#killian jones dying is a+ whump

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (1 of 24?)

AO3 link Summary: After eight months spent separated from his daughter, trying every potential cure imaginable, Killian's heart is still poisoned and burdened with his every failure. An alleged cure leads him into an ambush and a grueling detour he did not plan on taking. Unlikely new allies offer a small glimmer of hope, but will it be worth all of the trouble in the end?

Chapter 1 notes: I've been working on this on and off (mostly off) for the past four years. Apparently pandemics turn me off of fiction for whatever reason? But I made a few breakthroughs earlier this year and finally believe I'll be able to finish this one! It's a little strange, but it is the wish realm after all ;) The first couple of scenes and cure idea are based on a dream I had, and later scenes were inspired by a segment of the TV show "What on Earth," where they featured a particular location and basically described it as a whumper's paradise XD I'll reveal the location in a note later on, once it becomes relevant. No sexual whump in this story, but plenty of emotional and physical pain for Killian, and healing methods appropriate to the time period, for the most part haha. Enjoy!

*****

No reasonable person would classify this as bread anymore, or anything even resembling it. Killian Jones would have brushed the whole quest off as a lost cause, except for the fact that the ceremonial cloth was exactly as described: woven, dyed, embroidered with specific patterns and symbols, and folded neatly. Or had been, until he had dug it up and peeled it open. In the early morning light, the contents of the cloth resting on his open palm looked like nothing more than a handful of powdery, gray dirt, or perhaps a rare variety of fine-grained sand he had once encountered on his travels. Grateful that very little breeze disturbed the dawn air, Killian gave the powder a dubious look as he carefully nudged it with the tip of his hook. This?! 

He felt rather foolish for having expected anything else, but in his defense, the witch doctor had called it ‘bread.’ Multiple times. 'Bread,' not 'decomposed spores of mold mixed with decades-old dust and grit.' How in blazes could this swill contain any magical properties whatsoever?

Perhaps he should expend the effort to search for another of this particular architect's buildings, one that was slightly newer. Allegedly, the designer in question performed the same ritual upon completion of every dwelling with which he had been involved. A blessing prayed over traditional flatbread, later buried against the south-facing foundation, would, according to this man's system of beliefs, bestow health and happiness on its occupants. And if consumed, its remnants could supposedly cure any ailment... including a poisoned heart.

That was all assuming that the local witch doctor could be trusted. And Killian had felt doubt about that even before digging up the handful of dusty crumbs he now sat examining. But he would try anything, no matter how unlikely, and eating dirt was hardly the worst thing he'd done in pursuit of a cure.

Hardtack in any variety was a challenge to swallow on its own; this powder would likely be doubly so. Good thing he'd come prepared... or had he? Killian laid the cloth on the ground by his knee, moving with extra caution, as if it held a gram of the world's most valuable spice instead of worm dung. Then he dug his flask from its pocket and gave it a shake. The damn thing tended to run on the empty side these days, for some reason. But no, from the sound and heft of it, it contained plenty of cheap liquor to do the deed.

As he popped the cork with an easy, practiced motion, Killian thought briefly of the mirror tucked away in an inside pocket. It would be significantly more fun if Alice could watch and laugh at the disgusted faces he would surely be making in the near future. And of course, he would put on a show for her, exaggerating his expressions in hopes of drawing out that sparkling grin which was becoming more and more endangered a sight within the confines of the beechwood-framed oval of reflective glass. But at this hour of the day, she would be tucked away, safe and sound in the bed he’d planned on enlarging soon, under blankets that probably needed patching, dressed in a nightgown too short for her blossoming figure…

He hoped she was there, at any rate. Listening to her body's needs and the common sense he'd attempted to instill in her, not reading half the night by the fire, which seemed to be her preference in situations lacking supervision. Not pacing, unable to quell her nightmares on her own, dealing with the same doubts keeping him awake most nights, forced to face a horrific reality that no one deserved, much less an innocent of her young age.

No. Alice was happily asleep right now, enjoying wonderful dream-adventures with the characters in her books that she loved so much, and it would be irresponsible of him to wake her for such a frivolous thing, no matter how desperately he longed to see her with every pulse of blood through his veins. Besides, though the dwelling beside him appeared unoccupied, he was technically trespassing. Probably stealing as well, so silence was the preferred soundtrack to this far-fetched hope.

Killian gathered a pinch of powdery grit and shoved it into his mouth, licking his fingers clean as bitter dust stuck to the roof of his mouth. A flavor faintly reminiscent of rancid goat's milk flooded his sinuses, and if there was magic there, he couldn't feel it.

As a young sailor, Killian had not always been fortunate enough to have anything other than filthy water with which to attempt to wash down the taste of moldering rations. He reflected upon this as he took a swig from his flask, then drizzled a measure of alcohol out upon the waiting breadcrumbs. A nasty paste would be easier to manage than fingerfuls of powder, and he feared the risk of losing the reported curative benefits if he missed any of the residue.

As he continued to choke down the supposed cure, Killian allowed himself to imagine their reunion and a sampling of the scenes that would take place.

They had 1 birthday and 262 unbirthdays to celebrate. Hugs to catch up on--those were harder to calculate, but must be well over 3000 by now. In between, he would share the properly embellished tale of how he’d achieved a cure for his heart, and gladly listen to plentiful imaginary exploits Alice had concocted to pass the time. And neither of them would ever again complain about their life trapped in the tower, because now they both knew how much worse it could get.

As a swig of burning liquid chased another mouthful of grainy mold dust, the distant rumble of hoofbeats drifted in from the direction of the road. Killian hunched closer to the building’s foundation, checking to be sure that no light source glinted off his hook, attracting attention. The road lay on the opposite side of the building from where he crouched, so in all likelihood, the approaching riders would travel past before noticing any hint of his presence.

But then a shiver of foreboding climbed his spine: the horses were slowing. Killian hastily shoved the remainder of the paste into his mouth and crumpled the cloth into a pocket, gagging and rising to his feet just as heavy boots dropped to the ground at the dwelling's front entrance. In a desperate attempt to clear the clay now sticking to the roof of his mouth, he drained the flask of its remaining contents, all while sidling along the wall toward the back garden and cover.

“Fan out,” commanded a stern male voice from amidst the new arrivals, and more boots trod the unkempt property. Several pairs in his direction. Whoever these men were, whatever they sought, they would see a running man as a guilty party to be chased, captured by force, perhaps even fired upon should they have pistols in their possession. So Killian took a steadying breath, suppressed an urge to hack up the sandy liquor burning the back of his throat, and dropped to his knees on the hard ground. 

Gods, he had to stop doing things like that; he did not have the body of a 30-year-old anymore. Fortunately, unlike the now-aching joints in his legs and back, his mind had retained its ability to work quickly. Just as three armored soldiers rounded the corner, Killian dug hand and hook into the dirt, pulling great handfuls aside to support the cover story he’d just invented.

The soldiers spotted him immediately and advanced with swords drawn, one holding a lantern to counteract the misty gray of early morning. 

“Let's see those hands,” another called menacingly. Killian obeyed, sitting back on his haunches and rolling his head from side to side as if experiencing a stiff neck. He allowed them to see his empty hand and his hook as he flashed a disarming grin.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Bit of a nippy one, isn’t it? Suppose we're coming to the end of the fishing season once again.”

The soldiers continued forward through his rambling, none of them showing any sign of relaxing. As the hook became more visible in the lantern light, the men exchanged glances. Killian noticed but decided to ignore it and continue to play the hapless fool.

“Not one sign of a single bloody nightcrawler, either. Do you reckon it's too cold for them already?”

The trio had now formed a triangle around him, a cautious distance away with swords at the ready. The one holding the lantern turned his face in the direction from which they'd come and shouted,

“Commander! We have him.”

Killian let his puzzlement show; if he were not mistaken, it sounded as if they were looking specifically for him. But how could that be? No one knew where he was, except perhaps the witch doctor, but even she couldn't have known the exact dwelling he would select for the experiment.

Killian kept up the charade of innocence. “Is there something I can help you lads with?”

Lantern smirked as he watched his commander appear around the corner. "Just sit there and don't cause a fuss…. Captain Hook."

Killian snorted a polite laugh, hoping it disguised his worry. “Nice one. Not the first time I've heard it.” He kept a wary eye on the swaggering officer, adding, “Although would you believe it, not everyone is joking when they say it? Which is absurd, of course. Who in their right minds... I'd have to be, what, 300 years old or thereabouts?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow, grinning up at the men surrounding him as if expecting them to laugh along with him and agree that those people were idiots.

The commander stopped a few paces in front of the group, holding a second lantern, although it was becoming less necessary as sunrise approached. He did not bother to draw his sword.

“Surrender your weapons,” came the imperious command. Slowly, Killian reached down and withdrew the small, tarnished dagger that was his only method of self-defense these days, apart from his hook. He kept the non-threatening, slightly silly smile as he laid the weapon at the soldiers’ feet.

“Sorry to disappoint, mates, but I can assure you I'm not the man you're looking for. I lost my hand in a farming accident, not one crocodile scale to be seen.” He huffed a laugh and tried to look pitiable. 

The commander’s stony gaze remained unchanged. “Is the hook detachable?”

Killian unscrewed the steel from its locking mechanism but kept hold of it momentarily as he looked up at the officer.

“I do hope you’re planning to return it,” he grimaced. “It's quite useful for digging up earthworms.”

With an impatient eye roll, the commander snapped his fingers and pointed to where the dagger rested at his feet. Reluctantly, Killian tossed the hook to join the other weapon. The officer nodded at an underling, who bent to take possession of both items.

“You can drop the charade. It will get you nowhere. Regardless of your identity as the Captain Hook of legend or merely a successor to the title, you are wanted for questioning concerning an illegal duel that took place some months back.”

Killian felt a shudder of fear rattle his insides; he'd hoped the matter would have blown over by now. 

“Preposterous,” he scoffed. “Do I look like the sort of fellow who would take part in something so unsavory?”

“The other party has been apprehended and is more than willing to identify you in person.” The man sneered. Then he addressed the second lantern-bearer. “Get him to his feet and search him for concealed weapons.”

Killian was gripped by the armpits and hauled up, shoulders and back protesting the harsh treatment. He knew that further lies wouldn't help at this point; neither would attempts to plead his case. So he kept quiet as rough hands patted him down and searched his pockets. They found his flask--"Bit early for this, isn't it?" taunted one, to which he replied tightly, "What's the old saying? It isn't early if you've never stopped?"--his treasured black rook, and the mirror.

The soldier who had found the mirror, who couldn't have been much more than sixteen, held it up with a leer.

“What's this for? An old man like you can't have a great deal to be vain about.”

Killian didn't want to attach too much importance to the item, for that would increase the temptation to destroy it out of spite. So he shrugged and explained,

“Just an old heirloom. Sentimental value only.”

The boy stashed it with the rest of Killian's confiscated belongings, and though he wasn't particularly careful, the glass seemed to remain intact. Killian could feel his heart pounding and cursed the fact that his one remaining link with Alice had to be so fragile.

“That appears to be all, sir.”

“Very good, soldier.” Their commander stood impassive, adding, “Now, as we discussed…”

Behind Killian came a brief clanking of armor. But before he even had the chance to guess at its meaning, the noise was drowned out by a resounding crack that rattled his teeth in their sockets, an explosion of colorful starbursts behind his eyes, a single heartbeat of crushing pain, and then a dizzying drop into black silence.

[aceofwhump]

Okay I went back through my AO3 bookmarks for this whole year and turns out I've read like 200 fics this year! That's a lot of good fics! Here are some of my favorites that I read this year:

Leverage - Eliot Spencer: Hanging Out by cosette141 Summary: While Eliot and Hardison are on a job in the woods, Eliot gets badly injured. Now with bad guys on their tail, Hardison needs to step up, or they're both as good as dead. Damn, Hardison hated outside. Hardison/Eliot brotherly friendship. Hurt/Comfort. Eliot whump

Leverage - Eliot Spencer: The Longer Way Down Job by cosette141 Summary: On the way down the mountain in The Long Way Down Job, Eliot and Parker don't make it down so easily. When an avalanche strands them far from help, Eliot and Parker have to keep warm and stay awake. But even the ones who do what the others can't... can't last the frigid cold forever. Eliot/Parker sibling friendship. Hurt/Comfort

Once Upon a Time - Killian Jones and Emma Swan: Don't Let Go (Because I Can't Hold it Back Anymore) by cosette141 (canon divergence for s4 episode "White Out") Summary: Rather than Emma and Elsa trapped in the ice cave, Emma is trapped with Killian. They have to keep warm and stay awake as they fight the frigid cold, or their first quiet moment together may very well be their last. h/c CS (CSSS 2021 gift for jrob64!)

Once Upon a Time - Killian Jones: A Snowball's Chance by cosette141 Summary: After Emma rescues Killian from Hades in the Underworld, David and Snow tend to some of Killian's physical wounds, and end up healing emotional ones. (aka, Snow and David acting as parental figures for Killian) hurt/comfort oneshot

Downton Abbey - Thomas Barrow: Détente by DarthNickels Summary: ''a relaxing of tension, especially between nations, as by negotiations or agreements." 6x08 Missing scene. Mr. Bates has never had reason or inclination to be patient with Thomas. Today, he will try.

Bridgerton - Anthony Bridgerton: a thousand cuts by wall_e_nelson Summary: Every single day, Anthony tries very hard not to walk directly into the ocean. A collection of non-linear one-shots, headcanons, AUs, and missing scenes for Anthony Bridgerton. (this story was written in the year between s1 and s2. the character is based in the little we knew of s1 show!Anthony, pulling the rest of him and the world needed from the books.)

The Mentalist - Patrick Jane: Sailors Take Warning by altschmerzes Summary: One moment, Red John has left Patrick Jane alone in an abandoned theater, restrained and traumatized. The next, thanks to a two-day time skip, he is back at the CBI office, sitting on his couch. This is what happened in-between. (Or, the one where I give us the rescue scene we deserved.)

The Mentalist - Patrick Jane: Lisbon's daily troubles by waltraud Summary: Days at the CBI could already be stressfull enough, but for Lisbon and her Team, they have another challenge to take, as they have adopted that not very self-caring consultant to their team. A little collection of the new troubles the teams has to deal with. Mostly whump (sickness, injury…), no sexual content planed.

Hudson & Rex - Charlie Hudson: synonyms for ordeal by sellthebeamer Summary: This is bone-deep weariness mixed with dread and the horrid realization of how close they came to dying. It’s an icy grip on his chest and gravel in his throat and aching sobs shaking his shoulders.

Hudson & Rex - Charlie Hudson: travails in the woods by sellthebeamer Summary: "I'm sorry, pal," he says, and his shoulders shake with sobs. "I'm so sorry."

Lucifer - Lucifer Morningstar: The Nicest Gift by Moniff Summary: When a bomb goes off in the middle of the precinct, Lucifer finds himself in a very tight spot - literally. Trapped with Trixie under the rubble, they have to wait for the rescuers - and stay alive. Or, a shameless h/c fic with loads of cute Lucifer-Trixie fluff.

