#ouat millian

[justmilah]

“Whispers” | Millian

@moonbeamnights  has been nice enough to let me ramble with her about so many ideas and head canons for these two, and this is one of the ideas that came from it. (Hopefully it's coherent, I tried putting like ten different things we talked about in here.)

WORDS: 2,290

RATING: T

PAIRINGS: Millian

SUMMARY: He heard the whispers then, familiar and slimy little things that wriggled and squirmed into his ears and settled heavily in his gut and he knew she could hear them too.

Ao3

Each time he watched her find him in a crowd her face would light up. It would last only for a moment before she caught herself, schooling her features into a more appropriate expression as her eyes quickly scanned the crowd to make sure no one had seen her, but by then the damage would already be done. Whether he'd worked himself up to the idea that this would be his last time there for both their sakes, or had tried to convince himself that the memory of her was certainly better than reality, her happiness at seeing him of all people ensured he would return at least one more time.

Killian was not used to seeing her outside the tavern. When the ship made port and the resupplies were going underway, hers was a face he never saw in the crowd during the light of day despite how often he would look. Killian would imagine her at home, doing chores with a husband she adored enough to stay with or stealing a few moments to play with the boy she clearly loved. It was a domestic sort of bliss he rarely ever cared for.

That day, though, as he scanned the crowd and expected not to find her, he did. Or at least thought he did. Her back was to him and he was not sure if wild curls were a common style among the locals. Surely not, and especially not loose with the freedom she herself longed for, but the possibility of his pirate hand settling on someone with terribly delicate sensibilities who would rather scream bloody murder than smile at him gave him pause.

So he followed and watched and, admittedly, enjoyed her guileless sashay through the throng of people. He was more convinced by that than by her curls. There was only one person he knew who could walk like that without realizing exactly what it did to a person.

He knew it was her when she turned to touch a delicate silk scarf of burnt oranges and reds and caught her face in profile. Milah had an almost peaceful smile on her face, nearly serene as she was caught up in her own little world, but it quickly froze as her eyes lifted to the merchant. The stall keeper said something with the same sort of sneering smile he saw as a boy. Her lips thinned and she gave a curt nod, fingers flicking the scarf away as though it were made of dung.

Killian sped up his steps, watching her walk with tense shoulders. He nears the market she had just left in time to hear the loud whispering between colleagues about the coward's wife diminishing the value of their expensive silk scarf with her dirty hands. He looked at the scarf and then up at them, eyebrows raising in derision. "You call this silk?" He picked it up between two fingers, flicking it the same as she had, and sent it fluttering to the muddy ground.

"Hey, you can't just do that!" The man who had sneered at Milah was simply outraged that anyone would dare treat him that way.

Killian held up his hands and took a step back, giving the merchant a moment to grab the wooden club behind his stall if he so wished. He glanced at the pirate's sword and thought better of it, scoffing instead. "The world really is going to shit, Suzy."

He shrugged before pivoting, the dramatic flourish only dampened because there was no long coat to flair about his legs, to follow after Milah. His ears were now open to the chatter of others around them. He heard the whispers then, familiar and slimy little things that wriggled and squirmed into his ears and settled heavily in his gut and he knew she could hear them too. She would stop for a moment, shoulders tense, and instead of turning toward her verbal assailant like he wished she would, she just walked on.

It was after a particularly nasty comment that had him reaching for her. His hand settled on her shoulder and before he could say anything she was turning to him, ready to slam the basket she carried into his gut. Her face, so calm and serene just moments ago,  was now bright red with anger and humiliation. Then she saw who he was and her face lit up, though somewhat dimmed this time, as she smiled. "You startled me."

"Are you alright?" He wanted to touch her face or pull her close, to offer any sort of comfort to her that he could. But he couldn't because she had someone else for that.

Her shoulders sagged at the realization that he'd heard. She nodded, not even pretending with a smile this time. "I'm fine. It isn't the worst they've said."

