entrancelogs | ɪᴛ's ɴɪɢʜᴛᴛɪᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ

Entry tags:

ɪᴛ's ɴɪɢʜᴛᴛɪᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ

Who: Killian Jones & you!
Where: All over.
When: July 15th-18th and possibly other times if people want a thing with dark pirate?
Rating: hahahahahaha wow i don't even know anymore. i'll put warnings here if i end up having to.
Summary: not even gonna lie to you, i just wanted to do stuff with the pirate chick.
The Story:

I AM NOT BROKEN, I'LL RISE WITH A FLAME. MY DEMON IS CALLING, HE IS CALLING MY NAME.

the library.

She has plenty of questions, and not enough answers. Time doesn't seem to do much to fill in the blanks. It's odd to know the ending of a story without all the important parts in the middle. What kind of crescendo ended up with her a dark one? What sort of path brought her to this place? Killian wants to know how it happened, and while the darkness whispers she knows better than to trust it. The darkness was cruel, cruel and selfish. If she knew anything, it was to try not to listen to the darkness.

It's not as easy as it sounds. Especially when it whispers in her ear, almost always, buzzing intently like an angry bee. She does what she can, trying not to pay mind to what it wants to say, but she's not completely successful. There's a burning part of her that needs to know how, to know why. The darkness pushes her toward the answer, even if she isn't sure just how to find it, yet.

Her time in the library is spent trying to find a book that will help with the loss of memories. Perhaps a potion, or a spell will do... She will occasionally float a book to her instead of walking over to fetch it, and if that gets her a look, she will only give an ice-water smile. "Didn't anyone teach you it was rude to stare?"

the jolly roger.

If she'd been buried in maps before, it's especially hard to escape them now. There's hundreds of them tucked away below deck, and now she's started to bring her madness above too. There's a dozen new star charts, new every night, as the stars flicker and fade and change shape and position nightly. It's enough to drive a woman mad.

If she hears someone coming, she'll abandon her work. And trust that she'll hear you coming from quite a ways. Her sensitivity to pretty much everything is heightened, now. If she recognizes you, perhaps you'll get a smile, stained with something that isn't quite welcoming. Perhaps you'll get shooed off for invading on private property. Chances are good if you catch her with a sword in her hand, she'll ask for a match.

Best not think that she can't keep up. This one-handed woman will kick your ass quite easily.

closed to Emmett.

She knows he's coming before he arrives. Perhaps she can just feel it, his magic singing against hers. Or she's used to him slipping to see her, worried about her alone in the dark of night. He knows better than anyone she's at her worst at night. She can't say what brings him yet she knows before the echo of his boots on the deck that he is coming.

A part of her thinks she should be angry with him. Whether she can remember it or not, the fact she is a dark one surely has something to do with the man she loves. And the fact she can't remember how it happened certainly has his name all over it. Why had he taken it from her? Why didn't he want her to remember? Why would he drown them both in darkness, instead of getting rid of it? She can't fathom any of the answers, as much as it frustrates her, as much as the voices in her head try to whisper. She can't remember, and she can't press Emmett for answers, either. He's wouldn't know, he hasn't even lived the darkness yet.

Something about that softens her unhappiness. She'd been so afraid to lose him, hadn't she? He was safe now, or, safe enough. Perhaps she could protect him, with all this magic at her disposal. He didn't want her to use it, but why shouldn't she? She had stood by and watched the people she loved hurt too many times. If she had the power to protect them, then she would, whether her lover liked it or not.

Still, she's not protecting anyone at the moment. No, making herself lovely bits of leather and lace to wrap herself in isn't helping anyone at all, unless you counted anyone lucky enough to see her in her finery. The number she's wearing now is for one man alone, though. She's admiring the corset in the mirror when she hears him at the door. "Come in, darling, honestly." Why would he need to knock? What's hers is his, and all that nonsense. She turns to meet him with a smile that's a little wicked. "What do you think?"

He probably will think she needs to stop using magic, but that's really not the answer she's hoping for.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ cordell has decided against his better judgment to get an idea of what the research situation is here - just in case, since it seems his curse to never get away from research - when he stumbles across a familiar face from the network. hence with the staring. ]

Pirate, you mentioned. Whatever that is, [ he wiggles his fingers to indicate the magic he just walked in on ] not so much.

It's Killian, right?

It doesn't come up in idle conversation, darling.

