#as soon as i got home i arranged my tools into ot so now i don't have my kitched drawer of random shit filled with screws and misc tools <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[perilegs]

i got a toolbox and some tools from my dad. ive never before felt like my life was this put together

[spartanguard]

savage garden, 2/?

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

3.9k | rated T | AO3 | part 1

A/N: Here’s the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who read/commented on the first! This thing keeps running away from me but I can’t wait to share the rest with y’all. Thanks again to the organizers of @csmarchmadness for getting me going on it again and to @optomisticgirl for looking it over/letting me ramble about it.

The title comes from "The Lover After Me" by Savage Garden (obvs). We’ve got some backstory in this chapter! And a new/familiar face arrives at the end...

chapter 2: am I alone in the universe?

“Well, well, seems like you finally found the family you could never have with me,” the creature jibed.

Killian couldn’t call him a man, though he clearly had been one at some point. But he wore the effects of dark magic on him like a second skin—scaly in texture and a mottled green-gold color that made him think of a crocodile or some other reptile. Whatever he was, all he knew was that Rumpelstiltskin was not anyone to take lightly; the captain’s corpse bleeding out on the quarterdeck was evidence of that.

Milah was standing in front of Killian, not quite shielding him but close enough that she could if needed. She did that often.

From what he’d gathered in the blur of events, this monster was after a magic bean, which their captain always seemed to have on hand—and was also the husband Milah had fled from a handful of years ago, when she joined their crew. He could see why.

From a pouch on her belt, Milah pulled out said bean and held it up for inspection, then tossed it to Smee, the bo’sun, before her former spouse could make a grab for it.

“You asked to see it, and now you have. Do we have a deal? Can we go our separate ways?” Her tone was commanding, but he supposed that was appropriate—not only did she possess the fiercest spirit Killian had ever encountered, but she was technically in charge: she’d worked her way up to first mate after she’d been discovered as a stowaway. With the captain gone, the title was hers.

“Do you mean, do I forgive you? Can I move on?” Goodness, he had a flair for the dramatic. “Perhaps, perhaps. I can see you are truly happy.”

“Thank you,” she answered tersely, then turned away from the monster and found Killian’s eyes. She was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t read if her expression was relieved or concerned.

“Just one question,” the Dark One continued.

Milah faced him again. “What do you want to know?”

The air began to crackle as the wind snapped the sails; dark clouds came from nowhere and Killian could feel the static pricking at his skin.

“How could you leave Bae?” the Dark One snarled, taking a calculated step toward Milah. Even Killian got goosebumps at that; Milah had told him all about her boy, and how much she had hated to leave him. “Do you know what it was like walking home that night…”

Gasps came from all around as lines began to break and fly. One snapped next to Killian, making him jump; he would have yelped, too, were he not trying to hold his breath.

The villain continued his monologue as he approached Milah, who was edging closer to Killian, a protective arm held out in his direction. Killian wanted to step away—to run, dive, anything—but he was frozen in place, watching the scene unfold.

He hadn’t known much love in this life, and what little he had was but a faded memory. Except Milah—he had her now, little as he probably deserved her. She showed him a level of care and camaraderie he hadn’t had in years, if ever—a lone beacon of light in the seemingly endless drudgery of servitude. And his greatest fear right now was that this monster was going to take it all away.

“I was wrong to lie to you. I was the coward. I knew that.” He’d never heard Milah beg like this; not even when she was first discovered on the ship, seeking asylum.

“You left him! You abandoned him!” Rumpelstiltskin spat; he was mere inches from Milah, close enough for Killian to see the eerie yellow color tinting his eyes.

“And there's not a day that goes by that I don't feel sorry for that.” He’d held her while the tears came over that subject more than once; for that reason, he’d never quite told her about his own history with parental abandonment, though he was certain her reasons were better than his father’s.

The storm continued to build as tension mounted between the two figures arguing at middeck. An attempt was being made my crew members to right the rigging and prepare for the magical tempest, but most had their eyes fixed on the quarrel.

