#wish killian jones

[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)

[spartanguard]

what if Rogers had a fuller beard? (2/x)

(continuing from my and @pirateherokillian's conversation, because I can't resist that bearded face)

[queenofglassbeliever]

Why is S7 timeline so damn confusing?? Nearly 5 years later and I'm still on this.

How old would you say Ella is here? 15 or so? Okay agreed. A year later, when Anastasia (14) dies, she's 16. Anastasia gets put under that preservation spell and Rapunzel traps Gothel in the tower.

Alright, I'm with you so far. Some time later, Gothel tricks Hook into siring her kid. That kid, Alice, then spends 17 years in the tower before subconsciously conjuring a friendly giant that freed her.

Then Alice spends an unknown amount of time in Wonderland and other places before she crosses paths with Henry. Who has recently met Ella, whose an adult now.

So if Ella was 16 before Alice was born and it's been at least 17 years, does that make Ella around 33 in "Hyperion Heights" flashbacks? OK cool. I would assume Henry is around her age. Casting call describes him as being in his lat 20s to early 30s.

But wait. The description fits his cursed self not the very still optimistic Henry that Ella meets. Is cursed Henry in his mid 30s? And he's got a 10 year old daughter. Had to have been around mid 20s when she was born. And was early to mid 20s when he met Ella. And unless he's into older women, which is cool, then I'm going with the assumption that Ella was also around her early 20s when they met.

Then there's Drizella, who's a few years younger than Ella. And she appears to be around Alice age during the time of the "Hyperion Heights" flashbacks. Late teens - early 20s.

So Alice has been out of the tower for a few years. Good for her. Anyway, feels like Alice is the wrench in the gears here. She was trapped in a magical tower. Maybe 17 years only passed in the tower and only a few years in passed in the rest of the Magical Forest. Then there's Hook who definitely did not look like he only aged a few years.

But he was also a drunkard, so maybe the accessive drinking fucked up his appearance. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[priscilla9993]

Good to know that my likes haven't changed much; the first thing that I liked was Knightrook related. From that and seeing the sweet community on here, I guess I'm thankful that I found a new site to carve a space into and loads of new people to be friends/mutuals with. Knightrook and Madarcher/Curious Archer my beloved <3

Happy moments to lift the spirit. 

Dedicated to @lillpon. Send your request!

[stubblesandwich]

[victoriously-regal]

OUAT S7 CAST BTS

[mccallhero]

belle french + saving killian from rumplestiltskin: 2x11 vs 4x12

requested by @stubblesandwich

[priscilla9993]

Chess Allusions: White Knight

Currently continuing a draft of some chess allusions in ouat season 7 and by god, the amount of times Gothel pulls an "always my white knight" as Eloise Gardener on Rogers (4-5 times but that's plenty). She knows about his history of wanting to protect loved ones and how he gave Alice a white knight chess piece to remind his daughter of how he'd do his best to save her. Gothel does her best to twist his good intentions into ones that suit hers, as if he can't do anything but be wrapped around her finger, but she's really the wolf in sheep's clothing. It sends chills down my spine as Rogers doesn't even know he's being misled, believing in her through the hazy connection he has for Alice, "her white knight".

Alice, on the other hand, never called her papa a white knight, as much as he wanted to represent that for her. If anything, when Killian and Alice reunited in the future, she gave back the white knight chess piece to him through Ella, implying that she's grown and claiming that she didn't need a reminder anymore because she knew they'd be together again someday, that he'd find a real cure in a way she couldn't.

I like the difference in how the same ideas are used, depending on the intentions of the one wanting to display something; i.e. a heartfelt promise, a gentle reminder of trust, or most blatantly, a manipulative deceit.

[laianely]

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings

[queenofglassbeliever]

Love how he said that like it was supposed to mean something to Black Beard.