( or, she just figured out a few days ago. it's a pretty new development. not that she is going to admit that to a stranger. she has a hard time wrapping her own mind around being a dark one, it's not fodder for small talk.

her icy eyes narrow at the recognition, taking a few seconds to click the pieces into place. ah, yes — she remembers this one. handsome. not that she needs any more handsome in her life, Emmett does a good job of that all on his own. )

Killian serves, or Hook. ( she runs a fingertip along the steel with a smile. ) Pick your pleasure. Cordell, was it not?

The one and only. [ his eyebrows rise a bit at the hook - there was no getting a close look at that thing over the video feed earlier ] I mean, points for hitting all the pirate cliches, but is that very, er... practical day to day? I hope you don't wear contacts.

I'll be perfectly honest, I don't even know what that is. ( well, she knows what the word means. how one can wear an informant is beyond her, and for once she'll be very upfront about it.

as far as wearing her hook on the day to day, she doesn't care if it's cliche (HOW DARE YOU THOUGH, CORDELL). it is an important part of her history and that's why she wears it. ) I wear it because it's a part of me. Would you rather I wander around with a bare stump? Would that please you?

( her tone is sweet but it's clear she's a little annoyed. anyone willing to mock her missing appendage will get the same, even when she's not imbued with a small army's worth of dark magic. )

No, I just figured they must make... wooden hands or something. But it's very menacing and I suppose that's a thing you pirates go for.

( THEY DO. THAT'S NOT THE POINT. )

A fake hand doesn't have the history my hook does, darling. ( she lifts a brow. ) Are you such an expert on pirates? Do tell, what else are we known for?

Peg legs? Booty? I mean, you have surprisingly good teeth, so that one's out.

This is based on what, exactly?

( DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT WAS A BOOK, SHE WILL LOSE IT )

Fictionalized pirates and the actual reality are two different things. Except for the wretched teeth, I'm afraid you're right on with that one.

[ books are for nerds, he says, as he comes into the library to look for books. WHATEVER. ] Well-established stereotypes. I'm afraid you're fighting an uphill battle.

I'm not terribly concerned. I've always been the best of my breed.

( said without an ounce of irony or modesty. oh well, some things just don't change between genders. )

So what brings you to the library, exactly? [ how do you even read with one hand, that sounds like challenge mode ]

( sweetly: ) Research.

( oh, really? you think? thanks for that helpful, inspiring answer! suddenly everything is so clear. aka she doesn't know you well enough to mention she's hoping to find more information on her curse... more accurately, how to get rid of it. )

And yourself? I do hope you had more in mind than idle conversation. I know a prince that would tell you right off for that.

( Beau was rather stern about not talking in libraries. Hook almost misses him; surely he'd have some advice on her current condition. )

I was actually seeing what they had on demons. Just in case. [ as you do ]

Demons. What would a pretty thing like you need to know about those?

( the only demon Hook knows about is the Dark One, and she'd rather be informed on what people are trying to figure out about her. )

More than he'd like to, believe me. Sort of a thing where I come from.

Killian had told Barry of the Jolly Roger, of it being in Wonderland, of its own magnificence. Though, technically, she'd told the Flash about the ship.

Potato, tomato, really.

It'd be a lie to say Barry hadn't tried to find the ship — albeit at top speed and where the world around her was a complete blur, but she's always been exceptional at navigating her way through the city streets … with the team in her ear, guiding her left and right. Wonderland's still an unknown for her, but she manages to whizz by the docks a few times and somehow miss it.

Now, she runs — a bolt of golden-yellow lightning streaking throughout Wonderland — and comes to a skidding halt of wind being thrown toward the ship when she spots it.

The Ship.

Staring up at it in wonderment, her raised eyebrows lower as her smile widens. Much like a kid in a candy store, Barry finds herself taken by it. It's exactly as she had imagined it as a child, reading Peter Pan and falling in love with all the movies made to tell the tale over and over. It's better than the props of those films, of the drawings in the cartoon movie. For all the things she's seen and done, a pirate's ship is something that still manages to knock her out of the water.

Believing she's spied someone aboard it, she doesn't spare a moment to think of the possible consequences of stumbling upon a pirate's ship in Wonderland — a pirate the Flash knows isn't as friendly as she wishes herself to appear as — before she thinks to cup her hands around her mouth. She bellows, "Hey, Hook! Nice ship!"

That's the best start the Flash could have hoped to provide. Hook was vain as the day was long, yet being told she was beautiful really wouldn't do much to scare off her current mood. She was beautiful, she already knew that, no need to remind her. Complimenting her ship, though; that always pleased her. She'd lived and breathed and sacrificed on this ship. It was practically a part of her, a piece of her heart that she'd given up and gotten back. The ship was her oldest love and Killian automatically responded positively to anyone giving the old girl the respect she deserved.