Lucifer - Lucifer Morningstar: dead weight hanging off of my shoulders by razchoco Summary: No matter how many times Lucifer cuts off his wings, they keep coming back. It’s getting harder by the day to disguise the pain he’s in (for whumptober day 3: taunting | insults | "who did this to you?")

Obi-Wan Kenobi: hardly stood proud by aarkose Summary: Obi-Wan is severely injured after his encounter with Darth Vader on Mapuzo. A take on the emotional and physical aftermath of chapter III, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

White Collar - Neal Caffrey: As The Smoke Clears by cosette141 Summary:  After the plane explodes, we see Neal fall apart and Peter hold him back, then two months go by unseen. Here are the events that took place after the explosion. H/C (on hiatus as of 12/05/21.)

Bridgerton - Anthony Bridgerton: Trouble Magnet by Victoria_52745 Summary: A collection of oneshots, mostly of the Bridgerton family taking care and comforting Anthony in various occasions just because I love vulnerable Anthony.

Arrow - Oliver Queen: Man's Best Friend by AlexiaBlackbriar13, bushlaboo Summary: When first arriving back from Lian Yu, Oliver Queen is diagnosed with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and acute social anxiety. Within a week, his mother has hired him a psychiatric therapist. A therapist with four paws and a tail. A German Shepherd-husky mix, ex-military dog called Hunter is paired with Oliver as his psychiatric service dog, and from there on, the archer’s recovery from his five years of trauma, struggle to adapt to the new social commitments of owning a service dog, and his mission to save Starling City, begin.

Sandman - Dream of the Endless: For Want of Caution by mayanpaw Summary: Hob Gadling was not by nature a cautious man but even he knew the value of keeping track of those who would be too… intrigued by his condition. In 1926, a chance conversation in a bar alerts Hob to the fact that Roderick Burgess has captured another immortal, one that sounds eerily similar to his friend.

Sandman - Dream of the Endless: Stubborn, Prideful, Dear by two_hundred_percent_trash Summary: First, Lucienne was Dream’s raven. Then, she became his librarian. Through it all, she was always by his side. It was always the two of them, together. ~*~ A queerplatonic interpretation/relationship study of Morpheus and Lucienne’s relationship.

Bridgerton - Anthony Bridgerton: Anthony Bridgerton Whumptober 2022 by maisiec33 Summary: Our favourite Viscount is not having a good time.

Sandman - Dream of the Endless: I will find you in your dreams by Salmaka Summary: A story where Dream, confused and weak from his time in isolation doesn't make it back to the Dreaming but ends up in Hob's house instead.

Werewolf by Night - Jack Russell: A Very Warm Emotion by icarus_chained Summary: It was almost laughable, a werewolf left to drown by hunters as a test to see if he was a witch. And badly, with a broken pump and barely half a foot of water. The more time passes, and the colder it gets, the less Jack finds it funny. But hope is at hand. And anger, sometimes, can be a very warm emotion.

Once Upon A Time - August Booth: mess is mine by bewilderedmoth Summary: "August,” he said, eliciting a frown from Lampwick. “It’s not...My name is August.” “Oh.” Because of course he wasn’t Pinocchio anymore. (Lampwick finds August living in a trailer in the woods. The pair haven't seen each other since Pleasure Island but Lampwick is more than willing to help his childhood friend work through some things).

Once Upon A Time - August Booth: puppet strings by bewilderedmoth Summary: Having technically died on more than one occasion now, having finally put all that trauma behind him and settled down in Storybrooke, August had hoped his troubles were long gone. When Gold returns to town in his quest to find the Author, hopes of a trouble free life in the sleepy town crumble away to dust. (A whumpy re-write of August's torture in S4, Ep 16. Set within the 'mess is mine' universe, but not actually canon to that AU)

Ted Lasso - Jamie Tartt: it's such a long road when you go it alone by themightyduck Summary: Jamie goes down hard during the last match of the season and struggles to determine his worth outside football. Ted would like to stop seeing his boys get hurt on the field. Roy seeks to become emotionally well-adjusted and possibly even Jamie's close friend.

Superstore - Jonah Simms: It's all about trust by PicassoPickle Summary: Whoever this guy is to Jonah, it’s very obvious that Jonah wants nothing to do with him.

The Great Fic Rec of 2022

It's that time again, my friends! What is that one fic you read this year that blew your socks off? The one you had to double check you were actually reading for free and had not purchased as a published book. That fic so good you bookmarked it and even thought of sharing it with someone else. The one so good it altered your perspective and shattered your world and you may never be the same again.... We want to hear all about it.

Here are the rules:

Reblog or comment on this post and tell us the title (or a little snippet, if you feel so inclined.)

And that's it. Those are the rules.

Happy Whumping and I hope you had a fabulous 2022!

(2018) (2020) (2021)

[apiratewhopines]

Summary - Killian Jones and Hyde have history (Prequel to Crystal Clear)

Rated M because Killian is having a very bad day (Whump)

For @teamhook because she asked; special thanks to @jrob64 for her valuable feedback and support!

“I feel like I’m drowning

I’m drowning

You’re holding me down”

-I Feel Like I’m Drowning, Two Feet

Pain, white-hot and liquid, washed over Killian Jones and threatened to drag him under. He had lost track of how many different places he hurt, the taste of his own blood coating his mouth and making his stomach turn.

Things had been going so well.

Until they weren’t.

It was his own fault. Jones Consulting was on a winning streak. Liam had wanted to pass on the job, but he insisted it had been a slow month, and he was feeling frisky. It wasn’t that he craved the excitement and prestige exactly; it was a welcome distraction, though.

He would never admit it, would deny it to his dying breath actually, but he was bored.

It was the kind of listless, restless feeling that always led to questionable decisions and foolish risks. On some level, he knew he should be on top of the world. Successful business, thriving social life, a bank account beyond anything he could imagine in his youth.

Still, something was missing.

Stars danced in front of his eyes in the wake of a bone-crushing whack to his ribs. He focused on the dull ping of the metal bat against his attacker’s wedding ring as the man jauntily tapped his weapon in his hand, no doubt pondering his next point of attack. He tried to track the motion, but his lopsided vision made him motion-sick. The ropes binding him to his chair cut into his circulation. That, combined with the blood loss, was enough to draw a groan deep from his soul even as he cursed his own weakness.

Read the rest on AO3

@teamhook @jrob64 @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @tiganasummertree @qualitycoffeethings @motherkatereloyshipper

[justanother-unluckysoul]

2021 Fic Roundup

My first full year of writing CS fics! Here are all the fics I wrote this year. There’s a little bit of everything, mainly whump and angst of course, but I graduated to adding a bit of smut and I even wrote a oneshot that was entirely fluff! 

Thanks so much to my lovely Discord friends for encouraging me to write all the things. Love you guys so much, you have made my year so much brighter.

27 January: Working My Way Back To You - rated M, 27k words, 12 chapters

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Thankfully Emma is close at hand to help him through it.

First chapter posted in November 2020 but I didn’t finish it until 2021 so that counts, right? My first fic to ever reach 100 kudos on AO3. Also contains my first published smut!

19 May: A Quiet Moment - rated G, 1k words, oneshot

Emma's been stressed lately, so Killian takes her to visit a secluded beach. That’s all. Just sweet CS fluff without a plot.

A gift for my dear friend @teamhook, and my only fic to date that is 100% fluff.

6 June: The Good Fight - rated M, 29k words, 6 chapters

Emma Nolan has hunted a lot of creatures in her life and there are very few things out there that she hasn’t killed at this point. But there’s one thing that isn’t real – angels. At least, that’s what she thought until the day she met Killian, angel of the lord. A Supernatural AU for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer.

My first foray into a fandom event.

18 June: You Are My Shelter - rated T, 5k words, oneshot

An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

Just self indulgent hurt/comfort, what more can I say?

30 October: Honour - rated M, 3k words, twoshot

Emma appreciates Killian defending her honour. A ficlet for CS Halloweek 2021.

Started out a fun little prompt fill then chapter two turned out to be entirely smut lol

18 November: Lost To The Shadows - rated T, 14k words, 5 chapters

When Liam Jones' younger brother disappears at sea under mysterious circumstances, he enlists the help of Emma Swan to find him. What ensues is by far the weirdest case Emma has ever worked - and the most traumatic. Thankfully Killian Jones is good at surviving; and it's just as well, because he's going to get quite a few chances to prove it.

A great prompt from @teamhook that took a slightly dark turn but it’s all sweet fluff at the end, I promise.

27 November: Blood On My Name - rated M, 6k words, oneshot

Gravely injured in battle, Killian had resigned himself to dying alone, slowly bleeding out on the battlefield. That is until the beautiful angel that is Emma Swan appeared at his side to comfort him in his final moments, and Killian realized he was not quite ready to let go of life. But it is a long road to healing. A Captain Swan war AU, of sorts.

This fic was an experiment in writing only the fun parts, while ignoring world building and the majority of the plot. Apparently it worked okay because readers gave it very nice comments lol

I have a few fun WIPs that I hope to post early next year, that I am so excited to share with you (if my muse will stop running away from me every time I sit down to write them lol). Wishing a very happy and safe festive season to all my followers and I can only hope some of my fics were able to bring you all some of the happiness your fics, gifs, posts, and conversations have given me.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “Villain’s Happy Ending”

I originally wrote this short chaptered fic back in the hiatus between 3a and 3b. I’ve always been particularly fond of it - as I felt like it had more action and high stakes than I often write in my one or two shots, and I attempted some whump (not even really knowing it was called that back then) and hurt/comfort that I had never really done before. It does bear mentioning though, that I didn’t know anything more than that the 3b villain would be the Wicked Witch at the time I wrote this. I didn’t know what Zelena would look like, or how she would act, or what she would want, any of that.

Okay, enough rambling, I hope you enjoy this blast from the past!

Summary: As the heroes make a stand against the Wicked Witch, Killian risks himself to save Emma's son, and a harrowing trial begins that he may or may not survive....

Available in full on AO3 or ff.net

"Villain's Happy Ending"

Prologue

He had never imagined that dying would hurt so much.

After the agony of the Dark One slicing off his hand as cleanly as a knife would slip through butter, after watching Milah's heart crushed into powder in that same demon's hand, after the tearing loss of Liam and the guilt he had carried ever since for failing his older brother, Killian Jones had been certain he understood pain and suffering. The years he had spent alone, aimless, burning with hatred and vengeance in his blood had convinced the pirate captain that when his life's voyage reached its end, he would not even flinch. Rather than aching for more time or another chance, Killian had believed that he would welcome the ability to rest at last, to be free of all that had plagued him.

He had considered the possibilities for himself quite often since his conversation with the Queen onboard the Jolly Roger in Neverland. Finally being allowed to close his eyes and lay his burdens down might be the happiest ending possible for a villain like him. There had been many times throughout his unnaturally long life when Killian would have welcomed Death's respite.

All that had changed, however, when he met his Swan.

He knew he had no right to call the Enchanted Forest's lost princess "his", but in his heart, she was his all the same. Emma Swan had stirred the hopeful, naïve young man within him: Lieutenant Jones, who had once dreamed of being a hero.

With something – someone – to fight for, he did not want to be finished yet. He had been given a way and an opportunity to gain absolution, to redeem himself. He could not leave that quest unfinished. After centuries lost as the dastardly, twisted Hook, he wanted himself back. He would still be willing to die fighting for Emma, at her side, but he could not bear to go out until he knew she was safe, that she would be alright.

That must have been where this pain was coming from. The Wicked Witch's screamed curse had struck him squarely in the chest as he dove in front of Emma's boy amidst the battle, and he was instantaneously writhing in the agony it brought. His limbs contorted, jerking wildly and without his control, feeling as if the muscles were being stretched and pulled beyond their limits. Fire burned throughout his body, under his skin, and it was only with sheer, hardened will that he kept from crying out.

Distracted by the torment, Killian did not realize at first that he was no longer standing on solid ground. He was flying through the air, carried somewhere beyond his control, and he could not see what was happening or where Emma or anyone else was. He was being taken from the battle, taken somewhere against his will, and as the pulling and tearing continued, he could feel the fight within him weakening. He did not want to desert them, but it was no longer his choice.

For a single moment, he let his eyes drift closed, the hurt easing a fraction, but he was still stunned by the intensity of both the pain and the emotion pulsing through him. Perhaps he was not ready to say goodbye after all, he realized, but blackness closed over him all the same.

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @stahlop @xsajx @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @teamhook @winterbaby89 @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @donteattheappleshook @xhookswenchx @gingerchangeling @kday426 @shireness-says @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @ohmightydevviepuu @snidgetsafan​ 

[aceofwhump]

Do you know of any good amputation whump fics?

I know I’m missing some and it’s killing me that I can’t remember them and I’ll probably remember as soon as I post this but here are some of my fav fics with amputation. If I think of any other ones I’ll reblog and add them :)

Tony Stark

Irreplaceable by aliaoftwoworlds

Summary: Leaving a man stuck in a dead suit in Siberia had some lasting consequences, ones that could get his teammates in a little bit of trouble—or a lot. Three different scenarios in which the reinstated Avengers find out about Tony’s injuries.

Evan Buckley

There’s a Dog in Your Heart (It Tells You to Tear Everything Apart) by adhdbuck

Summary: Ask buck what he remembers about that night and he tells you he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He’ll tell you he was in too much pain to register anything, his brain stored all the memories away into a neat little box. That’s not the truth. (Buck's leg is damaged beyond repair, the doctors have to amputate. This is the aftermath.)

a sweating, unexploded mine buried deep in his mind by GaiaMax

Summary: A traumatic event can be defined as an event that poses a threat of serious injury or even death to the self or others, bringing with it feelings of profound fear, powerlessness and terror. So just because you left the event, doesn’t mean the event is going to leave you. Because of The Event, Buck lost a leg and so much more, leaving Eddie unable to get away from the after effect of having to make the decision of taking Buck’s leg and the mother of his child dying.

phantom pains by transbuck

Summary: If there's one thing Buck's learned since losing his leg, it's that phantom pains are a bitch.

Leonard Snart

A Hand of Metal and Wheels by areyouarealmonster

Summary: Leonard shatters his hand trying to get free of the cuffs that Mick--Chronos--left him in. Gideon can seal the open wound, but no more than that. Leonard has to come to terms with losing his hand, and to deal with the inconvenient feelings he has for the man making him a prosthesis. Ray, however, is still with Kendra, which makes Leonard's feelings even more inconvenient and pointless. There's no easy fix for his feelings, or for learning how to use a mechanical hand. It's tough, and it's frustrating, but at least Ray Palmer keeps touching him, so he's got that going for him now.

In This Life by Jael

Summary: In one Earth, Rip didn't time-scatter the Legends--he sent the Waverider spinning through the multiverse, damaged, its crew trying to find a way home. And when that Earth's Sara and Leonard approach another Earth's Waverider, they'll find out just what a life and a destiny can turn on.

Takashi Shirogane

The Body Burns Away by Carrionflower

Summary: His arm was gone, replaced by inorganic machinery that clicked and whirred, but the physical memory of its loss remained burned into his nervous system. It translated as a haunting pain that spiked and ebbed but never fully receded, always constant like a needle digging into his brain. Shiro's coming apart at the seams and Keith is the only one that can see it happening.

