#plus i got a fancy new keyboard from my sister and i really want to try it out :)

[faynthearted]

any short christmas prompt requests, anyone?

edit: requests now closed! :)

[bejaeyoung]

hello everyone!

this is velvet (beyuwol) with a second muse!! sorry for the incredibly late intro i have no excuse (got and started my first 9 to 5 job after i sent my reserve in so that was perfect timing all around!) so i will just continue on with introducing my new guy.

he’s song jaeyoung jay! pls call him jay he’s trying to get rid of his name as a whole LMAO. and because i haven’t finished his pages underneath the cut i’ll have a few tidbits about him plus plot ideas. woo!

what do they always say? right! LIKE THIS POST if you’d like to plot and i’ll cha cha slide right into your ims. i also have discord / twitter upon request so feel free to ask for those too. on with the circus show!

TRIVIA

born to politicians who have gotten used to using what influence they have for their own favours and he grew up in a rather toxic household

his sister is hannaxbe and he’s the only one he loves under that roof, would fight lions for her

grew up to be a reckless and impulsive child. his parents can’t be assed to figure out how to parent so they’d often drop him off at their family friend’s orphanage because they thought he would learn something from being around other children

ended up loving being there more than he does at home. would go along with them to charity performances, would grow up loving to perform for the children, that’s where he fell in love with music as a whole really

parents are still terrible politicians, they’d try to hone his skills so he’d look like the perfect child but he refuses to join any of their corrupt companies and kept up with charity performances (which they let him because it ‘makes the family look good’ but that pisses him off too)

currently a criminal justice major even tho his parents want him to be a politician too

became an underground producer called PROD. J! would have loved collabing with people and even being a ghost writer for anyone tbh. tho the latter he would be picky about

is also a vtuber on youtube! has a separate channel for that. sometimes he uploads song covers too, but it’s mostly a gaming channel. there’s a specific date where he uploads song covers tho

his vtuber vibes would be mostly like watarai hibari or claude clawmark both from njsj if you know them

his brain runs 10 miles per hour and he likes making people laugh even though he looks like an emo boy and refuses to cut his hair

would also draw notes on walls and floors if he’s suddenly hit with inspiration so there’s that too. dwbi

may come off as arrogant at times… he doesn’t mean to be sometimes he just talks

he’s… kinda lonely but never acknowledges that!!!!

wears headphones wherever he goes

PLOT IDEAS

friends he might have made from the orphanage!

in that same vein ^ childhood friends. the only ones who still call him jaeyoung probably lol

gaming friends/streamer friends that he would’ve collabed with as a vtuber

people who might have commissioned his underground producer services, he could ghostwrite too tbh

people who watches his vtubing streams and figured out that the weirdo drawing on walls is the guy behind the model LMAO

highschool friends! would’ve known his identity as underground producer & vtuber from the get go

trainee friends that he can bother and convince to sneak out and let loose and have a bit of fun training isn’t all there is to life!

well he’s kind of annoying so i’m sure there will be people out there who don’t click with his rather eccentric vibe… but might wanna work with him solely for his music capabilities?

someone who thinks he’s wasting his potential by being a… weirdo

someone who might’ve caught him in one of the charity performances and oh! he’s not that bad…? thought he was just like his infamous parents!

someone who knew him from his family name / thru fancy events / nepobaby connections. could be negative or positive!

he can play the guitar & piano/keyboard too for those who wanna have jam sessions!

flings. would be kinda messy only bc jay is a messy bitch

if you have ideas of your own pls hmu bc i love brainstorming too!!

[laurawritesandgames]

For Beetlelands Week 2020

Title: Write Like the Wind

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: T

Ships: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara

Prompt: One Bed

Summary: Adam wants to do something for nerd-kind now that he has ghostly powers. Beetlejuice and Barbara help out. Spoilers for The Winds of Winter.

When Beetlejuice returned from the Netherworld, he came back powerful. Barbara wasn’t exactly sure how—the story changed with each telling. 

But he returned with enough power to teleport her and Adam pretty much anywhere he could visualize. Thanks to Google Street View, he could visualize quite a few things.

Being able to teleport was very helpful when Adam had a specific request.

The ghosts and demon appeared inside a very fancy home, with sunlight streaming in the windows. Beetlejuice was hovering between Barbara and Adam, holding their hands. Barbara suspected this wasn’t strictly part of his teleportation ability, but it was a nice excuse to hold hands.

The demon shimmered in and out briefly, wincing.

“Everything okay?” Barbara asked.

“Teleporting all the way to New Mexico is a lot. We’re definitely gonna need to stop by a bolt-hole on the way back.” According to Beetlejuice, undead travellers could recharge in places with a lot of “death energy”—graveyards, usually, or famous battlefields.

The clicking of a keyboard drew the three of them to an office where a large, grey-haired man sat in front of his computer.

Adam sucked in a breath. “There he is,” he whispered.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Sexy, you’re dead. He can’t hear you.” Sure enough, the writer hadn’t turned around at the sound of Beetlejuice’s voice.

“Oh.” Adam looked a bit disappointed. “I guess I just assumed that he’d be attuned to the supernatural. He’s a master of the sci-fi/fantasy genre! Anyway, let’s go see what he’s working on.” He crossed his fingers as the three of them huddled around the author’s computer screen.

Barbara felt a bit awkward reading over someone’s shoulder, and looked politely aside. She’d never gotten into sci-fi and fantasy the way Adam had; he’d know better than she would what they were looking at.

Her husband’s face fell. “Wild Cards?!” he spluttered. “Wild freaking Cards! I know he only edits the anthologies, but they’re a distraction!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Just write the books, George!”

“I can take over his computer and threaten to start deleting files until the books are done!” Beetlejuice crowed. “Make it seem like he’s got a computer virus!”

Adam’s gaze flicked between Beetlejuice and the author’s computer a few times.

Barbara cleared her throat.

“No, of course not,” Adam said quickly. “Thanks for saving me from myself, sweetie.” He kissed her cheek. He focused on the author, holding out his hand. “Sorry about this.”

The author stopped what he was doing. He saved then exited out of the document. Adam searched through the computer files for a moment then made the author open up a document titled The Winds of Winter.

The document opened after a few moments. ‘Want to pick up where you left off?’ Word asked helpfully, and the author clicked on it. There were a bunch of unfamiliar words and names on the page that showed up.