Just like her master, the ship looked quite brilliant for her age.

There's a sword in her hand as she strolls to the rail, resting her elbows against it as the salty breeze lifts her hair up out of her face. "You know," she says with a pull of a smile, flipping her wrist open and out, practicing swings and parries in the air even as she leans lazily for conversation, "Anyone else, I'd think you were hitting on me." She hasn't forgotten about your Wonder, Flash.

She straightens, sending her own fond glance over the decks. The Jolly Roger was well maintained, and a beauty through and through. Hook always did enjoy having someone enjoy her as much as she did. "Are you going to come look, or simply stare?" Considering how she and the Flash had first met, it seems a little bizarre that Hook is inviting the admittedly strange girl on her ship. Still, she has answers now that she hadn't at the time. She was more in control now... wasn't she?

Barry needs a moment to pick herself up from the floor. Though Peter Pan hadn't been her favourite story, animated film or book, it'd still been an adventure she loved as a child. Being able to go to an island and wrestle crocodiles and sail aboard such ships — it's the kind of thing young girls like her were told weren't for her.

Smile widening, she practically beams as warmly as the sun. Bouncing on her feet, Barry ensures she moves at a fast human pace to board the ship. After all, she doesn't want to set the wood alight with how much energy and heat she sparks at times. She can phase through walls made of plaster and cement, but she doesn't want to risk it with the Jolly Roger.

Though she may disappear from view for a moment, Hook can easily hear her exclaim loudly "This is so cool!" as she boards the ship.

Hook doesn't really consider the fact moving so quickly could result in a mark. If it did, she'd appreciate the discretion. That's not to say the Jolly Roger hasn't weathered a blow or two, in fact if one squinted there were a few dings and burns and marks left behind, even after centuries of repairs and work. Still, those little scars were a part of her, quiet and generally sanded down and stained over; they just gave her character, as far as her captain was concerned.

The click of her heels on the deck as she moves to join her quick company. What did she call herself again? The Flash? A silly name, though if anyone could understand hiding behind a different identity, surely it'd be the woman that went by Captain Hook. Her eyebrows lift at the compliment — not in another century will she understand the phrase 'cool' as a compliment — before shrugging it off and managing a smile.

"She's remarkable, I agree. Is this the first ship you've seen?" There's plenty to look at aboard a ship, though the practice sword still hangs in her fingers. She'll get back to her runs in a moment.

"Yeah!"

Barry sounds too excited by being on an actual pirate ship. She looks around in awe, much like a child in a candy store. If Wonderland were kinder, it'd bring Joe and Ciara Ramon to the world just for this ship.

She wishes she'd thought to drag Idris out for a walk today.

"There's no pirate ships in Central City," she says. So far, is what she doesn't say. With the particle accelerator having gone off and affecting so many people, rendering them superhuman, there's no knowing whether or not a pirate has been created from the explosion.

She looks to Captain Hook, brows furrowing, and corrects herself, "Except there was a man who was also a shark. But … I think he'd destroy any ships he came across. He was really big and had really bad breath."

That's... not really how pirates are made, Barry, but okay. Killian looks vaguely sympathetic, and honestly she does find it very sad that piracy has met such a brutal demise. Naval endeavors in general had truly become rather disappointing. They were all tiny little metal bits with angry sounding engines and bitty little navigation systems, like a woman couldn't navigate herself wherever she wanted to go. The Jolly Roger was a work of art, and it was a bit depressing that ships and boats had fallen so far in modern times.

"There is a difference between ships and shark men, darling, and I do hope that's obvious." Still, Hook has spoken to this odd little creature enough that she knows it's just enthusiasm getting in the way of sense. The odd little speester seems to often have trouble with her enthusiasm getting in the way of sense.

"It's a right shame you've never seen a proper brigantine before, but now is your chance. You can say your trip to Wonderland taught you something, hmm?" Except she hasn't taught the girl anything. In Hook's world, just standing on a ship can teach you how fantastic they are. What else could she need to teach?

Mulling it over, she frowns. "I don't think they have them in Central City."

It's a city made of buildings, skyscrapers, metahumans, and pavement. There's the wharf with the speedboats and other types of sailing, but Barry's never seen anything like the ships found in glass bottles.

