#Realizing that too much strength can be a curse because now they're too distant from the real world

[le-panda-chocovore]

DON'T DO THAT TO ME I WAS TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT

It’s crazy how if you think about it, JayVik follows almost exactly the same road as SatoSugu

[teary-eyed-tiaras]

I made a fake eddsworld horror movie starring Laurel

"Lower Birth is a lowbudget 1995 feminist cult horror movie released to high audience and critical praise.

The plot follows Laurel Hardy and Eduardo Torres, a very distant couple on the brink of seperating, so distant that they don't even sleep in the same beds anymore. Much to Laurel's surprise and shock, she miraciously finds out she's pregnant with out having slept with eduardo in months, she has never wanter kids and plans to abort it but eduardo convinces her to keep it. He also convinces her to sell their apartment and move in with his friends that she has never met before since their house has much more space.

Upon arriving to their new home Laurel is instantly put off, Todd doesn't wanna talk to her at all, Jon keeps hugging her and touching her hands with out permission, and Mark keeps explaining basic things about her own body to her. He also seems quite upset when she rejects his offer to be an OBGYN for her because she already has a female doctor she likes very much.

They throw a party and invite the whole neighborhood, which is when Laurel realizes that there are absolutely no women in the entire block. Everyone seems very welcoming to her but they already know her name and that she's pregnant, something she wanted to tell them herself. She sneaks out of the party and catches a bus to visit her friends Kim and Katya, a lesbisn couple living in the city that eduardo hates for undisclosed reasons.

Laurel vents about everything but doesn't let it slip that she didn't have the baby intentionally. They're nice to her but Kim says she doesn't understant straight peoples compulsion to have unnecessary children that make them sick and mess up their bodies. Laurel starts to suffer pregnancy symptoms and faints so she decides to go home, where Eduardo has all but disapearred.

Over the next few days, Laurel suffers fainting spells,sickness and constant exhaustian that makes it hard for her to get up. Eduardo works all day and comes back home by the time she's already asleep so she rarely ever sees him now. She starts having bizzare dreams of a door with red under it and a cross that frighten and upset her.

She deduces that Todd's been hiding a secret room from her but upon finding it realizes it's just a male nursery he had been building as a suprise for her. She's thankful but asks what they're gonna do if the babies a girl, and Todd just laughs in response. Jon and Mark then inform her that they pretended to be eduardo and quit her job and cancelled her doctors appointments so they can loon after her 24/7. Laurel gets very upset but can't curse them out due to suddenly feeling sick and passing out.

When she wakes up again she has gone from being one month pregnant to nine months pregnant, and only she seems to be horrified or shocked at all. The next few days are just a blur as she continously passes out and wakes back up. One night however, Jon decides to go into Laurel's room and place her hands on her stomache once again.

Laurel is so tired and weak she just pretends to be asleep in hopes he'll leave, but he just keeps doing it and starts whispering cryptic things to himself. This the final straw for Laurel, and after he leaves she manages to summon the strength to get up and grab a kitchen knife. Before she can escape though, she sees the same door from her dream with the red light and cross, only this time it's upside down.

She is far too curious to ignore it so she opens the door and discovers all the men from the neighborhood are having a party with candles, blood, baby toys, and alchohol all over the place. They all seem rather happy for her to be up and about but Laurel demanda some answers.

Eduardo tries to explain but Mark interrupts to explain it instead, because even now, her own damn boyfriend is too much of a coward to talk to her. Appearently a while ago Edd accidentally summoned a ghost and then pushed it off to eduardo, Eduardo and his friends tried everything to make it leave but nothing worked. Eventually they managed to make a deal with the ghost, if they could provide him a new vessel for him to possess he would provide them in turn with riches and power.

So they looked for women for Eduardo to pursue romantically and chose Laurel, and that's how she got pregnant and how they afforded their house. Laurel is having none of this bullshit and punches eduardo in the face. She runs out of the house with the men in hot pursuit, but she gets hit by a car in all the chaos. She wakes up in the hospital a day later, having miscarried from the collision.

After the nurse leaves she tries to go back to sleep but Eduardo sneaks in and tries to kidnap her. She gauges his eye out in retaliation and calls for a doctor so he's arrested. The film cuts to a year later, where Laurel has moved in with kim and katya. She's written a successful horror novel about her experience, the men's cult has totally disappated, and she even got her tubes tied so she never has to get pregnant ever again."

[schleckermaul]

( 🍭 spots to kiss ) a kiss on the space between eyebrows. ueueue..... — @nicawlette

BREAK CAN TELL IT'S NIGHTTIME because he'd felt the setting sun travelling across the floor of his room, with how long they've been sitting here. it's quiet, outside. the window is open, and the air is filled with the distant humming of traffic that he's slowly gotten used to, over the last few months. as a steady background noise, it's comforting, a sign that life is still continuing. once he gets better, maybe he'll get to join it again.

   how can he care about that other part of life, when a small fraction of it has decided to stick with him, though?

   nicolette is warm, but not warm enough. warmer than him. not as warm as she could be. she, too, is hurt, and he's not a great source of heat, though he's tried his best. with his head in her lap, so that she can see his face, they've been sitting on his bed, chatting.

   it's so simple. his legs are warm from where the sun last touched them, before it disappeared entirely. her legs are tilted around his middle, giving support to his injured side, his elbows on her thighs. his own ankles crossed, he has the space and the air and the energy, to gesture and giggle and talk. about nothing and everything, everything and nothing. hours must have passed. surely, zhilan will come in soon, to interrupt their conversation, start changing their bandages, break being hassled to take his medicine.

   but that doesn't matter. right now, they are here. and nicolette giggles at something he's said, and his hair brushes her stomach as he tilts his head to look up, as if he could truly see the way a laugh lights up her face. he feels it, anyways, basks.