No sense in me reading this. Barbara decided to look around a famous author’s office. She’d expected him to have a bunch of memorabilia from the TV show, but the furnishings were really quite ordinary. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of bookshelves filled with books.

There was silence from the author, whose fingers were poised over the keyboard.

“C’mon, Sexy, get writing.” Beetlejuice hovered in mid-air, bobbing slightly. He was also eyeing the author’s office, but he was probably wondering where to put spiders.

“Er, there’s no way I can give him partial control, can I? I can’t write the next book!”

“Not how it works, newb.”

Adam sighed. “Okay. Um, my thoughts definitely won’t be his, but maybe I can make a start. Barbara, you took that course in creative writing in college, right? Do you have any tips?” Adam was an amazing man with many good qualities, but pure creativity wasn’t one of them.

“I can try, but I wasn’t writing award-winning fantasy novels back in college.” Barbara dredged up some memories of the TV show. “Maybe you should make the White Walkers show up! You know, inject some tension.”

“It’s an Arianne Martel chapter.”

Barbara had no idea what that meant. “Um…have a dragon show up?”

“I appreciate the thought, but Arianne is going to treat with Young Griff, and the entire point is that he’s a supposed Targaryen that doesn’t have dragons.”

Beetlejuice spoke up. “Have some brothers and sisters bone. Shove a little smut in there.”

“Not only does that not work in this chapter, I’m also not comfortable with that.”

“Or skip to a Dany chapter,” Barbara suggested. “I just want good things for her. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Not well.” Adam made the author pull up a Dany chapter. He watched the blinking cursor for a few moments, frowning in thought.

Beetlejuice added, “You could write a bunch of dialogue in what’s basically a white room and see where it takes you. That’s an A-plus writing strategy, right there.”

Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead. After a few more moments of intense concentration, he looked away from the computer screen.

The author shook his head, blinking a few times.

“Maybe just having the document open will prompt him to write?” Adam asked hopefully.

The author closed out of The Winds of Winter and went back to a document called Wild Cards_edits.

Adam’s shoulders slumped.

Beetlejuice hovered closer. “Just casually mentioning that we can take out the phone, snap some pics of these new chapters, and threaten to leak them if he doesn’t write the books.”

“Photos of chapters over his shoulder?” Barbara said. “That’s pretty terrifying.”

The demon chuckled darkly.

“Ah. And that was exactly the point.” Beetlejuice might have changed a lot since his return from the Netherworld, but his love of fear and chaos that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“No, Beetlejuice,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t work anyway. What kind of writing would you get if someone was bullied into it?”

“Bleh, you’re no fun. Where to next, Sexy? That Rothfuss guy?”

“Let’s just go home.”

“Have to make a quick stop first, but okay.” Beetlejuice grabbed their hands and teleported them away.

They landed in someplace pitch black. Beetlejuice lit a match of neon green fire, revealing a small underground crypt barely large enough for the three of them. Every surface was draped with dust and cobwebs. A half-open coffin showed patchy, stained velvet. If there was a door to this crypt, the match didn’t reveal it.

Beetlejuice tilted his head. “Ahhh, that’s better.” He frowned slightly, as if listening to something. Barbara couldn’t hear anything. “Yep, think it’s still sandworm free! Lemme just recharge for a while.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked.

“Nah, but I saw drawings from some ghost hunters back in the Netherworld. Ghost hunters can go topside to bring ghosts back, and they need places to rest, too.”

“So, ghost hunters are ghosts who hunt other ghosts?”

“Yeah, and they’re the worst. The Bureau of the Dead won’t let anyone go topside unless they’re a boot-licker. But it was good to know a few of their tricks when I got banished up here.”

Barbara glanced at Adam, who normally would’ve loved Netherworld lore. It wasn’t every day that Beetlejuice opened up about a place that was, in his words, “total Meh-ville.” But Adam wasn’t even listening. The gloomy atmosphere of the crypt fit his gloomy expression perfectly.

“Hey,” Barbara said softly. When Adam turned her way, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to.”

“I guess art just has to happen at its own pace. You can’t force it. I just feel bad for all the other dead readers who’ll never get to read the end of the series. All they’ll have is the TV show’s ending.” He snorted in disgust.

“Maybe you planted a seed. Who knows? Inspiration is a funny thing.”

“And there’s always fanfic,” Beetlejuice added.

“It’s not the same,” Adam said with a sigh.

“Heh, speaking of fanfic….” Beetlejuice hopped into the coffin. “Oh noooo. There’s only one bed!”

Barbara and Adam stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.

Beetlejuice huffed. “Oh, come on. None of you ever read a romance fic? Hell, a romance novel?”

“No,” Adam said.

“Not really my thing,” Barbara added. She was a fan of biographies and autobiographies of famous people, personally. “And, also? Not a bed. It’s a coffin. And sleeping in a coffin is also not my thing.”

“Jesus, so picky.” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and the coffin became their bed at home. “Get over here.” He hesitated then said, “Please.” Barbara and Adam had had conversations with him about asking instead of demanding; happily, it looked like those conversations were sticking.

Beetlejuice had just done them a huge favour, and a little cuddling might cheer Adam up. Barbara went to join Beetlejuice, shooting a questioning glance at Adam. He followed them, though he was still brooding.

She and Beetlejuice let Adam slide between them as the three sorted themselves out. (Sometimes, Beetlejuice would throw in extra limbs or a few clones just for the added challenge.) After some scooching and wriggling, Barbara’s cheek rested on Adam’s shoulder as she stroked his chest gently and held his left hand. Beetlejuice had one arm over the two of them and was, for some reason, nibbling on Adam’s hair, which sometimes became kissing the top of his head. After a while, you got used to a certain amount of weirdness.

Gradually, Adam began to relax. First, the tension left his shoulders. Then, he cracked his neck and his jaw untightened. (He’d needed to wear a mouthguard when he slept when he was alive. He was always grinding his teeth.)

“Maybe…” he murmured. “Maybe I could write the ending to the books. It’ll be fanfic, but it’ll be something, at least. I can work on that project while the Deetzes are asleep. I’ve never written fic before, but I could try. It’s not like I need to eat or sleep. And I’ve been looking for a new project ever since I finished the model.” His model of the town had a place of pride in the attic, which the Maitlands had cleaned out and repurposed into an arts and crafts room. They still kept up with their hobbies, but they had fewer now that they were busy rehabilitating Beetlejuice and parenting Lydia.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, hon.” Barbara kissed his cheek. “I’ll help however I can.”