Barry wonders if that'd stop a metahuman pirate, though. She doubts it. Could one sail on the bitumen? On the cement sidewalks? Up along the sides of the buildings, much like how she can run up along them? It's a thought she thinks to share with Iris and Wells later. For now, she lets herself take in the fact she's on a real, authentic pirate ship.

She glances around, head tilted back so far it's almost like she's forced to twirl on her feet, when really it's a choice of her own. The Jolly Roger is exactly as she had pictured it. Large, elegant, with bits of it chipped from wear and tear and surviving.

Looking to Hook, she almost bounces on the balls of her feet. "Do you have a crew? Have you sailed all over Wonderland yet?"

"From what I've heard, they don't have them anywhere." Piracy had rather gone out of vogue in modern times. Emmett had told her the only ones left were Somalian, and nobody particularly liked them, either. To Killian piracy was a great deal more than just stealing and plundering. It represented fighting against royal suppression. Every man, and woman, making their own choices and fighting for what they believed in, instead of what they were told to believe in. At least modern times seemed to have accepted those values far more than she'd have ever thought possible. Perhaps the need for pirates had diminished...

Not, of course, that Killian intended to stop dressing like one any time soon.

As for a crew, she sighs a little. "Afraid not. She's in poorer sorts than she was in even Neverland. I've a few friends that help me keep her up, but not a crew proper." She'd managed to get it out in the ocean when undead creatures were running amok around the mansion, but none of the hands helping had been permanent crew. "There's only so far I can take her out, anyway. Which is a wretched notion indeed."

She loved the freedom of sailing, the sense she could go anywhere if she set her mind to it. That sense is utterly stifled in Wonderland, and as far as she understands it, it always will be. Until she gets out, that is.

"What does someone have to do to be a part of your crew?"

Sometimes Barry's mouth worked a lot faster than her brain. She could speed read and process words and ideas and even thoughts so quickly no one would be able to understand how she leapt from wearing confusion on her face to a EUREKA!, but sometimes she found it difficult for her mind to reach out and curl its fingers around her tongue.

Should she be offering to become a pirate? Barry doesn't know. Barry doesn't care. It's not as though she'll be marooned on an island, and if she is, she could always run back. Being the Flash, in secret and otherwise, sometimes had its perks.

"Are you even hiring?"

She laughs, and it's lighter than what she usually manages, since the curse sunk into her marrow, since the darkness stained her very breath along with her heart and her head. It's rare that she fights back the weight of the curse when Emmett isn't around, her tether to light and her promise for a happy ending. Still, such raw joy and enthusiasm reminds Killian of herself, of better days, of when she and Amelia had gone sailing together, of the excitement she felt hammering under her breast every time she saw wind take the sails or the waves skidding against the prow.

It's a beautiful thing to witness, and she wants to do whatever she can to foster that sort of joy. Because she feels it too, even at centuries old. She will never tire of her love of sailing, of the sea. And joy like this only makes it easier.

"Hiring, no, but if you'd like to learn then I'd love to teach you." She works the ship with Henrietta, and her mother; another soul that had a history entwined with the ship. "My crew needs to show my girl respect and a willingness to learn and listen, and that's all I require. I suspect you can manage both of those, since you already have... Well, except for the learning, but I do believe you're capable."

Capable of learning to run a ship, anyway. Capable of staying away from villainous types that don't deserve the compassion, likely less so.

He can already hear Wells in her ear, telling her this is a very bad idea. Something about timelines, altering other worlds — Barry's sure the explanation would be something that strikes the chord of grave danger.

But she's begun to run headfirst toward it, and she loves to keep her continuities straight.

She smiles, taken aback, expecting a pirate to devise many hoops for her to leap through. Though Barry's certain she could easily leap through a literal hoop, even one on fire, it's not the same. It isn't the Flash who's asking to learn something new, but Barry, the girl behind the mask, the very reason why there's human in the term "meta-human".

"Yeah!" That enthusiasm hasn't quite left her as she exclaims it like a child. Then, she settles, and it's obvious in how she scrunches her face up for a mere moment. "I mean, yeah. Yeah. I don't know about you, but I don't really have anything to do in Wonderland?"

Oh, that. Yes, there wasn't anything much to be said about the utter lack of things to occupy a body in Wonderland. You'd think something with a name like that would be a bit more exciting; no, certainly not, unless the world itself was changing into something new, usually with intent of murder. Killian frowns at the reminder, because the lack of things to occupy her more than anything tends to get her into trouble.

Still, it's something she relates to, and relates to quite well. If teaching the oddly dressed little lass (really, Hook, coming from you?) could keep her on the straight and narrow, so to speak, didn't she owe it to Emmett — to herself — to try?