He Thinks He's Alone In This by sad_ghost_kid

Summary: Sometimes Shiro hurt himself. He couldn't always control it, compulsively slashing at the metal of his prosthetic arm, scratching at the skin of what was left until his hand was covered in blood. It became a nervous habit, twitching and picking, the frequency and severity getting worse with every nightmare, every flashback. Or, a story in which Shiro struggles through his PTSD all alone, until he breaks. The others try to put him back together.

Killian Jones

Sit, Stay, Feel by: ScapeArtist

Summary: Modern AU: Emma Swan is the owner of Pet Saviors — a dog training/walking/sitting service. Killian Jones, and his dog Gale, are her clients. When Emma & Killian finally meet, the fur flies.

When The Beat Of My Drum (Meets The Beat Of Your Heart) by: threadfinjack

Summary: Just a little ficlet based on a prompt from tumblr. Pro-surfer Killian Jones loses his hand in a shark attack. During his rehabilitation, he meets physical therapy student Emma Swan. She makes it her quest to help him return to the ocean where he belongs.

The Absence of You by: SLimac

Summary: AU When Emma Swan, a young social worker, stumbled into Killian Jones's hospital room looking for her mischievous son she never thought the encounter would go farther. But she'll soon come to realize that Killian needs her more than she knows. And maybe, she might need him too.

A Scar is Worth the Pain by: ramblingkitten

Summary: Emma and Killian bond over scars... Okay summary sucks just click read i promise its better than it sounds.

Lucifer Morningstar

Faint by: chashkieh

Summary: The pain of injuries and amputation never really go away. When Lucifer cut off his wings there was likely phantom pains of a lost limb in the immediate aftermath that faded as he adjusted but occasionally rears its ugly head on a rainy or hot/humid like most injuries. One day it flares in the middle of a case and is aggravated by one of Dan's casual clap on the back.

Knives and wings don't mix, Luci. by toby_or_not_toby

Summary: Lucifer groaned again, then inched the blade further into his traitorous muscle. Nearly there, just a bit more- The demon blade hit a clump of nerves, and Lucifer's vision whited out as he screamed.

[piracytheorist]

To Give One’s Trust (1/1)

Note: Written for @csrolereversal​! I must admit that I'd nearly given up and dropped out of the event, but with the help and encouragement of @darkcolinodonorgasm​ and @artistic-writer​, the latter of whom also provided the magnificent art above that inspired this story, I managed to set a smaller, but more attainable goal and finish just in time to participate!

Summary: Captain Hook has been a werewolf for centuries, in control of his wild state. When he gets kidnapped and experimented upon, his desperate actions to escape have dire consequences for him. When Emma Swan meets a feral werewolf on a night with a full moon, she can sense that there's something more to that creature.  Perhaps, with the right amount of trust, she can help him help himself.

Warnings: Violence (yep, there's whump), blood, and near the end, a minor character death that’s a bit graphic.

Word count: ~6k AO3

~

In all his centuries and past torments, Captain Hook had never imagined he’d be brought to such a horrid state.

He’d known better, of course, than to make hopeful dreams for his future. He’d turned pirate because of his brother’s death; he’d surrounded his thoughts with a thirst for revenge because of Milah’s death; he had nothing more to live for...

Except, ever since that damned werewolf bit him, dying had stopped being an option.

And his current tormentors seemed to be aware of that. Actually, he wouldn’t call them tormentors, not exactly. Sure, they spared no sympathy for the pain they were causing him, no reaction to his screams, but overall they were only... testing. Potions, spells, curses, incantations, anything dark magic could conjure up.

They were of course aware of the fact that he couldn’t die and that his healing abilities worked ten times faster than of a normal human. So after they were done experimenting on him for the day, they’d leave him rest, curled up in a pool of his own blood, shivering, as he waited for his multiple wounds to heal. Then they’d come back the next day to continue their experiments.

He could swear that the worst was during the nights he turned. All of his senses were heightened then, as well as his healing, and the experiments got even worse - besides, they had to try the different application of some of them on a three-legged canine.

But that wasn’t the worst.

The worst was the Dark One watching.

He never laid a finger on him as his minions worked on the experiments he was ordering. He only watched, standing outside the cage Hook was kept in, sometimes even smiling at him. Sometimes he stayed after the other men had left, and watched him as Hook struggled to keep his sobs quiet, to not let the Dark One hear them.

Two months being experimented upon and most nights with Rumpelstiltskin watching he managed to keep quiet; that he considered a small victory.

He had made peace with his werewolf nature; thanks to meeting a werewolf pack during his first months of being one, he’d managed to learn to control himself, and for centuries, the night of full moon was just another night. Sometimes, seeing the moon grow larger could even bring him some excitement. The joy brought by running as a wolf could easily come close to the one of sailing in the open seas.

Now, that same sight only brought a reminder of a harsher, more painful night.

Some nights, when his body hurt too much for sleep to claim him, he’d look at the moon peeking outside the window and wonder how long he’d have to endure that.

~

It didn’t take much longer. Just one night before his third full moon there, Rumpelstiltskin got too close, and Hook was just too desperate. With surprising agility, considering his injuries, he plunged his hook into the Dark One’s arm... who was too keen on gloating about the pain he’d been ordering on him to notice Hook’s eyes dropping to the dagger on his belt.

It only took two swift moves to pull it out and bury it deep inside Rumpelstiltskin’s chest.

It was the moment Hook felt his mind stop working. He could watch. He watched Rumpelstiltskin fall on his side, dead. He watched a blast of magic leave him, destroying his cage and incapacitating - killing? - his tormentors before they had a chance to run. He watched the environment change around him as he moved - ran? - outside, to who knew where.

But he wasn’t seeing.

His senses were being assaulted by memories; all the deaths he’d witnessed, with the pain they were accompanied by, striking as if brand new; his torments, from as old as the ones in his childhood, to losing his hand, to the one he’d suffered just that day.

And the most intense of it all, hearing his name whispered around him.

Killian Jones. Killian Jones. Killian Jones.

~

It was daytime when he woke up. He was lying in the middle of a forest, with the bloodied rags he wore in the torture chamber, but all of his wounds healed up, way faster than even his werewolf healing offered.

He wanted to wonder how that could be, but he knew it would be simple denial now.

He was the Dark One. The cursed dagger was in his hand, Rumpelstiltskin’s crusted blood still on it, the name Killian Jones engraved on the blade.

He could already feel something pulsating under his skin. He could hear birds chirping a little too loud next to him, and he was overcome with an urge to kill them. He wanted... something. He wanted to burst out on someone, and the damn forest was too deserted.

The violent thoughts kept coming and coming, and had it been any other day, he’d have simply ignored them or drowned them in a flask of rum.

But that night there’d be a full moon. He’d turn by the first moonbeam, and if his thoughts were already surrounded with an urge of violence, how could he be sure they wouldn’t get even more intense after he turned? Everything was more intense in wolf form. Sight. Hearing. Taste. The taste of flesh.

First, the dagger. The safest place to hide it was his safe at the Jolly Roger, as the only way to open it was with his hook, and his hook always disappeared to... wherever, when he turned, so it would be safe until he turned back into a human.

He held the dagger tight, closed his eyes and thought of his cabin. When he opened them, he was there.

His cabin was as tidy as he could remember leaving it. He didn’t allow any emotions over the loyalty of his crew over the nearly three months he’d been missing; he had to be quick lest someone saw him.

After he secured the dagger, he spent all afternoon building a special cage to keep himself in. Hard, thick steel bars, heavy chains around his limbs and torso, enchanted to stay stuck on his skin and not break by brute force, completed by a blindfold as soon as the sun set.

He lay down, conjuring up thick vines to keep his body pinned to the ground, trying not to think just how easy it was to use magic, and focused on his breath.

I am the wolf.

I am in control.

I am...

~

Emma sighed as she conjured up a few more flames, stoking the campfire. She looked at it, trying to concentrate on the dancing colours to keep her mind off their plans for tomorrow. There was no use worrying over it now, she had already volunteered to help invade the Evil Queen’s castle to bring her down. She didn’t fear her; but she had no doubt she would have doubled her defences, maybe even hired more magicians to help her fight Emma and her parents’ army.

But again, all she should do now was try to relax as much as possible. She was already losing sleep with all that stress, and she needed to be strong tomorrow...

A pang of guilt rushed through her when she heard footsteps behind her. Damnit, now they’d start acting like she was a child, and why isn’t she asleep yet, and Emma, you need to rest, we need your magic...

Instead, she only heard an exaggerated gasp. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, young lady?”

Emma bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She turned around, finally losing it at Elsa’s over-the-top dramatic face. But Elsa quickly dropped the mockery and sat down next to her.

“At least we can chat to pass the time,” Elsa said.

“Yeah.”

Elsa seemed to notice Emma’s nervousness. “Hey,” she said. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll have the castle by this time tomorrow.”

“And I’ll take my rightful place as ‘Princess of Misthaven’.”

Elsa simply smiled softly at her, taking her hand in hers. “I’ll always be here, you know. If anything, I know what it feels like to not believing it when people keep telling you you have a place with them.”

Emma nodded, staying silent. The famous lost princess of Misthaven, separated from her parents as soon as she was born, only being found after more than two decades of not belonging anywhere... it’s not that her parents pressured her in anything. But she appreciated having someone to get what she was feeling. Her parents had spent all that time loving her, hoping to find her, while she had spent that time hating them, thinking they’d abandoned her. Such dark thoughts weren’t easy to let go of after so long of having been part of her.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, blinking away a tear.

“So,” Elsa said, “maybe we can lighten up? Play something, a word game or-”

Both their heads perked up towards the bushes at the sound of rustling twigs. They got up, preparing their magic, focusing on any other sound of their attacker. Before Emma could conjure up more flames to help them see better, they saw a dark figure lunge towards them. Emma shrieked, releasing a wave of force magic as Elsa raised a wall of ice in front of them. Through it, they saw the figure hit a tree behind it, then fall gracelessly on the ground. Emma finally conjured up those flames, immediately noticing the form struggling to get up.

“A wolf?” Elsa said.

“No. It’s something... more. I can feel it’s magical.” Emma walked towards it.

She spotted Elsa looking around at the sky. “It’s full moon. A werewolf?”

“No. I mean... yeah, probably, but... I feel something more.” When she was just a few feet away, the wolf jumped up, growling at her and preparing to attack.

Elsa conjured ice around his apparently three paws, keeping him in place. That only lasted a second though, as the wolf looked down at the ice and it immediately melted away.

“He can use magic?!”

Emma closed her eyes, focusing on the deeper magic inside of her as she extended her arms. The werewolf lunged again right then, but a magic sphere appeared around him, immobilizing him mid-air.

“I just need a few seconds,” Emma said. “Keep him frozen somehow so that I can create a magic cage around him.”

As Elsa struggled to keep him immobilized, continuously creating ice around him as he made it melt away, Emma concentrated on her magic again. Somehow, this wolf seemed to have quite powerful magic, and more magic than usual was needed to restrain him. Thick bars appeared around him, enclosing him in a cage wide enough for him to move and even stand when he’d turn back into a human, and Elsa let go.

Immediately, the wolf went for the bars, biting and swatting at them with his paws, but they wouldn’t give. He stepped back, curled inwards, then a blast of force magic left him and struck the bars, but again, nothing happened.

Emma and Elsa sighed, feeling a bit weary after the fight, and kept watching as the wolf, almost without rational thought, kept attacking the bars with force and magic no matter how fruitless his efforts were.

“Go and try to sleep,” Emma told Elsa, whose shoulders were noticeably slouched. “I’ll stay to make sure he doesn’t escape. Though I believe the cage will be strong to hold him overnight.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Emma just nodded. As Elsa walked away, back to her tent, Emma turned her attention back to the wolf. She stepped towards the cage, close enough to see him better, but far enough to make sure he couldn’t reach her.

A magical werewolf. Actually, an extra-magical werewolf, since such creatures were already considered to have magic in the first place. He growled at her when she got too close, actually backtracking in the cage.

Huh. Perhaps there was some sense left in him after all.

She could barely feel tired, even after having used all that magic. There was something about this wolf, and she just couldn’t stop imagining all the questions she’d ask him once he turned back into a human.

Technically, she could sleep. The cage proved to be strong enough, and she would need the rest, but she was simply too alert to relax now. She sat back on the log she was sitting on before, watching the poor wolf slam himself into the bars and exhausting himself with magic, again and again and again.

Until he nearly collapsed on the ground, trying to curl up into a ball... and weeping softly.

It was that, no doubt. He was crying, and Emma couldn’t help wondering if it was from exhaustion, pain after hitting the bars so many times... or pure despair.

She wrapped her arms around her torso and leaned forward, trying to will away her memories of feeling so desperate she cried.

~

She woke up with the first sunbeam. She jumped up, panicking momentarily until her bleary vision cleared and she saw the wolf still inside the cage. When the beams reached his cage, a thick black cloud surrounded him, and when it dissipated, a man was at its place.

Emma stepped closer, taking a good look at him. He didn’t appear to have a left hand; in its place was a metal hook, secured on a brace that was wrapped with leather loops around his left arm. He looked tired, and even in pain, if she judged by the crease between his eyebrows. And - holy crap - he was barefoot, dressed in filthy, torn, blood-stained rags. But he didn’t seem to have any wounds, from what she could see.

Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he gasped, scaring her enough to elicit a short yelp, which in turn seemed to scare him, as he scrambled to his knees and arms and tried to move backwards, again gasping when he hit the bars behind him.

“It’s alright,” Emma said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Where am I?” the man said.

“Just a few miles off...” she almost said “the Evil Queen’s castle” but thought better of giving away their plan. It only then occurred to her that he could have been a spy. “... Misthaven,” she ended up saying. “What’s your name?”

The man looked around the cage, then his face turned sober, serious. “Why am I in a bloody cage?”

“For our protection. And most likely, yours too.”

She saw him swallow hard. “Did I hurt anyone? As a...” His voice trailed off.

“A wolf? Not as far as I know.”

He looked away, a discomfort settling in his features. He seemed to grow more uncomfortable the longer he looked at the cage bars around him.

“Let me out of here,” he said finally.

Emma straightened up, assuming an authoritative stance. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not until you answer some of my questions.”

“Are you bloody serious?”

“You were out of control of your werewolf state. You could have harmed my people, for all I know you hurt innocents who crossed your path last night!”

The man fixed her with a stare, then simply stood up, straightening his shoulders too. He raised his hand, conjured up a fireball in it, looked at it with what she could swear was disdain, then hurled it towards the bars.

Emma managed to not flinch. There was a part of her that was uncertain of the effectiveness of the cage now that he was human, but she managed to keep a straight face as the man looked at his hand in surprise.

“What?”

“Yeah. You were just a bit of a nuisance yesterday night. I had to make things a bit more difficult for you.”

Though he seemed to register the words, he conjured another fireball, hurling it towards the bars, then another, and another. He then simply walked to the bars and looked at her angrily. “Get on with your questions, then!”

“What’s your name?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “Captain Hook.”

“Hook?” She looked briefly at his namesake appendage, then back at him. “Were you really out of control last night?”