“And I can tell you all about what fic tropes you can put in!” Beetlejuice said. “Or what fic tropes we can do ourselves.” He must’ve been thinking about some sexual ones, for he chortled and squeezed Adam’s butt. “Gotta keep the rating PG-13 for Beetlelands Week, but…you know which ones.” He winked at no one in particular, it seemed. Sometimes, he pretended he had an audience; Barbara and Adam just ignored it.

Beetlejuice moved to nuzzling Adam’s throat. After a few moments, he began patting Barbara’s hair.

Barbara giggled. “Aren’t you supposed to be recharging?”

“It’s called multitasking, baby.” Idly, he commented, “Shit, fluff is hard to end. How do you even end something that by its nature has low stakes and minimal conflict?”

What was he talking about? Barbara shrugged.

Adam thoughtfully said, “Maybe with a kiss?”

“Hah!” Barbara couldn’t help but grin when Beetlejuice laughed like that. This wasn’t an evil cackle or a dark chuckle, but an open, cheerful sound that she’d been hearing more and more since they’d started dating. “Perfect! You’re so ready to be a fic writer, Sexy!”

Beetlejuice kissed Adam on the lips, and the cuddling in a false bed in an underground crypt continued.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected, My afterlife is so weird.

But it did have its perks.

[wizard-loving-wizard]

TAZ November Celebration - Day 5 “Rockstar”

@taznovembercelebration​ 

I have a few TAZ fics in progress, so I reeeally wanted to write something for the TAZ November Celebration! Enjoy some Taakitz, some Blupjeans, and some rock ‘n’ roll shenangians. (Rating: M)

Taako was bummed. He hadn't heard from the mysterious Kravitz all day. It wasn't unheard of for Taako to allow one of his fans to enjoy his fleeting company for one night only while he was on tour, but he really liked this Kravitz. He definitely thought he'd get a call back—that's why he’d left his number on the motel nightstand.

It was a shame. Kravitz was cute, in the excessively sexy goth-punk kinda way. He was also a dorky kind of funny, and annoyingly smart. He wrote for a local music magazine (!!!) and seemed to actually love Taako’s band. (“I didn’t come here for work, by the way. Not yet. I just love your music,” He’d said so casually, as if that wasn’t the sexiest thing a goth music writer could ever say.)

Taako had preened across the tall, sticky table, and when he pointed to the motel down the street, Kravitz was surprised but enthusiastic. They spent the night together, and it was very fun.

As his band set up for their next show at the same bar, Taako was losing hope. He hadn’t heard anything from Kravitz all day. This was their last night in Neverwinter, so it was mere hours before he would have to leave Kravitz behind for good. Plus, Taako kept catching the drummer being all romantic with his long-term girlfriend who was on tour with them, and normally that didn’t bother him, but today it made him lonely.

So Taako was already in a shitty mood when Merle marched onto the stage right before soundcheck, clacking his cellphone closed and announcing, “Bad news.”

Taako threw a nervous look over to his sister, who was messing with around with her bass on the other side of the stage. She looked up, equally confused.

“Johann isn’t coming,” Merle said.

Taako’s jaw dropped open.

“What?” Magnus asked, standing up behind his drum kit at the back of the stage.

“Dammit,” Lup muttered.

Taako glanced around at his band mates and his dejected manager. “Are you sure there’s no way he can stay?”

Merle shook his head, saying, “His mom is sick. He’s already in a taxi heading to the airport.”

“Damn.”

Magnus pouted, dropping his drumsticks against the snare sadly. “So, what? We can’t play?”

“No, not without a keyboardist.” Lup delivered the diagnosis with a grim look.

Before Taako could come up with any other ideas, they were resolved to take a break and pack everything back up in an hour. Once the rest of his band had cleared out the stage, Taako dejectedly settled his guitar into its stand. The bar was calling to him, so he hopped off the front of the stage to go get a drink.

In a surprisingly wonderful turn of events, he only made it halfway there before he stopped in his tracks, watching a familiar tall-dark-and-handsome step inside the front door. Could it be?

Taako weaved around to the front, until he made it into the purview of Kravitz’s scanning gaze. Kravitz brightened and said, “Taako!”

“Kravitz!” Taako greeted back, waving, and then remembered that this was the bitch who didn’t call him back. 

Kravitz rushed up to him flustered and said, “I’m so sorry I didn’t call.”

Taako blinked in surprise.

He looked embarrassed. “My cat shredded your note before I could put your number in my phone.”

Taking the blushing as a sign of honesty, Taako threw back his head laughing. “No way!” His stomach warmed as he stared into Kravitz’s sweet eyes and realized why he was here.

“Yes, she’s still just a kitten.”

“Awww.” Taako remembered seeing pictures of the little black kitten last night, he thought, somewhere between his second margarita and third tequila shot. He leaned in a bit closer and resisted the urge to pull on all the things hanging off Kravitz’s stupid chic black clothes. He said, “Well, thanks for coming by. But there’s no show tonight, our keyboardist bailed.”

Kravitz looked around and then pouted. “Oh no! You guys can’t play?”

“Not unless someone in this bar can read sheet music,” Taako said.

But Kravitz had an electric look in his eyes. “Actually, I might know someone who can help.”

+

Lup had drank three beers alone in the closet being passed off as a green room, and she wanted the fourth to be different. She stumbled around backstage with two glass bottles in her hands, humming the Fantasy Costco theme under her breath and searching for her brother.

She found someone else before she found Taako: a human man coming in through the back door, looking like the last person that would ever patron this dive bar. Lup waltzed down the hallway towards him, screaming, “Hey!”

He jumped, staring back at Lup with exactly the amount of fear she wanted everyone to have when they first met her.

She smirked and walked closer. “You lost, thug?”

“Um,” The guy said, giving a cautious eye to the bottles in her hands. “No, actually, my friend told me—are you in the band?”

Lup snorted. “In it? Please, I practically am the band. I’m Lup,” She said, and juggled the beers into one hand so she could extend the other.

He shook it hesitantly. “Barry. I heard you needed a keyboardist?”

“Yes!” Lup jumped in excitement, almost losing both bottles, but managing to cradle them close. “You play piano? Can you read sheet music?” Barry was cute, and he was looking cuter every second.

“Yes, but—”

“Sick! Come with me,” Lup instructed, and grabbed Barry’s arm to pull him towards the green room.