"No, certainly not, so if I set lessons bright and early, surely you won't protest?" She lifts her eyebrows in mock innocence, though don't believe it's a joke... Sailing starts at sunrise, Barbara!

[Prince Gumball doesn't even realize he's staring until she speaks up, then he blinks, offering her an apologetic smile.]

Sorry, I just haven't had many opportunities to observe telekinesis up close before.

I'd consider myself lucky for that, if I were you.

( even having magic doesn't mean she has to like it. magic is trouble in the making. which explains why she's using it so carelessly right? she catches the book with an easy hand and turns her attention to her company instead. )

Not from a magical realm?

Depends on your definition of magic. [Gumball tilts his head, considering.] We do have wizards and witches and a lich and all sorts of phenomena that some people in my kingdom would consider magical if they have not studied science as thoroughly as I have. But I would consider it simply science without understanding.

( ugh. Science. speaking of things she's not a fan of... she lifts an eyebrow in consideration of her company. )

Is that so. Everything has a scientific explanation, is that it? Even curses powered by a destroyed heart, or a sleeping curse that requires true loves kiss to break?

[Gumball gives a long suffering sigh.]

Even if I didn't, that doesn't mean won't. The entire point of science is to continue learning.

Some things can't be explained, darling. I'd suggest you take my word for it, but I can already tell you won't.

( Scientific types were just that way. ascribing scientific meaning to magic was just asking for headaches, she'd seen enough of it to know it couldn't be explained. it was senseless. )

She's not wrong to assume that this is his doing, Emmett's already decided the same. He'd like to think he had his reasons, but without the memory of those experiences, he can't guess at what they are. All he knows is that he had something to do with it, with all of it, no matter how little sense it makes. She should be as angry at him as he is with himself, but while that uneasiness weaves its way into everything he does, Killian seems a little more forgiving.

If she still wants him around, he's not going to keep his distance. He's grown to look forward to the nights when she sleeps curled beside him, though he has to wonder if she still finds the same peace in his presence knowing what she does now. Because of him, she's become the thing she hates more than anything else. It's not guilt that sends him to her ship in the middle of the night, but that finds him as easily as every other miserable feeling that comes with what he's done to her.

He knocks to give her the opportunity to tell him to go to hell, but when the response is a greeting instead of the rejection he deserves, he ducks into her quarters with a look that lingers for longer than usual. "I - " He thinks her brand of disarmingly beautiful would be better without a magic-made corset. She couldn't have gotten it from the closet; there isn't one aboard the ship.

"I think you could have gotten that out of a wardrobe." He also thinks there aren't words for her in that corset, and he refuses to say as much when she's fishing for it. She'll have to settle for the grin that lifts his lips when he leans down to kiss her, one hand slipping to her waist to thumb at the leather. "You know you have to be careful."

She is more forgiving. It's complicated to explain why, even for the pirate herself. She knows that there must be a reason, even if she can't remember it. A dire one at that, she cannot imagine agreeing to taking on the curse unless it was for Emmett. There's something worse at play here, something deeper and unhappier. Something that had made it imperative to take away not only her memory, but the memory of everyone else that had gone to Camelot. If she couldn't guess why Emmett would ask her to take on the darkness, she surely can't guess why he'd take away the memories of everyone that mattered to her. It's all dreadfully confusing, and yet...

Killian knows the darkness. A little too well even before she'd been cursed, and even better now. She understands the whispers and the push towards things she knows she should avoid. Emmett had been suffering the same, it had contorted his choices as it tended to do to hers. It was all very complicated, and she trusted the man she loved, even if she didn't have the answers yet. He'd had his reasons. Surely, he did, even if she couldn't guess at them now.

And now, more than ever, he was her brightness in the dark. He was untainted and still the man she'd fallen so quickly for, without the weight of the curse. The man that had cursed her, he wasn't the one standing in front of her. And Killian was quite determined to keep him that way. He's doing his very best to look disapproving and serious, yet she can see that he likes it. Like a book, Emmett Swan. Now and always.

"There's no closets here." Her ship was just as it always was, and that was without magic closets. "Besides, you know how they detest me. Flannel with anchor embroidery, honestly." How tacky could you possibly get? Emmett had found it hilarious, Hook very much less so. She slinks toward him and winds arms around his shoulders, grinning despite herself at the kiss he takes. He wonders why she still wants him, yet she knows the truth when he's near. She feels herself again when she has him, just as she had before she realized what kept her up at night, what burned in her heart even if she didn't understand it. "I'll be careful," she promises, at least moderately guilty. Making herself a corset is far from the first spot of magic she's used since she found out, after all.