Killian scowled. "How is that fine? They shouldn't be saying anything at all." He looked up at the person he knew called her a whore, taking a step toward him before thinking.

"Please, just stop ." An old and weary frustration laced her voice as she grabbed his arm, tight grip loosening as he did as she asked. She blinked and stared at her hand before taking a deep breath to look at him, voice softening. "I'm–" She cut herself off and bit her lip before continuing. "It isn't worth it."

It was the first time she had touched him first and the heat of her hand seared through the linen of his shirt and branded itself deep beneath his skin. At least that would be what he imagined later when he could not sleep and could still feel her touch. For now, though, he stood wondering if the near slip was a near admission of one's own self worth or if perhaps his mind was too quick to try and analyze everything about her, thirsty for any morsel about herself that she might give him. "It would be, though."

Her shoulders relaxed and her smile, while small, was there. "You're very sweet." Her hand slid down his arm and settled around his, all worn calluses and soft skin. He felt his own cheeks warm. He was rarely ever accused of being sweet. Then she remembered herself, eyes darting around as her smile faded and folding her arms against herself. "But when you leave, I will still be at their mercy for the cost of flour and meat and…everything else we cannot get to grow."

Killian rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I cannot say I like it very much, but for you ," He sighed heavily with a theatrical roll of his eyes. "I shall do my very best to behave myself."

She bit back another smile as best she could. "A difficult task for you, I'm certain, but I have faith you will succeed."

"What else does a man need aside from the faith of a beautiful woman?" Her smile turned to confused shock. Fearing he might have overstepped and scare her off at any moment he took a step toward her. "Will you be at the tavern tonight?"

Her hand fluttered to her chest, brows furrowing together in thought. "Oh." She bit her lip between her teeth again and he feared she might try to make excuses. "After Baelfire's in bed. After…everyone's in bed."

"Baelfire. Your boy?" She nodded, the beginnings of a smile on her face again. "How is the lad?"

The smile bloomed so bright it almost hurt to look at. "He is beautiful. Thank you."

And, since he was already asking about her family, he had to ask about him. He hated talking about the man at all, letting himself pretend for stretches of seconds at a time that he did not exist. But the man did, and Killian had enough good form left in him to acknowledge as much. "And that husband of yours? You make the picture of domestic bliss and happiness, I'm sure." He kept his voice calm and even and he thought maybe he'd reward himself with a nice, drunken stupor later.

He expected her smile to stay when she talked about all of her family and he'd have to pretend it wasn't slowly killing him. Instead it fell as her face twisted into a hurt scowl. "Are you making fun of me?" Before he could answer her shoulders sagged and she rolled her eyes, turning to walk away as she muttered. "Of course you are. Why did I let myself expect any different."

The words were more muttered to herself but they still landed like punches to his gut. Killian knew if he didn't fix this now there would be no more smiles for him when their eyes met in a crowd, or if they ever would again.

"Milah, wait." She didn't stop and he had to scramble to catch up. He darted in front of her and held up both his hands. He wanted to grab her arms and get her to look at him but he was fairly certain that way would lead to a kneed groin and some face scratches. "How is what I said making fun?"

Her glare stayed in place for a long stretch before it finally melted as she looked at him. "You're not?"

He shook his head, finally settling his hands on her shoulders. "I might tease. But that's something for all parties involved to enjoy." He flashed her a grin and a bit of an eyebrow waggle before clearing his throat at her blank look. It was moments like these where he resisted the urge to show her what he meant. "I wouldn't make fun of someone I like. And I very much like you."

"I'm glad. I'm not sure what I would have done if you had been." Her voice was soft and sad and he wondered if he were the only adult in her life that didn't make her miserable in some way. Or, if he did, he hoped it was the sort of miserable she made him, because it was the kind wanted to cling to.

" I was fully prepared for a well placed knee." Her cheeks turned pink. He studied her for a long moment. He'd made himself content with just this, thinking this was the life she wanted. And he could be content if this was all she could give him. "Are you happy?"

