#ouat knightrook

[dinneratgrannys]

ONCE UPON A TIME 7.13, Knightfall

[moistvonlipwig]

OUAT Week Day 3: Favorite Origin Story

My mother used to sing it to me and my brother. And then she died, and my father abandoned us, and I didn't hear anything like it again. That's how I know a lullaby.

It's a longstanding theatrical tradition for Captain Hook, in productions of Peter Pan, to be played by the very same actor who plays George Darling. This duality between fairytale villain and father figure is realized in Once Upon a Time's seventh season, where we discover the backstory of the Wish Realm's version of Killian Jones.

Killian's abandonment at his father's hands was revealed to be the core trauma at the heart of his character in Season 2, and we saw said abandonment as well as Killian's consequent murder of his father and abandonment of Liam II play out in Season 5, but it's only in Season 7 that we learn anything about his mother. In contrast to Brennan, the elder Alice stayed with Killian and Liam "as long as she could," and it is ultimately her example, not his father's, that Killian chooses to follow when faced with a choice between his revenge and his newborn child.

Killian was set up as a failed father figure back in 2.22 "And Straight On 'til Morning," when he bonded with Baelfire, even lamenting his own father's abandonment of him to the boy, only to turn around and sell him to Pan. Just like his father, and just like the "crocodile" he loathed so much, he put himself and his desires above a child who needed him. Thus, Killian remembering his mother's example and choosing baby Alice over his life as a vengeful pirate in 7.07 "Eloise Gardener," and his subsequent moment of weakness in 7.13 "Knightfall" where he makes the opposite choice and is severed him from her entirely, is the final piece of the puzzle of his origin story, the beginning of his slow, difficult, yet necessary crawl out of villainy and into becoming a truly good father.

OUAT's choice to bring back Wish Hook in Season 7 was arguably a rather silly and contrived way to keep Colin O'Donoghue on the show without having to break up Storybrooke Hook and Emma. But Wish Killian's backstory as a father who loved and lost his daughter due to his own mistakes and is trying to get back to her more than justifies the contrivance, and establishes him as a clever adaptation of the Captain Hook/George Darling dichotomy and, what's more, as a great character in his own right.

[priscilla9993]

Some days were harder than others, being a first time parent and learning through trial and error, but having a baby stuck in a tower left him with less options than most. Killian wished on the days that Alice cried from something he couldn’t predict, he could have brought her outside, lulled her to sleep from the sounds of birds chirping, leaves from trees rustling, and waves overlapping themselves. However, he felt fortunate that the tiny tot’s wailing calmed whenever he rocked her in his arms and started a familiar tune. He didn’t mind singing her old lullabies from his childhood, almost bringing back to the present the way his mother’s soft lilt and ginger curls mesmerized him as she tucked him and Liam in. Some of the words were lost and forgotten to time, but the way Alice cooed, yawned, and wrapped her hand around his finger told him his singing carried enough. (Didn't know where in my fics to put this or if I should make a short one dedicated to Killian figuring out how to take care of a baby, so I'm sending this into the world in case I never use it)

[justanoutlawfic]

Curse or no curse, he is wrapped around her finger.

[herhookedhero]

I kinda find it amusing that I have all these Colin photos from OUAT Burbank con I never posted about.

Honestly I forgot I took them. I found out my dog died at the con and was a wreck that day. I have the world’s saddest photo op because I told Colin and Rose about it right before the photo was taken. We were standing waiting for something and Rose asked me how I was doing. Colin grabbed me into the biggest hug ever right after the photo was taken and then Rose. It was the sweetest thing.

[hecckyeah]

so far I literally could not care less about OUAT season 7 EXCEPT for hook and alice

unbreakable father daughter bonds that transcend worlds and realities and curses my absolute BELOVED

[lumadreamland]

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (25 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

A few weeks later…

Killian could now guess almost exactly when the pain would start, as determined by how long he’d been away from Alice. A fortnight allowed him to get within sight of the blue spires as the curse’s grip slowly tightened around his heart. One month, and he could stand at the tower’s base and gaze upward longingly with only mild discomfort. Six weeks, and he could make half the climb before the knives commenced their assault. Before now, he hadn’t had the self-discipline to test anything longer.

This time, as he climbed in the darkness of near-dawn, his still-healing hand threatened to give out before his heart even felt the first tentative prick of a blade. But his determination drove him higher, and yearning anticipation drowned out all physical concerns.

Alice knew better than to watch him climb. Her proximity as he reached the high window would put him in danger of falling, or even being flung outwards into space as he’d done in her premonitory nightmare before he’d even been cursed. So she waited against the far wall, anxious eyes watching for his first appearance, which always propelled her into an excited bounce--the only way to contain the longing energy that would otherwise have launched her forward into an ill-advised attempt at a hug.

