meant nothing good to them.     

Kid was silent for a few beats before shrugging in what he hoped was a casual way, despite his heart still hammering, “Fine. Holly’s in thirty.” He’d make sure Chive knew- Kid wouldn’t risk any of them coming along or playing watchdog, but he’d feel better with them knowing. “You can go now.” he added, watching the man like a hawk and not about to turn his back till Mr. Briante was out of the ally. “I’ll meet you there.”

Killian was a diligent agent both for the FBI and for Delta Green, there was not much that escaped his notice. While he had not pointed out the witness to the Scooby Gang, he had been sure to stick around to see what the young man would do with the information. Killian had tailed him quietly for the best part of four days, watching as he picked up food to share, found shelter in the locations Killian certainly knew to check, seemingly cared for those like himself or younger than him. He noticed of course how the stranger had not gone to the police and indeed how he made an effort to avoid them. Unbeknownst to the young man, Killian had already intervened with Briscoe after reports of food being stolen, the situation hitting far too close to home for him to ignore.

He had chosen that moment to reveal himself, making sure he could be seen and no doubt recognised as he lingered further down the alleyway so to not startle him nor the youngsters with him. Quietly very pleased that the young man had chosen not to run. He waited for the others to retreat inside before he made a calm but measured approach.

"Just to talk," he answered honestly, "something of a check in really, there's not many who can walk away from something like what you saw without falling apart." Killian's tone was as ever, even and patient while he was a walking FBI stereotype he was apparently knowing enough not to get into his space and most importantly for someone in such a position, not to lie to the young man, well at least on the important things. "My name is Killian Briante," as he was known in Delta Green anyway. "I think that you and I may be able to help each other if you're willing to hear me out?"

Of course he knew full well what it was like to be in such a position, at least he knew there was someone around who wouldn't deny what he saw. Killian also knew the surest way to get such a man to sit and listen for at least half an hour too and give some illusion of choice as it was clear Killian could find him if he wanted. "As payment for your time, how about you come with me for dinner, there's a diner just two blocks away, I'm sure you know it, Holly's House?" It looked like the ideal place to scavenge in the bins late at night. "I can meet you there if you like? I don't want to interrupt, or scare anyone," he nodded to the warehouse behind him thinking it was best he was able to tell his friends that he was alright. "Shall we say in about 30minutes?"

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 41: Upgrade, Pt 1

"Well…I'm glad you're home, but are you sure about him staying with you?" David asked. It was mid morning and Margaret had left for work, while the kids had gone to school, leaving him to job hunt and get things done around the house.

"Yeah, I mean he has nowhere to go and he's not ready to stay with his father. Plus…he's not dangerous and I can keep an eye on him. You know, I don't think any of us are ready for people to find out about him," Emma said. He sighed.

"Then you heard about what happened?" he asked.

"Killian left me a message and I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed by you not running off and confronting the guy. Grateful, but surprised," Emma replied. He smirked.

"Yeah..I would have, but Margaret stopped me and she was right, as usual. It would have been exactly what that creep wanted," he admitted.

"In the meantime, I think we need to try and figure out where Neal fits in all of this. Regina says he has the blood marker, just like us," David said.

"And he's definitely getting Callings. I just don't know how that cave and the plane are connected...unless it's the lightning," Emma replied.

"Captain Jones did seem to think it was the lightning that caused all this and I have no idea if it means anything, but I had a vision after the explosion in Red Hook when I was waking up. I saw a peacock," he said.

"A peacock?" Emma asked in confusion.

"Yeah…Olive says they're a symbol of resurrection," David replied.

"What? So you think we died up there?" Emma asked.

"No…I mean, clearly not. We'd surely remember that. But it has to mean something. Anyway, Olive is doing more research for me," David replied. Emma smiled.

"She is your mini-me," she commented and that made him smile.

"That's what MM says," he replied.

"Well…I'm going to check in with the station and get Neal a few things. I'll talk to you later," she said.

"Okay...keep me posted," David replied, as they hung up and he went back to browsing for jobs.

~*~

"Welcome…" Baron Samdi said from the altar of his new church. It had been born right outside on the sidewalk near this building with many vying for his attention and praising him as one of the returned. The entrepreneur inside him immediately went to work and he cultivated these followers as a flock, which was growing by the day. He rented a building and quickly converted it into a church-type setting.

"Blessed are the returned. Those of flight 828 are a miracle and they have returned to spread their miracle to all," Baron preached from his altar. From a young age, he grew up in the church and his father was a minister. He became disillusioned in his teens and refused to follow in his father's footsteps. He left the church and became successful in a few entrepreneurial endeavors, some of which many would call pyramid schemes and scams. Nevertheless, he was a successful snake oil salesman and as he watched the donation basket fill with dollars, he knew this would be his most successful endeavor to date.

Some would say he was deceiving, but he didn't see it that way. Truly, he felt that he was spreading hope. No one could explain what had happened to the plane, where they had gone, and how they had come back five and a half years later. It was miraculous, so he disagreed that he was being deceptive. He saw the hope he was giving people and had embraced the notion that he was quite possibly a prophet. He had returned for this and to lead these lost people, who were struggling to find their way and looking for hope. And if he made a living doing so, all the better. Behind him, a poster hung with various passengers that had been photoshopped into robes to further punctuate his message.

"I have returned and we are the church of the believers and we have come to share our miracle with the world!" he preached.

"Blessed are the returned of Flight 828 and blessed are the believers," he said, as his donation baskets continued to fill up and his message, in turn, filled the heads of lost people.

~*~

Killian got dressed the next morning, ready to go to the station. He had worked a double the day before and came in long after Milah went to sleep. Now, he was anxious to get back to work since he heard Emma was back. As he felt Milah wrap her arms around his waist from behind, he felt instant guilt.

"You got home so late...surely you don't need to go in this early?" she asked.

"Aye...afraid so. We're slammed," he mentioned.

"Killian...I'm not stupid. You're avoiding me," she claimed and he turned to her.

"The doctor cleared you weeks ago, yet you have barely touched me since...since she came back," Milah said. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Milah…" he started to say.

"Are you cheating on me?" she asked bluntly.

"No…" he fibbed. Technically, he wasn't currently cheating. He had cheated though and hated himself for it. He didn't regret that one night with Emma though, but she clearly did. He couldn't just go on like it never happened though, as much as he wished he could.

"Then what is it?" she asked.

"What do you want me to say?" he questioned.

"I want you to tell me the truth!" she snapped. He sighed.

"Fine...I can't get Emma out of my head, but you don't have to worry, because she wants nothing to do with me," he admitted. Milah was silent for a moment.

"I see...so you're not cheating currently. But you did cheat on me, didn't you?" she asked. He closed his eyes and decided that it was time to come clean. There was no more avoiding it.

"Yes...just once and it was a mistake. Emma won't even talk to me and can barely look at me," he admitted.

"But you're in love with her," Milah said.

"Aye…" he admitted, as she was silent for a moment and he wasn't shocked when she slapped him.

"I'll...I'll get my things," he muttered.

"Don't bother," she spat.

"Just go...I'll be gone by the time you get back," she growled. It was over. Killian took his phone out and texted Emma as a heads up, just in case.

She knows.

~*~

Neal idly browsed the Internet on Emma's laptop that she said he could use, mostly reading news stories and trying to catch up on what he had missed in a year. It was amazing how much could happen in a year and he imagined it was even worse for Emma and her brother, who had missed five and a half years. With a rapidly changing world, complete with a twenty-four hour news cycle and technology that evolved just as rapidly, it had to be like coming back to an entirely new world. He skimmed a few articles, but found the ones about the emerging hate groups the most compelling.

The passengers were different and their re-emergence was both frightening and fascinating. There were opposing sides, both good and bad. They were loved, hated, and watched with scrutiny by the government and military. It gave him more than a little trepidation. Essentially, he was like them now. He had come back and was definitely different than before, even if he didn't like admitting it. But these Callings could not be denied and if he was honest, he was tempted to shoot up again and escape this world for one that he knew well. But he wouldn't. He knew that was not really escape and only a path to destruction. He had been given a second chance and he was determined not to squander it. Suddenly, a Calling gripped him and he heard a growling sound at the door. Cautiously, he opened the door and his eyes widened, as he found a wolf there, growling. He knew it couldn't be real, but it still scared the hell out of him. He watched it growl for a moment and then run off, before he was snapped back to reality.