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "I love my son." It was a quick response and he wondered how often she'd repeated that to herself.

"Is that enough?"

"It has to be."

He nodded and finally dropped his hands from her shoulders. Killian thought he might be understanding more of her. He wanted to know more, to ask her everything, but having her not want to throttle him was a good place to end. Still, she had to know that she had options. "My offer still stands. If you ever do wish to see those things, all you need to do is ask."

"And if I keep saying no?" Her eyes were large.

"I will keep coming back until you tell me not to."

Later at the tavern she was laughing beside him, joking with his men as she won their money. She was happy sitting there, sipping her ale and stealing bits of bread and meat from his plate. She froze and this time it wasn't a whisper. 

"Looks like the coward's wife is whoring herself to a bunch of filthy pirates to feed her family, eh?" There was laughing and jeering as his table fell silent.

He had promised her he would behave when they talked about her. But as they'd brought his crew's bathing habits into question, well, who could blame him for throwing that dagger at that man's head? There was a startled yelp beside him as it vibrated harmlessly in the wall. "Looks like I'm a bit drunk today, lads. I missed!"

This time the laughter was at his table, and far louder. Good. He turned to Milah. "I'm sorry, love, did I startle you?" She shook her head. He held up the dice for her. "Good. It's your roll, I believe."

Her pockets were filled with more coin than when she'd joined him when they left. It wasn't whoring if it was a fair buy-in and they both left for separate beds. He walked her closer to her home than he had before, suddenly not liking the way the shadows lurked around her. This meant they were far enough from prying eyes that he could take her hand in his and kiss it as he'd done their first night. "This is where I'll leave you."

She grabbed his arm again and opened her mouth to say something. Then, thinking better of it, she let him go and smiled at him. It was still lovely, still warmed him, but it was also sad. "I'll see you when you're next in port."

"Aye. I really hope you do."

He started back for his ship, stopping at the curve in the road to look back. He expected her to be gone but she stood there with a longing that he'd thought he would only ever see in the mirror when he thought of her. He wanted to run back to her, plead with her to come with him, and maybe if he did now she would. But she had a boy she loved, and that had to be enough.

He lifted his hand in a wave before making himself leave again, almost hating that his steps were suddenly lighter. He hated that the whisper of hope blooming in his chest was born from the misery on her face. 

[lovebecomeshim]

it’s been years and i still can’t get over the fact that all of rumple’s wives end up liking killian better than him

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Community reminder for my fellow ouat fans: The Crocodile first aired October 21, 2012, meaning we're currently less than five days away from the tenth anniversary of Killian's screen debut.

[happy-emmdings]

Bleeding Out

on AO3

Tags: major character death, character insight, inner monologue in canon scene, hurt/no comfort

Summary: When Milah is murdered in front of him, Killian watches his entire world crushed and carried away on the salt-scened wind. He barely reacts to the severe pain and bleeding of his own body.

Word count: 1 084

He has been a fool for thinking a heart twice shattered had a chance to hold together while still being made of flesh. He should have turned it into solid rock. He should have cast it in steel. He should have thrown it into the ocean deep and leave it to fossilize. Because now its shards are piercing his lungs and he cannot breathe without a stabbing pain.

The softest touch of fingertips brushes against his jaw and he can feel the life fading out of them. Once again, he is powerless to stop it. Once again, he watches the one he loves most turn into a cold, unresponsive, empty body right in his arms. One moment a person, full of life and love and with so many horizons to see, the next a lifeless cadaver. A beating heart is nothing but sand in the wind.

He caresses her cheek one last time, unable to turn away just yet. This is the work of a coward. A coward who wouldn't even put up a fight for her, who has never deserved her beautiful, bold, courageous heart. A coward that hadn't passed his test years ago aboard this ship. Only a coward could hide behind dark magic and dare to claim the life of a woman for not wanting him. He wouldn't fight for her but he would dare seal her fate? How dare he? How dare he!