“Have you—”

“Go in here.” Lup pushed him into the closet, following close behind him. She set the beers down and starting rifling through a bag for the folder she needed. When she found it, she slammed it onto the table in front of Barry. “Here’s your music.”

“I…” Barry trailed off, glancing through the folder experimentally. Then he looked at Lup. “Do you know where Kravitz is?”

“I have no idea who that is, buddy,” Lup announced happily. But Barry looked sad, so she revised, “How about you stay here and learn your chords, and I’ll go find him.”

Barry sat in the creaky folding chair and muttered, “Fine.”

Lup started to head out, ready to totally forget who she was looking for, but Barry stopped her.

“Wait, what’s the name of your band?”

Lup furrowed her brow. “It’s in there,” She said, pointing to the music he was looking at. “The Astral Complainers.”

“Huh,” Barry said quietly, and then smiled at Lup. “That’s pretty good.”

Lup smirked. “Thanks.” She almost darted out of the room, but hung off the doorframe to tell him, “If I find everyone, soundcheck starts in 10.”

As she skipped down the hall towards the stage, she heard Barry call after her: “If?”

+

“Fuck…shit,” Taako swore as Kravitz kissed his neck. The tour van was a pretty terrible spot to make out, but as annoying as the limited space was, there was something about being stuck in Kravitz’s lap that Taako definitely liked. As Kravitz ran his hands under Taako’s t-shirt, Taako squeezed his arms tighter around Kravitz’s neck.

Kravitz looked up and licked his lips. Taako couldn’t even take in a breath before he had to kiss him.

And that was when the door swung open.

“Ahh!” Taako shrieked at the sound. He jumped and turned and leaned all at once, sending himself tumbling to the floor, seeing his sister’s angry face on the way down. Shit shit shit shit shit, Taako swore inside his head, enjoying his new view of the dirty van carpet.

He heard Kravitz say, “Taako! Are you okay?”

Taako struggled to untangle his legs from the seat. “Ow. Yes! I’m fine!” He lied.

“You must be Kravitz,” Lup’s voice said, and Taako had no idea how she knew that, but it couldn’t be good that she did. He twisted and turned on the ground, trying to free himself.

“Yes, I’m—yes. Did Taako tell you…?”

“No. Barry’s here.”

“Great!” Taako announced, thought it was mostly muffled by the floor. He finally pulled himself up onto the seat next to Kravitz. “I saved the show!”

But Lup was not impressed. “Nu-uh. No boys in the van, no exceptions. You know that.”

“I mean, Kravitz saved the show!” Taako reached over to grab Kravitz’s arm, smiling sweetly. “I had to thank him.”

The way Kravitz smiled back, Taako couldn’t stop himself from leaning across the aisle, caressing his arm softly, and—

“Hey! Cut it out!” Lup said, and he felt a smack on his shoulder.

Taako’s face warmed as he looked back at his sister. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Let’s go, we have soundcheck, now.”

Taako was already reaching for Kravitz’s hand when he said, “I should come and thank Barry.”

Taako smiled. “Perfect.”

+

Soundcheck went well. Really well. Afterwards, as Taako ran off to canoodle with the Hot Topic model some more, Lup was thinking that Barry’s skills far surpassed just reading sheet music. She went to corner him at the back of the stage, and got Magnus’s blessing of a wink and a swift exit.

Lup hadn’t realized she was so obvious. She knew she shouldn’t have kept turning around so much while they were playing. Taako probably had no idea anyways; with the handsome silken vampire hanging around, he had the biggest hearts in his eyes she’d ever seen.

“Hey. Barry. Good job.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I hope it sounds okay, let me know if—”

“It sounds great,” Lup promised, leaning gently on the keyboard and giving him a little smile. Water, she remembered, for her tipsy-ness and her voice. She took a drink from her water bottle and then said, “You’re good, do you work in music?”

Barry laughed nervously. “Yes, but, not this kind of music.”

“Aw,” Lup teased, batting her eyelashes at him. “Do you work in pop music, Barry?”

 “No,” Barry said. “I write for the classical music section of the Neverwinter Music Magazine.”

Lup just stared at him for a second, a bit transfixed at his little attitude. She stood up straight, bit back her smirk, and said, “Okay. Classical. That’s fancy.” Then she had a thought. “Is that how you know Kravitz? Through—”

Lup got distracted when she noticed Barry staring at something behind her. She turned to look out to the bar area, where Taako was posing against a wall wearing Kravitz’s black cape, and Kravitz was standing two feet back taking pictures of him on a phone.

Lup looked back at Barry, who was smiling and shaking his head again, and she finished her question, asking, “Work?”

“Look at me,” Barry said, gesturing to his plain t-shirt and jeans. “If he didn’t have to sit next to me for eight hours straight every day, there’s no way he would be friends with me.”

Lup giggled. “He writes about, what, steampunk remixes?”

“Wrong again. Try good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll.”

Lup clicked her tongue. “You boys are something else here in Neverwinter.” She watched Barry give her an awkward look.

He said, “How long are you in town, by the way?”

“Tonight’s our last night,” Lup said. She shrugged, stepping even closer to the keyboard and leaning over it to tell Barry, “Gotta make the most of it while it lasts.” She smirked and backed away.

Turning around to look out at the crowd, Lup set down her water bottle next to her bass. She readjusted her mic stand, watching a group of six more people flood into the bar.

She walked back over to Barry and caught him just before he made it offstage. “Hey,” She said, stopping him. “Have a drink before the show. Just a beer. It’ll help with the nerves.”

Barry stared at her blankly for a moment, and then claimed, “I’m not nervous.”

“Barry, I have eyes. I can see that you’re about to shit your pants.” Lup pulled a coin out of her pocket and tried to hand it to him. “On me. I can’t have one, I’ve already had three.”

“Oh, no, it’s—”

“Barry,” Lup stopped him. “I’m a famous rockstar. I can afford it.” She pushed the gold into his hand and pushed him offstage.

+

Barry was standing at the back of the stage, hitting chords on someone else’s keyboard, and watching Lup rock out on her bass as she sang for the crowd. Her voice pure and strong, her hands playing deftly, her hair whipping around, she was the most beautiful person Barry had ever seen. He watched her, useless and trapped behind the keyboard, heart jumping around every time she turned around to come play next to him or just to wink at him. Barry liked this band. He liked this crowd more than he thought he would. And he liked Lup.