"What the hell was that about?" he wondered.

~*~

Regina sat at her desk that afternoon, in an attempt to get some work done and catch up on paperwork. But as there was a knock at her door, she knew it wasn't going to happen.

"Excuse me...Dr. Mills?" a dark haired young woman asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" Regina asked.

"I'm sorry to just show up, but I wanted to ask you about your cancer treatment," she said.

"My...my husband is sick and the other doctors say there's nothing they can do," she added.

"Oh...well, my treatment is only approved for pediatric cases," Regina replied.

"I...I know, but I'm desperate. I was just hoping you'd take a look at his file?" the woman asked.

"My name is Alice," she said, as she accidentally dropped the file all over the floor. Regina knelt down and helped the poor woman pick it up.

"Okay…I'll take a look, but I do clinical trials and don't usually see patients," Regina tried to explain, as she sat down behind her desk with the file and leafed through it.

"His name is Jacob...and we've only been married two years. I...I can't lose him," Alice pleaded. Regina looked at the file and noticed that the diagnosis was correct. There was no more available treatment.

"Alice...I'm not sure there is anything I can do," Regina said.

"Please...you have to. Please...just come see him," Alice pleaded. Regina felt sorry for her and reluctantly agreed.

"Okay…I'll come see him, but I can't make any other promises," she said, as she followed the woman.

~*~

"Hey love…" David answered his phone, as he sat back from his laptop and the job browsing he was doing.

"Hi baby...have you heard from Regina? She's not returning my texts and that's not like her," Margaret replied.

"No...come to think of it, she hasn't and she said she was going to keep me updated on the tests she's running on Neal's blood sample," he replied.

"Maybe I'm paranoid...but I'm worried, David. Her last text said there was a red x on her door too," Margaret said.

"I'll go visit her office and check on her," he said.

"Thanks...but maybe swing by and pick me up? I have a teacher assistant today and I really want to check on her too," Margaret replied. He smiled.

"I'll see you in twenty," he said.

"You are my Prince Charming...I love you," she replied.

"I love you too, my darling," he said, as they hung up. He grabbed his keys and headed out.

~*~

Regina followed the woman into her small apartment and was led to the bedroom, where her sickly husband was. She could tell that the disease had almost run its full course and knew there was nothing she could do. But perhaps she could help the young woman accept that and prepare for her husband's final days.

"I brought help...this is Dr. Mills. She was on that plane," Alice explained. That struck a chord with Regina and suddenly made her wonder if it wasn't really her cancer treatment that the woman was after.

"This is my husband, Jacob," she said. Regina nodded.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, as she shook his hand and proceeded with a quick examination to humor the delicate woman. She could see the truth in Jacob's eyes too. He knew. He didn't want to die, but he knew there was nothing anyone could do about it.

"I'm sorry...but his cancer has progressed beyond the point of treatment," Regina said. Alice frowned.

"N...no, you have to help him!" Alice cried.

"Honey…" Jacob tried to console her, but she cut him off.

"No...your cancer treatment saved that boy from the flight!" she exclaimed.

"My treatment is still in clinical trials and only viable for certain pediatric cases. I'm afraid it may be years before it can be applied for adolescent or adult cases," Regina tried to explain, but this only enraged Alice further.

"No...you have to cure him! You're one of the chosen!" Alice claimed and a slither of dread slid down Regina's spine.

"Alice...I'm just a doctor. If someone has told you that you have special abilities, because of the plane, then they were not being honest with you," Regina said in a measured tone, but this caused outrage in the unstable woman and Regina gasped when the other woman hauled off and slapped her across the face. She looked at her in shock and became even more frightened when the woman pulled a gun on her.

"You had better cure him...or else…" she growled, leaving Regina frightened to her core.

~*~

David and Margaret walked into the hospital, hand in hand, and made their way to Regina's office. The red x had been cleaned off her door and they were grateful for that. They found the door ajar and no one inside, which was strange.

"This doesn't make any sense...Regina wouldn't just leave her office open and her work unattended," Margaret said, as she looked over the desk.

"David...I have a bad feeling…" she said, as her husband knelt down and picked something up off the floor.

"What is that?" she asked.

"A pamphlet...the Church of the Returned?" he questioned. Such a thing was offensive to anyone sensible.

"Church of the Returned? A Church about Flight 828?" Margaret asked, just as alarmed.

"Baron Samdi…" David said, as he looked at the back of the pamphlet.

"Looks like one of the passengers has decided to make a buck on those that think we're prophets or something," he said.

"He's using passenger images, including yours and Emma's…" she said, as they looked at the cover. He opened it and saw some handwriting.

"Dr. Mills can help…" Margaret read.

"David...do you think one of these people came to Regina looking for help?" she asked.

"It's possible...and something tells me they're not looking for her skills as a doctor," he replied.

"Oh…I don't like this. We need to find her," Margaret said worriedly. He squeezed her hand.

"And we will...let's start with Mr. Samdi and he can explain what the hell he thinks he's doing with all this," he said, referring to the pamphlet. He took her hand and they left in a hurry, intending to confront Baron Samdi for any information.

~*~

Emma came home from her shift that afternoon and found Neal sitting on the couch, but he seemed anxious.

"Hey...what's going on?" she asked.

"I...I think I had another Calling," he answered.

"Really? What did you see?" she asked.

"A wolf…" he replied. Her eyes widened.

"A wolf?" she asked, as she watched him turn the pages in Henry's sketchbook that they had borrowed.

"This wolf...I think Henry had the same Calling I just did," he said. Emma blew out a breath.

"Well, grab the book and let's go. Margaret asked me to pick him up from school. She and David are caught up in something with Regina," Emma said. He nodded and grabbed the book, before following her out.

~*~

David and Margaret arrived at the Church of the Returned and entered hand in hand. Instantly, there were whispers among some of the members who were present.

"Brother David…" Baron Samdi greeted.

"What is this?" he asked sharply.

"I am merely bringing together a congregation of people that have been inspired by our return and seek a hopeful future. A hopeful future that the returned can bring them," Baron replied.

"Cut the crap...you're selling the passengers as miracle workers and you know damned well that we don't have that kind of power," David hissed. Baron raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure, brother David? How is it that your sister rescued those two girls? How is it that you yourself have helped several?" he questioned.

"I don't know...but promising these people that we're going to offer them some kind of salvation is wrong. Especially while you profit," David spat. Baron smirked.

"I mean well, I assure you, brother David and I have to make a living, after all. Everyone does," he said.

"Not like this," Margaret hissed.

"You do what you want, but you take my husband and sister-in-law's images off your posters and pamphlets. I will not let you use the people I love like this!" Margaret growled protectively. He smirked.

"I have nothing but respect for a Mama bear and on the next printing, I'll remove all members of the Nolan family," he conceded. David saw something on the prayer wall and held up the handwriting on the pamphlet to it.

"Same handwriting…" he said, as they looked back at Mr. Samdi.

"Did you tell someone that Dr. Regina Mills might be able to help them? This was found in Regina's office and now she's missing," David replied.

"I cannot violate the privacy of my parishioners," Samdi claimed.

"But you can violate passengers by using their images and possibly putting them at risk!?" Margaret cried.

"Regina is family and she is missing! She might be in danger and we found one of your pamphlets in her office!" she added.

"She's right...and you're not breaking any laws by having this "church". But if something happens to Regina and one of your parishioners is responsible and you know something? Then that's a different story," David said. Baron was silent for a moment and then retrieved something on his phone.

"Her name is Alice and this is the address. Her husband Jacob is dying of cancer. She is desperate to save him," he revealed. David took a photo of the address and took Margaret's hand, before they hurried out, while he called Emma.

[killian-whump]

Oh wow, I saw the gif you shared, the "I'll fucking show you" and I realised that Colin without a beard actually looks a lot like Eion Bailey, as someone once pointed out here. Now I can't unseen it. I liked Pinocchio with the leather jackets and the motocycle and the rugged look. I wish they didn't do it with him and had saved that look for Killian. A biker would've suited him. The rugged biker look was wasted on Pinocchio.