[priscilla9993]

If there’s one thing Killian won’t do, it’s abandon ppl that are vulnerable (unlike some people who create a child but only stay until they can sell/trade said child for their own selfish desires)

WELL I REWATCHED THAT SCENE FROM ELOISE GARDNER WITH BABY ALICE AND MY HEART

One: Killian's singing?? How did I not notice how mind bogglingly beautiful that was before now? Idk what it is about his singing in that scene but I'm gonna cry

Two: The voice crack when he mentioned his mother this man has so much completely unaddressed childhood trauma you can just see it all over him at any given time. The daddy and mommy issues are strong with this one (not saying the mommy issues are from any wrongdoing on Alice's part but she's dead and my guy is wounded from that)

Three: Other than memories of his mother he MUST be parenting with only the guidance of "be the exact opposite of everything my father was" because it's not like he knows what a good father looks like (unless you wanna count Liam who practically raised him)

So yeah that's my ramble thanks for coming

@fairytalepsuedonym Enjoy my knightrook shenanigans

[snowbellewells]

HAPPY (One Day Late) BIRTHDAY KRYSTAL!!!

(I really wanted to get this posted on @kmomof4's actual birthday - I've only been trying to get this going since I promised it LAST YEAR! But you have been very patient, Krystal, and here at last is the story I'm working on for your birthday gift. Seeing as you wrote a beautiful CS AU of the Bridgerton book which is a bit of a Cinderella story, and since I've been mulling a bit of a Killian-as-the-Cinderella-character fic for some time, I've mashed that idea together with several of your mentioned fave tropes and characters/relationships from OuaT. I'm not going to list it all here. Hopefully, it will lead to more pleasantly melty surprises as we go. ;p I'll try not to keep you waiting too long between updates - and I have no idea how many chapters there will end up being. I first thought a really long one shot, then a two shot, but Killian and his fairy godmother (and Liam!) were excessively chatty, and it just kept getting longer and longer! I realize Emma isn't in it much yet, but we'll start with her next time.)

I hope you enjoy, Krystal!! I'm so glad we are friends!!!

Also available on AO3 if that is your preference...

"Dreams That You Wish Will Come True"

by: @snowbellewells

Chapter One

“But Liam,” a breathless young Killian Jones argued stubbornly, “why are you dragging me to the galley? You know all I have to get done before the Captain returns…” Swiping the shaggy dark hair back from where it hung in his eyes, long past needing a trim, the young man cringed at the sound of his own wheedling tone. Gritting his teeth and flexing his hands in frustration, Killian chided himself for questioning his elder brother’s direction and sounding like the bloody nuisance he knew he must be to Liam - strong and wise and nearly grown now. At barely seventeen, and with little experience beyond that of an indentured deckhand on a ramshackle pirate ship, what right or knowledge did he have to be so stubborn, especially not with Liam, who had only ever looked out for his best interests?

Sure enough, exasperated, Liam shook his head before responding with a huff, “Can you not just do what I say, Little Brother? For once? You’ll see in a moment.”

By this time, they had traversed the length of the ship below deck, and they stood outside the galley. They paused briefly, with Killian biting down on his tongue to prevent asking again if Liam was sure about what they were doing. To his wide-eyed astonishment, Liam raised a hand to rap his knuckles in a specific rhythm on the door that separated Cook’s domain from the dimly-lit hall. His brother gave him a bit of a wink, more mischief in it than his serious elder sibling, burdened with far too much responsibility for his years, usually showed. Curious now, Killian waited wordlessly with him until footsteps could be heard drawing nearer on the other side.