' and they believed you? wasn't your ... ' she pauses, and break feels her arm move as she makes a dismissive gesture. ' everything good enough for some questioning? '

   he laughs, taps the heel of his foot against his ankle. raises one hand to tangle it in the one she wiggled around, trying to find a word for his everything. ' question me? the mad hatter? please, they weren't insane. people were terrified of me. '

   smug as they come, satisfaction settles on his expression, folding their fingers together. ' so if i said i lost the thing during a cake fork accident, nobody investigated it. '

   which is still a funny running joke to keep going around the island. anytime somebody realizes he's missing his left eye, it's a race to the bottom. what's the worst explanation he could come up with, and how much of it will they believe, if he just keeps adding details? humans are silly like that, get shy and awkward, don't dare to poke holes into a story that has the smallest chance of being true.

   stroking a few fingers of his free hand through his bangs, he hums. with the sun gone, the moon is now shining in, cool on their skin. his eye shines a little brighter in the darkness, red stark and deep. ' or, you know, if i told somebody it was stolen to be used as a cursed talisman ... accusing me of lying would be rude! even reportable. pandora didn't take those things lightly. '

' what!, ' nicolette exclaims, and break is glad for the offense in her words, the soft strength of the argument she's making. it'll be a long and slow recovery, though somehow, sitting here together might have helped a bit. she seemed tired when she arrived. ' cursed? just a random eye? who would fall for that? '

   ' well, they're red. '

' yeah, it's fancy! '

   ' no, that's— '

okay, now he's laughing at her, and she notices immediately, gently tapping the top of his forehead with her fingers, offended at him, this time. ' what! explain it. '

   ' it's ... ' break has to let go of her hands for this, stretching out his arms as if he were making shadow figures on the ceiling. as if he could reach for the lights of the abyss, like this. instead, he gestures a small circle. ' in my world, if you had red eyes, ' making a peace symbol with one hand, ' you were a child of ill omen. laypeople considered us cursed. which, of course, is not true. it just means that ... ' it means a lot of things. it'd be hard to explain in detail. ' we were different, and people didn't like it. '

   ' oh, ' is all nicolette says at first, of which break can't decipher the tone, as he folds his hands on his chest. ' that's so dumb. i'm pretty sure people were just jealous because of how cool they look. '

   which makes him snort, chest not heavy, legs still light. he burrows himself a little deeper into the blankets beneath, the small nest he's made himself with her legs around him. ' i'm sure yours are very cool, as well, lady nicolette. ' is he making fun of himself, or of her? doesn't seem to matter terribly much, because she laughs anyways.

' a lady with pretty purple eyes, huh? i can believe that. '

   break pauses. ' yours are purple? '

   he feels as nicolette leans over him, her hair cascading around his face like two seperate waterfalls. it doesn't smell as fancy as usual ... no shampoo. it seems to just be the scent of her, now. he tugs at a few strands automatically. ' duh. you didn't see? '

   ' no need to bully the blind man, now— '

   there's no chance to complain any more than that, because nicolette is framing his face, now, both of her hands on his cheeks. it smells like bandage and antiseptic, but the moment after it's just warm, and bitter, and mellow, as she leans in to press a kiss between his eyebrows. or, really, more of a smack. is she wearing lipstick?

   break felt the smile in that kiss, so when nicolette tries to lift her head again, his own hands come up, tugging at her hair until she comes back down. he looks at her. he can't see. it doesn't matter. he is in a little cave, between waterfalls, and he's safe.

   feeling his way across her face, ignoring the mild complaints at poking a nose or a corner of an eye, break explores for the quickest moment. feels the briefest hint of her scar, over her left eye. the purple eye, apparently. leaning up a bit, careful not to hurt his ribs, he kisses the tip of her nose in return.

   ' purple eyes are also important in my world, ' he admits, and then he lets nicolette settle back into the pillows stacked up behind her, so she doesn't bust any of her stitches for their shenanigans. one of her hands stays in his hair, and he lets her.

   ' how so? are they all sexy and powerful? '

   ' ha. it's actually an indication that you're connected to the abyss. where the both of us were, when my eye actually got stolen. ' giving them a moment, to work through that memory without panicking, break continues: ' those with purple eyes were, most of the time, at the end of a long line of people capable of interacting with its core. the beginning of all. the ending of all. '

   the little girl, dancing in a rain of blood, purple eyes so bright and kind. break smiles fondly. ' only children of ill omen and those particular indiviuals were able to do so. '

   nicolette's hand brushes through his hair, fingertips touching the skin of his left cheek. he leans into it, gently squishing her hand against his elbow.

   ' so, like you and me? '

   he hums.

   ' like you and me. '

[youbloodymadgenius]

Scars and Trophies (Ivar x OC his and reader's daughter - Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my contribution to @ofmanderley's 300 Celebration 🎉 Congrats again, darling 🌸

I won't lie, it's a sad one, including a major character death. Yet, it's a somehow logical and - I think - sweet death. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's fluff, but it's not angst either. Give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold

Fa∂ir = Father / Mó∂ir = Mother / Min blóm = My flower

@geekandbooknerd, thank you for being a lovely and very supportive beta 💖

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Ivar was injured in battle. His daughter comes to his bedside.

Warnings: major character death; glimpse of an afterlife that does not seem very Viking.

Words: 1474

His eyes flutter open as she grabs a wooden stool and sits next to his bed. Wrapping her hand around his calloused one, she leans forward, gently kissing his clammy forehead.

"Min blóm..." He murmurs. She can tell he tries to smile, and it breaks her heart.

"Fa∂ir, are you in pain?" Her hand squeezing his, she feels how hot his skin is. Abnormally hot.

"Not much..." He manages to say, his shallow breathing betraying his discomfort. As a single tear runs down her cheek, he tries to release his hand. He wants to reach out, to wipe her tears. He's too weak, though. "Don't cry, min blóm. I don't." He stifles a wince but manages this time to give her a real smile.

"It won't be long before your mother and I are reunited."

He's right, she knows it. She's been warned, her father is dying. There's nothing more the healers can do. Her hand lingers on his bandaged chest as she silently curses the Saxon soldier who stabbed him.

"I know," she brushes his hair back, holding back her tears, "you've been waiting for this for so long." Nodding wearily, her father closes his eyes while releasing a weak sigh.