Maybe not as much as Kravitz liked Taako, Barry considered, watching his coworker jump and scream in front of Taako. Kravitz had been frantic that morning at work, rambling about a bar, an elf, and Coconut Milk (his completely black cat). When Barry had calmed him down enough to explain what happened, Kravitz acted like Taako was his soulmate. Maybe he was right, Barry thought, watching Taako shake and shimmy with his guitar, obviously staring only at Kravitz. Whatever was happening there, he was happy his friend seemed so happy.

Weird that he was then crushing on Taako’s twin sister, but maybe Barry didn’t really care. All he felt like caring about was watching Lup jump around in her fishnets, shorts, and ripped black shirt. He felt the bass deep in his stomach as he played, and tried not to think about how much fun he was having.

+

They played loud and rocked hard. The audience loved it, and Lup ended the show sweaty and high on adrenaline. This was when she felt on top of the world. The crowd roared in her face, still cheering, and she stood to watch it happen, swinging her bass back and forth. She smirked down at the fans right in front of her, and then over at Taako, who was glowing.

Lup remembered herself and turned around, immediately walking to the back of the stage. She stepped around the keyboard and pulled Barry into a one-armed hug. “Good show. You killed it,” She said, giving him a small smile, and she liked the nervous little smile she got from Barry in return.

+

“Great show, you guys,” Merle told them backstage. The five of them were a bit cramped for space in the tiny area, and Lup accidentally jabbed her elbow into Barry’s side.

“Ow!” He said.

“Lup, stop that,” Merle said, and flipped through his pages until he found the right one. “Right. Here’s the schedule for tonight.”

Lup stood up straighter and looked over at Barry to teasingly glare at him. 

“We pack up in an hour, I need you back here, in an hour,” Merle repeated, for their benefit. “Then I’ll let you know what time we’re leaving.”

“Yes, sir,” Magnus said.

Merle looked up at them expectantly and said, “Don’t die, don’t kill anyone else, and don’t get married.” And then he was gone.

“What an inspirational man,” Taako remarked.

Magnus said, “Great show, Barry. Thanks. Gotta go!” and ran towards the bar, presumably to tackle his girlfriend at the merch table. 

The door hadn’t even swung shut when someone else grabbed it and walked through to backstage—Kravitz. “Taako!” He said.

“Kravitz!” Taako shouted.

Kravitz ran down the hall, crying to Taako, “You were so good, it was such a good show,” and then they were kissing, a shiny black cape flying around and jewelry clacking together. 

Lup took a step back to give them a bit more space, and she gave Barry a silly look over her shoulder as she squished closer to him.

Once Kravitz could pull his face away, he rushed over to Barry, saying, “Barry, you were so good, you did amazing.” He wrapped his arms around Barry’s head in an interesting-looking hug, and Lup just stepped back to glance at Taako.

He was also leaning back, and giving her a concerned looking and mouthing, BARRY?

Lup just shrugged, and nodded.

“—you are a rockstar, Barry, I always knew it—”

Then, Lup held up a hand at Taako. Then two fingers. And then mouthed, GOTH. CLOWN.

Taako held up his middle finger, and Lup flipped him off right back, and that was the exact second Kravitz and Barry turned around.

“What—”

“Nothing,” Taako said, and starting pulling Kravitz towards the bar. “Remember, we’re—”

“To, going to the—”

“The place.”

“Yeah. Bye!” Kravitz yelled, and they disappeared through the door.

When the door slammed back shut, Lup looked over at Barry.

He gave her a nervous smile and said, “Thanks for letting me play with you, and thanks for helping me.” He motioned to the back door. “I should get—”

“You can’t leave,” Lup interrupted. “Have a drink with me.”

Barry looked surprised. “It’s pretty late, I—”

“Please?” Lup asked nicely.

+

Forty-five minutes later, Lup and Barry were each on their third cocktails. They were at a low table by the bar, and the music and crowd were defeneningly loud. Lup threw back her drink and stared intently at Barry. “I don’t want to shout!” She shouted.

He blinked. “What?”

“You look like a girl scout!”

“...I can’t hear you!”

Lup rolled her eyes. “Do you want to make out?”

“Yes,” Barry said.

Lup stared at him, wondering if her half-joking question had worked or if he was fucking with her. She stared at his discerning, hesitant face, and couldn’t tell a thing. So she shifted closer to him, leaning in until her face was inches away from his. 

He stared into her eyes.

“Sure about that, Mozart?”

Barry didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move.

So Lup kissed him, squishing their noses together and holding him still in the bouncing bar. Barry pushed forwards and reached for her shoulder, so she held his face and kissed him deeper. 

“Barry,” She whispered contentedly when they readjusted and broke apart for half a second. She kissed him, pulling him as close as possible. Barry kissed her back steady and gentle, seeming fairly sure of himself for a man who tried to escape out the back door an hour ago.

+

Lup arrived backstage exactly when Merle expected her, towing Barry behind her, holding her hand. They joined Magnus and Julia, who were closely intertwined, and Kravitz and Taako, looking a bit too pleased with themselves.

Merle looked at Lup’s hand hanging tightly onto Barry and said, “Oh, jeez.”

Kravitz held up a little thumbs-up to Barry.

“Okay, look,” Merle explained, “The owner had some cancellations and now she has a few more open spots this week. She wants us to stay ‘til Thursday.”

Taako gasped in delight, but Magnus said, “But we don’t have Johann!”

Everyone looked over at Barry, so Lup turned to him, and smiled. “Whaddya say, will you play with us?” She asked.

“Um, yeah—yes,” Barry said.

Lup laughed and hugged him. She heard Taako and Magnus cheering. She gave Barry one last squeeze around the shoulders and let him go, turning back to face Merle. “Yeah, I think we should stay here a bit longer.”

“Let’s do it!” Magnus yelled.

“The ayes have it,” Merle declared. “Forget tear-down, you are officially free to par-tay.”

They all whooped and cheered, and it felt like New Year’s Eve when Lup pulled Barry in to kiss his cheek under a karaoke night poster.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to see more of my writing, all my info is here.

[shireness-says]

Swan’s Seven (2/?)

Summary: After two years behind bars, Emma’s out, and she’s got a plan in mind. Now to put together the perfect team… Let’s stage an art heist. (A CS Ocean’s 8 AU) ~3.9K. Rated T for language. Chapter 1.  Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: And we’re back! With more players, more action, and more razzing on David. It’s a national sport after all. A certain someone shows up this chapter too...