Mmm, I liked the biker look okay on August. I mean, it’s a good look, so I’m not gonna complain about it ;)

I suspect if they’d gotten the rights to use Peter Pan characters in Season 1, we might’ve gotten biker Killian :D BUT if they’d gotten the rights any sooner, we might not have gotten Colin as Killian, which I think wouldn’t be worth whatever benefits having Killian sooner would’ve given us.

Now, if we could’ve for sure had Colin either way... then I would love to have seen S1 cursed Killian as a motorcycle-riding bad boy :D Or, heck, as a mild-mannered baker or a flamboyant hairdresser or a mischievous priest. I’d take him as anything, really. I’m not picky. I’d watch that man be a phone book salesman - AND PHONE BOOKS ARE FREE.

What were we talking about again? I don’t even know anymore XD

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

So I guess this is a thing people do, yeah?

Holiday Collections/Series:

Mistletoeing & Hearts Glowing -- a collection of Christmas/winter based prompts. 10 one-shots. December 2017.

Love is All You Need -- a collection of Valentine’s Day based prompts. 8 one-shots. February 2018.

Challenge/Gifted One-Shots:

Come in From the Cold -- Emma has had a crush on superstitious Killian Jones for years now, but he still sees her as the same little girl the Nolans adopted so many years ago. Where's the mistletoe when you need it? (A Secret Santa Gift for a since deactivated blog from Christmas 2017)

It’s Like Rain on Your Wedding Day -- Emma Swan looks back on the many years she's known Killian Jones as she prepares to meet him at the altar. (Contribution to the 2018 @csjanuaryjoy)

Galentine’s Day -- Emma Swan has zero girl friends, so why was she the one assigned to write about a day celebrating them? (Secret Valentine gift for @yasmin-khan from February 2018).

The Fox and the Hound -- Years ago, Killian Jones left his youthful days of illicit romance and causing trouble behind him in favor of walking dogs for a living in Storybrooke. He’s been working for the same families for years, so discovering David Nolan’s beautiful yet closed off sister behind their apartment door is a surprise. It's not long before Killian finds himself coming down with a case of puppy love, but Emma might just send him home with his tail between his legs. (Contribution to the 2018 @captainswanbigbang CSLB).

Plain White T’s Song Project:

Natural Disaster -- Killian Jones, lead singer of the up-and-coming rock band Deaf Horses, does NOT date fans. So it's a good thing Emma Swan isn't one.

Meet Me in California -- Killian Jones has a dream that's taking him to the west coast, but the love of his life, one Emma Swan, wants to stay back east. A little angsty one-shot.

No Imitations -- Emma Swan is terrified of heights. Can her boyfriend help her out?

I Really Want You -- One universe, three ficlets. Some Modern AU Swan-Jones family fluff to get you going. 

MC(s):

A Fan of Every Part of You -- Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he's about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it's a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit. (Contribution to 2019 @csrolereversal).

Matchmakers -- Salesman Killian Jones has been in love with receptionist Emma Swan for as long as he can remember. While he's left pining away for her, a ring on her finger from another man, he's setting up half the office on dates. (In other words, OUAT in an Office 'verse). (Currently being rewritten for @captainswanbigbang CS Rewrite-A-Thon).

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too) -- According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Nolan's dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she's not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don't you think? (Currently being posted as a part of the 2019 @cspupstravaganza).

[charmingturkeysandwich]

I Could Use a Love Song - Ch 1: givin’ up on love, hey love’s given up on me

Summary: Emma Swan, small town orphan and up-and-coming country singer, is known for her voice, her penchant for leather, and her overall (earned) anger toward the world. She’s had a rough go of it – rough enough that every single song of hers is angry or sad – but on the road something (or someone) happens that might change her tune.

(Spoiler Alert: it’s Killian. Cue the gasps of shock.)

Also on AO3.

---

The upside to a truly shitty adolescence? Lyrical inspiration.

Emma Swan grew up a little bit all over the place, but primarily in a small town that was most definitely above the Mason-Dixon line and yet half its population spoke with some kind of southern-esque drawl. Confederate flags were common on Chevy trucks. Friday nights in the Fall were dedicated to high school football and absolutely nothing else. Their town’s only radio station was country, though it played seven different church services on Sunday mornings. To say that the whole town’s dynamic read like a cliché country song… it was more obvious than Emma’s bright red leather jacket in a crowd of cotton camo.

So no one was particularly surprised when the beautiful, damaged orphan with the voice of a (really pissed off) angel hit the road with a country band.

They might not have been surprised, but oh did they talk. After her falling out with the pastor’s son and her quick escape to Pittsburgh, she was every negative stereotype of famous in a small town you could conjure. Lily, the closest thing she’d had to a friend outside of Neal, son of Pastor Gold, would keep her updated on the rumors and the hearsay. Not that she wanted to know, necessarily. She’d rather imagine that her name had simply fallen out of the collective memory of that god forsaken town. But it hadn’t. Her story was on the tongues of every bar patron, Baptist, and boy scout leader north of I-80.

It wasn’t her story, though. Not really. The tales they told of Emma Swan always somehow ended up with her as the villain and not the fairy tale princess, the lost girl with no choice but to suffer at the hands of assholes.

Her parents had been shit. Drug addicts, apparently, and she’d been taken from them. She’d been passed through the foster system from ages 3-12, the best foster parents mostly ignoring her and the worst… well, she couldn’t afford the therapy to even attempt to go there.

She’d wound up with an OK but definitely half-crazy woman by the name of Sarah just before she turned 13 and that’s where she’d stayed, that hick town that just couldn’t get enough of her little sob story. That’s where she’d met Neal, the charismatic son of one of the town’s pastors. His dad had seemed nice enough, did a lot of community work and even owned several businesses, boasting of his commitment to boosting the local economy. For once she’d thought she’d found some people who didn’t suck who might make her life at least somewhat normal.

She, as usual, was wrong. Pastor Gold was… well, off. Way too angry for a dude preaching the New Testament each week. But at least he’d never hurt her. No, that privilege was reserved for Neal, who would beat her to a bloody pulp and then tell his daddy’s flock all about saving his sweet girl from a drug deal gone wrong (poor thing ended up like her parents despite the best efforts of the system, you see).

It was pathetic. And after she went to jail for having the gall to defend her own life from that sociopath, well, that was it. She dropped out of high school during the homecoming pep rally and hopped a bus to the city.

That had been years ago now, of course, but it was her origin story, as they say, and something very important to her on-stage personality. And her internal struggle.

Life had fucked her over and she was pissed. And so for five years after leaving that sleepy, secret-filled little town, all she ever really focused on was her anger. She’d write lyrics on truck stop napkins and sit in a half-stranger’s basement strumming chords on the guitar she’d stolen from the church rectory (she wasn’t sorry). She started out performing at open mic nights and then somehow found some of Her People, those who loved country music but maybe hadn’t grown up in a Dixie Chicks song (if only she could have Goodbye Earl’ed that son of a bitch high school boyfriend of hers before he ever laid a hand on someone new…).

(At least he ended up in prison. You know, eventually.)

(And, hey, her rage got her out there and selling records. But that was on her, not him. Nobody saves me but me, she always said. And she wasn’t about to thank a monster just because she survived slaying it.)

Tonight’s show was in a dive bar in upstate New York and Emma was so damn ready for it. She and Ruby had done a few shots of tequila before slipping on their tight jeans and leather jackets, and David had just finished setting up their brand new sound system that made them sound like they could actually be on CMT and not just playing from someone’s garage. David and Mary Margaret, they were like Johnny and June with their sweetness and Emma could hardly stomach it. But they were her friends, her actual honest-to-god, wouldn’t-rat-her-out-to-the-forest-service-for-underage-drinking friends and she loved them. She loved them and Ruby and even Graham in the only way she knew how: teasing insults, cases of beer, and not running away in the middle of the night even when she was feeling like her whole world could crash town with one wrong word from herself or anyone else.

(She really did need therapy beyond the catharsis of angry singing to half-drunk strangers. Someday, maybe.)