She closes her eyes too. A thought weighs heavily on her mind and she knows she's running out of time. If she doesn't ask him now, she may never get the chance again. It's been eating her up inside for so long... She wants to know; she needs to.

She takes a deep breath and then cups his cheek softly. "Fa∂ir, I meant to ask you... Did you resent me? Has there ever been a time in your life when you were angry at me for taking Mó∂ir's life? She died while giving birth to me, and she was the woman you were in love with. Wouldn't you have preferred her to survive instead of me? Don't get me wrong, Fa∂ir, I'm not blaming you, you've always been good to me. I just wonder, sometimes. Ultimately, I'm the one who killed her."

Her father remains silent for so long that she thinks he may have fallen asleep. But then he shakes his head and starts to speak. She has to listen very carefully, his whispered words hard to hear. "You didn't kill her. Your mother died because it was fate; because it was the will of the gods, min blóm. Do you remember what she always said about scars?"

She nods even if he can't see it. She does remember. "Scars are trophies."

Overwhelmed by mixed feelings, he looks at you with pursed lips as you lovingly stroke his calves while humming a song he doesn't know. "I love your legs, you know that?" You eventually say, a sweet smile crossing your face.

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't utter a word for a very long time. Frowning, he finally grabs your wrist. "You don't have to say that, my love, you really don't. I know how they look. They are hideous; full of scars."

You give him a disapproving look, shaking your head. "Well, I beg to differ. They're not hideous. They're something to be proud of. Scars are trophies, Ivar."

Eyeing you, Ivar forces a laugh, his lips curling with a bitter smile. "When they are earned on the battlefield, there's no disputing that. But those..." He gestures towards his scarred legs, spitting his next words, "... those are nothing to be proud of. If anything, my legs are proof that I am a failure."

"Ivar!" You nearly shout, upset. "You're not allowed to run yourself down like this!! Of course, your scars are trophies, it's not my fault you're just too stupid to realize it!"

He can't help but laugh at that. You're the only one on Midgard who dares to talk to him like that and he won't tell it aloud but he loves that. The next moment though, a scowl is back on his face.

Breathing out a sigh, you wrap your fingers around his hand. "Ivar, my stubborn husband, listen carefully. Life was – still is – your battlefield. When you were growing up, the people of Kattegat, and even your own brothers sometimes, were your opponents. Every broken bone, when you were just a boy, was one more fight for you to win and you won them all. As for the excruciating pain you're going through every single day, it is your endless war, Ivar, a war you fight with bravery. The cards you've been dealt weren't good ones, yet you survived. And the gods know you did more than just survive. You made a name for yourself. You led men into battle. You conquered. Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong. And therefore, of course, my beloved, your scars are trophies."

"Your mother was referring to my legs, obviously." Mustering the last of his strength and gritting his teeth, Ivar opens his eyes and slowly raises his hand, his thumb grazing her cheek. "Her death shattered my heart and caused my deepest scar, which is still bleeding at this very moment. But this scar, min blóm, is also my greatest trophy." Eyes full of tears, he lets out a groan of pain, placing instinctively his hand on his wounded torso.

Long seconds tick by, and after releasing a shuddering breath, he speaks again. "My greatest trophy because I survived. And I did more than just survive. I was lucky enough to see you grow up. On my watch, you became a beautiful, fierce, and caring woman. You made me proud, and happy. You have filled my heart with joy, min blóm."

His bloodshot, tired, faded gaze find hers as he slightly shakes his head. "No, min blóm, I didn't. I never resented you. I love you with all my heart and if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing despite the tremendous sorrow I felt – and sometimes still feel – losing her. Your mother was undoubtedly the love of my life, you know that. But you, min blóm, were – still are – its light. And that's why," his grimace of pain rips her heart out, "if the gods give me strength, I'll stay with you a little longer..."

The tears. She feels them coming, salty little waves, tender little raindrops. Her bottom lip trembling, she just shakes her head. "No, Fa∂ir. I want you to stop fighting. Go to Mó∂ir. I had you to myself all these years. It's her turn now."

His features bathed in tears, her father hiccups, his eyes suddenly wide open, his hand squeezing hers with a strength he has not shown for days. "No, min blóm," even his voice is stronger but she knows it won't last, "I can't. I won't leave you. You need–"

"No." She interrupts, plastering on a smile, "I'll be fine, Fa∂ir. Trust me, I'm going to be all right." Her hand strokes his hair, lingers on his flushed face. "Close your eyes, Fa∂ir, close your eyes. You can go, I'll be fine. Stop fighting and close your eyes, Fa∂ir."

Tears running freely down her cheeks, she watches her father very closely, and sees the exact moment when he complies. Taking a surprisingly deep breath, he nods and flutters his eyes shut.

She doesn't stop talking, though, her fingers now once again entwined with his. "I'll be fine, Fa∂ir. Go to Mó∂ir, feel free, she's waiting for you... Go, Fa∂ir, go, I'll be fine... Soon, you will no longer be in pain and you will be with her, the love of your life, and I'll be fine, Fa∂ir... Go, Fa∂ir, go to Mó∂ir, go to her... go... go..."

Lulled by her soothing voice, his breathing slows down. "You can go, Fa∂ir, I'll be fine... Go to Mó∂ir, she's waiting for you... Go, Fa∂ir, go... You're free now... Go... Go..."

His pain is dulled, the voice of his blóm barely a whisper... "Go, Fa∂ir, go... I'll be fine..."

He feels like he's floating. There's nothing but her voice, distant and far away... "Go... Go to Mó∂ir... Go, Fa∂ir..."

And he lets go. He doesn't fight anymore. She's right, she'll be fine. He can go. He wants to; he needs to. "Y/N", he croaks, but he knows that no word escapes from his lips.

He feels free. He's free. There's no regret, no remorse. There's no more pain, neither in his stabbed chest nor in his crooked legs.

Surprisingly, there are no Valkyries either, no battle cries, no shouts, no music... Really, there's nothing... Nothing until...

...

...

"Come, Ivar, come to me, come, my beloved... Come..."

Love and gratefulness immediately flooding his mind, he doesn't have time to be surprised as he loosens his grip on his daughter's hand and exhales one last time.