Today was no different, and as Killian pulled himself up to catch his first glimpse of his impatiently waiting daughter, Alice let out a little squeal of relieved delight. Panting, Killian leaned against the wall to catch his breath, flashing her a bright smile as he fumbled for Mandible’s potion in the satchel slung over his shoulder. Alice grinned back with a wave, still bouncing on the balls of her feet and watching apprehensively as one decorative ceremonial cloth fluttered to the floor, followed by a second animal-skin wrapping. He could see tears glistening on her face, and the lump constricting his own throat made choking down the potion absurdly difficult.

Almost immediately, the stabbings slowed, the knives retreated, and Killian’s rib cage could expand freely as he drew a huge, satisfying lungful of air. He downed the last mouthful of tangy liquid, carefully replaced the stopper--he planned to fill the vial with water several times to be sure he extracted every last second of its offered reprieve--and then took a single eager step forward. Alice took that as her cue and was across the room and in his arms before he had even completed a second step.

“Alice…” Killian breathed, squeezing her tight as he’d done so often in his dreams.

“Papa!” cried Alice in almost the same instant, and they both laughed and sobbed and held each other as if nothing would ever drive them apart again.

Killian soaked in every last detail of that hug: the way she felt in his arms, her warmth and surprising strength as she squeezed him back, the sound of her emotional whimpers of laughter as she was overwhelmed by the same heart-wrenching delight that also coursed through his veins. The flowery scent of her hair. The unexpected height of her head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and committed it all to memory.

“Papa…” whispered Alice brokenly.

“Yes, Starfish?” Killian placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“I… I’m not sure I can let go.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and disappeared into her shining crown of gold. “Nor am I, love. I’ve missed you… more than words can tell.”

Alice sniffed, then tilted her head back to look up at him. She gave him a watery smile, saying,

“Let’s pretend… let’s pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist. It will always be today, forever and ever. Would… that be all right?”

Choking back a sob, Killian nodded. “Of course.”

He wanted to expand upon that, to offer reassurance or somehow lend credence to the fantasy, but found he could not speak as frustration and grief boiled over. A single day was not nearly enough, and it was so terribly unfair that they had to spend their limited time together dreading the unfeeling approach of sunset. With a trembling hand, he reached up and began to stroke Alice’s hair, wrestling back all of the negativity, refusing to let it spoil this one precious day.

“I can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten!” he exclaimed, tone only slightly crazed. “Slow it down, would you? I can’t have you looking down on me one day and pointing out every new silver hair that crops up.”

Alice laughed shyly, finally and reluctantly pulling away, but entwining her fingers with his and gripping tightly. She looked down at herself, then gave an innocent shrug. “Sorry, Papa; I’ve decided to become a giant when I grow up. You’ll just have to make do.”

Killian grinned at her, sincere and encouraging. “Not to worry, Starfish; I’ll be proud of you, whatever you become.”

Alice wiped her face with her sleeve, looked him up and down, and frowned slightly. “Have you been eating properly? You look dreadfully skinny.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oi, cheeky, would you rather I have a gut full of whale blubber? It would be very hard to climb the rigging of the Jolly Roger hauling that lot around.”

Alice’s laughter still contained a hint of concern, and Killian sighed. Perceptive, his daughter.

“I’m all right love; I give you my word. I had a… minor illness not long ago, but as you can see, I’m good as new now.” He glanced around the only surroundings she’d ever known, taking in the condition of her prison and noting with love the obvious attempts she’d made to make the place presentable for him. “And what about you? Not up late reading every night, I hope?”

“Papa!” Alice rolled her eyes at him. He waited for a proper reply, mock sternness completely undermined by the loving grin on his lips. Giggling, she relented. “I’ve been good, I promise. You would be proud.”

Killian couldn’t resist pulling her into another embrace. “I am, love. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Can’t fathom where it came from, considering what a buffoon you have for a father.”

“Oh, Papa…”

He had meant it as a bit of lighthearted self-deprecation--a reference to his recent scrape with Blackbeard and his monkeys, perhaps--but suddenly, the weight of his true misdeeds pressed down upon him with full force. Gently, he extricated himself and stepped back so he could look her straight in her eyes. Using his hook to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, he choked out,

“Can you ever forgive me, Alice?”

She looked completely mystified, and when it took him a moment to continue past his emotions, she asked,

“Forgive you? For what?”

He looked at the floor, recalling with painful clarity the instant the curse had been revealed. “The witch was right. It’s entirely my fault my heart was poisoned. I wasn’t thinking about anything but my own worthless, stubborn pride. I neglected my responsibility to you. I even had a whole night to consider the fact that I was risking my death for nothing more than my bloody reputation, and I still chose to be reckless and selfish. I’m so sorry, love. I’m only cursed because I’m a damn fool, and I’ve forced you to share in the consequences.”

There were tear stains on Alice’s face when he managed to meet her eyes again, but she squeezed his hand, then surged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“It’s okay, Papa. I forgive you.”