Everything seemed to go quiet when Milah let spew her final curse. “Because I never loved you.”

The entire world froze for a moment as that statement washed over the Dark One. The man must have had some semblance of a heart left, because his face fell for a moment.

But it was gone as soon as it appeared—a blink of humanity in the soul of someone who’d given themselves over to darkness long ago. Malice took hold, rage twisting his features, and he thrust a claw towards Milah’s chest.

“No!” Killian screamed, finally coming unglued from his spot on the deck and rushing to her. As she started to fall, he slipped under her in time to catch her.

He’d heard a rumor that the Dark One possessed the ability to take hearts but had prayed it wasn’t true. Those prayers fell on deaf ears, apparently, because there hers was, red and glowing in Rumpelstiltskin’s scaly palm. Up close, he was able to take in the way everything about this man oozed danger, from the rough texture of his clothes to the various weapons hanging off his belt.

“Oh, isn’t this precious,” he sneered. “Looks like someone has a little…crush.” Dramatically, he began to do that to her heart, squeezing it in his hand.

Milah convulsed in his arms. Killian tried to hold her close and keep her still, but it was to no avail. “I love you,” he murmured as her eyes closed for the last time and she fell limp in his embrace.

The only sound to be heard was his own stifled sobs as he set her body down on the deck. She looked peaceful, like she did in sleep, but gone was the light pink of her cheeks, or the gentle rise and fall of her chest with breath.

“You may be powerful, demon,” Killian cried out in a rare moment of boldness, “but you're no less a coward than I am.”

If he heard the outburst, he made no indication, instead turning his sights on Smee. “I'll have what I came for now.”

Killian stood and put himself between the men. “You'll have to kill me first.” For the first time ever, he held his hook aloft as a weapon, and not just the tool it had been for years now. In any other situation, it surely would have earned snickers from the crew; no one said a word now.

“That can be easily arranged, dearie,” the Dark One said. “You don’t look like much of a fight.”

Before the other man could make a move, Killian ran at him, plunging his hook into the creature’s chest. Milah was all he’d had left; he wouldn’t take her death lightly.

Rumpelstiltskin took a step back from the impact, but didn’t seem all that affected by the hunk of metal stuck in him. In fact, he started laughing. “Killing me is gonna take a lot more than that, sonny boy. My advice? Forget the whore and find a new one.”

White hot rage like he’d never known bubbled up inside. He couldn’t think of anything other than destroying this monster. Without looking, Killian reached for one of the daggers hanging on the Dark One’s person, pulled it from its holster, and plunged it into the man’s other breast, where his heart should be (if he still had one).

The shudder that came from his body shook Killian, connected as they still were by the two weapons. Rumplestiltskin coughed, sputtered, and fell on the deck, dragging Killian with him.

Then he cackled—a maniacal, shrill thing, almost comical in its intensity. “Oh, dearie—you have no idea what you’ve done, have you?”

“I’ve killed you and that’s all that matters,” Killian threw back. He was straddled over the dying man, watching as his breaths became more erratic with each passing moment.

“I just wish,” he wheezed, “I wish I could see what comes next.”

“What?” Why would the Dark One care about Killian’s fate? If he was lucky, he’d be free of the ship; if not, he supposed he’d spend the rest of his life on it.

“Humor a dying man.” He coughed violently, blood coming to his lips. “Pull out the dagger.”

Killian did, slowly, doing anything he could to drag on the man’s suffering.

“Tell me: what’s it say?”

An ornate design was embossed in the blade on the side facing Killian, so he flipped it over—and gasped.

Engraved in the steel, in an ornate block print, was Killian Jones. And to his horror, a glimmering blue sheen had taken over the skin of his hand, while dark tendrils of black ooze were trailing from the dagger and winding around his arm.

“No, no—I don’t want this!” Killian screamed. “Take it back!”

“No can do, dearie,” the apparently former Dark One breathed back. “Enjoy immortality.” And then he took his last breath, and drifted into dust.