Does he have any idea what he has just done? What kind of monster is he to destroy the most precious soul in the entire world? What kind of monster is he to take a life worth a thousand times his? Can't he see that he has blocked out the sun? That the sea runs red with blood and the air is turning to smoke? Can't he see that without her there is no point? That all gold has lost its glimmer and all songs have turned to hoarse, empty gasps and all wine has turned bitter and bleak and there will never be joy in this world ever again?

Can't he see, that empty arms, that still feel the remains of a dying loved one's last warmth are a curse most horrid and that he will never ever be able to shake it off? And how dare he let him live with the remains of her last breath clinging to him like frost to a tongue? Once again, he is left behind. Once again, he is forced to watch someone leave and he's condemned to survival. As blood spills on the deck and his clothes, as it runs thick and warm between his fingers as he clutches his wrist, his whole body should be writhing in pain, but he might as well be already fossilizing. He can only feel the hazy edges of it but he knows there is more. It is hanging over his head like a wave stopped mid-motion, lurking, waiting for the cue to crush down on him and overwhelm his senses with the worst agony he has yet to taste. But not yet. It is held at bay by a pain greater still. And a new-born purpose.

A hook is a weapon as good as any other. Anything that has a sharp point can pierce, anything that has a purpose can have another. He couldn't kill the poison that took his brother, but he sure as hell can and will destroy the poison that took his love. His fate is decided the moment when he fails to fulfill that new oath on the spot. And he sees that this is why he is still alive, why he has to be alive even as everyone who deserved to live longer becomes nothing but bones in the ocean and another scar. He was a fool to think happiness was in the cards for the likes of him. No, he has not survived to find a happy ending. He is here to fulfill a different destiny. He must be an emissary of death. He must be the agent of wrath for those that cannot feel it anymore. And he has enough wrath for all of them, more than his wretched heart can hold. He can feel it pouring out through the cracks. And he lets it flood him. He lets it drown out the hopeless, lost despair. And he dons vengeance like a thick, grief-proof coat. What else is there left for him to do but destroy what has destroyed those that made life worth living? A thirst like he has never felt before takes over him. A thirst for crocodile blood.

No, he doesn't need gold to glimmer or songs to sound pleasing and merry or wine to be velvety and sweet. He doesn't need the sun to shine and the ocean to glint in its light. He needs to break what has broken him. He needs the satisfaction of annihilation. He needs to rid the world of this dastardly, abominable demon.

He has loved people whom he would have followed to the end of the earth and beyond. But now they have both fallen off the edge and he is once more left to roam the seas aimlessly like a ship without a crew. Like a wind torn sail without a purpose. The time of love is over. Now there is only one course in the stars for him. The age of hatred has begun. And he will follow it to the blue unknown. He knows what his dying breath will be. A proclamation of triumph when he will have slayed the demon.

The world sways around him as its single focal point becomes the glint of the hook he is holding. And it is then that the wave of unmatched suffering crushes down in full force. His knees buckle and his head spins in haze. And he can't see anything but red, red, red and dark spots and oh, he never knew he could hurt like this.

"Captain!" somebody calls out.

Feet pound on the wood and rush toward him. He is fading. Like Milah's heart. Like Liam's smile. Like a lantern's flame in the draft. But this darkness isn't death, it is merely slumber before he is reborn from the ashes, with a heart of stone this time. He cannot die, for he isn't truly alive anymore. His is an eternal death. A death he will live out to the last weary day. The hunt for revenge has only just begun.

[vasfasan]

millian is SO остров by мы

[nyxlikesgarlicbread]

MILLIAN HC BECAUSE EMOTIONS.

so we all know s7 killian is like, stupidly good at art and we don’t explore that for the first six seasons. Like what???? So here’s my hot take on this.