Friend love was a strange, but manageable thing. Well, mostly. But romantic love? Absolutely fucking not. After she left Neal and that town, after she drank away the pain and the frustration, well she thought maybe she’d give romance another try. Turned out the next guy was even worse, somehow, leaving her bruised and bloody when she turned down his marriage proposal at a fancy restaurant in Cleveland (yeah, those exist). The physical pain she had been used to, but the emotional… he called her every name she didn’t deserve and a few that she probably did, and when he finished her off with a few choice comments about the baby she’d lost after Neal threw her out a moving car, well she was done. For good. Never ever would she trust a man again. Preacher’s son or furniture salesman – they were all just… evil. She couldn’t ever again take that chance.

But tonight – tonight she wasn’t thinking about romance or even the past, not beyond the bits and pieces that had made their way into her songs. She was happy, buzzed, excited. Their little tour bus (well, van) family was rising in the ranks and soon she could move far away and get her own apartment overlooking the thriving streets of Nashville. Soon she would be so busy with interviews and music video shoots that she wouldn’t have a single second to spare a thought to those who had hurt her. Soon she would be so rich she wouldn’t ever feel lonely because she’d always have male company in the form of all her Benjamins she’d backstroke through like Scrooge McDuck.

The previous night Mary Margaret had tried to set Emma up with the singer of their opening act, a guy they called August who carried a typewriter instead of a guitar (who she’d definitely seen leaving with a drunk after she’d turned him down, by the way), so Emma had already had her monthly I Don’t Want Love chat with her hopeless romantic friend. Meaning today she was free and clear to just… enjoy this new life she’d spent years building on the bones of all the good girls she could have been.

She high-fived Ruby and David kissed her on the cheek as they took the stage, starting the guitar riff as Emma sauntered out to the opening words of the song. This was one of her crowd favorites, a good one to set the tone for what kind of show to expect, and she was melting into her confident, badass, devil-may-care persona easily by the time they hit the first chorus.

I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun

Wait by the door and light a cigarette

He wants a fight, well now he’s got one

And he ain’t seen me crazy yet

A few people in the front row were singing along and her heart was bursting with pride that she was on this road, that she’d turned such a goddamn nightmare of a life into something positive and productive and while overall it still wasn’t healthy… she damn well was on the road to actually being someone. To finally shutting up the idiots back in Pennsyltucky who were convinced she wasn’t going to amount to anything but a statistic just like her parents (despite having never even tried any drug beyond alcohol and nicotine, the judgmental fucks).

One thing that entertained her beyond reason was listening to Mary Margaret sing backup vocals on the songs Emma wrote. Emma liked to call Mary’s on-stage persona Snow White Trash and Ruby insisted that be the name of the band’s first mainstream album when their big break finally came and Emma actually fucking laughed in the middle of performing her angry song that night because she couldn’t stop thinking about the mismatch.

So when the song was over she apologized to the crowd, told them how much she loved her band and her friends, even the hilariously innocent of them, and asked someone to pass her a beer so she could stop the chuckles from trickling out during the next song.

Next on their set list was one that had been co-written by Emma and Ruby, two girls from two very different small towns, who still had so much shared experience. It used to hurt her to sing it, the depressing nature of where she came from threatening to swallow her whole, until Graham came to her one night after the show, quieted her tearful sobs with a kiss and told her to just pretend it was a movie. She was just telling a story. It wasn’t her town or Ruby’s… it was nothing but fiction.

And that’s how she belted it all out totally devoid of those pesky feelings that made her wish she could just crawl under a rock rather than relive her trauma for the seventy third time this fucking year.

If you ain’t got two kids by 21, you’re probably gonna die alone

At least that’s what tradition told you

This song was a lesser known of theirs so they don’t have as many mouthing the words back, but the energy in the crowd is still so high, despite this song being a little more bummer than banger. So she scans the crowd, watches the faces of the drunk, the joyful, the brooding, and best of all, those who understand.

Off to the left, just at the edge of the stage, she saw probably the hottest man she’d ever seen in real life. Black leather jacket, artfully mussed hair, a smirk that could charm her pants right off if she let him.

It’s not that hot guys didn’t come to their shows. They definitely did. But they were usually more the Jake Owen or Luke Bryan type, the ones that look like they were ready to meet your mama by the third date. This guy, he didn’t seem the take-home-to-parents type (just the kind for her, having no parents and all).

But there was something else different about him. Standing just off stage, standing alone, glancing toward David every so often. He looked a bit too confident, comfortable, like he already had some kind of connection to her makeshift little family, and that set up some red flags.

She was not accepting applications for any new friends at the moment. Or maybe ever.

She’d been staring just a little and people tended to notice stuff like that so of course he eventually locked eyes with her, for just a fleeting moment, and there was something in that one glance that told her he knew what she was singing, how she felt, on a level that most others just… didn’t.

So naturally she broke the gaze and didn’t look back.

Jack and Jill went up the hill.

Jack burned out on booze and pills.

Mary had a little lamb.

Mary just don’t give a damn no more.

From there, Mary Margaret had taken over lead vocals, her cover of Strawberry Wine a nice balm to the mood-dampener that Merry-Go-Round always was. And every show without fail, she always took that transition to gloat about how she’s most definitely not the Mary from that song because she has David and loves him so much and Emma almost always makes the universal gesture for “gag me” to the crowd eliciting laughter and a few errant woo’s.

She didn’t tonight.

First taste of love, oh

Bittersweet

And green on the vine

Like strawberry wine

(sorry Deana Carter, but there wasn’t always some sweet.)

They closed the show with Kerosene, like they always did: high-energy, twangy, and true-to-form for their actual fans. The whole bar was on their feet, jumping and swaying and shouting and spilling their $4 beers on the guy beside them but no one really cared because they were sharing a moment, Emma and each of them, singing out their anger and sadness and ten years of life’s-not-fair.

Crazy how a three minute song could effectively patch the wounds of a whole life.

And, yeah, maybe it wasn’t really patching anything. Maybe it was just distraction. Maybe she was just as much a drug addict as her parents, but her drug was the stage and the music and the connection she shared with every other person in each and every bar who didn’t get the benefit of a first love like any kind of wine.

She sang her song from the diaphragm – broadway voice – but it was like it came all the way from her toes. It was always her anger that defined her, drove her, made her feel alive.

Why not lean into it?

I gave it everything I had

And everything I got was bad

Life ain’t hard but it’s too long

To live it like some country song

Trade the truth in for a lie

Cheating really ain’t a crime

I’m giving up on love, cause love’s given up on me

Songs sung, merch sold, and bar tab closed, Emma headed toward the crew’s van, ready to sleep off the liquor in the third row seats while the lovebirds took the hotel room above the bar and Ruby and Graham found someone’s bed to put their boots under for the night.

It was odd, feeling like the fifth wheel when truly there was only one couple in the band. But Ruby and Graham, they were so in sync with where they were in their life – jand it was just not what Emma was looking for – that she still ended up left out.

Which was fine. Everything was just fine.

Until her path to the van was obstructed by the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life, the smoldering-eyed, confident guy who’d nearly made her forget her own lyrics before she’d promptly remembered to forget him and any other person who might possibly hold the potential to make her heart skip.

(Hearts aren’t meant to skip. That’s not love; it’s a trip to the cardiologist.)

He was definitely about to annoy her, so shouldn’t he look properly… annoying? Not like a goddamn model. That was distracting her from her annoyance and inevitable hate. Because a girl like her? Every song lyric and leather jacket was a clear message: leave me the fuck alone.

He clearly wasn’t receiving the signal.

“Swan, I presume?” he finally spoke, her eyes certainly glaring daggers at him despite her tiredness and BAC.

“Uh, obviously? What do you want.” (It wasn’t a question.)

“To introduce myself, of course! Killian Jones, at your service.”

She stopped a few feet from him, one hand on her hip and the other reaching for the cigarettes in the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’m not interested in any services beyond handing me a lighter. Can you manage that one?”

He smirked at her and reached into his jacket, the click of the zippo lighter in his hand echoing off the brick alley the van was parked in. With a quick flick of his thumb there was a flame and he offered it to her, his eyes burning with something other than the reflection of the fire.

“Ah, yes, that’s something even a one-handed bloke like me can manage.” He clicked the lighter closed and deposited it back in his jacket, only to reveal his left arm – ending at the wrist – from where it had been tucked behind him.