He seemed confused at that. “What do you mean?”

“One can never be too careful. How do I know you’re not just pretending you have no idea what happened last night?”

“How would you know if I lied?”

Emma smiled. “Try me.”

Hook just looked at her for a moment, before his angry face relaxed a little. He sighed, then said, “I was out of control. I suspected it would happen, so I tied myself with chains, but apparently it wasn’t enough.”

Truth.

“You were using magic, even as a wolf.”

His eyebrows raised at that. “What?”

“After I trapped you in the cage, you kept trying to force your way out of it with magic.”

He looked down at his arms. “This must be how I managed to escape last night.”

Emma opted not to tell him that restraining him had required more magic than she was used to using. “You probably needed someone else’s magic used against you to keep you down.”

He shivered at that, his shoulders slouching forward. “Are you done with your questions?”

“Well, obviously, I can’t let you go without knowing you won’t be a danger tonight as well.”

“So what now? You’ll keep me here all day? I suspect you have better things to waste your time on, lass.”

He looked at her with an almost exhausted expression. For some reason, the way he said and worded that cut deep in her.

“How did you get your magic? I might be able to at least use a spell that will contain it when you’re in wolf form.”

“You keep your bloody magic away from me.”

“Oh, is that so? Perhaps you would like to spend the day in the cage, after all.”

Hook sighed. “I was cursed with it. Both the lycanthropy and the magic. I was in perfect control of my wolf form, but I was... recently cursed with magic, and so it seems, I lost control of the wolf because of it.”

“How were you cursed?”

He didn’t respond for a while. He looked around the cage, biting his lip, clenching his hand into a fist, until he looked at her and said, “Perhaps I would enjoy that night in that cage.”

Emma felt a shiver down her spine. He seemed too reluctant to share the details of his magic, and that wasn’t a good sign. Especially since he seemed to prefer a whole day of imprisonment over sharing it.

“Well, that won’t do then. If you couldn’t control the wolf yesterday, who’s to say you’ll manage that next month? I may have to keep you locked up until you manage that.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps that’ll motivate you.”

He sighed and looked away. “This is bloody ridiculous.”

Before he could turn back towards her, Emma leaned in between the bars and grabbed his hand in hers. He gasped, turning towards her, but didn’t snatch his hand away.

Emma, however, couldn’t let go from the shock. “You’re the Dark One.” Her eyes darted to a tattoo on his arm, a heart with the name ‘Milah’ written on it. She looked up at him, feeling yet another shiver.

His face turned grim, and he finally snatched his hand away. “What of it?”

“What of it?! You killed Rumpelstiltskin? How... when?!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it does!” Without any assistance from Rumpelstiltskin, the Evil Queen had no hope against them.

She hadn’t realized she was slightly smiling until Hook said, “You seem quite amused at the news of his death.”

She straightened her face, and her stance as well. “Well... let’s say he wasn’t the best around.”

“That’s quite the understatement.”

“Is that why you killed him?”

“How did you know, anyway? That I am the Dark One?”

“I... well, I sensed it. I can’t really describe it.”

“Hm. Well, in any case, you’ve had your answer, one way or another. Can you let me go now?”

Emma crossed her arms, too uncertain of his intentions. Again, for all she knew, he was the Queen’s minion, sent to kill Rumpelstiltskin so she could assume control of him. “Who’s Milah?”

He swallowed hard, turning his arm so she couldn’t see the tattoo anymore. “Someone from long ago.”

She would never mistake that look on his face. The look of heartbreak, of unspeakable loss. “That’s why you killed him. Rumpelstiltskin.”

He stayed silent, only looked at her, then away again.

Emma looked back at her camp, seeing people having woken up, occasionally throwing glances at them. Elsa was awake too, probably having informed all of them of their current prisoner.

It was almost time.

“I’m still not convinced I should let you go.”

“Too busy planning the attack on the Evil Queen?”

Emma blinked. He simply shrugged at her response, pointing at his ear.

“Wolf hearing. It has bought me my freedom more than once before.”

“Well, for all we know, you could be a spy of hers.”

“I don’t even know the woman.”

Truth.

Damn it.

Wait, what? Why did him not being a spy make her mad?

“Maybe one of her guards hired you,” she tried.

He sighed, exasperation starting to show on his face. “I am not a spy.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the bars. “I am not working for anyone. I just want to find a way to get rid of this bloody curse on me.”

Emma just looked at him, at his blood-stained rags, then back again at his face, tired and barely hiding a desperate expression. He mustn’t have known that killing the Dark One would transfer his powers, and thus his curse, onto him.

She sighed, thinking he couldn’t be her responsibility now. She conjured up one of their anti-magic cuffs. “This will block your magic when you wear it. Put it on before sunset and make sure you’ve gotten yourself somewhere where you can’t hurt anyone when you turn.”

He took it, studying it curiously. “Everything I wear disappears when I turn. Won’t it bring the magic back when I turn?”

“Your stuff doesn’t just disappear. You kinda... you’re kinda still carrying them with you. It’ll be alright.”

“You trust me?” He looked up at her, and her stomach coiled at his face. He seemed surprised... but accepting of the sentiment. “I’m the Dark One.”

“Keeping you locked up won’t do any of us any good,” she said, taking a few steps back and raising her hands. “Maybe it can be a peace offering. If I trust you, you don’t cause us any trouble.” Before she had the time to change her mind, she willed the cage to disappear. She opened her eyes, and he was still there, looking at her, with a visibly more relaxed expression.

“I didn’t even get your name,” he said.

“Neither did I yours,” she said, smirking at him. “But I’m about to help claim our kingdom back, and you’re the Dark One. Something tells me our paths will cross again.”

He nodded. With a swift move of his hand, he was covered in dark red smoke.

She had expected him to teleport away, but instead, when the smoke cleared, he was still there, only he was now dressed in lustrous black leather, from the tip of his boots to the long coat over his shoulders.

If that wasn’t enough, he looked up at her and smirked. She felt her stomach twist as he walked past her and said, “Farewell, your Highness.”

She looked behind her as he walked away. Her magic told her it wasn’t a trick; he was actually leaving, to Gods knew where.

Well, she thought, sighing. Let’s hope I didn’t screw this one up.

~

It was a harder, longer, and more bloody fight that they’d expected. Somehow the Queen had managed to gather enough magic energy and armed forces to rival them in both accounts.

Before she knew it, Emma found herself on the ground, defenceless, held at swordpoint by the Evil Queen.

“This is the end for you, Princess,” she sneered. She drew her sword back, ready to strike, and Emma closed her eyes in defeat.

Her eyes snapped open as screams were heard from outside the vast throne room. The Queen turned her head just a fraction towards the door leading outside, but it was enough for Emma to reach forward and grasp the hilt of the blade the Queen held.

Screams could still be heard outside as the two women fought for the sword that would very likely end one of them tonight.

They both turned their heads at the door as it opened, looking startled as one of the Queen’s guards stumbled inside, covered in blood.

“Wolf... feral... attacked... has magic...” he managed to mutter before he collapsed.

They stayed frozen, looking at what was now probably the guard’s corpse when suddenly the Queen snatched the sword off from Emma’s grasp.

“Now,” she said, “Where were we?”

Before she could raise the sword again, they heard a deep, loud growl coming from the door.

A wolf walked in the throne room, stepping steadily towards them, its paws leaving bloody footprints on the floor that glimmered as the moonlight shone on them.

It was... it was he. Hook. Hadn’t he worn the cuff? Or had he... and it didn’t work after all, after his transformation?

“Hey,” Emma said before she could think twice on it. She turned to him, slowly taking a few steps towards him.

The wolf let a louder growl, baring his teeth.

“It’s me,” Emma said. “You remember me.” You have to.

The wolf stepped closer, with more tense steps.

“I know this isn’t you. I saw how shocked you were at knowing you’d lost control. You must have worn the cuff but I was mistaken. It doesn’t work, after all, when you turn.”

“What is this? You took talking to animals from your mother?” the Queen said.

Emma ignored her. “I was wrong. You trusted me, and it led to this. I should have helped you...” she found herself kneeling down, folding her hands on her lap. “I know what it’s like, to have magic you don’t want and can’t control. I know how it hurts. And I know I should have helped you, the way I wished someone would help me when I was having trouble with my magic.” She reached out with her hand, her palm upwards. “My name is Emma Swan. And I can help you now. You don’t have to keep facing that pain anymore.”

The wolf walked more slowly now, but still steadily, towards her.

“I know you’ve been in pain. I saw it on your face. And I can’t claim to be able to help with that, but... I know how that feels too. And I trust you. I know you can find yourself.”

The wolf reached closer, then stopped, still in a position ready to lunge. However, it only leaned his nose forward, sniffing at Emma’s hand.

Emma smiled, but then the wolf looked up and lunged.

She merely blinked in shock, feeling time freeze around her. She looked at her still outstretched hand, panic overcoming her that she was done, over with, killed.

But then she heard the Queen scream behind her. She turned, seeing the wolf pin her down, his teeth burrowing in her neck.

The Queen didn’t scream anymore.

The wolf let her go, looking down at her corpse, then turned his head towards Emma.

“She was going to kill me,” Emma whispered. “You saved me.”

The wolf hung his head, however. Emma immediately offered her hand again and he stared at it for a few good moments, before he walked back to her with tired, slow steps.

“I’m here,” Emma said.

The wolf smelled her hand again, then rubbed his snout against it.

“It’s alright.”

He let out a soft whimper, before he slumped on the floor, slowly resting his head on her lap.

Emma hesitated; he seemed to be back in control now, but she couldn’t be sure how much touch he’d be comfortable with at this point. Deciding it was worth a try, she lowered her hand, letting it rest on his head. He seemed to... sigh? So she started brushing her fingers through his fur, stroking back and forth in what she hoped was a relaxing manner.

He’d saved her. He had found his control back with her words, and took the action to save her life.

And now, he was trusting her.

She was yet to see, though, what damage he’d caused while out of control.

~

His skin felt as if it was burning.

It must have, for the room was full of fire, and he was trying to escape, slamming his body against the burning walls in a desperate effort to bring them down.

But every time he hit a wall, another shriek sounded. Men, fearing for their lives. Screaming as he buried his teeth in their skin or slashed it open with his claws.

But it hadn’t been them he’d been looking for. He, or whatever it had been that had led him there.

He knelt down, clutching his arms against his chest, whispering to himself the only thing that brought him comfort amidst the screams and fire.

Emma Swan. Emma Swan.

~

He opened his eyes.

He still felt exhausted, though he had slept, apparently.

On Emma Swan’s lap.

“Hook?” he heard.

He looked up, and there she was, looking at him with worry.

“Are you alright?”

He closed his eyes, then opened them and forced himself to pull away from her and sit up. They were still in that throne room, the bodies of the queen and the guard having been taken away.

“What’s the damage?” he said without looking at her.

“Smaller than I’d expected, to be honest. My people said you just ran by them, only attacking people who actually stood in your way. All of them were the Queen’s guards, and you didn’t kill any of them.”

“I bit and clawed at them.”

“They’ve had worse days.”

“There was a... a guard, and the queen...”

“The guard will make it. Will stand trial, of course, but he’ll be fine. As for the Queen... I can’t say I wasn’t about to do the same to her.”

He hung his head, covering his eyes with his hand. “I didn’t... I... wolves don’t just kill. We kill to... eat.” After a short pause to give her time to process that, he continued. “This time was different. All my instincts led me to tear her throat open.”

“You saved my life.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped up. He looked at her, his heart stopping at her soft smile. “It was a hard thing to do, yes, but if it weren’t for you, I would be dead, and our kingdom would be lost. And, Hook... you controlled yourself.”

He lowered his head again. “Killian,” he whispered.

“What?”

“My name, my real name, is Killian.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile widen. “Do you know what brought you here?”

He shook his head. “I blacked out from the moment I turned, next thing I remember was being here, you talking to me.” He swallowed hard. “You helped me.”

“You trusted me back.”

Aye, that he did. Both silent for a moment, he looked into her eyes, wondering how it all came together like this. She had helped him, offered a way to possibly control the wolf, and though that had failed... her trust had been enough. It felt enough.

“Why did you trust me in the first place?”

She licked her lips, making him shortly but intensely shift his focus on them, then said, “I know what it’s like, to feel out of control. I thought that... if I gave you what I wished I had been given, we could avoid difficult consequences, for you, for me, and possibly everyone.”

“I didn’t want to become the Dark One,” he confessed. “I still don’t... want this.”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. His stomach clenched, and he nearly felt tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know a whole lot about the Dark One,” she said. “What little I do know I didn’t dare share or look into, out of fear that Rumpelstiltskin would find me and...”

He squeezed his hand around hers without thinking. “You think there’s a way to fix... this? Destroy the curse?”

“We can try. That darkness hasn’t done anyone any good.”

He thought of his dagger, carefully hidden in the safe. It was what gave him this curse, what could control him and his magic...

But he wasn’t ready to risk losing all control again. It would take a month before his next time to turn. “You think you could help me again? Next time I turn?”

She nodded. “I know we just met, and trusting each other sounds weird...”

It sounds right.

“But if you’re willing to stay and let me help, I think we can work together towards a cure. Or something.”

“What if it gets worse? What if I lose control and escape before you can stop me?”

She leaned forward. “I guess I’ll have to find you, then.”

Once again, they looked into each other, and Emma wasn’t pulling away. His eyes dropped to her lips again, this time slightly parted, and now leaning even closer...

“Emma! We’re going to need-”

They pulled away as if in shock, letting go of each other’s hand as a couple entered the room.

“Everything alright?” the man asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma said, standing up. “Uhm... Hook, these are my parents. I guess now it’s Queen Snow and King David.”

He didn’t feel like standing up yet, only acknowledging them with a nod. He’d still have some way to go before bowing down again.

David reached out with his hand. “Your arrival on the battle was quite the shock for everyone, but it ended up being to our benefit.”

Killian nearly scoffed. Guess that’s enough to make the nightmares worth it, he thought.

“And you saved my daughter’s life. For that, I’ll always be grateful.” He then knelt next to him, still offering his hand. “And at your service.”

Shocked at the apparent King’s humility and gratefulness, Killian found himself shaking hands with him.

“As soon as we fix the castle, you’re welcome to find yourself a room here,” the new Queen said. “We can work out the rest as we settle down here again.”

When they left, Killian finally stood up, looking at the cuff still on his wrist.

“You can take it off anytime, you know,” Emma said.

“They know I’m the wolf.”

“Well, they kinda came in seeing said wolf sleeping on my lap, then as soon as the sun rose, you turning into a human.”

“You didn’t tell them my real name.”

“Well, when they saw you turn back, they started asking questions, and that was the name I knew of you at the time. And now I guessed it’s up to you to share it with them.” She then leaned closer, whispering, “I didn’t tell them you’re the Dark One either.”

He looked at her in shock.

She merely shrugged. “I told you. I’m trusting you. It’s your choice to tell them, if you want them to know.”

Once again, he hung his head. “Thank you, Emma.”

“We’ll find a way. We can get rid of the darkness, then...”

He looked at her as she was apparently searching for words. He couldn’t blame her; a big part of him wanted to stay, already trusted her, but it was all too complicated...