When the door was opened to them, Killian was perplexed over again as he and Liam were beckoned inward and the door closed behind them once more. Within the room, illuminated softly by a hanging lantern and a few candles scattered throughout, he saw that, not only Cook, but several of the crewmen of the Merry Rogue, had gathered in the small, already overwarm, and easily crowded room in which they took their meals. Killian was usually on his feet serving. Silver would allow nothing less from his “kitchen maid” as he often tauntingly dubbed Killian, hoping to stoke the fiery temper the young lad tried to check so he could then see him lashed for insubordination. It was only well after the others had cleared off that he and Cook could sit and take their own repast. However, those gathered now had secretive smiles and anxiously pleased looks on their faces. Killian noted easily that none of the more hateful crew members were present; neither those who ordered him about loftily, mocking him and sending him scurrying back and forth for items they didn’t really need throughout the meal, nor the cruel bosun who would stick a foot out to trip him, then cuff him for spilling and wasting food. Instead, gathered before him were the softer hearted men - perhaps misfits on the ship themselves at some earlier time before he and Liam were indentured to the vessel - who had often shown him bits of kindness and understanding when they could manage.

In spite of his earlier misgivings, he was intrigued and couldn’t help asking Cook this time, though Liam was still nearby. “What is going on here?”

The older man merely smiled kindly, motioning Killian further into the room, until he stood near its center. “You’ll soon see, lad,” Cook coaxed gently, turning to riffle through a burlap sack laid out on the galley table before offering his prize to Killian. “We’ve something to give you for the evening’s festivities.”

“Wh- what are you on about?” Killian’s brow puckered in confusion as he looked at what appeared to be a pile of folded cloth in his older friend’s hands, and at the eagerly expectant faces gathered around to watch. “Festivities? Me? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…”

He was shaking his head as words failed him, not sure how to deal with the puzzle before him, when he sensed Liam at his back, solid and strong. His elder brother placed a comforting hand on Killian’s shoulder and leaned in to murmur quietly in his ear. “Come now, Killy, you have to have seen the banners posted all over port for the gala at the castle, in honor of the Princess Emma’s birthday. It’s tonight.”

Killian sputtered indignantly as Liam nudged him in the side and nodded toward the stack of fine material Cook was still holding out to him. “Aye, of course I have, but - but what does that have to do with me?”

Liam responded with an even more brilliant smile, bowling Killian over with his quip, “Simple, Little Brother! If you would get a move on, we mean for you to attend that ball!”

Those words did not truly make the situation much clearer to Killian’s mind, but at Liam’s urging - knowing his sibling would never encourage something that would do him harm - he took the bundle from Cook and moved forward to lay the offering on the long, wooden table for a better view. He could see now that it was a fine coat, made of soft, midnight blue, expertly tailored and brand new, certainly the finest piece of clothing he’d ever held in his own two hands. There was also a dress shirt, a mere shade lighter, clearly meant to be worn beneath the jacket, and breeches of a soft, dove gray - all quite the ensemble and much finer than any mere deckhand or cabin boy would ever have use for. Despite that, all three items seemed to be in his particular size, and the pleased smiles on the small circle of weathered faces around him clearly meant for him to have the articles.

“This is very kind,” Killian began, trying a different tack since protesting that they must be mistaken had done no good. “These clothes are the most handsome I’ve seen, but surely no sailor, and one barely part of the crew at that, would be invited to such an event. Mayhap someone else could…”

“Perhaps I can explain,” an airy, musical voice spoke up, floating on the air like a tinkling of chimes as sparkles of light and swirls of colorful breeze seemed to catch the eyes of all those gathered in the small ship’s kitchen. Gliding gently toward him from above, a small creature - a miniature woman, a fairy!, he realized -  came to to hover before him, a sweetly bemused smile on her delicate face.

More questions flooded Killian’s brain than had already lingered; however, he was now too overwhelmed and in awe to speak any of them aloud. A fairy? Here? Where pirates cooked and swabbed the deck and ate their grub? That he would ever see such a mystical being had never entered his mind, much less the idea that he would encounter one aboard a ship which had seen much more glorious days many years ago. He was sailor enough - a superstitious lot, one and all - to believe that magic existed, fairies among the more familiar imagery of sirens and selkies, but a vague belief in theory was much different from seeing one shimmering before his own eyes, gazing on him with a benevolent smile upon her face.