Emma deflated a little, some compassion left inside her despite the unwanted nature of his approaching her. “OK, Captain Hook, what exactly do you want from me?”

(She had compassion, but also very little candor. For the record.)

“Ah, yes, I’ve never heard that one before,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and finally looking like he was receiving her please-go-away signals, but he still soldiered on. “I was meant to be here before the show started, but I had some trouble finding this hole-in-the-wall. I presume by your attitude that Dave didn’t warn you I was coming?”

“You presume correctly. Can you please get on with whatever garbage is happening here? I swear if they put you up to asking me out or something I’m going to kill them. Mary Margaret especially. Because we just talked about this and I know that it’s not your fault that they’re such meddlers but I swear I’m pretty much the same girl who sings on stage in real life and I absolutely want nothing to do with men. Or women, for that matter… I’m not a person who dates and if they thought..”

“Love, please stop. No, I’m not here to ask you out. Believe me, I know I’m not what you need. I mean, technically I am, but not in the romantic sense.”

He paused and waggled his eyebrows and Emma was too tired to roll her eyes so she just closed them, willing the moment to pass. “I’ve been hired to work for you. All of you. Roadie. Can’t play notes on a guitar anymore, but I can haul them in and out of these dumps you lot perform in.”

Ah. He was the guy David had suggested they hire but the group had then rejected the idea and apparently David decided to overrule them all because why would Prince Charming listen to a democratic band vote, anyway? (Ugh.)

“Can you maybe stop insulting the patrons that pay us since that same money is going to be what pays you?”

Drunk laugher and electronic music pulsed out of the back door of the bar they’d played in not long before. Almost closing time now. Emma needed to get out of the open before she had to break someone’s wrist for drunkenly groping her. Again.

“Ah, of course, love,” he replied, finally seeming to be at least somewhat chagrined. “Now if you could point me in the direction of our sleeping quarters, I’ll leave you to your business.”

“First of all, I am not your love. We’ve covered this already and I need you to keep up. Second, do you really think we make enough to have quarters? I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to both pay you and eat. So.”

“So, what exactly does that mean for you or I, Swan?” he emphasized her last name in an effort to prove he was capable of using titles other than ridiculous British terms of endearment.

“Well, Jones, that means that either you go shack up with David and the missus (10/10 would not recommend; Mary gets very horny while drunk and her voice carries), or you do like Graham or Ruby and find a local to make gross sex noises with. Or whatever they do. Don’t know, don’t ask, don’t care.”

“And you, princess?” His tone was a challenge. He wanted her to object to the sickly sweet nickname. And she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“I sleep in the van. And I do not cuddle.”

“Oh, it’s not cuddling I’m looking for,” he purred, waggling his stupid eyebrows again. (This time she did roll her eyes, annoyed enough to expend the limited energy she still possessed.)

“Then go find someone willing, buddy. Like I said.”

He shook his head and laughed, already turning back toward the van. “Damn. David said you were difficult, but I wasn’t expecting this. I’ll sleep wherever you don’t. Unless you snore?”

“No, I do not snore!”

“Great. Then we’ll get along just dandy.” He waited next to the van until Emma pulled out the fob to unlock it, sliding open the big door a second after the beep-beep to signal entry. “After you, not anyone’s love.”

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll be in the back. Touch me at your peril.”

They each crawled into the van and settled at opposite ends. Emma tossed Killian a blanket and Killian tossed Emma a pillow that had been lodged in the front seat and they both drifted off to the sounds of Garth Brooks on the Pandora radio Ruby had bought her to ward away the nightmares that inevitably accompanied the silence.

[searchingwardrobes]

CS Fic Rec Monday: My Favorite Fluffy Fridays

For today’s @csficrecmonday, I want to highlight @whimsicallyenchantedrose and her Fluffy Friday series. It’s up to 146 enstallments now, which is hard to believe for those of us who have been looking forward to Fridays since the hiatus before season five. For others, however, you may feel like it’s daunting to start a series like this. Well, here is my list of favorite Fluffy Fridays to get you started, and each one is a quick, fun read. Though, like potato chips, once you start you may not be able to stop!

The Scarf : Remember that “blink and you miss it moment” in season two when Killian broke into Emma’s office to get his hook back, and the scarf he used to bandage her hand was in there? Well, this deleted scene shows how it ended up there. One of my all time faves that I have re-read multiple times!

The Road Trip (Two Parts): What was that Captain Cobra Swan road trip like from New York to Storybrooke in season three? Multiple fics have answered that question, but this one is a fun, fluffy, and hilarious take on it.

Once Upon a Coffee Shop: A coffee shop au with a dash of secret admirer; how can you go wrong?

Beware Lurking Squirrels: They were roommates! And then he got his wisdom teeth taken out, and hilarity (and feelings) ensue.

Playing House: A traveling salesman mistakenly think Emma and Killian are David and Mary Margaret, so they play along for his sales pitch. Adorable!

Santa Claus is Coming to Town: This one is hilarious! A Christmas curse has everyone in town belting out Christmas tunes. Jen did a perfect job of matching songs to characters - this one is a riot any time of year!

On Waxed Mustaches and Perms: Okay, confession, one reason I love this one and read it multiple times is because I gave Jen the prompt (yep, Jen, that was me!) Anyways, this is Lily’s reaction to the news that her old friend is dating Captain Hook.

Parking Services: A college au with one of my favorite lines ever: “Was it possible to fall in love at first sight with someone who was yelling at you?”

New York Christmas Serenade (3 Parts): What if the day Killian showed up at Emma’s door in New York was at Christmas time? Fantastic canon divergence!

The Magic Mirror: On top of the beanstalk, Emma and Killian find a mirror in the giant’s treasures that shows your future. I think you know where this is going . . .

The Talking Phone: A slight canon divergence in which Emma gives Killian a phone in season two while he’s in the hospital. Hilarious texting ensues!

Cupid's Grenade: Cupid shows up in Storybrooke during 3B and sets off a love grenade in Granny’s. I think that pretty much sums it up, but oh Emma and those walls . . .

[ineffablecolors]

The Wife [7/?]

The Wife || Ch 7 ~ 4.4 k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: First - it has been such an amazing few days for this story, guys!! There was this gorgeous manip by @spartanguard 😍 and now this awesome illustration of Captain Jones by @marcella2727 ❤️ Second - solid MT for More-than-hands Touching, you’ve been warned guys ;)

“Well, that won’t do.”

Emma looks up from the list she is compiling. Dinner was a somewhat disappointing affair last night, seeing as Killian was supposed to be back – he was supposed to be back the evening before, as a matter of fact – and she kept delaying the meal until it looked like Granny might serve her, if she didn’t let her set the table already. So now Emma has to come up with a different menu for tonight and not focus on the fact that she feels like she has exhausted all her best ideas over the last two days.

How might Granny choose to punish her, if she makes her roast a turkey again?

She shakes her head and focuses on the girl sitting across from her. Alice seems to have abandoned all attempts at keeping her correspondence from Emma since their conversation in the library and she hopes the girl is reacting to something written in the letter in her hand, rather than becoming frustrated with her father’s continued absence.

Emma herself is somewhat less than successful on that account.

“Is everything alright?”

“Papa must bring me the latest Dickens. Robyn has already finished it and, at this rate, I will know all by the time I get my hands on it!”

Emma does her best to hide her smile behind a cough. Anyone who has known Alice for longer than a day can tell that her interest in horses and wild animals far exceeds her interest in books and the beautiful piano in the drawing room – that Emma hasn’t dared to touch yet, but nothing seems to exceed her need to know all that everyone else around her does.

“I’m sure he won’t forget. You did write it down for him.”

If the good-natured tease in her voice is obvious, Alice takes it with a smile and playfully narrowed eyes before she leans her head to the side. The gesture is absolutely identical to the one often seen from her father and Emma feels a little tingle down the back of her neck.

“You really shouldn’t tell him you don’t want anything or you’ll soon need a vanity just for all the jewelry you’ll accumulate.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t—“

“But he will.”

Emma’s eyebrows draw together and she gives Alice a questioning look – her tone is much too weary for the topic of presents, expected or not.