"Y/N, my love, I missed you so much..."

🛡⚔️🛡

@ofmanderley @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow

[elizabeethan]

Time and Time Again- Part 2

Follow up to Time and Time Again because I have no self control! Killian’s POV of when they get home from Neverland.

Thanks to @the-darkdragonfly for enabling me and then editing this.

Rated a very soft M... I guess.

Part 2/2 (now it’s complete)

~3400 words

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64​ @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

If you want me to add or remove you from my tag list please tell me!!

She’s the strongest woman he’s ever known. Of course, Milah was a fierce lass with fire in her heart, but there’s something about Emma Swan that seems to blow Milah’s disposition out of the water.

Perhaps it’s the way she defeated one of the most cunning and menacing foes he’s ever known. That must be it. The way he’d tried to do it years ago, using sheer violence and residual anger, hadn’t even come close to working. Meanwhile, this bloody woman succeeds in a matter of weeks.

He loves her; he can deny it no longer.

She’s the smartest person he’s ever known. Her instinct is almost always correct and he hasn’t had a single moment in which he doesn’t trust her to the fullest extent.

So he isn’t sure why no one seems to be listening to her.

He’s surprised when she comes to him. It’s not with the intention of confiding in him, but it isn’t a difficult bridge to cross before she is. “There’s something wrong with Henry,” she tells him, voice soft and scared and desperate. She looks so small across the hall from him as she hugs herself. “I don’t know what, but…”

“Alright, Swan,” he tries, hoping to comfort her, reaching through the space between them to touch his hand to her shoulder but careful not to get too close. “We’ll sort this out.”

He can’t move past the look of surprise on her face when he promises this, as if she’s shocked that someone would offer to help her- believe her.

Rumplestiltskin defeats Peter Pan- his father, apparently- but the curse has already been cast and cannot be stopped. It’s determined that nothing can be done, save for Regina casting her own curse and bringing everyone back to the Enchanted Forest.

Everyone but Henry.

But not to worry, Emma escaped the first curse, so she can stay here with him.

And Killian wants to kick and scream and revert back to the man he once was, not too long ago. The crocodile died a somewhat noble death, effectively taking away his chance at revenge, but it would’ve been alright. Because he would’ve had a chance to love Emma Swan and he suspects that would’ve been endlessly better than revenge.

And now she’s leaving.

And she’s crying again.

And he knows he won’t survive this.

“That’s quite the vessel you captain, Swan,” he says in a pathetic attempt to distract from the pain he’s feeling.

She laughs in a way that tells him this hurts her too, and his assumptions are confirmed when she leans in close to him and draws him into a tight hug. “I don’t want to do this alone,” she whispers against him.

He squeezes her back then pulls away to wipe a tear off of her cheek. He feels weak, but she needs strength, so he digs deep. “You aren’t alone, love,” he whispers back. “You have Henry, and we’ll all be with you, here.” He points to her heart, feeling the violent pace it takes as it slams in her chest.

She chokes and sniffles but says nothing, so he supplies, “there’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you,” and he means it more than he’s ever meant anything.

Through tears and strangled breaths she says, “good,” and supplies him with a smile that will surely haunt his dreams.

He wants to kiss her. He’s not sure he can live with the memory of her lips on his and with the knowledge that it will never happen again. But her family is here and he thinks they know naught of their dalliances on the island, so he holds back.

Regina talks of giving Emma and Henry memories that aren’t real to numb the pain of the loss they’ll feel. He’s glad that they won’t remember losing their family- that Emma won’t remember losing her parents again- but he feels jealousy. Forgetting her would be so much easier.

But as he watches her cross the town line in her yellow contraption and the curse whisks them away, back to Misthaven, he knows he wouldn’t trade loving Emma Swan for anything in the world.

~~~~

Six months pass painfully. Killian Jones knows loss, he’s experienced plenty of it in his centuries of life, and this is no easier. The loss of a love not yet bloomed is almost worse than the pain he felt when he lost Milah. At the end of the day, he knew what they had and how they changed each other. He wishes he could have that luxury with Emma.

His crew tries desperately to help him move on. Of course, none of them know the pain he feels and why, but he’s certain that they can sense a change in their captain. He tries to move on as well, attempting to pirate distant lands and pillage royal carriages, but nothing seems to distract from what’s always on his mind.

At month eight, they buy him a night with a woman- a brown-haired lass who stirs nothing in him. He pays her off and ignores the look of confusion on her face as he walks through the streets. The mermaid finds him, threatens him with a blade to his throat if he doesn’t help her, and he can’t fight the thoughts of a love lost that sprout in his mind. He can’t walk away without helping her because, as he painfully realizes, he knows how she feels. She at least has a chance to get her love back.

But then he thinks having the Jolly back will cure him of his ailments of the heart, so he behaves foolishly and throws Blackbeard overboard. It serves him right, truthfully, for stealing a man’s ship. But then the mermaid asks him if true love is worth more than a few planks of wood and a sail, and he knows that it is. He also knows that his love is lost from him, so a few planks of wood and a sail is all that he has and all that he’ll ever have again.

The bird that lands on his helm is a surprise, and the note attached to her leg even more so. Another curse is coming, and Emma’s family needs her. It’s the first time he’s seen her name outside of his mind’s eye and his heart constricts in his chest, thumping painfully against his ribs. He thinks of her when he thinks of his ribs, of how she diagnosed them broken in the street and celebrated silently when she was proven correct, and wonders how morbid of a thought that is.

A curse swept through Misthaven, making travel between realms possible again. The only problem is that he’s essentially destroyed any sense of trust between himself and the fire-haired mermaid who could make him a portal, so he must find another way. The thought of giving his ship back to Blackbeard, who was apparently saved by the siren, causes an ache in his chest that rivals the one he’s been feeling for the last year. But the thought of missing out on the chance to help Emma, to see her again, blows that pain away and it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made. So he takes the bean and thinks of her when he tosses it to the ground. He’s never felt so hopeful.