She can joke all she wants about the closets, Emmett had been fond of the small anchor print on her pajamas once he finally convinced her to slip into something that was actually comfortable. It was amusing, he won't deny that, but most of the time he finds himself staying silent when she looks for the compliments she knows she deserves. He'd told her she never looked more beautiful and he'd meant it, because he always means it. There are only so many times when he's willing to state the obvious, and he picks his moments carefully. She doesn't need his approval to enjoy her new corset, and if she did she'd still find it's not the leather itself that Emmett disapproves of but her method of creating it.

"For that to make me feel better, I'd have to be unaware of what you consider being careful." Careful for a pirate isn't careful at all. Emmett hasn't lived with the magic of the Dark One yet, but he's had magic and been tempted by the darkness. It's easy to slip and tell yourself it's for the greater good. Where light magic often comes out of necessity, the darkness prefers to tempt its victims into doing its bidding. They're both aware of the risk involved in carrying the curse and how quickly things can escalate. Emmett had taken it on to protect his loved ones, but Killian wasn't expecting this.

"Or, you'll have to say that and mean it." She won't doubt his intention when he's pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. His request might sound like a challenge but it comes with the knowledge of what's ahead of them. Killian won't have to fight this battle alone, but he's seen her try too often to expect her to come to him without a few dozen reminders. It's why he's stayed as close as he could manage, trying not to step over the line from helping to hovering.

When they get rid of the darkness, he wants that victory to be her own. She may have magic, but she hasn't lost her free will. What happens next is up to her. She has to know that, and hold on to it, because it may be the only control this curse offers her. "I know that you can take care of yourself, but you could pretend to need me once in a while." If not for her sake, then for his.

Yes, he had been fond of them. And despite all her grousing, she wore them whenever she slipped into bed with him. She'd probably wear worse nonsense for him at that. Killian honestly couldn't imagine what it was about nautically printed pajama pants that delighted him so, but it was worth seeing the smile on his face. Even if she thought they were ridiculous, without even an inkling of irony. Yes, the woman that wore head to toe leather and far too much jewelry could call quaint pajama pants tacky in complete seriousness.

"Oh? Should I be the sheriff variety of careful then, darling?" Talk about a pot calling a kettle black. Emmett Swan liked to walk face first into danger if it meant protecting someone, sometimes not even people worth protecting. Still, it only circled back to the point that she was taking the risk for little to no reward. Though this bustier was surely a reward of some kind, wasn't it? He hasn't said it, but even if he said nothing at all, Killian does think it's quite remarkable. Emmett doesn't compliment her frequently, but that might be because she spends so much time complimenting herself.

She could protest the idea she doesn't mean it — because she does, it just proves hard to remember in the moment. His voice is very far away when she's alone, and the darkness whispers who could a lovely bit of leather hurt? She wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it, and he's not wrong that she hasn't been as trying as hard as she should. She can, and she will. He believes in her and that makes her even more determined. She isn't gifted at believing in her own capacity, yet if he saw something worth believing in, surely there's something.

"I do need you," she confesses, softer now. She needs him so much it frightens her sometimes, needs him so much she's certain it'd frighten him if he knew. She is quite capable of living alone and making her own choices and yet what he gives her is so much more than that. He gives her promise, he gives her hope, he gives her someone that she wants to be better for. He can't imagine how much she needs him, and that was before she ever found out she was cursed. "I'm sorry." She tucks a few gingers in the collar of his shirt, and her expression is repentant, without being overly pious. Genuine, because she means it. "Next time I want a new wardrobe, I suppose I'll just have to take advantage of your closet."

Now that he mentions it, trying things on for him sounds like a delightful way to spend her time. Her teasing trails off with a sudden wince, pulling back to press the only hand she has left to her temple. It's the one part of her curse that she resolutely doesn't understand, the aching echo of metallic wails just behind her eyelids. "You don't hear that, do you?" she mutters, though a good part of her knows it's a maddening noise she'll have to suffer on her own.

He'd like to think they are equally as needy, after his first months in Wonderland were spent trying to cope with a future as the Dark One. Killian had been the one to remind him of all that he still had, yet this role reversal hasn't gone as smoothly as either of them could have hoped. He'd take on the darkness in a second to keep her from having to fight it herself, but it's not her past that worries him. Emmett believes in her ability to take the right path when it's more serious than a corset or some small show of magic that she gives in to on a whim. There are dozens of minor uses for magic that seem harmless enough on their own; it'll take more than that to shake his faith in her.