Still wracked by shame, Killian cradled her head against his heart. “You do?”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she reminded him simply, and he knew he would never forget the complex mix of relief, guilt, pride, and overwhelming love that filled him from head to toe at her quiet statement. It did not completely unburden his heart; nothing ever would until he found a way to permanently break the curse. But a noticeable weight did lift with Alice’s sincere offering of grace.

“I love you,” she said, and he only just managed to choke out,

“I love you too, Alice.” He cleared his throat and struggled to gather his composure. “Thank you for being so understanding. I give you my solemn vow that you are my entire focus, from now on. I won’t stop until I free you, or cure this heart for good.”

“I know.” Alice managed to look hopeful then, despite the number of months that had already passed with no progress on either count. She took her father by the hand again and pulled him farther into the room than he’d dared venture since his magical banishment.

“How about a game before breakfast?” she suggested as she led him to the chess board, which had already been neatly arranged, minus two meaningful missing pieces. She produced her white knight from a pocket in her apron; Killian did likewise with his black rook. As two equally faded pieces joined their more vibrant counterparts, Killian said,

“I would like nothing more, Starfish. But I must warn you, I may be a bit out of practice.”

They both took their accustomed places. Alice scoffed teasingly. “That’s only an excuse for when you inevitably lose.”

“Is that so? Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

Alice giggled, considered him for a moment, then made her first move. And for just that single moment, tomorrow did, indeed, cease to exist.

[wicked-storybrooke]

Gothel knew so much about Alice and Killian's lives in the tower. But how? I can't stop imagining her hovering in the air and peeping over the windowsill or through one of those scooby doo-style portraits with eyes. Or maybe she was on the ceiling the whole time :O!

My best guess is that she communicated to Alice through her dreams or could telepathically gather information that way. Or it could be that she's just telepathic at all times, as she seems to have the psionic ability to control minds (like the Desk Sergeant).

What do you think is most likely @fairytalepsuedonym ?

[ouatnextgen]

Character Profile: Alice

(As a brief reminder, I changed who Alice's parents are for this AU...and I changed them again, so now she's Emma and Killian's kid, Hope's twin sister)

Name: Alice Matilda Swan-Jones

Other names: Al (by her friends)

Alli (by her friends)

Love (by Robyn)

Tower Girl (by Robyn)

Lass (by Killian)

Starfish (by Killian)

Baby Girl (by Emma)

Kid (by Emma)

Age: Sixteen

Height: 5’5

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Blue

Gender: Cis Female (she/her)

Face Claim: Rose Reynolds

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Species: Human

Father: Killian Jones

Mother: Emma Swan

Sibling(s): Henry Mills (paternal half-brother)

Hope Swan-Jones (twin sister)

Other Family: Prince David “Charming” Nolan (maternal grandfather)

Queen Snow-White (maternal grandmother)

Prince Leo Nolan (maternal uncle)

Prince Benjamin Nolan (maternal uncle)

Brennan Jones (paternal grandfather)

Alice Jones I (paternal grandmother)

Liam Jones (paternal uncle)

Liam Jones II (paternal uncle)

Occupation: The Savior (all), student at Storybrooke High (Storybrooke)

Home: Storybrooke (born), Misthaven (briefly), Wonderland (briefly)

Favorite Color: Turquoise

Songs: Paradise- Coldplay || Runaway- Aurora || Birds- Imagine Dragons

Powers and abilities: Light Magic 

Weapons: None

Likes: Robyn Hood

Birthday: April 18th, 2015

Zodiac: Aries (Brave, willful, productive, humanitarian, moody, impulsive, impatient, assertive)

Personality Type: INFJ (Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Judging)

Alice tends to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination. Her inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide her in all things.

Description: Alice means “noble” in German. She has blonde hair like her mother, and blue eyes like her father, as well as his facial features.

[piraterefrigerator]

I am officially learning to play chess after many years of existence and I am head empty no thoughts only Knightrook thank you for coming to my ted talk

[aquaheartgirl]

Attention fellow OUAT fans! Specifically Hook, Alice, and Knightrook fans!

I’m selling my authentic rook prop (with COA) from season 7. I love this piece, but I need the space and the money more.

The auction ends next Monday 2/27 around 9:30 pm EST. Don’t miss out! :)

[moistvonlipwig]

OUAT Week Day 5: Favorite parallel(s)

Here's a riddle for you.

Once upon a time, there was a man. A father, to be precise, who loved his child with all his heart. The child's mother had left, so the father was the only parent the child had left. One day the father met a man, a pirate, who mocked him for his softness and weakness, for that is what the pirate thought being a loving father was: soft and weak. But the pirate was not unreasonable; he gave the father the chance to prove him wrong. He challenged the father to a duel. But, of course, such a venture was risky, as the father's child was waiting for him back home, and needed him to come home safe.

What did the father say? Did he say no?