~~~~

She knees him in the groin. It’s poetic, really, the way he tries True Love’s Kiss with her and she shoves him out the door without a hint of remembrance. But he knew it was a long shot. True Love’s Kiss doesn't work when one person doesn't remember the other. Perhaps it’s foolish for him to believe that she loves him.

He watches as she struggles to answer the scrawny, unkempt man’s proposal. He wonders if it’s because of what he said to her, but he tries not to get his hopes up. He’s missed the fire in her voice, the sarcasm dripping from every word, more than he could have possibly imagined.

She still doesn’t believe him despite having proof, and he shouldn’t be surprised when she chains him up again. He wonders fleetingly how many pairs of these handcuffs she owns as the officers haul him off and lock him in the brig. He’s been in worse, of course, but then they try and give him their strange meat and he knows he must escape.

He’s just started working on his plan, wondering about the strength of the metal bars holding him in place and wishing he had his hook, when an officer opens the cage and sets him free. “You made bail,” she tells him, and Killian wonders what the bloody hell that’s supposed to mean, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity. Once he’s outside, he sees her golden hair and knows everything will be alright.

And she believes him. She believes him! It’s almost too good to be true. She struggles with the decision, but he sees the moment that it’s made in her eyes. The moment she reaches for the vial in his fingers, her own grazing his and lighting a fire in him, and pulls it to her mouth. He sees her take a deep breath and prepare herself for all that is about to change for her.

What he doesn't see is the man rushing by them, bumping into her back and causing her to drop the vial at their feet and destroy its contents. “No,” she says softly, sadly, as she looks down at the broken glass. “I was going to…”

She looks up into his eyes and he sees the same pain that was on display a year ago, when they lost each other. She looks lost and confused and disappointed at the idea of losing the chance to know herself again. She knows there’s something wrong, and she was moments from finding out exactly what it is before her opportunity was crushed at her feet. He can’t stand to see this look on her face.

“Come, love,” he says, offering her his hand which she takes easily. He isn’t sure where they're going, but he can't sit idly by and not make an effort to sooth her worries. “Let’s get out of the street,” he suggests.

She nods, pulling on his hand and leading him down the busy pavement as they weave through other pedestrians until they arrive at her building. He’s let in by her this time, doesn’t have to sneak in through the nearly closing door behind someone, and, once they get out of the metal death trap, he watches her take out a set of keys and open up her apartment door. She lets him in without a second thought and sets her things down, dropping onto the couch with a huff.

“This is… it’s too much,” she finally says after moments of silence.

He steps closer to the couch she rests on, her knees pulled to her chin and her arms hugging herself tightly, but does dare sit down. “I’m sorry,” he says uselessly.

“It’s just that I… I feel like there's something wrong. Like something has always been off, but I've always just denied it. And just now, I was so ready to take that step and find out what my life is supposed to be. And then it just slipped through my fingers.”

“I wish I could fix this,” he says helplessly. “We needed to get back to your family, Emma. They need you and I… I need you.”

Her brows pinch together and she releases her legs, standing quickly and looking as though she wants to walk over to him. “I don't know what we—” she stops herself pensively. “If we have some kind of history, or whatever. But it’s like… it’s like I trust you somehow. And I was looking forward to swallowing that shit and finding out why I trust you so much. And you’re telling me I have to help my family, and even though I’ve never had one, I still believe you. And now knowing that I’ll never have the chance… it hurts so much, and I can’t put into words why.”

She’s crying again. He can’t stop himself from stepping closer to her and taking her hand in his, pulling her as close to him as he can without actually touching his body to hers. All he wants is to hold her until her pain is gone. “I’m so sorry, love,” he says softly, and at the sound of his voice, he can feel her melting closer to him. “I wish I could fix this for you. All I want is to take away your pain; I wish I could bear it for you.”

“I just want to know you,” she says, sinking closer until her forehead is pressed to his chest, and he wants to squeeze her like he did in Neverland. “I wish I knew who you were to me.”

“I’m yours,” he answers easily.

Her arms are around him and there’s no better feeling, until the pain of knowing that it isn’t her, not fully, sets in. He has to squeeze her to keep his tears at bay. “It doesn't make any sense,” she whispers again. “How I can feel this way about someone I don’t know— someone I don’t even remember ever knowing?”

“We did much together, you and I,” he says fondly. “We made quite the team.”

“What happened to us?”

“I lost you,” he whispers painfully, the words burning his throat on their way out. “For a year I suffered thinking I would never see you again. And then I found you, and, well…” He trails off, thinking of their first meeting and the damage she did to his pride and to his groin.

She lets out a small chuckle against his chest, rustling the hairs slightly as she does so, and says, “sorry about that. But you were just some stranger and you kissed me!”

“Aye, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why did you?”

He falters just slightly before deciding to take the chance, unsure if the consequences of his honesty truly bother him. “It was a long shot. I was hoping the kiss would work to break… Well, I suppose I just hoped you felt as I do.”

She pulls away from him just a bit so that she can look into his eyes from below him. She looks so small from this angle and he wants nothing more than to protect her; scoop her up in his arms and hold her close so that nothing can touch her. “How’s that?”

With a soft, sad smile, he says simply, “I love you.”

Emma cocks her head pensively, looking sad and dejected, but also hopeful. “I’m—” she starts, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, but I…”

She cannot answer him with words, it seems, and instead, she leans forward towards him and slips up onto her toes, holding her arms around him a bit harder to keep her balance. He wishes he could pause this moment while also letting it play out; perhaps if he could relive it again and again, he would be content. Her lips find his and it’s as if there’s an explosion between them, a vibrant burst of rainbow light brightening the room as she slips her fingers into his hair and pulls him closer.

“Killian,” she mumbles against his mouth, though he struggles to pull away from her after a year of knowing he would never see her again. He separates them minutely, his lips still grazing hers slightly as he whispers her own name back to her. “Did we just…?”

He can hardly think of the words that leave her mouth because it’s still so close to his. Rather than responding, he kisses her once more and revels in the feeling of her lips massaging his as she kisses him back. “Aye,” he says against her, keeping her as close as possible.