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, @snidgetsafan. This doesn’t happen without you, babe. 

Tags: @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @thisonesatellite, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @winterbaby89, @scientificapricot. Shoot me a message if you want to be added/taken off the list.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Regina has always been good at finding the exact right person for any given job, and it seems that hasn’t changed in the two years that Emma has been away. She somehow knows everybody who’s anybody in this business, like the criminal version of a recruiter or HR lady. She’d probably hate being called that, but it’s an apt comparison. 

Only days after Emma divulges her plan to Regina, she’s presented with a short stack of manila folders - Regina’s top choices for their needs.

“I think you’ll be pleased,” she says as Emma flips through the top folder. It’s just a cursory glance, really; Emma trusts Regina’s judgement implicitly after all their years as a pair. “They’re the best I could find.”

“I’m sure they are,” Emma replies nonchalantly. “You’ve got them scheduled to come in for an interview or whatever?”

“Later today,” Regina agrees, before fixing Emma with a stern look. “You’re going to play nice, right? We need these people, I can’t have you getting all demanding or treating them like they’re idiots.”

“Ok, first of all, it’s an interview, there’s going to be questions so I can’t really help the demanding thing. Second of all, why the hell am I the one we’re worried about getting uppity? That’s kind of your thing, scaring people off with a condescending sniff.” Emma really hadn’t meant to sound quite so demanding with that list, but that’s the result anyways. Maybe Regina has a point - though Emma still thinks her partner is the one who needs the warning to “play nice”. Whatever that means. Fuck it all, they’re career conpersons, the nice line has already kind of been blown to smithereens. 

Regardless, the warning proves unnecessary, since Emma can tell within minutes that Regina’s first candidate is exactly who they’ve been looking for.

“Emma, this is Ruby Lucas. Ruby, Emma Swan.” With the way Regina makes introductions, you’d think they were having some fancy corporate business meeting, not planning an art heist above a nightclub. Emma has the strongest urge to start offering business cards. “Ruby’s a safecracker - the best on the east coast.”

“Well…” Ruby drawls, her red-painted lips twisting into something wry and just shy of wolfish. Emma thinks it kind of suits the brunette, especially paired with her casual sprawl across one of Regina’s stiff backed chairs. 

As much as Emma is amused, however, Regina is not. That eye roll could probably be seen from space. “Fine. The best on the east coast who hasn’t decided to retire to some disgusting fairytale in backwoods Maine like a goddamn schmuck. Better? Satisfied?”

“Better. Satisfied is a whole other thing, sweetcheeks,” Ruby winks salaciously. Not that there seems to be any heat behind it; if Emma had to guess, it’s just a flirtatious habit. There are worse habits to have, really. Her flirting accomplished, Ruby focuses her attention on Emma. “So. I hear you have a plan.”

“I do. Did Regina brief you on the specifics?”

Ruby nods. “Brantley 3900, she said. Digital fingerprint system on top of a trio of combo locks, plus an acid failsafe. I could use some info about the big picture plan, though.”

“We’ll get there,” Emma promises. Ruby isn’t at all what she would have expected of their safecracker in her short skirt and high heels and bright red hair streaks - especially when Emma’s used to dealing with her brother for this kind of thing - but she likes the saucy brunette. That flirtatious energy could really come in handy, if they play their cards right. “You think you can break it?”

“No problem,” Ruby replies with her bubbling confidence. “We’ll just need those prints, and the rest is all tumblers. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Emma looks to Regina, who inclines her head in a subtle nod. Excellent; they’re on the same page, then. “You’re hired.”

Their next candidate - a computer whiz and hacker - might as well be Ruby’s polar opposite. Elsa Frost shows up in a neat skirt suit and heels that only emphasize her pale skin and white blonde hair, dressed for all appearances like she’s interviewing at a law firm. For god’s sake, she even brings resumes in a file folder, the two pages paper clipped for maximum convenience. You can’t make this shit up. Emma wonders idly if their prospective keyboard artist has any idea what she’s walked into.

Surprisingly, reading the resume provided is illuminating. Ms. Frost certainly does know what she’s here for (“And this is an art theft, yes?”), but she cut her teeth, so to speak, in providing network security for major banks. Really, there’s no one better to hack past security systems than someone who made a career trying to prevent exactly that. 

Emma still has questions, however. Namely: “How exactly did you end up on the less legal side of things?” It’s more than a valid question, considering the formal interview attire. It seems that Elsa doesn’t know how these things usually play out. 

“I have a sister,” Elsa explains. “She’s the only family I have in the world, and she just got engaged. To a Central Park carriage driver. Wants the whole big to-do, which of course is very expensive. You know, the big white dress and the massive cake and the three courses and the specialty cocktail. So I’ve been looking into… alternative income streams.”

“Admirable,” Regina drawls, clearly unimpressed. “But there are plenty of other ways to make money. Legal ones. I’m sure you could make a very generous living just off of consulting with your skills. Why this?”

Elsa flushes, the rush of blood especially evident beneath her pale skin. Still, Regina and Emma wait in silence. They don’t need someone on their team who’s a risk, and that kind of motive makes any con with common sense worry their contact will go to the police when all is said and done. So they’ll wait, as long as it takes Elsa to come up with a real answer or prove herself too much of a risk to gamble on.

She cracks, of course. Facing down two such intimidating stares, anyone would. “Maybe I was bored,” Elsa finally says. Her chin lifts with the words like she’s trying to muster all her dignity - not that it works. “I’d done security for Wall Street firms and major banks for years. Eventually, you tire of trying to close all the loopholes that hackers are testing. Your entire career and your entire life becomes reactionary. Working on the other side… I get to exercise a little more creativity and problem solving and thinking outside the box, which is why I fell in love with programming in the first place.”

Emma makes eye contact with Regina and shrugs. “Works for me.”

Elsa stares back, disbelieving. “That’s it? That’s what you needed to hear?”

“We get boredom,” Emma explains.

“And we absolutely understand thinking the criminal side is a little more fun,” Regina adds. Like she knows anything about fun. 

(Ok, that’s not fully true; Emma half remembers a few tequila nights. Regina gets rowdy when she has enough to drink.)

“Where we’re going with this,” Emma finishes, “is that you’re in if you want it. I trust that after all that banking experience, you can work your way around their firewalls and whatnot?”