I feel like maybe he knew how to draw when he was in the navy then dropped it, after Liam died, losing the skills. However, he had a sketch of his brother he made, and kept it with him, always. After he meets milah quite a few years later, she helps him learn to draw again, because she needed something to do while having a shitty husband, and while she’s sleeping he does a sketch of her, tucking it away thinking it’s no good, not knowing he wouldn’t get a chance to do it again. Rumple comes back before the sketch is even finished. Throughout his 200 year search for revenge, he always had that sketch of her. Never letting it go, taking her with him wherever he went.

[piraterefrigerator]

I always wonder if Killian got his Milah tattoo before or after she died

Did he get it to remember her after she died?? Bc if not there's a certain irony to the design

But otherwise; did he surprise her with it? A little anniversary surprise or something?

I have questions and they need answers

[moonbeamnights]

Milah was married to Mr. Gold. And Killian's master was called Silver. The Millian having abusers with metallic names parallel.

[scripted-downfall]

Milah deserved so much better

[chess-blackmyre]

The greatest running joke in OUAT is the complicated family tree and as such I always find it hilarious that Killian is Henry’s stepfather AND basically his step-grandfather.

[justmilah]

Fading Honeysuckle

@piraterefrigerator so remember that revenge I promised?

Scent lingers but it doesn't stay forever.

RATED:  T WORD COUNT: 1020 PAIRING: Millian

Ao3

So at first I chose the honeysuckle because my mother's been growing it and it's really pretty and smells nice. And curiously I looked it up. Apparently, honeysuckle is a symbol of pure happiness. It conveys the sweetness of affection, and it also represents the flames of love and the tenderness for love that has been lost. So. That was a gloriously and happily painful accident.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Royals (Millian Drabble)

requested by @piraterefrigerator

"To think, some people are born with this," Milah whispered wistfully as she looked over the jewels they'd recently "liberated."

"Aye," Killian shook his head, twirling a plundered pendant between his fingers, "it seems fate plays her favorites."

Milah studied his handsome features.

"If fate has favorites, it's us."

"And how do you figure that?" he asked, with an intrigued eyebrow raise.

She took his hand. "No one else has you."

"Then fate has smiled at me too," he said, lifting her chin so he could take in her beauty, "for it gave me another night to smile at you."

a/n and tags under cut

so uh. I'm probably gonna lose all my street cred for this, but this was requested as a CaptainSwan fic. I'm not sure at what point my brain slipped and said "we're writing a Millian fic instead" but I promise it was unintentional. Either way, I hope y'all like this one!

taglist: @justmilah @silver-the-phoenix (if you like millian and wanna be added to this list, hmu!)

send me a ship and a song and i'll write a drabble!

[happy-emmdings]

Is That Theft?

on AO3

Pairing: Killian Jones/Milah

Summary: Under the influence of her misery, Milah makes a decision to join the pirate crew of a certain young man that makes her feel more alive than anyone ever has. Before Milah and Killian run off together, they plot their deception and prepare a test for Rumplestiltskin.

Word count: 2 258

Author’s note: This turned out very Milah-centric because I really wanted to explore her point of view. Anyway, have some flawed characters making questionable decisions.

*Based on this line Killian says to Belle in 2x11:

“Tell me something, love. When a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away… is that theft?”

Milah didn't sleep a wink the last night she spent in her village. Finally, on the cusp of daybreak, she slipped out from under the covers that just didn't seem to be able to warm her numb bones. There was no life in that hut. There was no home within those walls. Like a siren's call, the wind outside, that blew from the sea, sang of a young pirate captain with ocean eyes and hair as dark as the raven wings of night. The insistent zephyr knew her deepest, darkest desires and the fondness with which her soul warmed in his presence more than by her hearth, the ardency with which she pined for him and the adventurous life they could share, if only...

She couldn't make herself look at her son as she approached the door quietly on tiptoes (quiet as the shadow she was turning into in this household), careful not to wake him or Rumple. She wished she could leave Bae a letter. But she didn't think she could come up with words that would absolve her of what she was about to do. And she didn't think she could be so cruel as to make Rumple read it to him.