Seeing that the beguiling young man before her was currently incapable of answering, the silvery-winged fairy’s laughter tinkled on the air like the pleasant ringing of tiny bells, the riotous pile of ringleted brown curls interespersed with morning glory blossoms shook with her gentle mirth before she spoke again, hastening to explain and hopefully to dispel the poor youth’s doubt and confusion. “You are Killian Jones, yes?” she queried, already certain, but awaiting his confirmation nonetheless.

Killian did manage an affirmative nod, and his lips formed a soft “aye”, though it sounded as barely more than a whisper.

“Well then, Killian Jones, it is a pleasure to meet you at long last. I have watched you from afar all your life, after all. I am Nova, your fairy godmother.”

The handsome young man’s bright blue eyes popped wide open at her pronouncement, stunning in their crystal clarity and nearly making Nova’s sweet soul cry at the hope laid bare in his expression, hope which he tried equally to rein in, clearly having already learned such lovely things were not meant for him and waiting to hear the catch. She was the most tender-hearted of all her sisters, and it had been painful for her to look on and do nothing as this mischievous, brilliant little boy had been forced into manhood far too soon. His mother’s death, his father’s abandonment, the privation and shame of unwilling servitude, the cruelty of mistreatment, and the harsh life at sea had all changed the bonny child who had boarded this ship with his father and brother years ago into the solemn young man before her, who had never truly been allowed to leave. She had chafed over and over again at being held back and kept from doing something to help her appointed charge - anything to better his lot, even slightly. Their fairy laws were fickle, and yet exacting; even as Nova honored and revered their ways and her elders, she could not claim to understand why it had taken so long to finally be deemed “the right time”.

She could tell by the furrow of his dark brow that young Killian Jones must be pondering at least some of those same questions. Where had she been these last years of backbreaking toil, pilfered rations, and vicious taunts about a father so desperate to be rid of him he had sold him away? Where had she been the first time the lash had scored his back and left bloodied stripes in its wake? She had been right there beside him, unseen, constrained from taking any action, but he had no way of knowing that.

“I - I have a fairy godmother?” he finally sputtered in stark disbelief.

Nova nodded kindly, having the good grace to look more than a little abashed. “Of course you do! Everyone does. It breaks my heart to think you’ve felt so forgotten.” She squared her shoulders and blinked rapidly, trying not to become emotional as she attempted to explain. “Unfortunately, we fairies follow a very strict code. We are forbidden to make ourselves known before the appointed time. And I kept being told it was not yet that moment…”

Killian’s mind whirled with all the new information - and with a bit of indignance at the idea that all he and Liam had been through since being abandoned and left in Silver’s dubious oversight had not been considered serious enough to merit aid. His mouth opened, and even he himself was not sure if it was a question or a retort on the tip of his tongue - but his immediate awe was finally overcome - when his diminutive magical guest clearly sensed she needed to finish her explanation, and fast. 

“My superior, the Blue Fairy, or Blue as she’s often called, is stricter about maintaining our distance and secrecy than most.” Nova shrugged her shoulders in obvious contrition as she waved her hands and a wand appeared within her grasp. “I’ve never really understood why, but that’s neither here nor there. It is finally time to grant your heart’s wish… to do something to make you life better, just as I’ve been waiting to do!”

Killian’s mouth snapped shut again at that, puzzled by her words and disarmed at the excitement bursting from her tiny frame. He had never met this Nova before, but he could hardly doubt her eager sincerity. “My wish?” he repeated uncertainly, feeling that he was trailing considerably further behind in the conversation that he ought to be. “I can’t honestly remember even making one.”