“I— Well, I do not know what it was like later on but… I remember when I was little— because I would be so happy, you see? I’d be so excited when he came back. And my mother… the first thing she always did was demand to know what he had brought her. She would make a terrible row, if he hadn’t or… if whatever it was didn’t suit her fancy, I suppose, since I can’t… can’t remember him ever coming back empty-handed.”

Emma curls her fingers around the pen in her hand and takes the deep measured breaths she normally uses to calm herself after a nightmare. This one is not her nightmare. The very thought that this is obviously one of the more vivid memories Alice has of her childhood incents her beyond words. Which is for the better since she can’t speak ill of her mother in front of her, even if she already knows that she absolutely detests this woman she never met and thankfully, never will.

Emma wouldn’t have trusted herself to behave like a lady, if she ever met the previous Mrs Jones.

Frankly, presumptuous as it probably is, she feels a sense of indignation at the very thought that such a woman carried the title before her.

“So he will get you jewels,” Alice concludes matter-of-factly. “She was always sufficiently pleased with jewels.”

“But I don’t want—“

“Oh, I know.”

Emma closes her mouth and stares at Alice, surprised by her confident tone and the soft smile on her lips.

“But the sooner you decide what you do want, the easier it will be for both of you.”

She focuses back on her list and on not reading anything in Alice’s statement that is not really there.

*****

His thumb slides back and forth over the smooth stone – it’s cold and unyielding – both things that she probably imagines herself to be and both things she is not.

“Does the gentleman like this one?”

Killian blinks up at the jeweler and shakes his head. No, the yellow sapphire is captivating but it is not the colour he wants, no matter how hard the salesman tries to pursued him that it is. So he ignores the pursed lips and sour expression on the man’s face and lets his eyes roam freely over the displays.

Over the years, Killian has learnt the advantages of compromise but it has never come naturally to him. So, while he should really be heading home soon, if he doesn’t want to arrive when everybody has already gone to bed and while he is gradually becoming acquainted with a new kind of exhaustion – one born of the ache in his left forearm that kept him company all night and the other ache that feels a lot like homesickness, Killian can’t bring himself to settle for something that doesn’t feel right.

It is utterly ridiculous, of course, this supposed homesickness. He used to sail across the world for months on end without even laying eyes on a spot of land, let alone setting foot on it. Let alone coming home. And yes, he feels absolutely wretched wasting any of the time Alice is at home and yes, he worries that he has led Emma astray by underestimating the duration of his trip and thinks – perhaps rather fancifully – that the delay might cause her some worry and yes, it has been almost four full days now – longer than he wished and anticipated his business to take. But none of that justifies this kind of fretting and whining – be it only in his mind. He is not a young lad on his first leave and it does him no credit to think and act like one.

So he grits his teeth and rubs at the spot just under his elbow that sometimes manages to alleviate the pain and continues to patiently slide his eyes over the different gems and metals before him. He will be making his way home soon enough, he just wants to make this last purchase. It takes him by surprise – how much he genuinely wants to find something that she will like, something that will suit her.

His eyes catch on a hue that looks almost familiar, set as it is among little white stones rather than black lashes.

“May I see this one?”

The jeweler obliges him and presents the ornament with a flourish that is completely unnecessary – Killian already knows he will be walking out with it.

*****

“What is she, looking for buried treasure or something?”

Ruby turns to find the kitchen window wide open and her grandmother leaning out of it, glaring at the spot where Emma is preparing flower beds. Or rather, that seemed to be her idea when she took her gloves and tools and seeds out into the front garden, before she seemed to get lost in an almost hypnotic state of digging.

Ruby passes the old woman the empty glass of water she brought to their mistress and gives her an admonishing look.

“Granny.”

“What? She keeps digging like that, there won’t be any soil left for her to plant anything in.”

“She is worried.”

“What is she worried about? I told her yesterday that he is always too optimistic when planning his travels.”

Ruby squeezes one eye shut and leans an elbow on the windowsill. She wishes Emma asked her or even Alice about why Captain Jones might be gone longer than anticipated. While Granny isn’t wrong – he always relies too much on the belief that everyone will be as quick and punctual and efficient in getting down to business as he is – Ruby is sure that her grandmother probably didn’t put too much effort into acknowledging and soothing Emma’s feelings.

Admittedly, Mrs Jones can be admirably self-possessed when she truly puts her mind to it, but all one needs to do is catch her in a solitary moment to see the feelings rolling beneath her calm and smooth surface.

She took the first two days of her husband’s absence in stride, Ruby will even go so far as to say that she was tentatively excited to prove to herself and everyone else that she could handle the household on her own for a bit. But lunchtime on the third day was as far as that feeling carried her. After that Ruby could almost see the doubt and anxiety sneaking in. Emma did not enjoy being the solitary queen of the house and she enjoyed the idea of being left to it for an undetermined period of time – of Killian being gone for an undermined period of time – even less.

Turning her attention back to the front of the house, Ruby catches her impatiently trying to brush awry blonde strands over her shoulder with the back of her dirt-smeared hand, there are quite a few stains on her purple dress already and a definite air of frustration and lack of peace to all her movements and Ruby wonders if she should ask Peter to fetch Alice.

Miss Jones, being much more familiar with her father’s idiosyncrasies and poor time management, and thus, not at all concerned by a day or two’s delay, will certainly be able to coax Emma back inside and placate her for some time.

Then she catches sight of the dark shape coming up the road and sighs in relief.

“Ah, thank the Lord, she would’ve dug us all into a ditch in another day or so.”

Ruby ignores her grandmother and keeps her back to her and her grin hidden. There is a detectable trace of satisfaction in Granny’s grumbling and Ruby knows that, in all honesty, she has been rather pleased with Emma’s discomfiture the last two days.

It’s not until Roger’s hooves are trampling down the path leading to the main entrance that Emma’s head jerks up. Ruby can’t see her face – though the absolute stillness that seems to arrest her every muscle is clear enough – but she does have a perfect view of Captain Jones and the way he leans his head to the side, as if trying to determine what on earth his wife is doing in the dirt on the front lawn. His voice is heavy with the miles he has just ridden but it carries easily in the golden, late-afternoon hush.

“You should know – I was a naval captain, not a pirate. And if I were, I certainly wouldn’t have buried my treasure in front of the house.”

Ruby hears Granny chuckle, probably pleased to have her treasure talk mirrored by Killian himself.

He dismounts with obvious weariness but practiced ease and Ruby is about to head inside as well when she sees Emma get to her feet and almost run to the man before her – her momentum arrested by her body colliding with his, his sudden and forceful exhale audible in the bubble around them, her hand coming up and probably getting dirt in his hair.

Ruby knows she should look away but for a moment she is caught in place by her guilt over the fact that none of them took the proper time and care to provide Emma with the reassurance she obviously needed.

Captain Jones seems equally frozen for a second before his right hand tentatively settles on the shoulder blade of the woman in his arms. His face is partially obscured by falling strands of golden hair but Ruby can swear he leans in to catch the scent on them.

Glancing over her shoulder, she is chastised to see that Granny has gone back inside to provide the couple on the front lawn with some privacy and when she turns to look at them again, there is a foot of space between them and Emma is obviously in the process of realizing that she is covered in a fair amount of dirt.

If gambling was an appropriate pastime for women, Ruby would bet her next wage that the captain doesn’t care one bit.

*****

As he rides off to find his daughter and Jolly, Emma takes a moment to collect and glare down at her dirt-smeared self. She is distinctly aware that this is not the picture she is meant to present to world and husband alike but her actions currently seem to take precedence to the state of her person in their ability to fluster and embarrass her.

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath as she imagines looking at herself from the side, or maybe just from Killian’s perspective, and realizes how childish she must have appeared.

Silly, she has been and continues to be even now – as she gathers her gardening tools and wonders what gown she should change into for dinner – completely ridiculous. But, truthfully, she can’t help it and she feels a rare bound of pity for her own self because of that.

Is it her fault that she never had a friend come running to her room as a child? Is it her fault that she never got to welcome a parent when they returned from a journey? Is it her fault that she never received a lover come to pay his respects? Is it her fault that all she’s known is people leaving and not once has she seen someone come back?