Or did he say yes?

When we first meet Killian Jones in 2.04 "The Crocodile," he takes on the role of the pirate in the story above: the tormentor who believes that putting your child first is worthy of scorn. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants," he declares, "deserves what he gets" -- an impressive bit of rhetorical theatre that erases the very personhood of Milah and Baelfire both, instead constructing a world that revolves around the figure of the "man" and his success or failure to live up to a hyper-individualist and violent ideal of masculinity. No one else figures into the equation -- not women and certainly not children. To even consider putting fatherhood before being "a man," in Killian's worldview, is nothing but weakness.

By the time 7.13 "Knightfall" rolls around, Killian is now in the role of the father in the story, faced with the choice to duel a pirate and affirm his masculinity through meaningless violence or to go straight home to Alice and free her from the tower without risking his life first. It is no accident that he finds himself in the same situation he once put Rumpelstiltskin in so many years ago. Rather, it is a necessary step in his journey of redemption, growth, and healing.

Like so many other villains and former villains on Once Upon a Time, Killian was once a victim of other people's actions, but over time he has become his own worst enemy. Therefore, it is himself and his own false ideology that he must defeat in order to progress on his journey. So while Captain Ahab is not literally Killian, the way the Split Evil Queen is literally half of Regina or Wish Rumple is literally a version of Rumple, he is metaphorically Killian, and specifically Killian from "The Crocodile."

Captain Ahab makes metatextual sense as a mirror-Killian. Melville's Ahab was a direct inspiration for Barrie's Captain Hook -- in their source texts, both captains lose limbs to sea creatures and dedicate their lives to pursuing revenge against the ones they blame for this loss. And Captain Ahab's name is practically synonymous with obsession and revenge in popular culture. Ahab is revenge made flesh, the originator of the legacy of vengeance and violence that all Captain Hooks are heir to, here to tempt Killian into undoing the work he did in 7.07 "Eloise Gardener" to give up his revenge and his old pirate life behind for the sake of his child.

"Eloise Gardener" is a major turning point for Killian, arguably the biggest one possible. It is the moment where he chooses Alice over his quest for revenge, and in doing so rejects the version of himself who sold Baelfire to Pan, who orphaned and abandoned Liam II, who hated his father and Rumpelstiltskin so much that (as Bae put it) he didn't even realize he had become just like them. In this moment, he chooses not to continue down the path of becoming like his father, instead choosing to identify himself with his mother, who stayed with him "as long as she could." He names his daughter after her; he sings the same lullaby to his infant child that she used to sing to him; he promises to follow her example in staying with his child. He breaks the cycle he's been trapped in for literal centuries.

But that is not the end of the story. Just as Regina choosing Henry over the curse in the 3.09 "Save Henry" flashbacks was not the end of her story. She still had a lot to learn. And so, at this point, does Killian.

Thus, when faced with the same choice Rumple was faced with all those years ago, Killian chooses wrong. Unlike Rumple, he does not swallow his pride and go home to his child, even as Wish Rumple begs and cajoles him to do just that. Wish Rumple has his own self-serving reasons for not wanting Killian to accept the duel, but it is hard not to see him as an echo of the past, urging Killian to make the same choice he himself once made. But Killian doesn't listen. He accepts the duel, choosing the path set for him by Ahab -- his mirror-self, the reflection of the man he once was, his own false ideology that he has yet to truly reckon with. And it costs him everything.

Although he does not die in the duel, the way Rumple surely would have if he'd accepted Killian's challenge, Alice still loses him. A tiny graze from Ahab's bullet permanently poisons his heart and makes it impossible for Killian to stay with his daughter the way he once promised to. It is a profound cruelty on Gothel's part, but perhaps the cruelest part of it is that Killian, like all great tragic heroes, did it to himself. He chose to risk never coming home to his daughter, and that choice in itself ensured he never would. His own twisted ideology has failed him, and he has been forced to confront just how wrong and empty it truly is.

But this is not the end of the story, either. Indeed, in its own way, it is a kind of new beginning. For all that the curse of the poisoned heart is an awful thing for Killian and Alice to endure, Killian's experience with the duel does ultimately change him for the better. Not instantly, for it is hard to change without a support system, especially when you are suffering; but once he has people who have his back, he is able to take the lesson he's learned to heart. What is that lesson? That there is nothing in the world that matters more than one's child; that cleaving children from good parents who love them is nothing but petty cruelty; that being a good father is more important than being "a man" who is willing to "fight for what he wants"; that what he did to Rumple centuries ago was wrong.