Even as he spoke those words, however, Killian knew in his heart they were not entirely true. It might not have been the focused drive of a wish upon a star, or anything that direct, but he had often thought on where he would go if he were free, what he and Liam could do if they were their own men, left to their own devices, able to seek an adventure of their choosing, honor and glory for the name of Jones which their father had sullied. Had those hopes and dreams been heard all this time, when he had felt so forgotten and ignored? It must be true, though it was hard to reconcile with his previous experiences.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts broadcast across his face, Nova nodded enthusiastically, affirming his realization. “That’s right,” she pronounced clearly, gesturing to the clothing his brother and shipmates had procured for him. The fairy -his fairy godmother! - then effortlessly waved her wand once more, causing one of the flyers ever-present about this kingdom to appear before him from out of thin air. “This ball is only the beginning for you. You have big dreams, Killian Jones, and a calling to fulfill, but you are also the only one who can see them come true. I may be giving you a bit of a boost, but you are more than enough for the task. Your heart is strong, and I have no doubt it will see you through. You only need a little belief.”

“And what exactly does a fancy royal ball have to do with anything?” he questioned. His shock was wearing off as he grew more comfortable speaking to Nova, but he wasn’t seeing why he would be needed at a princess’ birthday celebration. All the same, he scooped all the formal wear up in his arms to go and change - whether it made sense to him or not.

Nova’s entire small fae being practically twinkled at him with the playful wink she gave before answering, “Not all things are as simple as they might first appear, young sir.” With that, she lightly tapped the end of her wand on the top of his head, causing a pleasantly warm tingling to spread through Killian’s body, all the way out to his fingers and toes.

A mere moment later, amid astonished exclamations from Liam, Cook, and the others, he realized that his arms were empty; the new clothes he had been holding already magicked onto his lanky frame, along with shining new shoes upon his feet and a smart queue tied off with ribbon matching his fine shirt and a fresh, neat trim to his dark hair too. It was indeed enough to make him feel a whole new person - one who might not stand out horribly, even at the palace of Misthaven.

“There now,” Nova approved with gentle tone, a fond smile gracing her lips as she took in the full effect upon her charge. “You look quite the young gentleman.”

“Aye, you do at that!” Cook echoed with his rough but friendly voice as he clapped Killian on the shoulder heartily. “Even in our heyday, Cap’n Silver himself rarely looked so sharp!”

“I’d not let him hear you say so,” the old shipwright Ned called over jovially.

“Too right!” Cook chuckled.

The other crew members present laughed as well and began to talk amongst themselves, drifting away now that the excitement was past. Soon, only Liam stood beside him, the two brothers both looking to their benefactress where she hovered before them. Even Cook headed off for his cabin, saying his old bones were ready for his bunk, even if the night was still young.

“You look just like a fine young lieutenant,” Liam affirmed, eyes wide as he took in his younger sibling and needlessly brushed some nonexistent speck from the shoulder of Killian’s jacket. Then, bracing both of his larger hands on Killian’s upper arms, he held him out to gaze into his face seriously before offering in a choked voice, “This sort of adventure should have always been your lot.” Liam pulled Killian in abruptly and hugged him tight for several seconds, startling Killian before he held onto his brother with equal fervency.

“Thank you,” Killian finally managed when Liam released him. “I don’t know how you managed all this,” he gestured around the room, “but I am sure it began with you.”

Liam flushed slightly, looking down with a sheepish smile. “My idea, aye, but I had lots of help. And it wouldn’t have turned out nearly so well if your honest-to-goodness fairy godmother hadn’t turned up!”

Nova’s ringing laughter once again tickled their ears, her eyes crinkling up prettily as well with her good humor. “It really was my pleasure,” she rejoined. But then she added more seriously, “This is your night, Killian. There is much for you to see and to do, and I bid you enjoy every moment to its fullest. I’ve readied a carriage which will take you to the palace, and Liam can ride along with you as far as the gates. Just remember - the ride and the clothes, the gifts you’ve been granted, will vanish at midnight. It’s simply how the magic works. Make sure you are headed back by then.”

Killian nodded, promising he would do as she said; it was far longer than he could imagine needing, if the truth were told. He wasn’t at all sure what he would do there in any case. And though he wished Liam could venture inside with him, he would gladly take the ride to gather more advice and draw strength from his sibling’s company.