He took a big breath, and as if waking up from a slumber, he assumed the bravado he’d worn so casually over time. He leaned forward, looking straight into her eyes, saying,

“Then, that’s where the fun begins.”

[hollyethecurious]

12 Nights of Whumpmas: Night 7

On the seventh night of whumpmas this whumper gave to thee...

Seven dwarves leroying**

(gif credit to @onceland)

Six Hooks a Flying

Five Dead or Dying Hooks

Four angsty goodbyes

Three Hands in Chest

Two Fighting Hooks

And a lying pirate tied to a tree!

** Leroying/Leroyed is a term coined by @snidgetsafan​. It is a verb used any time Killian Jones is cock blocked, even if Leroy himself is not the cock blocking culprit.

Tagging some fellow whumpers:

@killian-whump​ @lillpon​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @wyntereyez​ @cocohook38​@artistic-writer​ @gusenitsaa​ @pirate-owl​ @straight-to-the-pain​@quirkykayleetam​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​​ @lfh1226-linda - If you’d like to be added (or removed) for the remaining night just let me know!

[killian-whump]

I have never seen an episode of Once upon a time. I want to start by watching the whumpy episodes first.😁 It seems like you're the right person to ask.😂 Which episodes would you recommend?

Oh! Oh! I’m definitely the right person to ask!!! :D

However, I can only really answer for Killian Jones whump, because… Well, you know ;) That’s kinda my forte XD

The very best Killian whump in the entire series occurs in episodes 5x13 and 5x14, when he’s in the Underworld, and has been tortured by Hades. Unfortunately, we don’t get to SEE the torture, but he looks delicious all wounded and covered in blood because of it. And in 5x14, Hades chains him up from the ceiling in a literal “slow dipping mechanism” the likes of Dr. Evil XD He also gets rescued by Emma and is an adorable bloody cinnamon roll.

Actually, Season 5 has a lot of great stuff in it. He straight-up dies in 5x08, and it’s super dramatic and everything, but he also gets chained up and angsts all over the place and everything. 5x10 is full of Dark Hook fun, as well as him getting impaled on a sword (and not giving a fuck, lol) and some super duper angst as he turns into the Dark One at the beginning of the episode. And Dark Hook is just… really dark and angsty and wild-haired and everyone loves him. I mean, all of US love him. The other characters… not so much XD Oh, and Hook dies again in 5x11, because dying is something Hook does best XD Then there’s the tortured!Hook episodes I mentioned above… and some more super duper angst in 5x20, which is simply heartbreaking T_T

Speaking of him dying, he also dies in episode 4x22, where he’s been “rewritten” by the author to be a coward. It’s cute to see him cowering from danger and being a cute little guileless bean. And his death is nice. He also dies in the big finale of the series, 7x22. None of his deaths “stick” of course ;) But each and every one of them is delightful and fun to watch XD

If you like bondage, the final 30 seconds of episode 2x19 are the best 30 seconds of bondage in the entire show. The rest of the episode doesn’t have Hook in it at all, so you could just look at the GIFs here on my blog XD Really, for a lot of the episodes, you can check them out on my blog to see most of the good shots and even some video clips. Check out my Episode Guide :D

Episode 4x08 (might be 4x09, depending on the episode counting of wherever you view the episodes, it’s called “Smash the Mirror Pt. 2″) sees him getting captured by Rumplestiltskin, tied to a fence, taunted, and then getting his heart ripped out by Rumple. Nice stuff :D The episodes immediately after it, have Rumplestiltskin holding onto his heart and controlling his actions through it. Lots of angst and frustration; it’s really a nice story arc :)

Episodes 2x11 and 2x12 are good, too. Hook goes off the rails a bit, and attacks Belle on his ship - and she beans him in the head. Then Rumplestiltskin shows up and beats the ever-loving shit out of him. Then he reappears later, all bloody and hot, and ends up getting hit by a car. 2x12 picks up right after, with him in the hospital, being questioned by Emma.

In 3x20, he gets drowned in a shallow tub, and gets some mouth-to-mouth rescuing from Emma. It’s very nice :D

Hook Centrics (episodes focused on his character and flashbacks pertaining to his past) are always good for some whumps. 3x05 has a LOT of emotional whump, with the death of his beloved brother. 3x17 has lots of pirate shenanigans, like a swordfight (no injuries though) and him getting accosted and threatened with a knife. 4x15 has some emotional whump, some tentacle squeezing, a kidnapping, a near-drowning… and more shenanigans. 5x11 has emotional whump and a gut-wrenching death scene. 6x06 has TWO kidnappings, a kraken attack (kinda legendary around here, lol), and a brief beating - plus lots of angst. 6x17 sees him chased by Lost Boys, captured by Tiger Lily, attacked by Lost Boys again, and almost burned at the stake before a last minute rescue arrives. (The two episodes before 6x17 also have a lot of Hook content, with him getting shanghaied off to another realm and trying desperately to get back to Emma. 7x02 is tons of fun, with TWO versions of Hook whumping each other. And 7x13 is full of a lot of dark angst and whumpiness, when Wish Hook (Hook #2 lol) angsts over his daughter being trapped in a tower, engages in a duel, and gets his heart poisoned - leading to lots of pain and suffering. Whew!

The series closes out with some penultimate Hook whump in episodes 7x19 and 7x20, when Hook gets kidnapped by Mother Gothel and tied up in her underground grotto. Not much detail given to it, but it’s still nice - and the heart poison activates again (pain! yay!) and he ends up on a stretcher by the end of it all.

2x09 sees him getting his heart mangled by Cora, who just really likes hurting hot men, apparently, and that’s something I can totally relate to XD

He doesn’t get whumped himself in episode 4x02 - but Emma gets trapped in an ice wall and is slowly freezing to death and he adorably freaks out the entire episode, angsting all over the place in the cutest possible way. Some very nice emotional whump through the whole episode.

2x08 has him held against a wall with stone loops and threatened with his own hook in a ridiculously sexy way by Cora XD and 2x05 is fun, because he gets tied to a tree and threatened with a knife at his throat by Emma. Neither of them are really “hardcore” or all that long of scenes, but they’re both fun

Hook also gets punched in episode 2x21. This isn’t all that great from a whump standpoint, but I’m pretty sure Colin adds “PLEASE PUNCH ME :D” into all of his contracts, so I should probably mention it XD

There’s also a lot of lesser, smaller whumps throughout the series. I catalog them all in my episode guide, but I don’t want to list them all here, because this post is already hella long, lol XD

I mostly only know/remember the Killian whumps, but I do know there’s some other good stuff in there, too. If you like lady whump, Regina gets whumped really good in episode 2x20. And there’s an episode on Season 1 (the season we don’t acknowledge on this blog, because Killian’s not in it ;)) where Prince Charming (played by Josh Dallas) gets captured and imprisoned by the Evil Queen so he can’t interfere with her plans to kill Snow White - and much angsty “NOOO!” nonsense occurs inside his cell XD

Anyway, I hope that helps!!! :D

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (35 of 42?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Present (Friday, continued)...

Emma was mostly silent during the ride to the edges of the Master’s territory, and Jones knew she was listening. As if she could somehow keep her husband alive by monitoring his breathing. Jones saw no reason to disrupt her concentration, illogical as it was. Regardless of what she heard, and what state Killian was in when they reached him--whether it was a rescue or a recovery--Jones had resolved to go in no matter what. This monster had to be stopped.

The paved road gave way to gravel, then dirt. About a quarter of a mile farther along, they would reach the invisible border, that line where any attempts to go deeper into the forest had always been met with scores of guard slaves. Jones pulled the car over. They could drive in and see how far they got before being stopped, or if he were callous enough, faced the necessity of mowing down anyone standing in their way. But they had decided that such a move would attract too much attention and give away their intentions before they had a chance to sneak into the Master’s presence. Shutting off the engine, Jones took a deep breath.

“Ready?”

Emma’s response was to reach for the door handle. Jones snagged her elbow, saying,

“Wait.”

She turned back to him, a question in her faraway gaze. The detective leaned forward, opened the glovebox, and hauled out the length of rope he’d stashed there immediately after exiting the sheriff office.

“In case we’re being watched,” he explained, then began binding Emma’s hands together. Seconds later, intimidating knots hung from her wrists, looking very complicated and difficult to untie. But Jones lifted a trailing end of rope. “Just give this bit a sharp tug, and you’re free.”

After Emma had indicated her understanding, Jones got out of the car and went around to open her door. For the sake of any observers, he grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She played along with a few exaggerated struggles, but eventually pretended to give in, hanging her head in mock dejection. Jones adjusted his grip on her, then pulled her forward, propelling her in the direction of the Master’s mysterious compound.

*****

Killian could not die. Not for lack of trying; he was doing everything in his power to let go. Having been through the process multiple times before, he knew that he was close. Individual points of anguish had faded to a generalized dull ache. The short, desperate gasps of breath took more strength than he had, yet kept coming despite all odds. His pulse, weak and erratic as it was, continue to throb in each gruesome wound. And every time Killian succumbed to the dark, thinking that he would at last be set free from his misery, he came back, weaker than before and cursing his continued existence.

Because there was no good reason for the prolonged suffering. Emma could not save him this time, nor would he want her to make the attempt. It would only result in her own capture, torture, and death. With no way to defeat the Master, she may not have much time herself, but perhaps someone would come up with a last-minute solution to save them all. He wanted that chance for her. And the longer he remained alive, the greater the temptation for her to cast aside reason and come after him.

He suddenly remembered the transmitter tucked beneath the bandage around his stump. Maybe that was it. Was his subconscious clinging to life in order to allow him time to hide the device within the Master’s lair? One final purpose for his time amongst the living?

Killian shifted his weight just fractionally. Even that small effort brought each of his pains roaring back to life and the church grew hazy once again. But he remained conscious. With a silent growl, he inched his forearm up his side. Pectoral muscles impaled by the dagger bulged with the work of shifting his left shoulder. He could feel a dull grinding within his chest as the blade scraped against bone. His neck, hand, and shoulder all blazed in excruciating spasms as he slowly turned his head toward his target.

The bandage was still impossibly out of reach. Tears blurred his dimming vision. He drew one more gulp of searing magma, and then, with an agonized shout, heaved his wrist up to shoulder height.

Shuddering, panting with the terrible cost of effort, Killian dug his teeth into the loose knot securing the bandage. He knew exactly where to pull, yet could hardly summon the strength to retain his hold on the linen. Once, twice it slipped free while he whined in exhausted frustration. Bloody thing, keeping him alive only to exacerbate his pain. His fingers twitched a futile attempt to help; a thousand amps of lightning leapt in crooked arcs from impaled palm to fingertips and back, down his immobile arm and out through his misshapen shoulder. A sob echoed in his ears as he tore savagely into the bandage once again, half in continued removal attempts and half as a way to contain the worsening pain.

Finally, the knot gave way. The loose end circled his arm once, unwinding of its own accord before settling gently near his elbow. Killian ignored it; his prize was nearly within reach. He could feel the small bit of metal pressing against his inner forearm, its pointed ends slightly itchy under the linen. He tugged harder with his teeth. More of the bandage came loose. His chest ached unbearably.

Despite the whistling hum in his ears, Killian heard the tiny but welcome sound of the transmitter pinging onto the cold stone at his side. Mission accomplished.

He briefly considered attempting to wrestle the dagger free of his chest. That would certainly speed up the rate at which he was losing blood and, if nothing else, might help him to slip into pain-free oblivion and not wake up this time. But even with the ring on his wrist, he would probably only end up jostling the blade, not removing it entirely. Not worth the prospect of amplified pain. Killian gritted his teeth and allowed his arm to flop back down to the ground.

Even with most head movement restricted by the screws in his neck, Killian could just make out the tiny glint of metal, the transmitter lying a few inches from where his arm had come to rest. Better hide it. Struggling to focus the double image, Killian aligned the apex of the ring with the transmitter. He managed to brush the speck of metal under the lip of the altar, wincing at the resulting flash of pain in his chest. But the technology was now less likely to be found, and Storybrooke could continue to listen in on their new nemesis in secret.

Killian thought of who was on the other end, and his throat immediately tightened in immense regret. He had the easy part, leaving. But his Swan would have to once again face life without him.

“Emma,” he breathed. He couldn't be certain if she could even hear him. “I love you.”

He tensed as an overwhelming wave of pain washed over him. After it had subsided a bit, he growled a moan, then continued.

“Should you... happen to be... victorious…”

He was finding it difficult to get more than three or four words out between breaths. The fire in his chest seemed to be shrinking his lungs, charring them into brittle, inelastic cinders.

“...and feel safe... bringing Hope home…”

He pulled several agonized, wheezing breaths and forced himself to continue.

“...make sure... she always knows... how much I love her.”

Now blinded by tears and suffocating as much by emotion as by his wounds, Killian closed his eyes and rested his head back against the gilded altar. He would never have time to express everything in his heart, anyway.

The heavy front door creaked open, its echoes ominous in the unfeeling sanctuary. Avian wings fluttered noisily in the rafters. And Killian could not contain a sob of dread.

“Swan,” he whispered, almost a whine. “Please, love…” A shudder, half terror and half anguish, wracked his broken body as the scuttle of giant crab legs grew louder.

“Please… Don’t listen to this...”

*****

Whatever Emma was hearing had her in tears.

Jones couldn’t ask her about it, of course. In fact, he tried to pretend like he knew: he was, after all, bringing a new captive into his Master’s presence. She had every reason to be crying. And now, well within the monster’s territory, they had lost the option of turning back, even if they were too late to save Killian. So they pressed forward, Jones directing Emma as she stumbled along, not really paying attention to her surroundings.

Their plot was working so far. They had encountered at least a dozen armed slaves patrolling the forest; each time, the smock-garbed men had taken one glance at Jones and his prisoner and let them pass without challenge. But he couldn’t allow the relief. Instead, he thought of Alice.

Not the exuberant, larger-than-life woman of today, but the one from… then.

Years and years spent imprisoned and alone. The last person in the world to deserve it, paying an awful price for all of his mistakes and failures.

He imagined her pacing the confines of the tower, cursing his name, desperate for love and human contact. Losing hope, sinking further into hopelessness with each passing day, week, month. Year.

All of the lost opportunities. The moments he should have had with her. The discoveries, the joys of blossoming, even the challenges of developing independent thought and rationale. Those beautiful, formative years from adolescence to young adulthood, gone forever. He’d missed them all.

Killian Jones, king of despair, walked right into the Vocivore’s presence undetected. No mental shielding necessary.

[theonceoverthinker]

He and His Stupid Hopes (Golden Hook Whump)

Summary: These heroes must have truly affected Killian. Even when his crocodile literally has his heart in his hands, he can’t seem to give up hope. And one evening, that serves to his ever growing detriment. WHUMP!

Warnings: WHUMP! Graphic violence! Blood, skin, bones, muscles, nerves -- they’re all getting hurt here! This is torture to the nth degree! If it’s not your thing (And that’s cool -- I’m not even completely sure if it’s MY thing and I just PENNED this monstrosity), I’d get the heck out of dodge now because this is as dark as dark gets! AO3    Fanfiction.net

A/N: ...Yeah. This is a thing. Read it only if you dare or you don’t care. And hell, maybe afterwards, share and tell me if it did ensnare! ...Sorry for the plug, but I couldn’t resist the rhyme.