The black magic continued to flow around Killian, wrapping itself about his limbs and constricting around his chest and body. He could feel it seeping into his veins and clenched his eyes shut to block out the images it was pulling from his mind—all the traumas, all the tragedies were playing out in front of him.

Fresh meat, an unfamiliar voice purred.

Too bad—I really liked the last one.

Hey, I’m still here!

Oh, he’s so pretty.

Yea, but he’s weak. What do we do with him?

Same as all the others—we corrupt him. He just might be the strongest Dark One yet.

“No!”

Killian startled himself from his stupor by shouting. Evidently, he’d drifted off. Not in the way most people did, considering he hadn’t truly slept in nearly a century now—but every so often, he’d find himself so deeply lost in a trance-like state that memories would start to play on their own, as if they were a dream.

It was never the pleasant ones, of course; only the traumatic ones. Yet another way for the Darkness to play mind games. By now, though, he was used to all of them.

Still—that memory always unsettled him: that he was capable of that kind of malice. As deep as his love had been for Milah, and still was, he hated the idea that he’d been able to murder in cold blood, even if there’d been a few more added to his body count in the interim (all accidental—or at least, he thought they were).

He sighed, rubbed his face, and stood and stretched from the chair he’d been reclined in on his back porch. The evening had drawn cold, and while he didn’t necessarily feel it, it seemed like a good night to read next to the hearth.

Where’s the fun in that, though? We could go recreate that day, eh? Murder some slavers?

“No,” Killian said sternly, like a tired father scolding a rambunctious child.

Oh, oh! Or we could go start a bar fight and watch the chaos unfold!

“Let’s not.” He set the kettle over the fireplace to brew tea, then stoked the flames.

We could just light this whole place up and start again somewhere else. Find the looters who’ve probably gotten lost in the castle—just a bit of light torture!

“No, thank you; I’m quite fine here.” He stood once the fire was going strong again, and was going to go find a novel to read when the reflection in the mirror above the mantle caught his gaze—and horrified him.

“We’ll break you yet, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin hissed at him from the other side of the looking glass.

“You won’t. I’ve made it this far; and I can keep going.”

“Sure, sure...but for how long?” The image in the mirror flashed and changed, and he was staring at himself once more—but his skin was covered in reptilian scales and his eyes glowed a freakish blue. The perverse smirk and hungry gaze were not expressions he’d ever worn, but—and he hated to admit this—they didn’t look entirely unnatural. In fact, he looked far too comfortable like that.

He squeezed his eyes shut and contracted in on himself, like he had all those years ago before waking up in the Dark One’s vault. “Enough!” he yelled, and the whole house vibrated.

Things got eerily quiet then. He opened his eyes, and his reflection was back to normal. But his entire body was quivering. He held his hand up for inspection, and the dark magic swirling in his veins was boldly visible through his palm. He had to get out.

Even in the middle of the night, there was only one place he’d find any solace. He grabbed his thickest cloak and left, running out in the forest and taking the meandering path he’d memorized to the garden.

He moved as smooth as a shadow and likely cast an imposing figure, with his cape billowing out behind him. But he’d discovered over the decades that the more intimidating he looked, the more likely it was that people would stay away. He was no longer scared of what they might tempt him to do; no—he’d rather not tempt the Darkness.

You never let us have any fun anymore! it would pout. He’d gotten good at ignoring it, though, save for the outbursts like tonight.

The garden came into view, shining like a beacon of hope in the dark night. He’d taken care to keep the outside as clean as possible; he could do that without damaging the inside.

Although—was it gleaming just a bit brighter tonight? True, it was the full moon, but it seemed exceptionally effulgent at the moment.

The door was ajar when he reached it. That wasn’t uncommon—his carpentry wasn’t that stellar—but there was a different presence in the garden, beyond its usual ethereal aura. He pushed the door open—and his breath was stolen. (Good thing he didn’t need it.)