“I remember,” she whispers into his mouth, and she’s pulling away and looking gleefully confused. “That kiss…?”

“All curses can be broken, love,” he tries to reason.

Expecting to be met with panic and denial, he’s shocked to see some semblance of acceptance in her eyes as she says, “with True Love’s Kiss.”

He smiles at her and cups her cheek in his palm. “You don’t need to say anything, darling. Having you back with me is enough.”

She shocks him more still when she tugs him back to her, her lips crashing into his and her tongue seeking access to his mouth immediately. While their last kiss was soft and slow, this one is wanton and desperate, as if she can’t get him close enough to her.

They should be focused on getting her and Henry back to Storybrooke. Whether their kiss broke the memory curse that made her forget her family, or the Dark Curse that brought them back to the Land Without Magic, he isn’t sure. It’s something they should be trying to figure out. But it’s impossible to focus on that when Emma Swan pulls Killian Jones onto her couch without breaking her lips from his.

She doesn't ever stop kissing him. Not when she pushes his greatcoat off of his shoulders; not when she tugs his blouse over his head; not when she whispers “I love you,” into his mouth. Not when she wipes moisture off of his cheeks before it drips onto her own.

Eventually they break apart, but it’s only when his own lips start to travel down her chin, along her throat, to her exposed chest. She only allows that for so long, sealing them back together and letting him swallow her moan as his fingers find her center. His tongue traces his love for her against her clit until she’s writhing beneath him and begging him to make her his. Obliging, he slides into her easily, fitting perfectly between her thighs and inside her tight core. Their foreheads never part as they make love to each other slowly, with a gentle force that expresses just how one feels about the other.

They reach a precipice together, and he lets himself fall off the edge of the cliff he’s been hanging off of for the last year without her, plunging into the depths of what it is to love her and holding her the whole way down. He’ll never let go again.

There’s a knock on the door hours later, while they’re still bare and covered in only a small blanket. Their time spent sleeping and talking and holding each other and making love some more had to come to an end eventually, and Emma’s realization of who is at the door knocks them back into reality. “It’s Walsh, Henry invited him,” she explains as if he knows who that is, and she stirs from his hold on her.

He tries to pull her so that her back stays put against his chest, but she giggles and pinches his side until he lets go, slipping out from under the small blanket and reaching for her shirt before he can get another good look at her. “I can get rid of him,” he offers.

“No, my memories may not be real, but he is; I at least want to let him down easy.”

He puts the pieces together as he gets dressed himself, only after watching her walk out the door with a promise to return. Walsh must be the man who proposed to her the other night. A sense of worry sets over him as he considers the worst possible outcome. The fact that she could decide to stay with him and send Killian away. Though he doesn't get much of a chance to let this scenario play out in his mind, because he hears a crash from above and rushes upstairs to see Emma alone on the roof, panting and holding a pipe in her hand.

She hurries towards him once he opens the door, crashing into his hold and saying, “I was never safe.”

If there’s one thing he vows now, it’s that she will never feel this way again. He whispers into her ear as they walk down the stairs that they’ll take care of this. They’ll go back to Storybrooke and deal with the threats as they’ll do everything else for as long as she allows: together.

[awakeningofthedeath]

Awakening of the Death-Chapter #5

The constellations are so different here. I never seen so many...but theres more starts here then in London. Too bad though that they will fade soon. I never realized that the city is really growing. Will my sanity be like these stars? How much longer can I hold on to my sanity until nothing but blackness clouded my mind.

Jack stared up into the constellations from the rooftops, his mind seemed to be still with only a single moral thought screaming in his mind. 

I could of killed Hellen. 

True, he killed before, but mostly templars and never seemed to of moved him. Yet when he is in his darkest thoughts and his memories come upon him like a tiger upon a deer.  He still had horrors of when he seriously injured Jacob five  years before in India. Yet this time, he had nothing to strike at to release his tension and strength. He just ran through the streets and all of central park and finally, to the place where he and Hellen stay. He couldn’t bear to bring himself inside. So he sat on the roof, watching the twilight fall and seeing the night in it’s radiance. He heard the sound of light footsteps, He turned on his knees, hidden blade out, heart pumping.

“Whoah! Easy there thunderhead!” Hellen raised her hans in surrender. Jack sighed in relief. He shelved back his blade and resumed sitting down without saying a word. Hellen walked towards the man. “I figured you’d be here. Assassin’s intuition, or just instinct to be up here. Seeing from on top of the world.” When Jack didn’t say, nor as given a tinker’s curse to even look at her; Hellen sat right next to him, looking up into the sky. “Beautiful night, eh Jack. Bet a nickel you don't see any in this mass in London.”

Again he never replied.

Hellen was beginning to lose patience. She took a breath. “We...well you won about a hundred and twenty dollars today. I’d never even knew you'd be worth as much as a racing horse in bets.” Jack’s eyes seemed to darken from what Hellen saw. “Okay...obviously you’d hate praises. Okay. But..we have enough to last us a long time if we get...”

“How could you be like this?” Jack snapped. The suddenness of the mood caught Hellen of guard.

“What the hell are you talking about Jack?”

“i could of snapped your neck right off your shoulders and you’d be jolly as if that fight was from a holiday. Damn it! I could of killed you Hellen!” Jack’s hands shook. “I’m not sure if I’m worthy of your...”

“Stop Jack!” Hellen placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. “Trying to prolong an apology will only make the wheel deeper in the mud. I’d forgiven you if I could see the purpose of that punch. But hell that was what I called a punch. Haven been hit that hard since Old man Bowmen’s mule kicked me square in the ribs. My point is. I have a thick skull, and it will take a man with the strength of a thousand Hercules’s to break this thick skull.” She tapped the top of her auburn head.

Jack resumed looking outward, eyes distant, as if in another moment, another place. One which Hellen was determined to understand for Jack’s sake.

“Hhmmm... I can tell by your expression that you are missing someone. Perhaps your parents? Your sibling? Friends... Or... Um...a girlfriend?" The last question sounds more little bit down tone. Hellen then realized that he already expressed that he didn’t have a girlfriend. But each question that she asked, Jack never responded.