Tagging fellow whumpers/Golden Hook shippers @killian-whump, @sherlockianwhovian, @hollyethecurious, and @mathildia. Settle in, ladies, because things are about to get whumpy.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Of all the sounds that Killian Jones’ two hundred year old ears had ever heard, the worst by far was the sound of the bell above Mr. Gold’s shop.

Misfortune was always in store for those unfortunate enough to hear its ring.

And right now, that was him.

Killian had tried to stop walking. As the miles turned into blocks and the blocks turned into feet, he placed every bit of his willpower into going off the course of his beaten path.

But it was no use.

The heart wants what the heart wants, after all...or at least it wants what its compelled by its current master to want.

Honestly, Killian was surprised that he had been summoned so soon after his heart had been taken. Hadn’t Rumplestiltskin already tortured him enough for one night?

Apparently not.

He had abandoned his apartment in Granny’s for the evening so he could put as much distance between himself and the crocodile as he possibly could. It was clearly a stupid hope, but when someone has control of your literal heart, stupid hopes are what you’re left with.

Killian had not a doubt in his mind that Gold was all too happy to crush those hopes.

Perhaps that’s why he was summoned. Gold was simply impatient to play with his newest toy and couldn’t wait for the chance to relish in his victory.

And now, under the cloak of darkness in the dead of night, he could do so unabated.

The ring of the bell was sharp as it closed in on Killian’s ear drum. He looked ahead to see Gold staring at him from behind the front counter, grinning that smug little grin of his.

“What do you want, crocodile?” Killian snarled.

The worst thing Gold could do at this moment would be to avoid the question or even just grin wider.

So of course, that’s exactly what he did.

“What do you want?” Killian repeated, now shouting. He couldn’t help it. His blood has been boiling nonstop since the moment he heard of the crocodile’s scheme to destroy Emma and now, the cover of night allowed for him to let it all out.

Gold looked at him. His grin had transformed into a smirk and a chuckle escaped his lips.

Before Killian could snap once more at his captor, a jolt of pain coursed through his body. Immediately, he fell to his knees, unable to do so much as raise his head. Once his compulsory yelp was dispelled, he heard the sound of sharp footsteps approaching him.

“Hearts are strange things, captain,” Gold said, apparently now interested in talking. “They’re fragile and full, but malleable too. I don’t even really have anything to compare them to from our time. Maybe a sack of flour? No, too big. Perhaps a leather canteen? No, not weak enough.”

“I don’t care what they’re like,” Killian growled, stuffing defiance into every last syllable. “What I want to know is what do you plan to do with mine?”

For his efforts, of course he was rewarded with another chuckle.

Killian’s thoughts for a moment shifted to Emma, her family, and Storybrooke at large. When he last checked the time on his phone, it was half past three. Even the most regular of patrons at The Rabbit Hole were likely asleep right now. Would this be when Rumple would have him strike to finish filling the hat with magic? Given the cowardly nature of that sinister plot, it would at the very least be fitting of such a mastermind like his crocodile.

But Gold didn’t seem to be thinking that. As Killian looked back up at the counter, the hat appeared to be nowhere in sight. And if the heat from behind him was any indication, his crocodile seemed to only be focused on him.

Slowly, that heat began to feel hotter. His crocodile was approaching him from behind.

“Right now? I want some fun.”

Before Killian could demand that he elaborate, a burgundy swirl of magic surrounded him and seconds later, he was seated semi-comfortably in a simple wooden armrest-equipped chair.

Instantly, Killian knew there was something to be worried about, but again, Gold beat him to any kind of response.

“Stay,” he commanded, with less dignity than Killian imagined Gold would grant a dog.

And just like the obedient, unwilling dog he was, Killian obeyed. His eyes followed Gold as he walked back to that accursed counter of his. Killian was left wondering during his crocodile’s brief absence just what horror that barrier between them was concealing.

But one thing he knew for certain was that he’d soon find out and it wouldn’t be good.

As Gold made his way back to Killian, his right hand was conspicuously -- definitely by design -- behind his back. In the other hand, of course, was his heart, which he was delightedly giving regular gentle squeezes that were anything but gentle to Killian.

“What’s that you’ve got behind your back?” Killian murmured through the pain.

“Something that you desperately want,” Gold answered, coyly, or at least that’s how Killian figured Gold imagined himself to be. “Now, why don’t you be a good boy and hold those onto those armrests of yours nice and tight for me?”

Killian obeyed the whim, his fingers digging into the wooden armrest until they ached. Even his brace jostled itself uncomfortably against his stump as he pushed his hook into the wooden armrest.

As he perched on his chair, submissive to his crocodile’s every want, he had to ask himself: Just what was Rumplestiltskin up to?

If the smirk that was now etched across Gold’s face was any indication, he was dying to let Killian know.

Slowly, Gold pulled his hand out from behind his back.

At a loss for how to react, Killian sat dumbstruck, looking in tense alarm as the unmistakable form of the Dark One’s dagger was revealed to him.

“My, my,” Gold said in a tone that dripped with a level of vulgarity normally reserved for things most normal people would find infinitely more pleasurable.

But of course, Rumplestitlskin was about as far from normal as Killian could hope for.

There he went again -- he and his stupid hopes.

Gold brough the dagger closer to Killian, so that the blade ran parallel to his face. “How many nights have you stayed awake imagining a day like this?”

‘Too many’ was the answer to that inquiry, but Killian could only narrow his eyes in sharp defiance of the dagger as Gold’s teased him with its very presence.

Slowly, while still keeping the dagger where it was, Gold moved behind Killian and looped the arm that held his heart around Killian’s torso -- Killian was willing to bet that Gold had a field day over that fact that he could quite clearly see his heart so close to him, but be unable to seize it from his crocodile’s grasp.

“How many died so that you could even have a chance at yielding the powers of the Dark One?”

Once again, the only sufficient answer Killian could find within himself was ‘too many.’

He hated how often those two words applied when describing his life of piracy.

Fortunately -- or at least as fortunate as the circumstances allowed for -- Gold didn’t give him the opportunity to stew on such thoughts for long.

“Yes, you’ve waited so long for a chance to get up close and personal to this dagger. Allow me to grant you that wish fully.”

Suddenly, Gold’s command for Killian to willingly restrain his hand and hook made sense. It wasn’t just a means of forcing him to watch as his desires dangled in front of him while he was useless to claim either of them.

No, what Rumplestiltskin had in store for him was far worse than that...

As the reality of what was likely about to befall him settled in, and with the swiftness of a decorated warrior, Gold plunged the dagger into Killian’s right side.

To call the fallout agonizing would be putting it mildly.

The tip of the blade rushed along on its journey, ripping through Killian’s skin and clanging successfully against his bones. And despite how quickly it all started, Killian felt every little cut that shot through his body.

Even outside of the pain, the affair was just as mortifying to look at. He could feel blood flowing out of his right hip and could make out the growing pool of red just out of the corner of his eye. Instinctually, his right leg convulsed in ways Killian hadn’t even expected to be possible at the first sight of the pain, jerking around in an attempt to ward off some of the unwavering shock, completely unsuccessfully. A violent thrust that delved deeper into the area poked against what was most certainly an organ. It made Killian’s stomach churn in a way that felt like one of those washing machines he’d seen at Granny’s. His fingers and hook, not allowed to move, clung further into the armrests of the chair and his torso pushed against Rumple’s arm.

And as if to make matters worse, Gold -- making no secret of the matter -- maintained his squeezes of his heart at the same steady rhythm he had started at when this all began.

And Killian, helpless to do anything else in the wake of all of this, screamed bloody murder.

Well, half of that sentiment was correct, at least.

No, Rumplestitlskin couldn’t murder him just yet if his earlier promise was to be believed, but he was doing everything in his power to make this torture feel like murder.

Killian hated to admit how successful his crocodile was in that regard.

His own screams had begun to feel borderline deafening. Killian had shot many a pistol in his day, and felt the effects of all of them as they plagued his ears for those first few moments afterwards, and that was the closest comparison for how he felt now.

However, those gunshots’ effects were only for a few seconds at the most. This had been going on for well over the better half of a minute with no sign of slowing down.

Killian once again put forward a vein hope in his mind -- it may have been early, but that very lack of activity that allowed him to get here unsighted could also work in his favor as a contrast.

People didn’t live too far from this shop. Granny’s in fact was only about a block or two away.

Maybe there was a chance someone could hear his screams. Even if he couldn’t reveal that his heart had been stolen, a random witness of Gold’s cruelty could.

Gold must’ve considered that he’d think of that, for as he continued to spin the dagger around his flesh, he whispered into Killian’s ear from behind him.

“Scream all you’d like, dearie,” he said. “I’ve soundproofed this shop, just for you.”

Stupid hopes…

Seemingly satisfied with the damage he had done to Killian’s side, Rumple pulled out the dagger -- with an excruciatingly slow pull that dragged against the bottom part of Killian’s flesh -- from his hip.

Killian wanted to snidely ask if he was done upon feeling Gold withdraw his hold on him, but upon hearing items shift in his hands, he knew this wasn’t about to end so soon.

Gold once again secured his clasp around Killian’s torso, but this time, with his right arm surrounding his torso with his heart while his left arm clung to the dagger. Killian almost wanted to laugh at how tightly Gold held onto the blade. From the little Killian could make out from the corner of his eye, his veins were completely visible.

“Scared of losing that dagger of yours again, aren’t you?” Killian grit.

Without missing a beat, Gold answered.

“To you? Not a chance.”

Killian could only picture what he’d do in kind for this if things were reversed.

However, once again, Gold didn’t give Killian the moments to think on the matter much before plunging the dagger back into him.

This time, Gold attacked his outer thigh, just a bit behind Killian’s left knee.

It didn’t take long for the blood to entirely cover his lap, staining his pants in an ocean of crimson.

The pain felt different this time -- not less by any stretch, but different. The splitting of his skin and muscle tissue was more directly hurt, rather than just rode by as it was with his hip. While his left leg, just like his right leg had, started convulsing when Gold started thrusting the dagger into him, but didn’t do so for long. As a matter of fact, it stopped moving altogether. Had Gold ruptured a nerve?

It certainly felt that way as his muscles continued to be pummeled by the force of the blade.

The sounds that came out of him were different this time too, his screams holding more of a lower pitched tone.

But for as bad as this was, it got worse when Gold reached Killian’s femur.

Gold may not have ever been the strongest man, but as he pushed the dagger into the bone, Killian could believe for a moment that perhaps he was. There was an unrelenting shove of pressure, one made all the worse when Gold started to taking to thrusting the dagger up and down his flesh, hitting his bone like a blacksmith hit a piece of metal.

And it didn’t escape him how the thrusts ended up keeping time with the squeezes of his heart. If anything, the squeezes quickened as to keep up with the thrusts.

Then, Killian felt a splitting sensation...only not through his skin…

Now in a state of horror, Killian realized exactly what was about to happen.

“NO! NO! NO!” Killian cried, over and over and over again at ever increasing volumes as his crocodile began to crack the bone beneath him.

“Oh, yes,” Gold muttered into his ear. Despite being unable to see his face, Killian could feel his grin and the amusement in his eyes through the heat of his stare.  

Killian’s torso shuddered under the feeling. Reeling, he tried to pull against Rumple’s arm, not even in hopes of anything specific like escaping, but because he couldn’t just do nothing -- his body wouldn’t allow him. Still, it was a moot effort. Without the use of his hand or hook, he remained trapped, watching helplessly as his body slowly yet somehow still violently were being destroyed.

Tears fell like rain, splattering against the blood on his shin bone. He had held back like a trooper so far, but this was too much -- the pain, the degradation, the fear.

As Killian’s femur completely broke open, the remnants of it splintered across his nerves and skin. While there may have only been one dagger in his body, the splinters from his femur made Killian feel like there were a million knives in there.

The screams, now too exhausting to keep on coming out, dissolved into airy groaning howls, with his tears not letting up even for a second.

Killian had seldom used the word ‘pathetic’ to describe himself -- he had other less than kind words to use instead -- but right now, he found no other word as to be quite so fitting. Here he was -- weak, humiliated, and deprived of all bodily autonomy.

“That was nice,” Gold sighed, his voice as serene as an oceanic view as his index finger caressed Killian’s chest. His dagger-held hand wiped itself over Killian face, removing some of the blood from it, and giving Killian a gash by his lip in the process. Killian was sure the thought of cleaning that hand with magic had crossed Gold’s mind, especially seeing as how he hadn’t removed close to all of it by any stretch, but he clearly found this to be the more fun way of getting the job done.

“You’ll pay for this,” Killian grit, fighting against the meek image he was undoubtedly presenting his rival with.

“We’ll see about that,” Gold replied simply, before finally withdrawing himself from Killian entirely and disappearing into his shop’s backroom.

Immediately, Killian fell to the floor with his chair alongside him. Soon, his howls settled and went away, and before long, the only sound he made was the harsh sound of his breathing and the occasional sob as he tried to salvage his way around his wounds. Half an hour passed like that and Killian started to imagine this to be the end of his suffering...but he also wondered if it was the end of him completely?

What could he do now? His left leg had stopped moving and his right leg was in no shape to carry his weight. He couldn’t leave this place and he knew Gold knew that too.

Would this be it? Would Gold just keep him in this state until whenever he needed to kill him? Would he never have a chance to see Emma and tell her the truth -- or even tell her goodbye? It wasn’t that far fetched an idea. Gold said when he first obtained Killian’s heart that he wanted to have fun before killing him and while disturbing beyond belief for virtually anyone else, Gold had found that ordeal fun.

Surprisingly though, as Gold reappeared with a bucket, a mop, and Killian’s heart in his hands, that didn’t appear to be the case.

Gold crouched down to Killian and with a slow wave of his hand over Killian’s form and that charmless smirk still across his face, he began healing him.

Killian, speechless, watched his crocodile as he performed his magic.

As his hand passed over Killian’s body, Killian saw the injuries that brought him to the point of relentless tears mere moments ago painlessly disappear in seconds. Even his clothes were cleaned during the process.

When it was done, Killian carefully rose, testing the truth of this healing with Gold shortly following. Upon realizing that his body was truly safe once more, he nodded, taking it in before turning to face Gold.

“Why?” That was all Killian could ask.

Gold grinned, patting Killian on the shoulder. “While it is a better look on you, you’re no use to me either dead or beaten -- at least, not just yet.” Killian clenched his jaw and Gold only chuckled in response. “No,” he continued, “I still need you to help me get my supply of magic. Of course, I can do it on my own, but why dirty my hands when you’ve got one to spare?”

“Well, I’d have two, but you deprived me of the second -- twice,” Killian shot back, glaring. Gold’s chuckle grew.

“Either way, you’ll come in hand-y for me soon enough, but for right now, as I said, I wanted to have some fun. So thank you.”

“Glad to be of service,” Killian said, his voice coated with sarcasm.

“In that case, why not be a lamb and clean up your blood from the floor?” Gold rose his hand holding Killian’s heart as to signify that this request was in no way optional.