Someone had definitely been here, because the garden was completely renewed. Lanterns placed at varying spots around the space gave off a warm, gentle glow that could only be magical in nature. Everything was clean and crisp, and the fountain gurgled happily. And all the flowers were in bloom, despite the approaching autumn—roses, violets, lavender, orchids, all manner of lilies, and more filled the garden with their soft colors and light fragrance.

Just like his first visit, he absorbed it in awe. He refused to touch anything because whoever or whatever had done this clearly put love into it; he daren’t be the one to bring further harm.

After he’d made the full circle, he took a seat on one of the restored benches; it was firm and warm beneath him, and the surrounding rose bushes enveloped him with their delicate scent. More than ever, the garden was the haven it had been all those years ago when he first discovered it, and more so than in any time since.

He lost track of how long he spent just sitting there, at peace. Either the Darkness had nothing to say, or the light magic of the place was keeping it away. The sky overhead was lightening and he was contemplating just staying in there forever; it wasn’t like anyone would miss him, and perhaps he could meet whoever had brought beauty back in.

What will they find, though? A hermit with few to no social skills, one hand, and a demonic possession he barely tolerates?

“No one asked for your opinion,” Killian muttered back, but he’d had the same sort of intrusive thoughts. He hardly understood what Milah had seen in him—what was even left at this point for anyone else?

That’s right—nothing.

“Bugger off.” He shook his head; he’d fallen for it again—the Darkness trying to convince him that he was worthless, and to give into it. To be fair, he didn’t have much hope, but if protecting the world from the Darkness was his one purpose in life, he’d do it.

That said, he was shaken enough that he didn’t want to press his luck by staying around any longer. Half-heartedly, he rose to his feet and proceeded out.

Near the door, a rose bush hung over the cobbled path, heavy with blossoms. He did his best to skirt it, but still his hand grazed a bloom. It wasn’t a surprise when the petals shriveled up and died, and then the whole plant after it. He hung his head in shame—but did note that at least he hadn’t wrecked the whole garden this time.

Still, that was sign enough that it was time to leave, and he began the trek home, letting the morning dew cling to his boots and cloak as he traveled. He hid from a caravan on the road when it approached, waiting for the people—and the Darkness’s calls for blood—to pass before finally retreating to his cottage.

The garden wouldn’t be forgotten, though—not that it ever truly was, but something in that magic had taken root in his mind, just like whatever it had done to the flora. He found himself humming more often; adding some windows to his home to let the light in more; and getting lost in more romance novels than he ever had before. He’d even ventured to the book shop in town for some new ones; the proprietress gave him several sideways glances but his gold was good, so she made no comment.

He didn’t wish to tempt fate by traveling there every night, but his visits did increase in frequency. On his first trip back, he noticed that the rose bush he’d killed was thriving once more, perhaps even bigger than it had been before. The Darkness still jibed and taunted, as it was wont to do, but he was able to tune it out better there.

Each time, he considered staying. But each time, he took the coward’s way out and left before dawn. Whoever it was working their magic here was certainly far too good for the likes of him. (And that wasn’t the Darkness talking.)

He seriously considered stopping his visits after the third one in a row where something caught on him, just a brush against his skin, and promptly withered. But he wasn’t that strong, and on the following visit, it was always reborn. He simply took to wearing a glove over his hand and keeping the hood of his cloak up to minimize the chance for contact.

Armor in place, he got a bit bolder, staying later and later into the early morning. The rising sun was his companion on the journey home, which seemed to get shorter each time he made it. A path was starting to wear from his frequent visits, though it was still only visible to the trained eye.

One particularly nice morning, when the breeze blew warm, he was especially loathe to leave the garden. He watched the line of sunlight as it crept down the far wall, and the flowers in the vines that covered it opened to the rays. How he wished that was all it took to shake off his own burdens and the things keeping him closed off—just a bit of brightness to burn away the dark.

The sun shined on half of the wall by the time he rose to leave; it was the latest he’d stayed yet. But given that he didn’t have any pressing appointments (ever, really), he wasn’t too worried about taking his time.