His concerns are more about how this weighs on her than what she does with it. She can use magic here and there without it resulting in disaster, but what about having to carry the darkness inside of her until they set things right? After everything they've been through together, it's hard to believe that this will be too much for them to bear. There's still too little he can do to help her, and too much she's expected to manage without anything but reassurances and constant reminders on his end.

"I need you, too." Another reminder, this one a little more helpless than the last. Killian isn't doing it on purpose, but her guilt somehow still manages to make him feel guilty for mentioning it. He's of the opinion that less magic is the safest way to do this, but it's one thing to say it and another to have to live with all of these limits. At least he's able to let it go when she does, smiling to the warning about using his closet. He doesn't mind her trying to tempt him, it's harmless amusement for her and incredible temptation for her. He can see how she'd enjoy it, when it comes to driving him crazy, she always does.

"Hear what?" He glances around, as if this unheard of sound might have a source outside of Killian's head. It doesn't, awareness hits him just after he asks about it, but he brushes his fingertips against her temples, gently making an effort to soothe her. "All I heard was you threaten to turn my own closet against me." He lowers his voice just above a whisper, but stays on the previous topic of conversation in an attempt to distract her. "If you're going to be using it more often, you might have to spend more time with its owner."

She'd like to go back to flirting just as much as he would. Flirting is one of her favorite things, all the better if it's with him, and it seems as if it's harder and harder to find him in the right spirits for it of late. Though considering he was despondent about taking on an evil curse, unhappy about being trapped in Wonderland, and now trying to make sense of a girlfriend doused in a good helping of black magic, it's fair to be a little less amenable to flirting. It's a downright shame to lose the opportunity to tease him a bit more, but she can't. She leans toward the touch of his fingers before another screech forces her to droop back into his arms, as if being close to him is all she needs to evade this newest discomfort wrought by the curse.

"It's such a wretched noise. I haven't forgotten I can't sleep, there's no need to torment me with shrieking metallic noises." She's speaking out loud to whoever made this damnable curse, though considering they're not around to answer for it, it's hard to say why. Perhaps it's easier to just say she's complaining. Frankly, she feels entitled to a little bit of whinging now and then. Frustrated, she pulls away, rather aimlessly — there's nowhere that noise won't reach her, she knows that well enough after a few days of living with it. It seems eerily familiar now, like she'd been hearing it even before she realized she was cursed.

The aimlessness fades as the noises start to ring clearer. No matter how the noise aches, somehow she's compelled by it, somehow. It's not to torment her, it's to remind her, of two halves that desperately want to be reunited. If Emmett is trying to get her attention, she doesn't hear it; she wouldn't hear all of Wonderland falling apart in the sudden fixation to fetch a broken sword from her things. Not her safe, his majesty had that — Killian had agreed for good cause at the time, but now it rankles more. She'd kept it for its resemblance to the dagger, yet perhaps a part of her had always been drawn to it. Because it's hers, and in the hands of anyone else she wouldn't be free anymore. Just a slave for the bidding, all over again.

"There's an enchantment on this," she muses, and this time she is talking to her company, almost like she just remembered he was there. She remembers now, and as her attention falls toward him, it's rigidly sharp. "It's yours, you enchanted this, I can feel it. Take it off." There's something feverish about the request, but she has to see it, even if a part of her knows the truth even before she asks. Will he, looking at a broken blade that looked so similar to the dagger that had once borne his name? When the darkness pulls at its strongest, she hardly seems the same person. There's something to be afraid of in the creature that demands he remove the enchantment, just as there had been in the villain who had been so desperate for revenge that she'd have hurt anyone in her way. Is Emmett afraid of her now, knowing how close she is to tripping back into that person she'd been?

He does try to free her from the sound, but she's so bent on listening to it that she can't possibly hear him calling out to her. It makes him feel helpless to see her like this, set on stopping a sound that's all in her head and a part of the curse he'd somehow passed on to her. He takes the blame every time and it doesn't amount to anything, guilt won't free her from this anymore than talking to the sounds in her head will. They need a real solution that Emmett hasn't been able to find yet, but he sees how her frustration grows with every day that she has to carry the darkness within her, and it feels like he's failing her. With all of this known to them now, he feels like he's been failing her for longer than he'd like to admit. He won't do that again when she calls his attention to the sword.