Once Killian has learned this lesson, he can overcome his own previous failings as a sort of anti-father figure (or in other words, a Captain Hook -- George Darling's other face, a man whom "no little children love"). Instead of separating families and orphaning children, Killian helps keep families together. He abandons his plan to replace expectant father Storybrooke Hook in 7.02 "A Pirate's Life"; he helps reunite Zelena with Robin Jr. in 7.11 "Secret Garden"; he defends Regina's decision to cast the curse to save Henry in 7.10 "The Eighth Witch"; and, perhaps most touchingly, he gives Jacinda the white elephant to keep her and Lucy together in that same episode, sacrificing his own chance at a life with Alice to do so.

He becomes a living embodiment of loving fatherhood, surpassing not just his past self and his own father but Rumpelstiltskin as well. Indeed, in 7.22 "Leaving Storybrooke", he dies redeeming Rumpelstiltskin's greatest betrayal of Baelfire -- Killian keeps hold of Alice's hand while a portal threatens to separate them even as her very touch kills him, in sharp contrast to Rumple's series-defining moment in 1.19 "The Return" when he lets go of Bae's hand for fear of losing his power. Rumple, in turn, dies redeeming Killian's greatest transgression against Alice -- he gives Killian his heart to replace the one Killian poisoned with his choice to duel Ahab. Rumple, whom Killian taunted when they first met for choosing to get home safe to his son rather than risk his life, gives his life so that Killian can get home safe to his daughter, and in doing so finally heals the wound Killian inflicted on himself all those years ago when he made the opposite choice.

It is a powerful and beautiful ending for Killian and Rumpelstiltskin both: an ending where they redeem themselves by redeeming and healing each other, where they do for Alice what neither could do for Baelfire, where they defeat the ghosts of their past selves for good and pave the way for a better future. And it was all set in motion a long, long time ago -- with a father, a pirate, and an offer to duel.

[priscilla9993]

Chess Allusions: Pawn Parallels

Rogers: “So you can use [her info] as leverage against [Belfrey]?”

Weaver: “Well that’s how this game works, Detective.”

Talking in the park, Weaver and Rogers both want the information that Tilly knows, the kind that causes Victoria to feel threatened, enough to blackmail Weaver with Tilly’s imprisonment and some CCTV footage of his misdeeds. Although both detectives covet finding and questioning Tilly for what she knows, their motives differ. 

Weaver has a “means to an end” approach, valuing Tilly only when she can be useful in his schemes. His selfish nature sides with his freedom and power over her wellbeing, and he’s okay with that. Tilly might be his informant with the ‘best eyes and ears in Hyperion Heights’, but at the end of the day, she’s replaceable, someone worth losing if it means he gains a stepping stone in the long game against taking down Victoria Belfrey.

Rogers: “Is that all this girl is to you and Belfrey? A pawn? Then why don’t we split up, since one of us actually wants to help her?”

But to Rogers, who doesn’t even know Tilly at this point, he sees Victoria and Weaver’s game as something where people win at the expense of somebody else and goes into full papa bear mode. Rogers wants to help Weaver as a partner and wage justice against Victoria, but not at the cost of using Tilly. He sees Tilly as a vulnerable person caught in the crossfire of a game they didn’t even know they were playing, rather than a soldier in a chess match, and wants to talk to her on equal terms. 

His opinion of Tilly being a bit off kilter but innocent at heart only strengthens when Weaver, in the hospital, unexpectedly pardons her of assumed criminal charges, telling Rogers an obvious lie about a masked robber being the one who shot the gun. Upon meeting Tilly outside of the hospital room, Rogers sees a confused, distraught, and guilt ridden young woman playing a game of chess alone. He tells her the facts with a kind opinion, “Look, you weren’t in your right frame of mind. He doesn’t blame you.” They build up an acquaintance and the budding start of a camaraderie over chess.

However, this all changes when the monster that is Gothel/the fire nation arrives Eloise Gardener gets into the playing field. Victoria and Drizella play cat and mouse, Weaver uses Tilly in a game of lies, and Rogers tries to make sense of things, inadvertently rescuing Gothel, the big bad spider.

Rogers to Weaver: You lied! And you made Tilly lie. Why did you do that?!

Weaver: Because you don't know what's going on around here... But I did it for one reason: to protect you from your bloody self.

(gratuitous physical violence scene bc I love the dynamic)

What Rumple could mean by ‘bloody self’ could be that Rogers lets his temper cloud his judgment first before he goes seeking revenge on/fighting for justice for those who deserve it most. I think that's where Rumple sees the most Killian come out from the supposed "Eagle Scout" detective, stubborn and determined to stick to his guns until he gets to his desired conclusion, which in this case is finding Eloise Gardener (Gothel). 

Rogers defends Tilly, despite only meeting her a few times, going so far as to bodyslam Weaver as he confronts him. However, he loses his respect for her after finding Eloise, where no explanation could outweigh the cost.

Rogers: What do you want?

Tilly: To say I’m sorry about the page. Weaver said it was for the best and I can’t always figure that out for myself.

Rogers: Take a look at what he was covering up. Now tell me, was that for the best? You know what? I understand. I’m just disappointed. You weren’t the person I thought you were.