With his gloved hand, he paused to cradle a gorgeous blossom on a hedge. It was a rich fuschia and sweet in scent, and he liked to imagine he could feel the velvet of the petal through the leather. But that was enough for today; he stepped back, carefully letting the flower go, and pulled his hood back up before taking long strides to the exit.

He’d hardly taken a few steps, though, before he was colliding with something—no, someone.

“Uf!” he groaned at the same time a feminine voice gasped “Oh!”

Instinctively, he kept his hook away from her, but grabbed her shoulder to stabilize her. Once she was steady, he took a step back, and anything he might have said died before it could reach his lips.

She was an angel. Or a siren. Or some other creature of ethereal beauty. Blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders, framing a soft face set with eyes a shade of green so bright, it made the garden seem dreary. Her lips perfectly matched the flower he’d just held. And the furrowed set of her eyebrows made him realize she wasn’t as taken with him as he was with her.

Immediately, he took a step back. “My apologies, ma’am,” he stammered, ducking his head to avoid her suddenly intense gaze.

“Who are you and how did you find this place?” she demanded.

He could tell by the sharpness in her voice she was not to be trifled with. “I’ve been coming to this garden for years; discovered it ages ago. But I usually only come at night.”

She took a step towards him, and he hazarded a glance up. She was still studying him, eyes aflame as they assessed him. The closer she got, the harder his heart beat, and he could almost feel the static tension in the air.

Standing in front of him, she looked him up and down, and that’s when he realized his hood had fallen back in the collision, allowing her to truly see him; he gulped, knowing that the sun was surely glinting off his shimmering skin, letting her know that he likely wasn’t as innocent as he appeared.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in some level of shock. She pointed an accusatory finger at him and exclaimed, “You’re the one who keeps killing my plants, aren’t you?”

“Aye,” he nodded, hanging his head. It came as no surprise that someone as radiant as her was the source of the garden’s transformation, and even if he’d just met her, he felt ashamed at already letting her down. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry’s not enough. Is that why you’re here?”

“No!” he protested. “I don’t do it on purpose—I swear—”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she cut him off. “Don’t try to lie to me, buddy. I know your type, and I know dark magic when I see it.”

“No, it wasn’t—it’s not—”

“Yes it is; don’t deny it! Why can’t you people just leave the few beautiful things in this world alone?”

“I promise you, that’s all I w—”

“Don’t.” She silenced him with a word. “Nothing good can come from you and your darkness being here. Just...just go.”

Despite the fact that she wasn’t touching him, he felt like she’d punched him in the gut and knocked his wind out. Because she was probably right—he’d been fooling himself to think he belonged there.

Without saying another word, he nodded his head, carefully stepped around her, and walked out. But as soon as he was outside, he practically sprinted home.

The Darkness cackled in his ear the entire way.

thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair ​ @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @killianmesmalls  @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @the-captains-ayebrows @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @wyntereyez @lfh1962 @bmbbcs4evr @therooksshiningknight 

[bornanxious2018]

Our simple, but busy half term ,is leaving our hearts full💙but the anger though!🙃