“Sure can. Check the bar’s accounts if you don’t believe me, I took the liberty of going ahead and transferring my $100 consultation fee.”

Well, that’s one way to prove your point.

“So that’s two down. Who’s next?” Emma asks after Elsa and her business suit depart.

Regina smirks. “Field trip.”

The field trip is to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they watch a young woman paint a replica of one of the portraits - a particularly unflattering source work featuring a distinctly masculine-looking woman. It makes the reproduction their prospective partner is working on all the more impressive, that she’s able to replicate that particular variety of unfortunate realism. 

“Belle French,” Regina explains under her breath. “She should be a rising young artist on the New York scene after graduating from Columbia, but tastes these days run a little more abstract and her style probably leans closest to the romantic or rococo. Instead, she’s stuck teaching intro level courses at a local community college.”

“What a waste.”

“Indeed. She’s absolutely broke and absolutely talented, and absolutely desperate. Teaching shitty freshmen who can’t draw a straight line and want to argue about their grades constantly does things to a person, or so I’d imagine. If we play our cards right, make the right approach…”

“She could be our girl.” Our forger, Emma means, but that’s a stupid thing to say out loud in an art museum.

“She could.”

Emma observes for just a moment longer before nodding decisively and making her move. She’s the one who’s got tact, after all; as good as Regina is about searching people out, she’s a little too blunt for this kind of negotiation.

“That looks beautiful,” Emma comments when she’s standing just behind Belle’s shoulder. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you!” Where Elsa blushes, Belle beams. Here, it’s a sign of someone who’s been denied warranted validation for too long, and who’s looking to gobble it up even from unusual sources. It’s a good sign for their purpose; even if they’re cons, Emma and Regina can provide the validation she seems to be craving. 

“Is this just a hobby, or do you do this for a living?” Emma knows the answer, of course, but that might as well be rule number one of running a con: never show all your cards.

Belle makes a little wistful, frustrated noise. “Oh, I wish. This is just my free time, unfortunately. Hopefully it will help me hone my skills.”

“I don’t know. From where I’m standing, you look pretty skilled already. If this is your dream, I don’t think the talent issue is what’s keeping you from reaching it.”

“Yes, well, my dreams also feature millions of dollars and a functional love life. Some things, unfortunately, just aren’t going to happen, and I’m afraid this might be one of them.”

“I think I can help with some of that, at least,” Emma smiles. “I’d love to take you to coffee, maybe discuss it a little.”

“Like a job? Painting?” Belle’s skepticism is plastered all over her face. Not that Emma can blame her; it probably sounds just a little too good to be true.

“Something like that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely am, if you’re interested in learning more.”

It’s a close thing, Emma thinks, but Belle does show up in the back corner of Regina’s favorite little Italian bakery an hour later.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t exactly a legal opportunity that you want to talk about?” Belle asks right away. Still, she seems utterly unfazed by the idea of it as she calmly sips a cappuccino. 

“Probably because it isn’t,” Emma replies, equally calm.

“Hypothetically,” Regina makes sure to add. Maybe that’s what she should have been in another life - a lawyer for the mob. Not that it matters, especially since Emma changes her mind every other time Regina opens her mouth. 

“Hypothetically,” Emma makes sure to emphasize, “we’re planning a job that would require someone with top notch artistic skills.”

“And you think that someone is me.”

“Hypothetically, yes,” Regina agrees. 

“But why me?” Belle argues. “I’m barely good enough to teach a bunch of college students. What makes you think that I’m skilled enough for whatever you have in mind - hypothetically have in mind?”

“Your style, ironically the very thing that’s really kept you from breaking into the art world, is exactly what we need for our purposes.” Somehow, Regina manages to make it all sound completely reasonable, though Emma knows it’s not. They’re talking about forgery and theft, for Christ’s sake. 

“And if I say no?”

“Then this conversation never happened,” Emma replies easily. “Look, my partner may be a little over-enthusiastic with the hypotheticallys, but it means we haven’t actually been planning anything in a way that you could take to the police. Look, I’ll be level with you - we can probably find another artist if need be. They’re out there. But they’re not you, Ms. French, and when we say we want the best, that’s you. For better or worse. The payout - sorry, the hypothetical payout would be more than enough to set you up. No more teaching brats with an attitude. We can help your originals find a way to market - legitimate or otherwise. There’s a lot of doors you can open with the kind of money we’re talking about.”

“Think about it and let us know.” Regina slides a card across the table - blank except for a starkly printed phone number. A burner, obviously, and perfect for what they have in mind. “You’re just the woman we need, and I think we’re just the opportunity you need.”

Emma and Regina barely make it to the end of the next block before the phone buzzes. 

I’m in.

Two pieces to go.

It’s a relatively short cab ride to Battery Park, where Regina says they’ll find their next crew member. “This is the pickpocket?” Emma asks as they stroll past a particularly fragrant food cart. Ah, New York. 

“This is the pickpocket,” Regina echoes back. “Tink Green. Young, but talented. She could easily break into larger jobs if she had the inclination, though I’m not sure that she does.”

“Tink? Seriously?”

“I know.” Regina rolls her eyes. “But yes, seriously. No idea what her real name is, she refuses to tell. If you have to have a stupid nickname, though, might as well make it a bad fairy fingers pun.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” A crowd is gathered up ahead along the railings bordering the river. “So where is she?”

“You see the blonde weaving through the crowd?” Regina asks, nodding in a general direction. “With the bun and the scarf and the headphones?”

“Yeah?” The woman in question looks utterly distracted - just another twenty-something absorbed in her phone.

“Watch.”

It looks like any other passing interaction - a distracted pedestrian not watching where they’re going, despite passerbys’ attempts to step around her. However, Emma’s a thief. She can spot the way that when the blonde bumps into an unsuspecting businessman, only the hand holding her phone comes up to brace on his torso, while the other steals into his coat pocket.

“Smooth,” she mutters. “I wonder if that’s all she’s got.”

Regina smiles  a wicked, amused smile. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“Just make sure you don’t have anything valuable in your pockets.”

With the leisurely pace Tink saunters along at - just the right speed to feign distraction and avoid any serious attention - it’s easy for Emma and Regina to catch up along either side. “Impressive show,” Emma comments casually.

She’ll give the pickpocket this - she’s a good faker. Emma only sees the momentary flash of recognition tinged with panic because she’s looking for it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies. Tink’s accent is unusual; Australian, maybe, or possibly New Zealander. 