No, Emma tries to tell herself that none of that is solely her fault and yet, she cannot help but scold herself for reacting so disproportionately to the situation now. That thought is probably what makes her jump back and flush the second she walks in and comes face to face with Granny.

“Give these here,” the old woman takes the dirty tools from her hands and shoos her up the stairs. “Go wash yourself and get changed for dinner, I’ll fix everything else.”

Emma stares at her – a little dumbfounded by the woman’s strict but almost indulgent tone.

“Go on then. They’ll be back any minute now and I have a mind to feed and put you all to bed early tonight.”

Emma feels her face stretch in an uncontrollable grin that doesn’t diminish in the least at Granny’s eyeroll. The old woman tries to glare but, with Killian back, the high spirits have obviously already permeated the whole house and affected even its crankiest inhabitant.

*****

Mrs Lucas’s plan proves harder to execute than Emma expects, seeing as there are apparently traditions to be kept after dinner.

For the first time, Emma sees Alice put her foot down and refuse to let her father go into his study. Then again, he doesn’t fight her too hard on it. Killian demands to distribute whatever he has brought with him, Alice demands to hear all about Roger’s antics during the journey and, naturally, Alice prevails.

And Emma swears under her breath and does her best to dab away the tea she spits out with her laughter as Killian explains in almost ungentlemanly detail the interest Roger took in a passing mare in the middle of the road. He points out that his horse is absolutely unbeatable when it comes to speed and durability and makes better time than any other even with the unexpected detours but, if the way his ears have flushes a little is any indication, expedience has often cost him more than one embarrassing encounter.

“Now,” Killian slaps his hand on his tight and reaches for the satchel he left by his chair, drawing out two books. “The latest of the overpraised and overprized Mr Dickens.”

“Oh, come now, papa,” Alice snatches the books eagerly and passes one to Emma.

She takes it instinctively and lifts her questioning eyes to Killian, who just shrugs and smiles at her.

“You better be prepared, love, she likes to discuss each chapter as she reads and there will be no consideration for whether or not you’ve fallen behind.”

“I only do that when I know you’ve already read the book!” Alice argues indignantly. “And, anyways, I can write to Robyn, while I wait for Emma to finish it.”

Killian’s face turns to a stone for a second before he moves his gaze back to Emma’s and she does her best not to shrink from the way his eyes probe into her – hard and demanding. It’s probably only the slight indignation she feels at this measure of suspicion and the confidence in her own trust-worthiness that makes her stand her ground and stare right back at him until he sighs deeply in what is definitely a combination of acceptance and relief.

“Well, then,” he coughs a little and takes a moment to adjust to the new reality of one more shared secret between them and Emma can’t help but wonder how many there really are in the room – some swirling freely around now, some still hidden in the private recesses of only one or two of them. “Speaking of Miss Hood.”

His hand reaches into his left breast pocket and takes out two poaches – one blue and one red, their quality obvious in the intricate golden patterns on them. He drops the red one in his wooden hand and catching Alice’s eye tosses the blue one at her with a practiced movement and a grin.

She catches it the way Emma imagines all children who still remember tossing a ball around with their fathers catch things.

“Is it for her?”

Killian shakes his head.

“I’ll leave it to you to procure jewels for your own lady,” he tells her with a teasing movement of his eyebrows and Emma can’t help feeling extremely glad that she knows enough to be here for this.

Alice pours the contents of the pouch in her palm and Emma smiles at the oblong, childlike shape her lips assume and the roundness of her eyes.

The locket in her hand is indeed a piece of art – the gold glimmers warmly in the firelight, a heart with another heart raised on the left half of it, a beautiful blue stone set in its corner and gorgeous vine-like engravings running along the other side. But it’s not until she flicks it open that Alice lets out a choked little sound – the perfect child of a laugh and a sob, and in the next moment she is flying across the room and throwing herself in her father’s arms.

Killian seems much better prepared for this attack than he was for Emma’s earlier, his left arm tightening around her waist as his hand raises up to cradle her head. When he meets her eyes over his daughter’s shoulder, Emma is already wound tight as a spring and ready to look away or even leave the room but the warmth in his eyes keeps her where she is. If he is recalling her own display as well, he does not seem to find the need to shy away from it.

“May I?” Alice asks as she pulls back and, at her father’s nod, rushes to Emma’s side, handing over her new treasure and swaying a little before her, obviously impatient to receive her praise of it.

And she is not unreasonable in her expectation. Aware as she now is of Alice’s constant struggle between her homes and her loves, Emma has a hard time retaining her own composure at the perfect union of the contrasting miniatures inside – Killian’s dark hair and hard edges and the blond waves and soft curves of a girl about Alice’s age.

“It’s gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Alice beams at her and, looking at Killian, Emma saves this moment in her mind as the first time she has seen Killian Jones look quite proud of himself. When their eyes meet again he seems to remember the red pouch in his prosthetic.

“Ah, as for this—“ he moves to sit a foot away from her on the settee as Alice makes herself comfortable on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“You didn’t have to—“ she swallows and tries to soften her voice.

It’s completely unreasonable of her to be upset with him and she is not, not truly. Only, after what Alice told her, she hoped that Killian won’t bring her anything, that he would know she didn’t expect him to pay in gems to enter his own home, and now she can’t help but feel a little sad and just a little insulted.

“I told you I don’t need anything.”

At least some of her thoughts must flow through into her tone because Killian draws back and gives her a confused, uncertain sort of look before he bows his head to stare at the small bag in his hand.

“Aye, that you did.”

His voice is quiet and strained and sounds like he is conversing with himself rather than her – he sounds almost angry and now Emma feels rotten for tarnishing his return and cooling the warmth in the room in literal seconds.

“I just—“ but she can’t really explain without betraying Alice’s confidence and she doesn’t want to sour his mood further by talking about his late wife.

“No, you’re quite ri—“

“I’m glad you’re back.”

His eyes rise sharply and take their time searching hers and Emma doesn’t dare look away and make her words seem like a becoming platitude rather than the plain truth.

“I’m glad to be back,” he says carefully but his features relax a little and Emma lets the corner of her mouth lift up in reply. “Would you—“

He extends his hand in the space between them, the vibrant red resting on his palm is a tantalizing offering and Emma cannot deny her curiosity. She reaches over tentatively and lets her fingers pull on the golden strings, opening the pretty package, before she turns her own hand palm up and leaves it before his, the tips of their fingers brushing lightly.

Killian manages to appear both amused by her antics and nervous about whatever it is that he has brought her. And all that on top of the exhausted air he has carried about him since he dismounted Roger and the obvious relief of being back in familiar surroundings and the slight mellowness of the bottle of wine they shared over dinner and the way he has been favoring his left side in a way that she has never seen before despite his injury.

Emma cannot imagine being disappointed, no matter what tumbles out of the pouch he tips into her expectant palm. And then she doesn’t have to imagine anything.

“Oh.”

“Well, I… I thought you couldn’t go to your first ball as a married woman without an engagement ring.”

She doesn’t know if that is perfectly reasonable or perfectly unnecessary but she is most certainly not going to make up her mind right now, seeing as she feels like she is on the very verge of being hypnotized by the object in her hand. A pirate her husband might not be, but how to find treasure he most certainly knows.

The sing is simply stunning – solid gold that manages to look both delicate and eternal, a perfect circle of little white gems which are unmistakably diamonds. But the best part, the part that refuses to let her eyes blink closed is the stone in the middle – she does not even know what it is called, she just knows it’s the perfect mixture of blue and green and absolutely mesmerizing.

“If you’d like something else—“

Instinctively her hand closes around the ring and she pulls it toward her chest. Killian huffs out a little laugh and his posture finally seems to relax completely, while Emma flushes at her childish antics and extends her hand toward him again.

“Do you mind?”

His eyes narrow with something much different from displeasure and his tongue swipes over his lower lip as he contemplates her for a moment. Emma raises her eyebrow a little expectantly and he finally picks the ring between two fingers and uses the others to gently nudge her hand over. Despite the late hour, spending the better part of the day on horseback and the fact that her own fingers are habitually cool, his skin is as warm as always. His fingertips are calloused and his palm looks almost twice as large as her own and Emma thinks she has never been so conscious of the power in a man’s grip.