Jack still staring and not moving a mussel, looking into the city that never sleeps and into the night sky. Hellen exhaled she scotched closer to him. "I m sorry, I didn't ask about yourself, Jack... Did you... Had a family?"

Jack turn his face a little bit. "I only had my mother... When I was six years old... she was murdered by my own mentor..." 

Hellen gave a small gasp. Sir Jacob Frye? " How that happen...?" Hellen try to make herself as comfortable as she can, preparing for listen Jack’s story. Time for a come to Jesus moment pa. I hope he’s really as open as I hope. 

"It's all because of that day. The day when I was a young boy, useless, I did nothing! But only witnesses for my mother's death." Hellen touch her mouth with her tips of her fingers. "But when that happen, there was only one man, who could of prevented it from happening. But he didn't do it! He choose to runaway! And let my mom's die, dying on the street! She stared at me, ordered me to run. I can still see her eyes, her blue eyes looking at me. Terrifying, holding her pain from death, her pale face... looking at me... begged me to run..." Jack voice started to tremble, Hellen could see in the waters of Jack’s eyes shimmering in the blue orals.  

He closed them, placed his head on his knees, and exhaled a shaky breath. He was exposing his vonerabilaty to this stranger.

Not a stranger!

Ally!

Jack inhale then exhale. He lifted his head and continued "And that man who's running from my mother was my mentor... Jacob Frye..." His eyes turn to darken, very evil looking, like there's a demon hiding there and prepare to awaken. 

Hellen saw this Jack turned to be someone else. Something dark. But she keep steady and trying to relax. 

“A injured maverick (wild horse) only needs trust and a soft hand before the healing begins”

The quote from Hellen’s father danced through her mind. Hope your right pa. Hellen thought.

"So... What happen to you then... And Jacob Frye?"She asked calmly

Jack clenched his fist. Trembling. "The Templars arrest me and throw me at the madhouse, Lambeth Asylum." 

Her eyes widened. She heard stories of neglect and experiments through those hospitals "Oh my God..."

"I spent more about ten years inside there. I have some... torturing, injection, overdose..." Jack stop talking. He gulped, braced himself from the anger. "Every minutes, every second I prayed to God that I will get revenged for all of this to Jacob Frye."Jack shut his mouth and back to stare at night sky. His face was little bit more reddish. He just realize it was the first time he told everything about his hellish childhood to someone he barely knows. But hell, the words all out now.

Hellen stared at him, she felt pity and sadness for this man. I'd she can do anything to makes him happy right this. Right now, she knew she’d had to do it. "That was incredibly sad, Jack. I wish, I can do more for you to be happy..." She look at Jack’s face and placed her bruised hand upon his own bloody hand. Jack stared at her too. They're​ faces blushed and they realized in the privacy of their own individual thoughts that some stupid things are developing inside their hearts.

Hellen quickly withdrew her hand, rubbing it as if to check on the injury that was never really present."Uh oh... Sorry... I mean... I had a rough past too. Jack.” 

Jack scoffed. That made Hellen’s brow wrinkle, but she kept going. “Your not My pa was killed by a pack of Templars. I was fifteen years old. Ten years ago to be exact. Or was it eleven? Hell what does it matter...”

“IT DOES MATTER!” Jack cried out. “To lose a parent, is a great loss. I watched my mother die!”

“I had to listen! Jack! He told me to hide, and I obeyed...I had to listen to him die! That is worse then watching!” Hot tears threatened to escape, yet she pinched a nerve in her hand to get her mind off the tears.

Jack took a breath. “Please. Tell me. Tell me about...that day.” He turned and devoted attention to Hellen. Jack positioned himself in order to be more relaxed, and he started to listen. She rubbed her eyes and took a breath.

“It was like any other day. Though days prior, my pa and my godfather, Collin Anderson, we’re in a serious discussion in regards of a man who came and asked my pa questions about his bloodline. And by bloodline, I’m not talking about racehorse type you know.” Hellen chuckled at the observant of the joke. “Right. A day before, my pa gave me...an object to keep in my pocket. He told me to never leave it out of my trousers nor out of my sight. The next day...”

Hellen looked down to blink the tears away. Jack couldn’t say anything at that point. Not when this girl is prepared to unearthed her soul to him.

“He hid me under the hollow floor boards of the homestead, back home in Missouri. We always had a hidden area for leftover tobacco bushels. We were tobacco farmers and well as horse brokers.”

“Horse brokers?” Jack asked.

“We trained horses. That was what my pa did best. And a headshot with on top of one, even before the war.”

“He served?” Jack asked yet another simple question.

Hellen nodded. “Commander of the Union Calvery region. Veteran of both the border and the civil part of the forsaken war. Yet, he was an assassin before, during, and after the war. He’d never told me he was one, nor of a war still going on to this day. I found out after he died. I wished he'd told me sooner, then I could of...” Hellen took a shaky breath that transfigured into a chuckle. “Sorry...I get side tracked when I...”

“Please continue Hellen.” Jack insisted.

Hellen turned to look at the horizons of New York. “Before I hid underneath, he’d told me to keep silent and wait to the outcome of whats to come. He told me if things went south. That means wrong to you Brits. I would wait for the clearance and run for the town of Liberty, where Collin Anderson lived. He was the Omega of the Kansas/Missouri border.”

“Omega?”

“It’s complicated, I’ll explain later. ”  She waved a hand in the air. “He kissed my cheek, embraced me, and said “I love you Hellen. You’ll always be my honeysuckle. Be strong and be tough as a maverick.” I told him I loved him as he closed the trap door that was under the table in the parlor room. It was quiet for a few minutes, then the hard pounding of the door came. There was a crash. There seemed to be a fight going on. I remember hearing the crash of the table above me, so I crawled forward silently. A large thud sound came above me, and as I looked up...with my gift. A gift I thought only I had and never told a soul...I think my pa knew all along about it...for I believed he had it too. As I stared through. I noticed two men holding my pa, each one by the arm. About four or five more stood around. And at that moment, they’d began beating on him. I wanted to do something! But I couldn’t. Then there was the sound of footsteps coming towards him.”