After that, it seemed very little time passed before - head still spinning at the sheer impossibility of it all - Killian was disembarking from a fine horsedrawn carriage at the palace gates. Looking back to grin crookedly at Liam, his brother urged once more “Have fun!” and reassured him that all would be well. Turning, Killian bravely put first one foot, and then the other, forward, until he stepped into the castle of Misthaven, a guest at a royal ball. 

He slipped his hand into his pocket to run his fingers over the ring on an old chain which had once belonged to their mother (Liam had bid him carry it this once for luck) and pulled in a deep, steadying breath as he gained his bearings. He was already dazzled beyond belief, but determined to make a good showing and bring “honor to the Jones brothers” as he murmured under his breath. Whatever he was meant to find, he would do his best.

At that, he raised his eyes, catching sight of the magnificent winding staircase trailing down from the upper floors into the main hall. Halfway down the steps, paused with one foot poised in descent, was a stunningly beautiful, golden-haired vision in sky blue and silver. Killian could scarcely take in the tiara resting upon her head or the clear resemblance she bore to her likeness on all the recent announcements for her birthday. Laying eyes on her in life had struck him motionless, frozen in place. ‘Bloody hell,’  his mind fumbled inelegantly, ‘It’s Princess Emma herself.’

So completely entranced was he, in fact, that Killian failed to realize the princess was just as stunned - equally taken in and unable to move. Their eyes met and held across the distance between them, and one more shining burst of magic was ignited then and there.

Tagging a few others who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @eastwesthomeisbest @bluewildcatfanatic @jonesfandomfanatic

@belovedcreation @goforlaunchcee @laianely @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl

@myfearless-love @undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @resident-of-storybrooke

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @jennjenn615 @grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[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.

[stormymind14]

There not being enough (good) killian jones x reader fics, is going to be my 13th reason.

[priscilla9993]

It’s only gonna get worse before it gets better, but damn, Killian needs medical attention. He’s not even aware what’s going on. Blackbeard makes me so confused. I don’t know why he’s there but I can only wish that he’s secretively on Killian’s side, even if he’s getting some payment for helping get prisoners on the caravan or paying a guard to keep Killian alive from getting beaten more in the moment. *cries in thanks but also confusion and concern*

Laden of the Torn (4 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Tagging @priscilla9993@cocohook38 <3

***

All too soon, the guards were back, making a terrible racket and showing no regard for Killian’s misery.

“Move out, prisoner! Hop to it!”

“Don’t make us come in there!”

Groaning quietly, Killian collected trembling limbs and tried to remember how to stand. He had just gotten one foot flat against the floor and his bare stump on the wall for balance when heavy armor flounced across the room in his direction.

“Dawdling will only earn you a proper hiding!” growled the guard as he grabbed Killian by the elbow. “Move!”

Killian allowed himself to be hauled up; gods knew he couldn’t manage it on his own. The dingy walls spiraled around him as if the entire building were caught in a raging maelstrom. Killian gulped back now-familiar queasiness. The laceration in his scalp seemed to be splitting the whole thickness of hair, skin, and skull, until even his brain was rent in two. A violent shove by the guard sent him stumbling forward, and perhaps under normal circumstances he would have caught himself before falling, but his physical condition plus the unexpected drag caused by the ball and chain gave him no chance this time. He landed hard on his knees, and it seemed his thoughts would never stop rattling around inside his poor banged-up head.

Impatiently, another guard tromped inside, and together, they dragged Killian up and frog-marched him to a waiting line of similarly encumbered prisoners. He was shoved to the back--“Where I can keep an eye on you”--and it was probably for the best, because if he were leading the ragged gang of convicts, their route to the front door would have been slow and circuitous. As it was, at least he had the feet of the man in front of him to focus on, and something pointy between his shoulder blades to motivate each unsteady step.