The only comfort in what she's asking is that she's speaking to him again. He looks up sharply, first to her and then to the weapon, noting that it's more of an order than a request. If he's afraid it's for her, not of her. Is she ready to see her name spelled out on a blade? They both know it's what they'll find. It's hard to know where her head is at when her thoughts take her so far away from him. He feels the distance whenever she gets too preoccupied with the distractions of the darkness, and he doesn't want her to fall into that trap. It's easier to see it for what it is on the outside. To Killian, it's an unending form of misery.

"Killian." Her name is a quiet reminder - just the first one, not the whole thing. He doesn't want to set her off, he wants her to get a hold of herself. His brow tightens and furrows when he looks over the sword, then fixes his gaze on the woman waiting desperately for the only answer he can provide. "I'll take it off if you're ready to see it. Are you sure?" Because if this could make it even more of a struggle for her, they both know they should wait. He keeps going back to the thought that he had a reason for the things he did, but until he knows what they are, all he can do is try to lessen the pain of living with it.

He waits for confirmation before he reaches for the blade. She's right, it's his doing. And it's easy enough to raise his hand over it, to use light magic to break the enchantment and make visible what he'd hidden before. Killian Jones. He swallows hard, staring down at it for a long moment, and then back over at the woman he loves. Her weapon is in his hand, but he won't use it against her. He holds it out instead, turning the hilt toward her so that she can have it back. It's hers, she should hold on to it. He meant it when he said he believes in her.

She laughs at the idea that he'll only show it to her if she's ready. It's a bitter sound, tinged with anger that sparks up so easily now. It always had, it's not as if she needed more opportunity to let it bubble up. "Was I ready when it happened? I doubt it, or you wouldn't have hidden it from me." It's not fair to be angry at him and yet it's not fair to not be angry, either. She knows it wasn't him, not yet... but even if he hasn't lived it yet, he will. Knowing what the darkness turns her into, would he do it over again? The Emmett in front of her is a different person than the one that turned her in a monster and stripped her of the memories, and yet somewhere, some version of the man she loves did.

"I need to see it." A little more focused, now, less a command and more earnest in a tinge of fear. If it's what she thinks it is, it's proof of what she is, and it's also something that can't fall into the wrong hands. Emmett has never felt the powerlessness of being controlled. Killian can't forget. Rumpelstiltskin's slimy fingers clenched around her heart, bidding her to trap the faeries, to try and take Emma's son, commanding him into walking to what could have been his own death if it hadn't been for Belle at the last moment. She can't live that again, and it'd be even worse now. She's not just a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem anymore, she's a demon filled with dark magic. She's been turned against the people she loves before, but she's never been such a potent weapon. Losing control of herself is terrifying always, and even more so when the risk is so high.

It doesn't occur to her that giving him the blade means he could use it against her. Considering how vigilant she is to keep from being controlled, it should have registered. At the same time... why would it? Emmett wouldn't control her. There's a voice that tries to whisper he would, as the glamor fades and her name stares back at her, and the sword is in his hand and not hers. The seconds between seem like lifetimes, the darkness a simpering reminder that he could command her to do whatever he pleased — to not use magic, to never hurt anyone with her curse, anything at all — and there was nothing she could do to stop it. If he wouldn't control her, then why would he take her memories?

When he offers it she takes it, and it feels too right to have it back in her hands. Now she's her own and nobody is strong enough to stop her, nobody. She's powerful enough that she can do as she pleases, she doesn't need to listen to his soft reminders that the temptation is worth fighting. She can't be controlled and limitless power is at her disposal, if she'd only take advantage of it. The roar of it is overwhelming, holding the sword in her hand. In a breath she could become something more, something powerful, something better than the broken failure she's always been, if she only let herself...

"Take it. Please take it." He may trust her, yet if he could hear the clamor of voices in her head, he would know better. Worse than the darkness, there are demented places in her heart that have fallen to darkness before, ones that snarl just as ferociously. There's no excuse for those, the darkness didn't put them there, they have lived inside of her for centuries. She can't be trusted with this sort of power, and even though he wants to, Killian knows that it's better off with someone she can trust, instead of with her. He doesn't reach out fast enough and she steps forward to press it into his palm. "If I can't fight this, then you'll need to be able to stop me." The chances are all too high that she will fail, and if she does there needs to be some way to stop her.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

ɪᴛ's ɴɪɢʜᴛᴛɪᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴᴛs ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ

the library~

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

the jolly roger.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

library

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

sorry about all those gingers in ur collar emmett

no subject

no subject