Like most special needs parents I do dread the half terms,  and just the break in routine can be enough to send my child into a downward spiral of anxiety which controls everything we do , when anxious Oscar shuts down will not play ball for anything this usually lasts around a week or so before he starts to come out of it , it’s really hard on everyone and we are totally lead by Oscar and have to all work really hard to keep Oscar regulated this is despite medication ,and that’s why I dread as there’s one of me and I worry everyone’s not getting enough of me or what they need , his routine is everything in terms of balancing him so he feels calm enough to function , I decided to plan the week so we had lots of structure get up and out by 930am each day and do something each morning( I know what a complete tossser😂)I’m going to admit right now this was over confident, and it didn’t really work at all😂I would say out of all the school breaks so far this has been the hardest , Oscar has screamed the best part of this week , the only plus is we have got up and out and done something manageable each day ,which has benefitted my other kids and saved my sanity as I would be a prisoner in my own home, and it was a choice stay home with the screamer or go out with the screamer !!!! It hasn’t been all bad Monday and Tuesday we’re 50/50 but Wednesday , Thursday and Friday o my god ANGRY BIRDS THE MOVIE !!!!! it got to the point on Friday, we’re we had arranged to meet friends for a walk at a local wild play, it gets busy so we went early to avoid crowds, it was ok got parked easy and Oscar usually really enjoys the freedom of stomping around in his wellies getting muddy, he’s been known to lay in puddles there before he loves the freedom and the animals, but not today! He was particularly prickly from when he woke up and as soon as we arrived he said oh no not this! He was screaming and crying I managed to get his backpack on and we entered, met with friends but a rage was building insode Oscar and after 15 minutes of his arching his back and screaming NO, NO I decided to turn around and exit, we were getting so many looks, some of sympathy , some dirty looks , some judgy looks ,I mean let’s have it right, he draws attention to himself , it’s a busy place we are walking towards a sea of people, all with  their happy kids and I’m going the wrong way with a child who appears neurotypical and naughty!!!! , people are not that kind really, to me it’s clear that there’s a problem, when I see parents struggling I always give them the look as if to say I’ve got your back man , but it’s on my radar I suppose , so i stick my sunglasses on ,head held high avoid eye contact with these judges ! Of what? I refuse judgment🖕🏻 and I manage my child, and the situation, I make sure he’s ok and we leave , on the way out there’s a QUE and the lady who works there says leaving already? Oscar still looking possessed convulsing in temper, I didn’t even reply I just kept walking! When we got home oscar has a serious meltdown trashed the living room ,there were books being thrown like frisbees ,and then a bottle of juice a full one, flew past my head! So I made a desision to call his consultant as he started becoming angry on Thursday, today was Friday and he’s still going and it’s building! I needed advise , so I call and guess what he’s not there !!  Oscar was given new  medication for his anxiety the week before, it was too strong, it was awful he was calm but not oscar , lights were on knowone was home!!!! We sought advise and were told to Halve the dose as it was too strong, but now he's angry so it’s trail and error, talk about keep me on my toes!!!i just  want-him to be  calmer not angry ,and be happy , so after trying to explain to a different doctor the story so far, where we are, and to get some advise, I was told as his mum it’s my call! Either raise it slightly or stay as we are , we decided that as the recommended dose for his weight  is 2.5ml but he’s been having 1.75 ml and it’s making him angry ,we would try 2 ml. And low and behold he is calmer more compliant and happy to reason , hopeful-now that after two weeks of being so worried about this, we might have finally found the correct dose to suit him , that’s the thing with medicating it can have such dramatic effects of its too low or-too high , I used to think it’s, get the medication administer it and ta da! But it’s really not at all , it brings new worries, new heartache and challenges! Well it has for us anyway .

so to round this blog up half terms? School breaks!!  For special needs kids are not the welcomed break your other kids long for , where they can chill and do fun stuff , for special needs kids it’s everything they hate , everywhere’s busy, noisy, crowded there’s no routine! Oscar really struggles and it takes him a good week once school starts again to feel settled again, and in his mind he’s just had school holidays at Christmas ,it’s such a short term it really is , I’m not sure what the Fix is but I was over confident in my planning , the week didn’t work out as well as I hoped😶

In heinsight  I could have added a few tools to assist me ,a bit better to help regulate him like I could have used the now and next board with an egg timer, as suggested by his OT at a therapy session at the end of the week !!!!!!!i think next time I might have the therapy at the start, so I can pick up a few tips as I think her suggestion would have worked , we do try and use a visual timetable with him but he’s dismissive, but an egg timer and adding sound is such a good idea as he gets so absorbed in what he is doing it will allow his brain to switch to another activity so I will be using this in future.

That’s  the thing about overconfidence isn’t it!😂it can be a killer , here’s me thinking I will be fine with a pair of wellies in the car and a pack lunch!💙💙