The outside light was utterly blinding. Killian had to squeeze his eyes closed and shield them with his hand as he continued to stumble forward, hoping he wasn’t about to crash into the prisoner ahead. The shackle at his ankle was already chafing his skin as he dragged the heavy ball along. Above the clanking and grating all around, he began to hear jeers and mutterings of condemnation--a crowd of onlookers, gathered to bid good riddance to the criminal element?

A sharp little pebble struck Killian on the head, perilously close to his throbbing injury. Judging by the cursing and impotent threats coming from up ahead, his fellow prisoners were dealing with the same thing. So far, the guards didn’t seem to care as long as they weren’t the ones being targeted.

Killian slitted open watering eyes in the unlikely hope of seeing someone trustworthy among those gathered, someone who could take a message to Alice, or at least tell her what had become of him. The faces were mostly a blur, loathing and scorn the only thing recognizable among them. Not a trace of sympathy that Killian could make out. Well, he had trekked for several days to reach this particular location, with its ill-fated House of Blessed Bread and its ambush. If anyone did know of him here, they were likely to be allies of Ahab’s and no friend of Killian’s.

At the end of the cobblestone street, where an intersecting road led out of town, an indistinct wagon stood at the front of a similar line of convicts, who were chained together by the ankles and already dressed in tattered prisoner’s uniforms. Killian could not make out their number, or the number of guards stationed nearby, but it was certainly enough to discourage foolhardy escape attempts. Now would be the last chance to act, while relatively untethered and lightly guarded. Which did not matter in the slightest, given Killian’s current helplessness: he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere even if he could muster the strength to break free.

Except, he wasn’t the only one who could calculate the odds. 

Before Killian knew what was happening, the two men in front of him had whirled and were shoving him backwards into the rear guard, as shield or distraction or both, and he was fortunate that the force knocked him sideways just enough to avoid the ready spear. But his head collided painfully with the guard’s steel breastplate, adding to the fog already slowing his reflexes, so that the only thing saving him from complete collapse was a desperate flailing hand grasping at whatever was nearby.

Shouts of anger and alarm spurred more convicts into action, and the sentries were suddenly hard-pressed to keep control of the line, though with some of the more courageous onlookers rushing forward to wrestle back the fleeing, the chances of anyone making it through to freedom were slim. Still, with nothing to lose, those who had taken the gamble fought fiercely. Killian found himself clinging to a guard’s spear arm as a fellow prisoner wrestled for control of the weapon. The guard’s free hand took a fistful of Killian’s hair and smashed his face into the other man’s temple. Reeling and spitting blood, Killian staggered sideways, hoping to get clear of the struggle, only to take an elbow to the jaw from the irate criminal. 

A high-pitched ringing accompanied Killian’s heavy landing on the pavement. Fighting for breath, he tried to roll away from the action, but his chain became entangled with the guard’s feet. He made himself as small as possible and closed his eyes, praying he wasn’t about to be trampled or gored by an errant spear.

Having just subdued two other would-be escapees, another guard turned just in time to see his comrade tipping over, almost in slow motion. In the heat of the moment, he could not be blamed for thinking that Killian had intentionally used his chain as a tripping hazard. As the first guard landed with a crash, still engaged in the desperate struggle over his spear, the second raced over and dealt a hefty blow to the convict who had started it all. Skilled or merely lucky, he managed to knock him out in one, then he turned his fury on the hapless pirate nearby. Without even checking on his downed colleague, he began to beat Killian with the butt of his spear, pummeling him across the back and shoulders, kicking him in the ribs, making an example of the one man who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Too out of breath to even beg for mercy, Killian lay helpless as he absorbed blow after undeserved blow. 

It seemed the violence lasted a lifetime, twice the length of his Neverland days, until he could only hear the weapon hitting flesh and no longer feel it. Everything else had gone strangely quiet, and he imagined the villagers, train of convicts, and even the birds in the trees focusing on punishing his past sins. Then a loud, arrogant voice cut in. 

“Pardon me, gentlemen. Is it truly your intention to kill this old cripple?”