She promised herself she would come back for him one day. When he was old enough. He will hate you by then, a tiny voice whispered in her head. But isn't that only a matter of time either way? she asked it bitterly.

She told herself it was better for him this way too. That it was better for him to grow up with one loving father than with two miserable parents that hated each other. What would a child, old enough to read pain, think if he looked into his mother's eyes and saw nothing but hollow misery and desolation? What would it teach him, if he could read the wrinkles carved by tears and the aching, insatiable hunger that rattled her bones when she gazed at the sea? What would he learn about family if he had to watch his mother's heart grow cold and resentful, if he had to watch her suffocate on his father's empty, unconvincing proclamations of love?

You're making excuses, the creak of the door accused her.

They'll barely miss me, she thought as she slipped into the night.

She followed the glow of sunrise over the eastern ocean. Only one lone star still floated in the sky like a single lifeboat on dark waves for her to board and save herself. The horizon was blushing in the east as the day started to wake in pale colors. But it was not a shy blush. It was sun-kissed and sensual, a bold rush of pink. She watched the sky's colors paint the sea to life and she longed to make the glimmering water-surface her mirror. She saw rosy cheeks of a sharp-tongued lady, vibrant and unstoppable as the dawn. A lady... only one man has ever called her that in a way that made her feel like one. She has lost that lady on this land. She hoped to find her on the saline waves.

Her heart found its lively rhythm anew when her tired eyes landed on his ship. The Jolly Roger's hull towered proudly over the small, brooding harbor. The wood groaned quietly as if to greet her. The water that splashed gently against it murmured a sympathetic welcome.

She didn't expect to find him on deck. With his back to her, the morning's increasing light defined his dark silhouette as he gazed at the sea, lost in thought. Perhaps a thought that stole his sleep.

"You're awake," she uttered. Her voice was raspy after her long, silent vigil.

He turned around with a startled expression. But his hand didn't reach for his blade. He had recognized her voice instantly.

"You're here," he whispered with questions with his eyes. A hopeful spark lit up in him. He did such a poor job of trying to conceal it.

"You're not going to make me walk the plank for boarding without permission, are you, Captain?" she smirked.

He mirrored her smile and cocked an eyebrow. And there it was again. She could almost see some kind of burden lift from his shoulders the same way he eased her pain every time they found refuge in each other.

"You have the captain's permission, m'lady. The honor is mine. To what does my ship and I owe the pleasure?" His deep blue eyes surveyed her with curiosity. Hope blended with concern in them as he waited for her confession.

"Take me away, Killian," she whispered.

She crossed the space between them and took his cold hands in hers with the intention to hold them until the chill of the night that still clung to them was expelled from them both. He bore his wide, yearning eyes into her.

"Are you certain, love?" he asked, clearly pushing down his eagerness, not quite daring to believe she meant it.

"Aye, Captain," she nodded. "Let me join your crew."

A small, adorable pant of excitement escaped his lips before they spread into a wide smile. Encouraged by his reaction, she dared reach out her hands to cup his bristly face. They glanced at each other's lips and before they knew it, they collided in a hungry, love-starved kiss.

Eventually, he pulled away, but still held her close. A cloud of worry passed across his features for a moment.

"What of your family?" he asked somberly.

Her lips formed a thin, nervous line. She begged him with her eyes not to ask again.

They'll be better off without me. I can't live like this. I can't, I can't, I can't-

"Take me away. Please," she repeated. Hold me, love me, make me whole, she thought.

His hint of guilt seemed to dissolve in the tears that started to glisten in her eyes. He nodded and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a gentleness no one would expect from a cut-throat vagabond. She knew better.

"Let's trade our nothings for treasures," she whispered with a hungry quiver in her voice. "We can't be robbed if we're the robbers. You hate the crown, so let's bring this kingdom to ruin together. Let's bring the world to its knees so that we never have to bow."