Rogers is a man of many things, holding grudges being one of them and being rational in the other. The blonde informant had gone so far as to even lie to him about Eloise, dead of all things. As much as he wanted to forgive Tilly, he didn’t know if he could.

At the end of the day, in Rogers’s mind, Eloise needed help, rescue, and emergency aid, something that only happened because of his deep obsession with finding a missing girl from a cold case. And Tilly deterred him from saving a life, unintentional or not.

Roni: “Henry told me about how Weaver used that girl, Tilly.”

Rogers: “Well, it seems to me like she wanted to be a pawn.”

Rogers feels his trust was betrayed and remains disappointed in Tilly. He saw Weaver being a shady bastard from a mile away, but he didn’t expect her to be complicit in Weaver’s dirty schemes. He wanted to believe Tilly was the kind of person who questioned whatever she was told and made her own path on decisions like he did, not so easily roped into following plans, especially ones of slimy bastards like Weaver. If Rogers saw Tilly as an innocent victim of society before, moved around like a pawn, he feels wronged in his judgment and probably thinks she was content to be a sheep to Weaver’s mysterious whims. 

Who was he to believe she could be more than a pawn when she chose to be one?

Luckily, Roni was there to whack the obviously menacing poisoned cake from his hands and knock some sense into him.

Regina as Roni: “You know, people only let themselves be used when they don’t have any other option. How about you give her one?”

Tilly, even if a marmalade sandwich was needed as incentive, had been willingly helpful to his case. The only moment she hadn’t been was when she was under Weaver’s thumb, someone she had known and trusted like a father figure, unlike him who was a stranger in her eyes. People came and went from the older detective’s team, knowledge of informants and detective partners leaving frequently unless they had a special skill set or blackmail hanging over them. If anything, she wasn’t fully to blame.

What Tilly and Rogers can't see until it's too late, being cursed and all, is that they are good natured people afraid of getting hurt, wanting to help others, but unfortunately victims of manipulation, of those with ulterior agendas that use them as playing pieces, making them no better than pawns. 

Roni was right. People like Tilly wouldn’t let themselves be used like pawns if they didn’t have any other option. She had been brave enough to show up to the crime scene to apologize to him in person after what she did, not caring about being forgiven, and he hadn’t even given what she had said a second thought. Knowing Weaver, Rogers would have concluded that the old bastard probably didn’t even give her the entire picture and used her good intentions in an ill manner befitting the man’s deceitful ways, leading her to think it was for the best. 

This leads to Rogers making a step in the right direction. It doesn’t take more than Roni’s small nudge of advice to get him to internally forgive Tilly and go in search of her, eventually offering a chess set to help pass the time with a weekly game and a friend who’d listen if she’d accept. From then on, Rogers and Tilly both grow and begin to trust again, trying to protect the other from getting harmed as the consequence of another’s scheme.

[hecckyeah]

absolutely insane how deeply this hook & alice thing moved me, like. it had no right being that adorable and making me feel so many feelings

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (1 of 24?)

AO3 link Summary: After eight months spent separated from his daughter, trying every potential cure imaginable, Killian's heart is still poisoned and burdened with his every failure. An alleged cure leads him into an ambush and a grueling detour he did not plan on taking. Unlikely new allies offer a small glimmer of hope, but will it be worth all of the trouble in the end?

Chapter 1 notes: I've been working on this on and off (mostly off) for the past four years. Apparently pandemics turn me off of fiction for whatever reason? But I made a few breakthroughs earlier this year and finally believe I'll be able to finish this one! It's a little strange, but it is the wish realm after all ;) The first couple of scenes and cure idea are based on a dream I had, and later scenes were inspired by a segment of the TV show "What on Earth," where they featured a particular location and basically described it as a whumper's paradise XD I'll reveal the location in a note later on, once it becomes relevant. No sexual whump in this story, but plenty of emotional and physical pain for Killian, and healing methods appropriate to the time period, for the most part haha. Enjoy!

*****

No reasonable person would classify this as bread anymore, or anything even resembling it. Killian Jones would have brushed the whole quest off as a lost cause, except for the fact that the ceremonial cloth was exactly as described: woven, dyed, embroidered with specific patterns and symbols, and folded neatly. Or had been, until he had dug it up and peeled it open. In the early morning light, the contents of the cloth resting on his open palm looked like nothing more than a handful of powdery, gray dirt, or perhaps a rare variety of fine-grained sand he had once encountered on his travels. Grateful that very little breeze disturbed the dawn air, Killian gave the powder a dubious look as he carefully nudged it with the tip of his hook. This?! 

He felt rather foolish for having expected anything else, but in his defense, the witch doctor had called it ‘bread.’ Multiple times. 'Bread,' not 'decomposed spores of mold mixed with decades-old dust and grit.' How in blazes could this swill contain any magical properties whatsoever?