Once again, Killian could swear he recognized the voice, though he was in even worse shape to identify it than he had been the first time. Not Ahab, though; he would stake money on that fact. To be honest, the only thing that mattered was that the beating had stopped, momentarily at least.

“We warned ‘em what would happen if they caused trouble,” came a growled response. Killian drew a long, careful breath, the first he’d managed since time began. 

“Is that so?” The stranger sounded disinterested, bored even, but despite his current suffering, Killian could hear the devious undertone in the words. “Well, should you decide to deliver the promised number of laborers to that lot over there, allow me to offer you my services.”

There was a blessed beat of silence where nothing happened apart from the very act of breathing threatening to tear Killian’s rib cage through his chest. Then the guard gave a disdainful huff.

“Dunno how much use he’ll be in the labor camps anyway, with only one hand.” 

But he did not resume the bludgeoning, and Killian heard him take a step back. The newcomer seemed to sneer as he replied,

“I’m sure they’ll find something for him to do.”

A spearpoint was suddenly digging painfully into a bruise at the small of Killian’s back. 

“Get up, then. If you want to live, now’s your chance.”

Killian couldn’t, of course, and it had nothing to do with the will to live. Inflammation stiffened every muscle and fused each joint, and even the attempt to lift his head sent a lance of severe pain down his spine. He groaned hoarsely.

“This one’s about done for, I think. Get the rest moving.”

A moment later, shouts and the shuffling of feet made it plain that Killian was being left behind. The guard poked him again.

“Last chance.”

With massive effort, Killian managed to roll prone, stifling curses all the way. He’d rather meet his death face forward, but the thought of lying on his throbbing back made him even more queasy than he already was. 

“If I may?”

Killian heard the rustling of movement and the scuff of boots on the stone near his shoulder, and he cringed, expecting more caning, or even a blade across the throat. Instead, rough hands slithered beneath his bruised torso, and then the wind left him again as he was hoisted up and slung over a broad shoulder.

He must have blacked out momentarily. When awareness returned, the massive pressure inside his skull seemed likely to squeeze his brain out through his ears, and he could only gasp one fingerful of air at a time, in the rare instances when his battered ribs weren’t banging against the solid form beneath him. He was being carried like a sack of flour, jolting along the cobbled street and wishing a spear had found his heart so he could have avoided this agony. But he couldn’t protest and couldn’t struggle, and his only hope of a reprieve was to return to a state of blissful unconsciousness, but the pain was preventing even that now.

Whoever had hold of him was pungent with sweat and cheap rum, and he certainly showed little regard for Killian’s comfort as he lugged him toward the waiting train of convicts. Killian hoped he had more sense than to try and place him on his feet when they arrived; he knew his legs would immediately give out and he’d likely do himself more damage as a result. But no, as woozy as Killian was, he had retained the mental layout of his surroundings and judged by their direction that they were heading for the wagon at the front of the line.

The relief was short-lived as he was dumped carelessly onto the bed of the wagon with nothing to blunt the impact, and the only thing keeping him from crying out in pain was the inability to first fill his lungs with enough breath. 

As he shuddered through the worst of it, Killian slitted an eye open and caught a flash of crimson, red as the blood he’d surely been shedding on his dispassionate benefactor, and then the unmistakable glint of gold coins changing hands. By then, the vertigo had scaled back up to “worst of the worst,” and he couldn’t even find the strength to roll onto his side as unproductive retching tore at his insides. The only way he could tell when the wagon started moving was the shockwave resulting from each little rock and pothole, lengthening the eggshell cracks in his skull and magnifying every other bruise, contusion, and gash until every second was laced with infinite anguish. 

He never noticed that no guards or chain of prisoners followed along behind them.

[colinoeyebrows]

Your favourite Captain Swan scene in Yellow

Happy Birthday to Colin's almost-birthday twin Julie!! (@julieenchanted-swans/@enchanted-swans)