“Why can’t you do it yourself?” Killian asked, already going for the mop and bucket against his will. “You got it off of me just fine without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s true, but why bring our fun to an end so soon?”

Killian didn’t honor the remark with a response and silently got to work. Gold sat behind his counter, grinning as he watched Killian toil.

After an hour’s work cleaning up, Killian finished and the pawn shop’s floor was as spotless as when he came in.

Just as he finished, a final hope occurred to him. It was early and while Gold still looked quite pleased with himself, it wasn’t all that he looked. The hours were waning on Gold just as badly as they were on him.

Maybe, if he was careful with how he left…

“And Hook?” Gold commented just as he was on his way out. Killian didn’t answer his question, but stayed still as he looked at his heart across the seemingly vast expanse of the room. “Make sure you keep this little rendez-vous we had just between us.”

...He and his stupid hopes.

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

Because it made me snort laugh, I'd love to request prompt 15 on the sick list from you.

A/N: alright, here it is! Finally. Sorry I made you wait. This is the whumpest (?) Killian I ever wrote until now. It’s only mild whump, honestly, and a bit of fluff. I hope you like it (and please forgive the really stupid title) ;) 

From the prompt: “pleasestop wasting what’s left of your voice on complaints about soup you can’t eventaste”.

Insickness and in health

KillianJones wasn’t her friend. Well, not exactly. In some ways, he was: he knew what her breakfast andlunch orders were and made her find them on her desk when she had a longstakeout; he knew all about her and her past and never once had judged her,merely giving her a shoulder on which cry on; he flirted with her as a defencemechanism, much like she put up walls to keep her heart from being hurt, and thoughshe pretended it annoyed her, somehow it flattered her; he was a good cop witha good heart, precise, who played by the book with – a bit too many – exceptions.

Oh! Healso took a bullet for her.

Whichwas why she now found herself in her own apartment, fumbling with the stove tocreate the trillionth soup she would end up accidentallythrowing on his lap if he didn’t stop being so impossibly grumpy.

Emmaknew she shouldn’t complain: she would act just like him even though she woulddeny it until she exhaled her dying breath. Her patience was wearing thin, andonly the thought that she would be the same had she been the one who’d been shotand gotten the flu.

But ithad been almost a week of her colleague throwing up, then catching a horriblecold, not to mention the awful cough that was testing his cracked ribs. Did shemention that, aside from the bullet, Killian also fell from the stairs and hithis right side – the one that wasn’t already bleeding – against a radiator? Atleast it wasn’t the window above it.

Hisaction, not the feelings Emma had not developed to him and tried tobury, and the guilt Emma felt had pushed her to offer up her own apartment as arecovery safe place for Killian. The first time David had joked about Killianbeing the first guy to move in with Emma, she had almost thrown her heavypaperweight at him. She opted for throwing her eraser at him, hitting himstraight in the ribs, exactly where Kilian had been shot. Mary Margaretconfirmed David’s skin was purple for days, and if Emma was proud of herself,well, no one needed to know.

Afterspending almost a month in the hospital, Killian had finally been dischargedand moved into Emma’s apartment. Two weeks had passed before he got sick, allthis because, apparently, he’d gone somewhereaided by David and still, after a week of living in hell, he didn’t want totell her where he’d been. Not that she cared, mind you, but she didn’t want himto die on her watch. Unless she was the one doing the killing, of course, whichshe honestly couldn’t take off the list of things to do since how he keptmoaning about the food not being savoury enough. No shit, Sherlock.

Killianwas currently laying on her couch, wrapped up in thick blankets with cold sweatbeading his forehead and red, glassy eyes looking up at her as he tried to readthe next chapter of one of Emma’s thrillers.

«Mysavior,» he muttered, his voice so nasal it would make her laugh if she wasn’tso pissed at him. Besides, his loud snores lately made her want to grab her gunand shot him. She could also get away with the murder, honestly, but didn’t reallywant to have to clean up all the blood.

He putthe book on the coffee table, making place for her to sit down next to him. Hewasn’t a bad roommate, he indeed was a gentleman and didn’t need many attentions,just someone to check on him. From what she knew about Killian Jones, the manwas alone, just like her. David had told her his brother had died on actionwhen in the Navy, right before Killian eyes. It was then he’d almost lost hisleft hand; how he’d managed to regain complete functionality of it and pass thephysical tests impressed Emma.

Theywere what people called kindred spirits, which was why Emma had tried todespise him when he didn’t deserve it. Right now, though, he deserved all thescorching hot soup she could dump on him. No hard feelings.

«Yeah,yeah, savior my ass,» she muttered to herself, but apparently loud enough forhim to hear.

«Andwhat a fine arse it is.»

Emmawasn’t even looking at him but could hearthe high eyebrows in his voice. You canstill pretend to trip, Emma, she reminded herself in a singsonging voice. Butshe’d promised David she would be good, or would try to, so no littlesoup-on-crotch accident. Pity.

«Alright,Don Juan, here’s your soup.»

«Thankyou, love,» Killian said, smiling up at her with kindness. Emma’s heartfluttered traitorously in her chest at the sight. When he smiled, even allbruised and battered, Killian Jones looked like a child. She’d often wonderedif he smiled a lot when he was a child, unlike her.

A smallsmile blossomed on Emma’s face as she sat down on the other couch cross-leggedwith her own bowl of soup. She would’ve preferred pizza or Chinese, but shewanted to play nice and be on his same level.

The soupwas wonderful, and Emma was one who didn’t quite love them if she wasn’t forcedto eat them. Mary Margaret’s tips had been really useful, making the soup evenmore savoury. Jones, though, seemed to disagree.

«Swan,this is tasteless,» he started tomoan, lifting up the spoon and watching as the soup fell back into the bowl.«Are you sure you didn’t serve me coloured water?»

To sayEmma was fuming would be a euphemism. He was so infuriating she almost wouldn’tregret slipping some kind of poison into his tea. Because of course he drank tea. Alright, perhaps Emma had taken a liking toit and to try the various flavours Killian at home.

«Please,» she began through grittedteeth, not knowing if she was aiming for his gentlemanly side or if she wasbegging herself to plan his death, «stop wasting what’s left of your voice oncomplaints about soup you can’t even taste.»Her voice rose with every word but keeping a menacing tone that had Killian’seyes widen in alarm – unless he was having a heart attack or a sudden internalpain – and his mouth form a thin line.

He kepthis eyes downcast, looking at the soup swirling in the bowl. Emma could see amuscle tick in his jaw but his anger only managed to fuel hers. «I apologise,Swan, I didn’t mean to act like a complete arse.»

In theback of her mind, Emma saw a younger version of herself apologizing for thingsshe didn’t break or fights she didn’t start but no, Jones didn’t get to be the mad one in this situation, not to her.

Forcingherself not to slam the bowl onto the coffee table, Emma sat up, her jaw set.«You could at least look at me when you apologize.» She felt almost as if shewas scolding a child, which, honestly, wasn’t that far from the truth given howchildish Killian had behaved. «I don’t even know how the hell you got sick, orwhy you decided to go for a walk when the doctor clearly told you not to move untilyou’d completely healed.»

Oh shewas really pissed now, his “apology” breakingthe thin dam that kept her emotions at bay. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do himany harm – and if a voice in her head told her she could punish him in bed oncehis wound and bruises had healed by tying him to the bed and torture him, Emmaignored it – but she could express her anger, loudly.

What shedidn’t expect him to do, however, was asking her what hour it was.

Emmablinked several times, looking at him as if he’d grown a second and a thirdhead. «W-why do you want to know what hour it is?»

A faintshade of pink spread over the apples of his pale cheeks, as if the question embarrassedhim. Emma could understand the annoyance at not being able to do things on yourown, but that wasn’t it: Killian’s phone was on the coffee table next to the book,there was no reason for him to ask.

Despiteher scepticism, Emma obliged him looked at her phone. «Just past eight,» shetold him, her eyebrows lowering into a frown. «Why?»

Theblush spread to his neck and ears; hadn’t she been extremely pissed, she would’vefind him even… cute. He gulped, thencleared his sore throat. «I wanted to wait until tomorrow, but I gather you’retoo upset to wait, aye?» Killian didn’t wait for her to reply, lifting himselfon unsteady socks-clad feet, his legs trembling slightly under his weight.«Wait here, please?»

Withoutwaiting for her answer – again –Killian slowly made his way to what by now had become his room, leaving an appalledEmma in the living room, mouth agape as she watched him just walk away. Sheheard him fumble with something and mutter curses before he reappeared in thehallway, the blankets still awkwardly wrapped around him and his breath ragged.Looking at him, Emma noticed he had one hand wrapped around the hems of theblankets and the other one hidden beneath them.

Killianstopped in front of her, clearly fatigued, and looked downward. «I didn’t wantyou to think I’d forgotten you needed a new mug and more cocoa powder.»

Emma wasutterly shocked.

Everyyear, on her birthday, a gift showed up on her desk, carefully wrapped in redpaper with black swans printed on it. The package always contained a new Disneymug. Knowing that no one aside from David knew about this side of her, Emma hadalways thought the gift was from him, especially considering there always weretwo cans of Guittard cocoa powder inside. Never one she’d thought it was Jonesbehind it all.

She feltashamed. No, more than that: she wanted the floor to open up beneath her andswallow her whole. Her anger still lingered, but it’d been tamed by theknowledge that he’d gone buying her birthday present in the state he was in. Well, Emma, the man did take a bullet for you.

Killianwas holding out his trembling hand to her, the package unsteady onto his openpalm as he clearly struggled to keep hold of it. His fever must’ve risen again.

Swiftly,Emma took it and Killian all but collapsed onto the couch, tightening theblankets around himself and picking up the bowl of soup, patiently waiting forher to open her gift.

Emmamirrored him, sinking back into the cushions, unable of averting her eyes fromthe black swans. It had been Jones all along. Never David, whom she’d thanked every damn time. Fuck, she was theworst.

«Ahh, youdidn’t think it was me, did you?»

Killian’svoice was raspy, but not enough to let sadness slip without Emma noticing. Shefelt horrible for not realizing it sooner. Shaking her head, Emma teared thewrapping paper and opened the box, finding the two cans inside along with aCheshire Cat giant mug.

«It’sbeautiful,» she whispered with glassy eyes. Yes,she was on the verge of tears, many different emotions swirling through her. Atfirst, there was self loathing, because he’d bought her a gift for years whenshe didn’t even know when hisbirthday was, and he did it again this year despite never receiving a “thankyou” from her and his injuries.

Thencame anger.

«Why thehell did you think it was okay to go out there in your condition?!»

At leasthe had the decency to look chastised. «I’m sorry, love, I just wanted you tohave a nice birthday, especially after you decided to take care of my sorryarse. I didn’t think I would turn out to be a utter wanker when under theweather.»

Emma’seyebrow just continued rising until they reached her hairline while hearing hisexplanation. «Jones, you literally took a bullet for me, you think I would’ve mindedif you didn’t get me anything for my birthday?»

Ifpossible, he blushed even more. At least he wasn’t red because he was chokingon something; Emma couldn’t handle that. Plus, she didn’t want to be the oneactually breaking his ribs and reopening his wound. Apparently, Killian Jonescould perfectly manage that on his own.

Emmasighed, stepping around the coffee table and sitting down on its edge. «Listen,don’t think I’m not mad, because I am,both because you decided to go on an adventure with your mate and because you were an asshole during this last week. Thissaid,» Emma gulped, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes looking downat the floor, «thank you. For everything. The, uh, the mugs and cans of cocoapowder, I’m sorry I didn’t thank you sooner. And, ehm, thank you for catchingthat bulled in my place, too, I guess.»

For thefirst time in that week, Killian let out what wanted to be a laugh butresembled more a chuckle, all that while holding onto his ribs. «You’rewelcome, love.»

WhenEmma gathered the courage to look up at him, she saw a small smile on his face,his dry lips stretched out she wondered how much it would take him to split hislower lip open again. She mirroredhis smile, leaning forward to brush her lips against his warm cheek, notwanting herself to be the cause his lip reopened.

And ofcourse, she didn’t want to get sick herself.

However,it didn’t stop her from kissing him when he stopped coughing and breathing justthrough his mouth: Emma had a much more enjoyable use of it in mind.

[jarienn972]

Curse of Undoings - Part 11

Emma's off to battle the Black Fairy while an unconscious Killian battles for his life. That's pretty much what this chapter focuses on but, to change the pace a bit, I gave this chapter a bit of a different flow since much of the action is taking place simultaneously. (Please excuse any inaccuracies with the OR scenes as it's not my field of expertise so I gloss over a lot of the details. It's more about setting up a dire situation than about being a medical drama.)

No major trigger warnings for this chapter but there are several rapid scene and POV changes.  Tagging @killian-whump, @castielamigos and @hookaroo for this action packed chapter.

Read from the beginning on AO3 or FF.net or here on Tumblr: Pt1  Pt2  Pt3  Pt4 Pt5  Pt6  Pt7  Pt8  Pt9  Pt10

Henry started to lose track of time as he sat behind the Admission desk waiting for his grandparents to arrive. He was cognizant enough to know that it hadn't been too long since he'd arrived with Killian, but he truly had no idea if he'd been waiting ten minutes or sixty. When he finally spotted the Sheriff cruiser pulling up to the Emergency entrance, his spirits lifted a little. At least, for the first time today, he would have someone he could rely on to get him through it all.

"Where's Killian Jones?" David demanded as the automated doors parted and he stomped purposefully into the Emergency ward with his wife following behind, shaking her head dismissively at her husband's overly forceful behavior.

"David, this is a hospital," Snow reminded him. "You really shouldn't be shouting."

"Mr. Jones was just taken up to the OR for surgery to remove the bullet," nurse Cathy advised the Prince. "It'll be a while before we know anything more, sir."

"Alright," David replied in a more muted tone as he got closer to the Admission desk. "Is my grandson around here somewhere?"

"I'm right here," Henry said as he popped up out of his chair so David could see him behind the tall desk. "What took you guys so long?"

"Sorry, Henry," Snow began. "David couldn't find the keys to the car."

"Hey, it's not my fault that Emma moved them!" David snapped back in mock offense. "I thought they'd still be in her desk drawer, not hanging on a peg on the break room wall." Snow gave her husband the of course, dear look, but didn't question him further. "Anyway, how was Hook when you got here?"

"He was having a really hard time breathing," Henry told them. "They thought the bullet hit his right lung and they said he'd lost a lot of blood, but I already knew that. He'd been bleeding pretty heavily from those cuts on his back and the stab wound in his shoulder even before Gideon shot him."

"You think Gideon was really trying to shoot you?" David asked, although he was really wanting to learn more about Hook's other wounds and how they'd originated.

"I know he was. Well, I mean I'm pretty sure he was. I didn't actually see him because I was too busy arguing with Mom. I just heard Killian shout, he shoved me, and I hit the sidewalk as the gun went off."

David massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger as he tried to figure it all out. What happened happened to his family in the hours he was missing and where the hell had they even gone to during that time? The Black Fairy had clearly done a number on everyone and whatever she'd done had certainly done serious damage to his daughter's psyche. He wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse for whatever Emma had planned for Fiona.