Her eyes were burning and his caught aflame with her spark. She could see her words resonate in him, her hunger, her need to be free and her wanderlust echoed in his breath. He handed her a cutlass and promised that the sea was full of treasures and theirs to roam. And that there was honor among thieves that stole from tyrants. And that the endless ocean was their domain, where the only law was the law of the blade and freedom for all.

This love will be the end of me, she thought. What a magnificent way to go.

But at the same time, she thought This is where I begin.

He was younger than her by almost a decade but he had already seen so much more of the world then her. And something timeless in his forget-me-not eyes suggested that he had already known pain that would suffice for a lifetime. Maybe if they added their broken pieces together, they could make something whole, something beautiful. It sounded so much better to wander and roam endlessly and make the blue unknown her home, than to stay caged and confined homeless in a house.

Killian led her below deck to show her the home he could offer. It was already beginning to feel right. Right enough to help her bury her guilt on this shore, to store it away, safely out of sight and to someday come back and face it. Someday.

"Can we... can we come back for my son, when he's old enough?" she asked uncertainly.

"Aye. Of course, love."

"He'll have his father. He loves him better," she said, trying to convince herself.

"Won't he come looking for you?" Killian frowned at the mention of her husband.

"Ha!" Milah scoffed bitterly. He gave her a pained, sympathetic look.

"Oh, he will," she shook her head resentfully, "when the time comes for chores to be done. But that is as far as he'll care."

She hadn't actually thought about what she would do if Rumple came looking for her. She didn't think she could face him and tell him the truth. She didn't think she could look into his eyes and tell him just how much being with him crushed her spirit. She didn't think he'd actually dare to come search for her on a pirate ship. But now that the thought crossed her mind she began to worry.

"I don't know what I would tell him," she admitted. "I can't- I don't want to tell him..."

"I can pretend to have kidnapped you," Killian proposed. "I am a pirate. No one will question it."

She agreed. It was the perfect plan. Especially because it was guaranteed to be coward-proof. A painful thought poked her mind. If you got kidnapped, no one would save you. No one would even try.

It made her heart grow cold and as hard as stone and a cruel scheme was born in her head. Maybe she'd give him one last chance. Or more likely, she'd give herself the one last proof she needed.

"Killian," she said. He seemed surprised by the darkness that settled in her eyes. "Tell him you kidnapped me. Tell him you want to hurt me. Or tell him you stole me to please your men."

At first he seemed confused, revolted even.

"Because he won't... he won't lift a finger," she explained bitterly.

Understanding passed over his face and he tensed up as a protective anger possessed him. It felt so good for someone to care. She'd never seen someone so enraged on her behalf. It filled her with a sort of selfish satisfaction.

"Are you truly so sure he will not stand up for you?" he asked.

"Watch him give me up without a fight," she said. And so, their web was spun and their test prepared.

When the ship stirred awake and the sailors started making preparations for their departure, Killian introduced Milah to the crew. It was mostly just a formality, because she already knew most of them by name from the evenings, she spent with them in the port tavern. They were a rough, but strangely amiable bunch. They have offered her more acceptance and geniality than any of her neighbors that shunned her for being the deserter's wife.

Killian announced that if she still wanted to set sail with them by the time of their planned departure, she would become a true member of the crew. He ordered that she would be treated with respect and taught all there was to know about their way of life. He also gave them the order to spread a rumor about her kidnapping and to pretend that was the case until they will have sailed away.

"Just... don't hurt him," Milah pleaded with Killian before she hid in the captain's quarters. He promised he wouldn't and that he would tell her if her husband actually put up a fight. She sat and waited, as the boards creaked with footsteps and unintelligible voices rang out from above deck. So far, no sound of steel. She was already quite confident in her prediction of the test's result.

* * *

Truth be told, he enjoyed mocking the trembling man a little too much. He had little patience with cowards, and even less with the one that made the woman, that had captured his heart, so miserable.