“That lift,” Emma continues. “Very well done. Practically seamless.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’ve got the wrong person. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Tink’s eyes flit briefly to either side, looking for an easy escape like any good con.

“Oh relax,” Regina cuts in with that exasperated drawl she’s perfected. “We’re not here to bust you. We’ve actually got a job. Think of this as your interview.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Regina Mills. This is my partner, Emma Swan.” Tink straightens, almost imperceptibly. “Ah, so you know who we are.”

“Run with a certain crowd, and it’d be hard not to.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Emma replies. “Like Regina said, we’ve got a job. Need someone with light fingers. A little teamwork and big payout.”

“How big?”

“Big enough not to say in such a public place.” Regina produces another card. “If you’d like to know more, come by the Poison Apple the day after tomorrow, around 2pm. We’ll share all the details with the team then. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I might be,” Tink hazards.

“Anything holding you back?” Emma asks. It’s obvious Tink is the woman for the job - talented and just charming enough for a little undercover prep work if need be. If there’s anything they can say to get her on board right now, Emma will gladly do it.

“Who’s the mark?”

Not the question she’d anticipated, but Emma can roll with it. “Zelena West.”

Unexpectedly, the other blonde bursts into a peal of laughter. “That piece of work?”

“The very same,” Regina replies with a wry smile.

“In that case, count me in. About time that bitch got what’s coming to her.”

Who knew it could be so easy - uniting a group of people around hatred of one disgustingly rich woman?

——— 

The last thing Emma expects to see when she and Regina finally make it back to the loft about the nightclub is a man already waiting outside the door, rocking back and forth on his heels with both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. As Regina wrangles the lock, the man springs to attention. “Ms. Mills?”

“Yes, yes, come in.” She’s obviously expecting him, as she holds the door wide open for the man to walk through, though her face never changes from mild irritation. Typical Regina. Though Emma can’t imagine why she’s letting him in to start with. 

“This one of your vendors, Regina?” she asks, closing the door. The man has come to stand in the middle of the room, looking around like he’s waiting for something.

Regina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emma, the bar’s vendors come on Monday. This is our fence.”

Emma isn’t entirely sure what face she’s making, but it’s certainly not good. “Him?” she asks needlessly, earning herself an eye roll.

“No, the other man standing in the corner. Yes, him. This is Killian Jones.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” he says - warmly enough, she’ll grant - extending a hand to shake. 

Unfortunately for him, Emma’s not in a mood for warmly enough. “We are not on a first name basis,” she all but snaps before quickly pivoting to address Regina. “Can I talk with you for a moment?”

“What is your problem, Emma?” Regina hisses once they’re a reasonable distance away. Not that they’ve found true privacy; that doesn’t exactly exist in the loft space.

“He’s a he!” she hisses back.

“How didn’t you know that? I gave you the file.”

“It’s not like I read in-depth or anything! You always give me a little rundown anyways. I saw the name and figured they were a her, not a… him.” The last word is practically spat out like a curse. Absolutely melodramatic, not that Emma cares.

“And is that a problem? It’s not like you told me you wanted only women.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I wouldn’t have to when everyone else you offered up was of the female persuasion. Isn’t there anyone else?”

“No. You want the best, I find you the best. That man can find or sell practically anything, like a modern day pirate. Or something less stupid.”

Emma ignores Regina’s denial. “What about Jasmine? She’s great, she’d be good for this.”

Regina shakes her head. “She and Al just had a baby, so she’s out of the game for a while.”

“I guess I can get that. You send something?”

“Gift cards for take out and a card signed with both our names.”

“Oh, thanks for that. What about Kathryn?”

“Went to prison last year. And you hate her anyways after she flirted with your brother.”

“It’s more because she’s a prissy little rich girl who got into the black market because she thought it’d be fun.”

“No, it’s because she was hitting on David. I very narrowly escaped attending a debutante ball, if you remember, so I’m technically one of those prissy little rich girls,” Regina points out.

“Yeah, but I like you,” Emma sighs. “Bet her daddy bribed someone to get her sentence reduced.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Still doesn’t change the fact that she’s unavailable.”

“What about —” Emma starts, only to be interrupted.

“Look, I’ll go find you someone else if you insist, someone female,” Regina argues, “but they’re not going to be as good as him. There’s no one else out there who’s got the amount of connections in the black market art world that he does, and he’s got strong footholds in advanced tech to boot. Just what we need. So are you going to quit your tantrum and suck it up, or am I going to have to put out feelers again?” She waits for an answer with arms crossed - never an inviting look.

“Fine,” Emma finally grumbles. “But he’s got a lot of ground to make up.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you won’t let him forget it,” Regina mutters back under her breath.

Jones does them all the favor of pretending he didn’t hear any of that conversation when the women rejoin him. “Swan, is it?” he asks, extending that hand again. Today, Emma really feels like the last human on Earth who doesn’t feel a pressing need to follow that particular societal convention.

“That’s me,” Emma replies with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. It’s not much. “Regina says you’re the best around.”

“In more ways than one,” he winks. Mistake.

“Let’s get something straight right now: this flirting, or whatever you’re hoping to pull off? It’s not going to work on me,” Emma replies with venom hiding just behind her voice. “We’re here to stage a heist, and all I care about are results. This is about the job, and if you can’t keep it professional, then you can walk back out the door right now and we’ll find someone else.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, Emma hoping to establish her dominance right there and then, before Jones finally cracks a closed-mouthed smile and nods. “Won’t be a problem, Swan. I’m at your disposal.”

“Good. We’ll see you in two days for a full overview of the plan and to get this show on the road.”

“As you wish,” he declares, sketching a short bow. After a last nod to Regina, he leaves again, now a problem for another day.

“I still don’t like him,” Emma declares to Regina. The other woman is smiling like the cat who got the canary, and Emma hates it.

“You don’t have to,” the other woman replies, “but he’s going to make this work. You’d be an idiot to fight against that.”

“All I’m saying is he better be as good as you promise.” There’s something about Killian Jones that makes her nervous, something she can’t quite put her finger on. Not his skills; Emma trusts Regina on that front. Something about his attitude, or his confidence. That’s not important right now, though, when there’s plans to make and details to nail down. 

Killian Jones may be an unknown variable, but he’s one she can’t deny they need - and for the moment, that’s more important than any of her concerns.