Perhaps he should expend the effort to search for another of this particular architect's buildings, one that was slightly newer. Allegedly, the designer in question performed the same ritual upon completion of every dwelling with which he had been involved. A blessing prayed over traditional flatbread, later buried against the south-facing foundation, would, according to this man's system of beliefs, bestow health and happiness on its occupants. And if consumed, its remnants could supposedly cure any ailment... including a poisoned heart.

That was all assuming that the local witch doctor could be trusted. And Killian had felt doubt about that even before digging up the handful of dusty crumbs he now sat examining. But he would try anything, no matter how unlikely, and eating dirt was hardly the worst thing he'd done in pursuit of a cure.

Hardtack in any variety was a challenge to swallow on its own; this powder would likely be doubly so. Good thing he'd come prepared... or had he? Killian laid the cloth on the ground by his knee, moving with extra caution, as if it held a gram of the world's most valuable spice instead of worm dung. Then he dug his flask from its pocket and gave it a shake. The damn thing tended to run on the empty side these days, for some reason. But no, from the sound and heft of it, it contained plenty of cheap liquor to do the deed.

As he popped the cork with an easy, practiced motion, Killian thought briefly of the mirror tucked away in an inside pocket. It would be significantly more fun if Alice could watch and laugh at the disgusted faces he would surely be making in the near future. And of course, he would put on a show for her, exaggerating his expressions in hopes of drawing out that sparkling grin which was becoming more and more endangered a sight within the confines of the beechwood-framed oval of reflective glass. But at this hour of the day, she would be tucked away, safe and sound in the bed he’d planned on enlarging soon, under blankets that probably needed patching, dressed in a nightgown too short for her blossoming figure…

He hoped she was there, at any rate. Listening to her body's needs and the common sense he'd attempted to instill in her, not reading half the night by the fire, which seemed to be her preference in situations lacking supervision. Not pacing, unable to quell her nightmares on her own, dealing with the same doubts keeping him awake most nights, forced to face a horrific reality that no one deserved, much less an innocent of her young age.

No. Alice was happily asleep right now, enjoying wonderful dream-adventures with the characters in her books that she loved so much, and it would be irresponsible of him to wake her for such a frivolous thing, no matter how desperately he longed to see her with every pulse of blood through his veins. Besides, though the dwelling beside him appeared unoccupied, he was technically trespassing. Probably stealing as well, so silence was the preferred soundtrack to this far-fetched hope.

Killian gathered a pinch of powdery grit and shoved it into his mouth, licking his fingers clean as bitter dust stuck to the roof of his mouth. A flavor faintly reminiscent of rancid goat's milk flooded his sinuses, and if there was magic there, he couldn't feel it.

As a young sailor, Killian had not always been fortunate enough to have anything other than filthy water with which to attempt to wash down the taste of moldering rations. He reflected upon this as he took a swig from his flask, then drizzled a measure of alcohol out upon the waiting breadcrumbs. A nasty paste would be easier to manage than fingerfuls of powder, and he feared the risk of losing the reported curative benefits if he missed any of the residue.

As he continued to choke down the supposed cure, Killian allowed himself to imagine their reunion and a sampling of the scenes that would take place.

They had 1 birthday and 262 unbirthdays to celebrate. Hugs to catch up on--those were harder to calculate, but must be well over 3000 by now. In between, he would share the properly embellished tale of how he’d achieved a cure for his heart, and gladly listen to plentiful imaginary exploits Alice had concocted to pass the time. And neither of them would ever again complain about their life trapped in the tower, because now they both knew how much worse it could get.

As a swig of burning liquid chased another mouthful of grainy mold dust, the distant rumble of hoofbeats drifted in from the direction of the road. Killian hunched closer to the building’s foundation, checking to be sure that no light source glinted off his hook, attracting attention. The road lay on the opposite side of the building from where he crouched, so in all likelihood, the approaching riders would travel past before noticing any hint of his presence.

But then a shiver of foreboding climbed his spine: the horses were slowing. Killian hastily shoved the remainder of the paste into his mouth and crumpled the cloth into a pocket, gagging and rising to his feet just as heavy boots dropped to the ground at the dwelling's front entrance. In a desperate attempt to clear the clay now sticking to the roof of his mouth, he drained the flask of its remaining contents, all while sidling along the wall toward the back garden and cover.

“Fan out,” commanded a stern male voice from amidst the new arrivals, and more boots trod the unkempt property. Several pairs in his direction. Whoever these men were, whatever they sought, they would see a running man as a guilty party to be chased, captured by force, perhaps even fired upon should they have pistols in their possession. So Killian took a steadying breath, suppressed an urge to hack up the sandy liquor burning the back of his throat, and dropped to his knees on the hard ground. 