This time, unlike their wedding day, when he slips the ring on her left hand, she doesn’t watch the motion, she watches his face. Killian, on the other hand, is carefully focused on his task, the new ring clinking lightly against the wedding band on her next finger as he pushes it past the knuckle. It’s an almost perfect fit and Emma is about to remark on that when she feels his fingers move beneath hers and his eyes rise up to meet hers.

It seems to take half the evening for her hand to reach his lips and it’s only as they press against her flesh that Emma realizes he was probably giving her the time to decide if she wants to pull away. As it is, even if she felt any such inclination, she wouldn’t give up the knowledge that the only cold point on Killian Jones appears to be the tip of his nose for anything in the world.

*****

She wakes up in the dead of night. The fire in the hearth is down to the last embers and the night outside is starless and Emma stays on her side, burying her face further into her pillow and drawing her knees up, taking those deep, measured breaths that have served her well for years now.

They have brought her back to herself after nightmares featuring all sorts of places and faces and painful moments past and imagined, surely they can help her heart settle down after a little dream of her husband’s lips on her own.

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[fromshore-ar-blog]

*  an old, slightly spruced up meta about maya and her relationship to al/drich killian

i‘d  like  to  being  juxtaposing  two  lines  from  the  beginning  of  iron  man  3 .      both  of  which  take  place  during  the  elevator  scene  when  killian  first  approaches  maya  and  tony .      he’s  being  creepy ,    pushing  boundaries  to  the  extreme .       there’s  a  post  floating  around  tumblr  that’s  about ,   like ,    how  tony  was  justified  in  blowing  killian  off  because  he  was  being  creep  af and  analyzing  tony’s  body  language ,   how  he  shields  all  the  women  in  the  elevator  from  killian ,   etc.      i’m  into  that  post  like  a  pig  in  slop .    if  i  was  approached  by  killian  in  that  matter ,    i  would  ignore  the  fuck  out  of  him ,   too .

let’s  take  it  to  the  im3  transcript :

killian :    hey ,    tony !    aldrich  killian .     i’m  a  big  fan  of  your  work. maya :    my  work ? tony :      who  isn’t ?       [ to  maya ]   he  means  me . killian :     well ,   of  course ,  but ,    ms  hansen ——–   my  organization’s  been  tracking  your  research  since  year  two  of  MIT .

the  camera  then  zooms  in  on  maya’s  face ,     peering  at  him  with  eyes  that  can  only  be  described  as  curious .      she  then  partakes  in  plenty  of  rplling  eyes  and  condescending  smiles  as  killian  and  tony  talk  in  the  elevator  ride  up ,     but  when  she  steps  off  the  elevator ,     she’s  looking  at  the  business card  intently .

maya :     thank  you  ;     i’ll  call  you .

and  when  the  camera  next  pans  to  killian ,   he’s  smiling .      not  the  awestruck  expression  he  wears  after  tony  speaks  to  him ,    a  more  dumb ,    genuine  smile .       these  lines  that  they  deliver  to  one  another   matter ,    and  the  reactions  maya  and  killian  give  in  response  to  one  another   are  revealing .

aldrich  killian  was  the  go - getter  in  tune  with  not  only  the  Big  Shots  in  the  scientific  community  but  with  the  little  guys ,     and  maya  hansen  was  a  brilliant  little  guy  who  needed  a  go -  getter  to  take  a  real ,   honest  chance  on  her .       she  needed  his  think  tank  in  order  to  grow  her  research ,    and  he  needed  her  research  in  order  to  have  something  worth  growing .      and  together ,   he  could  become  a  better  salesman ,    and  she  could  become  a  more  accomplished  scientist .        THEY  WERE  THE  FIRST  PEOPLE  TO  EVER  GENUINELY  PUT  STOCK  IN  ONE  ANOTHER .

along  the  way ,    they  must  have  helped  one  another  in  their  respective  roles .     maya  was  young  and  smart  and  beautiful  ;      she  already  had  natural  skill  catching  the  eye  of  the  likes  of  tony  stark ,   obviously .      she  was  well - suited  to  schmoozing ,    better  than  him  in  the  beginning .     and  he  offered  a  fresh ,    but  still  well - informed ,    perspective  on  her   work .         the  combination  of  them  was  powerful .

    it  was  so  powerful  that  it  was  easily  manipulated  by  itself .     i’ve  written  about  this  before ,    but  it’s VERY  IMPORTANT   TO  ME   that  maya  hansen  not  portrayed  to  be  some  innocent ,    morally  pure  woman  who  was  manipulated  into  everything  by  the  big ,    bad ,    aldrich  monster .      that’s  not  how  it  went  down  to  me .      you  stuck  two  geniuses  with  great  ambition  —-  whose  greatest  believers  were one  another —-  into  a  think  tank  that  needed  money .        how  the  hell   else  did  you  expect  this  to  go  down  ?      

maya  started  hitting  brick  walls   with  applications  of  her  theory .      killian  didn’t  care ,    just  began  to  suggest  ways  they  could  use  that  to  their  benefit .       maya  stopped  caring  about  where  the  money  came  from ,    just  wanting  to  advance  her  research .       they  both  wanted  to  succeed  so  badly ,    they  stopped  caring  about  what   they  succeeded  at .    their  ambition  started  burning  holes  before  the  first  test  subject  blew  one  of  their   facilities  to  smithereens .       they  walked  that  line  of  corruption  together .     sure ,   killian  might  have  led  in  some  ways ——–  it  was ,    after  all ,    his  ideas  about  desperation  and  living  in  shadows  that  became  the  basis  of  their  ideology ——–  but  she  followed  his  path  of  her  own  free  will ;      she  believed  it  was  the  path  to  the  success  she  so  craved .

given  the  conversation  that   maya  and   killian  have  in  the  hotel  room with  pepper ,    i’m  not  sure  why  people  still  like  to  debate  whether  or  not  she  was  aware  of  extremis’s  role  in  the  mandarin  plots .      when  she  says  she   ‘ thinks  her  boss  is  working  for  the  mandarin ’      she’s  lying ;       she  knows  about the  situation .      i  borrow  the  line  from  the  comics  that     “ it  takes  two  people  to  open  the  extremis  vault  ”    and  hop  off  my  soap  box .

the  events  of  im3   come  to  a  head  the  way  they  do  because  maya  and  killian  disagree  on  what  course  of  action  to  take  next .     she  goes  rogue  showing  up  at  tony’s  to  try  to  bring  him  in ,    and  from  there ,     every  action  they  take  leads  directly  to  his  decision  to  kill   her .      or   “ kill  her ”    as  it  were  in  relation  to  my  blog ,    because  i’m  SO  FUCKING  TIRED  OF  FRIDGING  WOMEN .    

anyway ,    this  is  long  and  most  people  have  probably  stopped  reading  by  now ,    but  that’s  okay .   the  most  important  point  was  up  there  earlier  in  all  caps  bold  italics .       they  believed  in  one  another  before  anyone  else ,    more  strongly  than  anyone  else ,    without  anyone  else .       in  fic  involving  maya ,    a  lot  of  writers  like  to  have  her  say ,    in  hindsight ,    that  she    “ could’ve  gone  so  much  farther  without  him. ”      and  ????    maybe  she  would  have  gone  n  the  RIGHT  DIRECTION .     but  the  mileage  wouldn’t  be  nearly  as  far.      she  wouldn’t  have  the  same  level  of  fame  that  she  achieved  in  notoriety.    I  SEE  THEIR  PROGRESSION / REGRESSION  AS  INHERENTLY  LINKED .     almost  co - dependent ,    back  when  they  started .      .      

there  are  definitely  parts  of  their  history  i’d  love  to  elaborate  on ,    more  movie  and  comic  quotations  i’d   happily  point  out ,    but  i  will  leave  this  here for  now .

[noahlevinstein]

“Hi, I’m looking for TJ.” Noah spoke to the person at the counter, turning over the business card in her hands as she looked around the shop. She hadn’t been into one on her own before, usually just dragging behind Killian and not looking around much. But TJ was a compelling (and hot) salesman so she couldn’t help but take him up on his offer. “I’m here to let you convert me,” she joked as he came out of the back and she gave him a sweet smile. “You know I’m clueless so..please guide me through this.”

@tjclarke