"All you have to do is take her," he said, throwing a cutlass in front of the peasant, preceded by his reputation of the man who ran from fights. That reputation stuck to Milah like resin and stained her in the eyes of those close-minded villagers. As if she had to be defined by this whimpering fool, when she could have the power to define herself.

Pure disgust filled him when the older man shook his head with a miserable snivel. Just as Milah predicted, he didn't even pick up the blade. That was all he had to do. But he didn't, as she said, lift a finger.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets," he growled and meant every word.

"Please, sir," Rumplestiltskin's voice cracked with despair, "what am I gonna tell my boy?"

Killian turned around again as he was about to walk away.

"Try the truth," he said plainly. "His father is a coward."

No, he was not going to make Milah waste her life with this craven man who didn't even love her. Because people who loved fought with everything they had, no matter how tipped the scales were, no matter the risk. He had been loved only by a few, but he had watched his brother shield him with his own body to spare him from pain. He knew for certain that when he loved someone, truly loved them, he would put his life on the line without hesitation. There was way too much misery in life already to just go ahead and drown in it when there were brighter shores to reach. He would give Milah what she asked this man to give her and he refused. He would give her a life to love. A pirate's life.

[queen-mabs-revenge]

oh god rereading brawl's amazing petergwen meta and while 'pastel and primary morticia and gomez' took me the fuck out the first time, this just took me out:

'The much juicer read through which to allow the characters to see the shape of the narrative trends that guide their lives is: The laws of the universe have decreed that once the two of you enter a room together only one of you gets to leave it alive.'

and the reason i'm not reblogging with these thots or added tags is bc i'm sparing everyone the insane ouat tangent bc it drop-kicked me that...

millian has petergwen vibes???

like not only the 'countdown to doom which literally shapes the entire narrative thrust of the universe' of it all (which hELLO millian literally kickstarts all of OUAT). but also yeah, i've def headcanoned that it only makes sense that killian was looking for an emma to break the curse separating him from alice if he'd at first tried to jump around the multiverse trying to find his tl milah to break the curse. but every time he met her it was like he set her fate in motion and whether it was minutes, hours, days [or most painfully longer], he inevitably would watch her die and he eventually, after realising his existence's role in her fate - completely and even more thoroughly traumatised - gives up for the sake of the iterations of her still living, sinks into despair, and when he learns about storyhook's emma jumps at that sliver of a possibility.

(which again - hc that after the realms are united, all the magical bodies of water are linked, damned river souls can be revived, welcome back milah, and oh dip the loophole is that if the person already died then.....)

(which would make a very fun petergwen loophole to play with)

but even aside from the hc, big tick-tick-doom energy with millian

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE

the vigilanteism of it all, the jewel-tone morticia and gomez of it all, the fact that if you were gonna do a personality cognate btw milah and any of the spidey cast it would def be gwen - the drama, the ambition, the hair-trigger temper, the legendary stubbornness, the willingness to bite and kill anyone out for their person, again to reference brawl's meta -- millian is definitely bitch4bitch gOD

lmao i'm literally the single one person on the earth that's gonna care about this but idgaf this is a treat for me 👉😎👉

[piracytheorist]

So I got some feels today because I realized Killian’s thinking that he’d never find love again is further established by how he refers to Milah before falling in love with Emma. All times before that time, he uses “my love”, “the woman I loved”, and especially in 3x10, in the flashback, he tells Tink that he would give his life for love and revenge, but he’s lost the former. It’s only in 3x06 where he’s realized he is moving on that he refers to her as his first love. Until that moment, she was the one and only and like I don’t blame him dude spent 300 years unable to fall in love with another, no wonder he thought he’d never move on. But it’s a bit heartbreaking to think how definite he was about it.

[piraterefrigerator]

"I think the sun's starting to set, we should get going soon"

"No worries, Liam won't mind if we're out a bit past dark"

"Perhaps, but my parents will have both of our heads"

A little high-school au Millian drawing! They're faceless bc I'm lazy but oh well