Gods, he had to stop doing things like that; he did not have the body of a 30-year-old anymore. Fortunately, unlike the now-aching joints in his legs and back, his mind had retained its ability to work quickly. Just as three armored soldiers rounded the corner, Killian dug hand and hook into the dirt, pulling great handfuls aside to support the cover story he’d just invented.

The soldiers spotted him immediately and advanced with swords drawn, one holding a lantern to counteract the misty gray of early morning. 

“Let's see those hands,” another called menacingly. Killian obeyed, sitting back on his haunches and rolling his head from side to side as if experiencing a stiff neck. He allowed them to see his empty hand and his hook as he flashed a disarming grin.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Bit of a nippy one, isn’t it? Suppose we're coming to the end of the fishing season once again.”

The soldiers continued forward through his rambling, none of them showing any sign of relaxing. As the hook became more visible in the lantern light, the men exchanged glances. Killian noticed but decided to ignore it and continue to play the hapless fool.

“Not one sign of a single bloody nightcrawler, either. Do you reckon it's too cold for them already?”

The trio had now formed a triangle around him, a cautious distance away with swords at the ready. The one holding the lantern turned his face in the direction from which they'd come and shouted,

“Commander! We have him.”

Killian let his puzzlement show; if he were not mistaken, it sounded as if they were looking specifically for him. But how could that be? No one knew where he was, except perhaps the witch doctor, but even she couldn't have known the exact dwelling he would select for the experiment.

Killian kept up the charade of innocence. “Is there something I can help you lads with?”

Lantern smirked as he watched his commander appear around the corner. "Just sit there and don't cause a fuss…. Captain Hook."

Killian snorted a polite laugh, hoping it disguised his worry. “Nice one. Not the first time I've heard it.” He kept a wary eye on the swaggering officer, adding, “Although would you believe it, not everyone is joking when they say it? Which is absurd, of course. Who in their right minds... I'd have to be, what, 300 years old or thereabouts?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow, grinning up at the men surrounding him as if expecting them to laugh along with him and agree that those people were idiots.

The commander stopped a few paces in front of the group, holding a second lantern, although it was becoming less necessary as sunrise approached. He did not bother to draw his sword.

“Surrender your weapons,” came the imperious command. Slowly, Killian reached down and withdrew the small, tarnished dagger that was his only method of self-defense these days, apart from his hook. He kept the non-threatening, slightly silly smile as he laid the weapon at the soldiers’ feet.

“Sorry to disappoint, mates, but I can assure you I'm not the man you're looking for. I lost my hand in a farming accident, not one crocodile scale to be seen.” He huffed a laugh and tried to look pitiable. 

The commander’s stony gaze remained unchanged. “Is the hook detachable?”

Killian unscrewed the steel from its locking mechanism but kept hold of it momentarily as he looked up at the officer.

“I do hope you’re planning to return it,” he grimaced. “It's quite useful for digging up earthworms.”

With an impatient eye roll, the commander snapped his fingers and pointed to where the dagger rested at his feet. Reluctantly, Killian tossed the hook to join the other weapon. The officer nodded at an underling, who bent to take possession of both items.

“You can drop the charade. It will get you nowhere. Regardless of your identity as the Captain Hook of legend or merely a successor to the title, you are wanted for questioning concerning an illegal duel that took place some months back.”

Killian felt a shudder of fear rattle his insides; he'd hoped the matter would have blown over by now. 

“Preposterous,” he scoffed. “Do I look like the sort of fellow who would take part in something so unsavory?”

“The other party has been apprehended and is more than willing to identify you in person.” The man sneered. Then he addressed the second lantern-bearer. “Get him to his feet and search him for concealed weapons.”

Killian was gripped by the armpits and hauled up, shoulders and back protesting the harsh treatment. He knew that further lies wouldn't help at this point; neither would attempts to plead his case. So he kept quiet as rough hands patted him down and searched his pockets. They found his flask--"Bit early for this, isn't it?" taunted one, to which he replied tightly, "What's the old saying? It isn't early if you've never stopped?"--his treasured black rook, and the mirror.

The soldier who had found the mirror, who couldn't have been much more than sixteen, held it up with a leer.

“What's this for? An old man like you can't have a great deal to be vain about.”

Killian didn't want to attach too much importance to the item, for that would increase the temptation to destroy it out of spite. So he shrugged and explained,

“Just an old heirloom. Sentimental value only.”

The boy stashed it with the rest of Killian's confiscated belongings, and though he wasn't particularly careful, the glass seemed to remain intact. Killian could feel his heart pounding and cursed the fact that his one remaining link with Alice had to be so fragile.

“That appears to be all, sir.”

“Very good, soldier.” Their commander stood impassive, adding, “Now, as we discussed…”

Behind Killian came a brief clanking of armor. But before he even had the chance to guess at its meaning, the noise was drowned out by a resounding crack that rattled his teeth in their sockets, an explosion of colorful starbursts behind his eyes, a single heartbeat of crushing pain, and then a dizzying drop into black silence.