Hellen paused, her fingers tightening on her knee. “A man with a scottish accent began talking to him. He’d explained about how he’d knew all about my pa. Of him being an assassin, the one who was “the Cormac bane of the templar rite”. I discovered later that my pa was a key figure in the fall of the American Rite after Grand Master Tweed’s arrest back in’63 and before and beyond that. The man also taunted my pa, saying that...he knew of my pa’s  family legacy. How he knew that my pa was the last known guardian of the relic ring that belonged to Captain Kidd. He also knew of me. He mocked saying “Typical of the assassins to now place the burden of your creed upon children. What a damn shame.” My father then made the boldest statement I’ve ever heard, “You’ll never grab her will, nor of the people McGriffon. The people of this nation, including my daughter are mavericks*...” 

*Authors Note*

Maverick is a term, usually referring to cattle, for an animal that does not carry a brand. In the period of the United States open range, such animals were relatively common.  

“... they are meant to be unbranded, free from the enslavement of any false ideals that aren't associated with the Lord Almighty. Take your father of understanding and rot in hell.” My father was then beaten up pretty badly for that. I was stunned eve, hearing my father making bold remarks like that. Then the man, McGriffon, he took the revolver to my father’s temple and asked again where the piece of Eden was. When pa didn’t answer, McGriffon was stroll around and said, “It be a damn shame is something happens to that “maverick” daughter of yours. She would of made a suitable wife to someone of grand statures...” My father then uttered, “No one touches my daughter!” From what Collin examined later when he...”

Hellen found a stray tear sliding down, yet she’d dared not to cry in front of this man she only knew for a couple of weeks. “McGriffon placed the colt in the back of my father’s left shoulder and recited “riposare in pace” there was a loud bang...” He hands began to shake. Jack took Hellen’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Jack had a sense of rage towards this McGriffon. He mocked the creed before killing Jeremiah. This man is almost to Starrick’s rank of cruelty. Jack thought.

Hellen continued. “I was underneath where my father was placed. And as I waited until the sound of the footsteps of the men left, I remember, feeling a stream of hot blood spilling through the cracks of the wood floor. I knew then, that it was my pa’s. So I crawled back and up into the parlor, and there I found him. My father. The commander and veteran of the cruel civil war, murdered...shot in the back of...”

“We can stop there if you need to.” Jack’s interruption caught Hellen off guard. She looked to see her hand gripping his so tight that it caused Hellen’s bandages to come undone. Hellen let his hand go and traced her left ear. 

“Sorry...it’s just...I never really...only Collin heard this story...”

“Seems like this Collin means so much to you.” Jack asked in an analyzed look upon his face.

Hellen wasn’t sure what he’d meant at first, until she’d understood a second later. “Oh God No! Collin Anderson and my father served together in the war. He’s my godfather. Why?” Hellen raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “You suddenly...”

“No.” Jack turned again to the city, staring coldly. “No...I...I now have a better understanding that...you...we...had been though the same horrors of hell.”

As Hellen was about to continue, when Jack placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t, have to finish the story tonight.”

Hellen didn’t say another word. She only looked out of the horizon, scotching herself closer to Jack. “The city...it has a beauty to it. But I’m sure it’s nothing like London to you.”

“I never notice the city at night.” Jack said coldly.

Hellen looked up into the sky. “Obviously you’ve never known the constellations at night time. It’s funny really. My pa and I used to have there “Confessions on the roof. My pa always said, “When theres not a church near by, the stars in the blanket of night are the original Sistine Chapel.” to which I agreed. There so many countless stars that you swear that some adramida or constellation has it’s own story.”

 Both assassins sat upon the rood for what seemed like hours. Hellen’s eyes began to take weight from exhaustion from the days events. Her tired head was placed upon Jack’s shoulder. He gasped silently feeling the weight; but he didn’t brush her off, only watched her for a bit. When she’d began to shift in her sleep, Jack carefully placed one hand on her shoulder and the other to support her head. He lowered the sleeping woman upon his lap, even if he was uncertain on why he did it. But seeing Hellen sleeping in such a peaceful matter gave him a curiosity about her. For she looked of that of Sleeping Beauty or Snow White stories from the Grimm Brothers volumes of stories. 

Jack touched a stray curl from Hellen’s head. He could tell how silky it must of felt. Yet he’d never fully touched a woman’s hair without force for killing or any rational reason. Taking off his leather gloves, Jack traced his callused and bruised fingers through Hellen’s auburn hair. He never realized how lovely it looked in the moonlight, like that of dark blood with magic light glowing. Her skin glowed with old sweat and youthfulness for a quarter of a century year old woman. He’d traced a stray curl onto his large index finger, and yucked it into Hellen’s torn right ear. The ear Jack noticed that Hellen always seemed to hide or touch when the subject of her father came up. 

What Happened to you Hellen? He’d asked in his thoughts, tracing along the torn edges, making Hellen shutter in his lap. When he’s withdrawn, Hellen relaxed again in his lap. Jack lightly stroke her head, looking down. “I think...I think I’m falling for you.” Jack whispered, yet his tone was a hybrid of doubts and certainty.

Jack and hellen sat for another few hours. Jack thought again about his past and of his goal back in London, yet something is pinning him down. When his eyes too began to become heavy, Jack took Hellen into his arms and he gently climbed through the opened window into the living room, went into Hellen’s bedroom and placed her upon the bed and covered her with a blanket. As he’d took himself to leave, he saw upon the dresser window an old photograph of a photograph of a Union soldier in uniform. He was wearing a Army Calvary Commander’s uniform with a brace that seemed too familiar to any assassin. His face looked strong and determined. He had a bit of a five o’clock shadow going on his face at the time, yet never diminished his handsome face. Jack could only guess that this man was Hellen’s father. He was drawn to learn more about him; for some reason in his mind, the name put together, Jeremiah Patterson, seemed very familiar somehow.

Jack quietly shut the door behind, removed his shirt and collapsed onto the couch where he’d fallen asleep. Somehow, the space felt incomplete without the head weight upon his body.