"What did Fiona do to all of you while we were gone? Hell, what did she do to us?" David questioned, his face wrought with frustration and confusion.

"She made Mom believe that Killian had murdered you and Grandma and filled Mom's head with so much hatred towards him because she was trying to destroy True Love. She wanted Mom to kill her own True Love so that she could undo all of the stories. She trapped the both of you, Mom, Aunt Zelena and probably a few other townspeople inside an enchanted snow globe that fell and broke when Killian pushed me out of the way… But the worst was the book. Everything in the book was fading away…"

"We were trapped in a snow globe?" David asked quizzically before Snow interrupted him.

"Oh, speaking of your book…" Snow jumped into the conversation with a hint of a smile on her lips. "We brought it back for you, along with your backpack. It was a little damp and I think I got all of the glass shards cleaned off of it. It's out in the car."

"Did you open the book? Are the stories still fading away?" Henry asked anxiously.

"I don't know," she replied. "I just scooped it up and cleaned it up for you. Didn't think to open it."

"Can we go get it while we're waiting? I need to see if it's coming back… to see if we broke the whole curse."

"Okay, come with me," David stated. "The car's right outside." Henry hurried toward the automated doors with David and Snow following right on their grandson's heels. Henry saw the backpack resting on the back seat of the cruiser and didn't waste a second retrieving it. He immediately yanked the book out of the pack and flipped through a few pages.

"It's still not all back," Henry announced, displaying one of the faded images for his grandparents. "See? Most of the color and portions of the text are still missing. I don't think the curse is completely broken."

"What if the curse hinges on Killian's survival?" Snow suggested. "If her goal was to destroy True Love, if he dies, Fiona's plan might still go through."

"Regina thought there could be repercussions," David reminded her. "I hope that pirate's survival instinct is still as strong as ever." David's ears perked up at a rumble of thunder off in the distance. "Guess we'd better get back inside to wait. Seems like a storm is rolling in."

"I hope that's really just a rainstorm…" Snow stated, her brow furrowed with worry.

Emma's instinct led her to Storybrooke's infamous clock tower above the library where she found Fiona eagerly awaiting her opponent on the catwalk atop the spiraling staircase. The Black Fairy was no longer attired in the tailored business suit she'd been sporting earlier but had donned her feathery, raven black gown, accessorized with a shiny long sword. It wasn't exactly an outfit that Emma would have chosen for a sword fight, but she wasn't certain of Fiona's level of experience in non-magical battle.

"Certainly took you long enough, Savior," the Black Fairy greeted her sarcastically. "I didn't expect you'd keep me waiting after the curse broke."

"Sorry. Had to stop and pick up the proper armaments first," Emma responded flatly as she reached the top of the stairs, internally cringing at the echo of her footsteps throughout the tower. She brandished the sword Rumple had provided which elicited a haughty laugh from Fiona.

"So, you've been chatting with my worthless son, I see," Fiona chuckled. You sure you want to wage the battle using the weapon your visions revealed was fated to kill you?"

"As long as you're on the receiving end, I'm just fine with it. If I'm meant to die, you had better believe that I'm taking you with me."

"You seem a little testy, Emma," the fairy grinned as she raised her sword. "Something else on your mind?"

"I'm quite sure you know what's on my mind – and that's precisely why I'm here to kill you!" Emma growled. "Now, since you don't have any magic to fight me, you think your skill with a sword is good enough? Or are you afraid to fight me without your powers?"

"Oh, I've some practice with a sword…" Fiona sneered as she surged forward, their blades crashing together. Emma really wasn't surprised that Fiona would have some sword fighting experience. After all, it seemed as though everyone from the Enchanted Forest had training with some sort of weapon. Fiona had probably been the one who'd instructed Gideon because their moves were similar. Of course, Fiona was right about one thing – Emma was fighting distracted.

And she became further distracted when she saw a flash of lightning illuminating the darkening skies outside of the tower. It had been clear a few minutes ago when she'd marched down Main Street to face off with Fiona, so what had changed? The fairy took note of the startled expression on her opponent's face and used it to her advantage, catching Emma off-guard as she scored a blow to her left shoulder, knocking Emma to the grated metal floor of the catwalk.

"What's the matter, Emma? Don't like the weather?" Fiona taunted her as Emma scrambled to get back on her feet.

"You don't have this kind of magic right now…" Emma stammered, shaking her head in disbelief. "What the hell is going on?"

"Did you honestly think that getting your memories and your family back from my little prison meant that the curse was broken?" Fiona lowered her sword momentarily as she laughed maniacally, yet she was very much in control. "The heart of my curse has always been undoing True Love. That storm brewing outside means that your very own True Love is dying. The moment his heart stops beating for good, this town and everyone in it will be swept away. It's not exactly what I had wanted - I would have preferred that you'd done it, but either way, I take all of the happy endings with me…"

"Well then, I guess you die first." Emma swung the heavy sword towards Fiona's midsection but the fairy was faster, easily fending off Emma's parry as the skies continued to grow blacker, illuminated only by the intermittent flashes of lightning.

"Time's growing short, Savior," Fiona gloated. "Do you really want to spend your last few minutes fighting with me instead of saying goodbye to your family?"

"Killian's a survivor. He'll pull through this and if I kill you, I can still save my family."

"Really? Prepared to bet your life on it?"

Emma set her jaw and scowled. This bitch was going down. She owed it to her family – and especially to her husband.

"There's the bullet," Dr. Whale announced from behind his mask. "It's definitely embedded into the rib just as the X-ray suggested. Let's get it out of there and see what we can do to repair the bone. Looks as though we'll probably need to pin it back together. Janet, can I get some suction over here? These little bleeders are making it difficult to see into the incision clearly." He used the point of his scalpel to indicate the spot where blood was pooling. He wanted to get this bullet removed quickly so the pirate wouldn't bleed to death on his operating room table. Jones' blood pressure was still dangerously low and Whale suspected that there might still be internal bleeding around the puncture wound to his patient's left shoulder, but the bullet wound definitely took precedence. His right lung had already collapsed from the trauma and Whale knew that a portion of the tissue probably couldn't be salvaged. That would have to be re-evaluated later though since this life-saving procedure was of the utmost importance.

With his forceps, Whale gripped the offending chunk of lead but just as he prepared to extract it from the surrounding bone, the bright lamp above the table flickered.

"What the hell?" the doctor exclaimed as he paused. " Did somebody just bump the lamp?"

"No, Doctor," came a chorus of replies just as the lamp flickered again – only this time, it wasn't the only device in the room that seemed to be malfunctioning. The monitor tracking the patient's vitals was suddenly registering wild fluctuations in the pattern of wavy lines and numbers and sounded its distress as a series of loud beeps and blips.

"Doctor, I don't know if he's going arrhythmic or if our equipment is going haywire…" the nurse in charge of monitoring vitals spoke up just as all of the lines went solid and crimson warning lights lit up the screen.

"Damnit Jones!" Whale growled. "You are not dying on me!" Not willing to rely solely on the potentially failing monitors, Whale dropped his tools onto a nearby tray and found a stethoscope to confirm for himself if his patient's heart had stopped. He tossed aside one of the mint green surgical drapes to get better access to his patient's chest and soon verified that he couldn't hear a heartbeat. "Get me the defibrillator paddles!" As the nurse prepped the machine, Whale pressed the heel of his palm into Jones' sternum to begin compressions, silently mouthing a prayer that whatever was causing the power fluctuations wouldn't affect the defibrillator before he had a chance to shock the pirate's heart back into rhythm.

"Fully charged now, Doctor," the nurse stated as she carefully handed the defibrillator paddles to Whale one at a time.

"Okay, everybody clear!" he ordered, the team immediately making certain that they weren't in contact with either the patient or any part of the operating room table. Satisfied that it was safe to proceed, Whale touched the paddles to either side of his patient's chest, the jolt sending electricity surging through Jones' unresponsive body. The monitor reflected a brief flash of activity before it returned to a flat line. "Charge again!" Whale snapped impatiently at the nurse while she reset the equipment for a second attempt.

As Whale repeated the process, the room was plunged into darkness for a few precious seconds until the emergency generators kicked in. The doctor cursed under his breath at the unfortunate timing of whatever was causing these power fluctuations. There was little time to waste if he was going to have even a chance to get Jones' heart beating again. He counted nearly thirty seconds before the monitors powered back on with the same warnings flashing on the screen.

"It's going to be a few more seconds before the defibrillator is ready again," the nurse informed him as she tinkered with a series of buttons and dials to get the machine working again.

"Then somebody hold these while I start compressions again," Whale stated as he passed the paddles to another nurse. "We can't afford to waste time here so please - tell me when that damned thing is charged again!"

"It won't be long now," Fiona taunted as the blade of her sword clashed against Emma's once again. "Storybrooke's infrastructure is already failing. Can't you feel it?"

"I have had just about enough of you!" a disgusted Emma shouted as she determined it was time to try a new tactic. As Fiona shifted her stance to ward off Emma's strike, Emma suddenly changed direction, pulling back instead of advancing and stomping her boot onto the feathery hem of Fiona's gown. The move caught the fairy off balance and as soon as Emma saw the opening, she slammed the butt end of the sword into Fiona's rib cage, dropping the fairy to her knees as she became entangled in her own skirt. Fiona attempted to recover her bearings but this time, Emma moved faster, bringing the tip of her blade to the hollow of Fiona's throat.

"Go ahead, Savior – kill me!" Fiona hissed at her opponent. "Go ahead and do it, but it won't stop my curse. The storm is settling in all around us because your True Love is dead!"

Emma wanted more than anything at that moment to simply plunge the blade straight into the Black Fairy's jugular, but her trembling hands - and her own morality wouldn't allow her to do it.

"Hand too shaky to do this right?" the fairy mocked her. "Ah, the curse of being the Savior…"

Emma squeezed her eyes closed for a few seconds, keeping the blade pressed into Fiona's neck as she tried to push the visions and the tremors out of her head. "No – this is all just a trick! These visions, the tremors – it's all you! You've been getting into my head to make me fear this battle, but you know what – I'm not afraid of it anymore and I don't even have to kill you to win." With one swift, skillful swath, Emma drew the tip of the blade from left to right across Fiona's neck, leaving behind a shallow cut that was just deep enough to draw blood.

"That's all? Is that all you have?" Fiona scoffed.

"That's all I need," Emma replied with a triumphant grin as she watched a series of scarlet rivulets trickle down onto the flat of the sword's blade, triggering a reaction that the Black Fairy hadn't anticipated. The blade began to glow with an unearthly greenish light and Emma thought she'd explain what was happening. "You see, your son told me that he coated the blade with a special potion that only required a drop of your blood to activate and now – now I get to send you back where you belong!"

Fiona's eyes widened as the glowing sword began to pull her toward it. "No… No, he couldn't have…" the fairy fumbled for words as she found herself being dragged into the magnetic field the sword was creating. "No!" She had time for one final exclamation as the sword seemed to suck her into itself, causing Emma to lose her grip on the handle which sent the sword clattering onto the grating. As it hit the floor, the glow faded away, allowing the blade to resume its normal appearance - and the only remaining trace of the Black Fairy was a fluttering of stray feathers.

A shaken, exhausted Emma leaned against the tower wall, unable to trust that her weakening knees would continue to support her. While Rumple has said that simply drawing blood from Fiona would send her back to her realm, it had still been quite disconcerting to see her opponent sucked into the blade like that. The Black Fairy was now trapped permanently in some distant dimension, but her cursed storm wasn't letting up. Now Emma feared that Fiona had been right – it might already be too late.

She needed to get to the hospital now.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Villain’s Happy Ending”

As the heroes make a stand against the Wicked Witch, Killian risks himself to save Emma's son, and a harrowing trial begins that he may or may not survive....This short chaptered fic was originally written back in the hiatus between 3a and 3b. I’ve always been particularly fond of it - as I felt like it had more action and high stakes than I often write in my one or two shots, and I attempted some whump (not even really knowing it was called that back then) and hurt/comfort that I had never really done before. It does bear mentioning though, that I didn’t know anything more than that the 3b villain would be the Wicked Witch at the time I wrote this. I didn’t know what Zelena would look like, or how she would act, or what she would want, any of that. 

Okay, enough rambling, I hope you enjoy this blast from the past!

This can also be read in full on AO3 or ff.net

As the heroes make a stand against the Wicked Witch, Killian risks himself to save Emma's son, and a harrowing trial begins that he may or may not survive....

Prologue

He had never imagined that dying would hurt so much.

After the agony of the Dark One slicing off his hand as cleanly as a knife would slip through butter, after watching Milah's heart crushed into powder in that same demon's hand, after the tearing loss of Liam and the guilt he had carried ever since for failing his older brother, Killian Jones had been certain he understood pain and suffering. The years he had spent alone, aimless, burning with hatred and vengeance in his blood had convinced the pirate captain that when his life's voyage reached its end, he would not even flinch. Rather than aching for more time or another chance, Killian had believed that he would welcome the ability to rest at last, to be free of all that had plagued him.

He had considered the possibilities for himself quite often since his conversation with the Queen onboard the Jolly Roger in Neverland. Finally being allowed to close his eyes and lay his burdens down might be the happiest ending possible for a villain like him. There had been many times throughout his unnaturally long life when Killian would have welcomed Death's respite.

All that had changed, however, when he met his Swan.

He knew he had no right to call the Enchanted Forest's lost princess "his", but in his heart, she was his all the same. Emma Swan had stirred the hopeful, naïve young man within him: Lieutenant Jones, who had once dreamed of being a hero.

With something – someone – to fight for, he did not want to be finished yet. He had been given a way and an opportunity to gain absolution, to redeem himself. He could not leave that quest unfinished. After centuries lost as the dastardly, twisted Hook, he wanted himself back. He would still be willing to die fighting for Emma, at her side, but he could not bear to go out until he knew she was safe, that she would be alright.

That must have been where this pain was coming from. The Wicked Witch's screamed curse had struck him squarely in the chest as he dove in front of Emma's boy amidst the battle, and he was instantaneously writhing in the agony it brought. His limbs contorted, jerking wildly and without his control, feeling as if the muscles were being stretched and pulled beyond their limits. Fire burned throughout his body, under his skin, and it was only with sheer, hardened will that he kept from crying out.

Distracted by the torment, Killian did not realize at first that he was no longer standing on solid ground. He was flying through the air, carried somewhere beyond his control, and he could not see what was happening or where Emma or anyone else was. He was being taken from the battle, taken somewhere against his will, and as the pulling and tearing continued, he could feel the fight within him weakening. He did not want to desert them, but it was no longer his choice.

For a single moment, he let his eyes drift closed, the hurt easing a fraction, but he was still stunned by the intensity of both the pain and the emotion pulsing through him. Perhaps he was not ready to say goodbye after all, he realized, but blackness closed over him all the same.

Tagging a few who may enjoy (or did once upon a time... ;) @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @jennjenn615​ @effulgentcolors​ @laschatzi​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @therooksshiningknight​ @spartanguard​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @hollyethecurious​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @killian-whump​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @tiganasummertree​ @thislassishooked​ @winterbaby89​ @thisonesatellite​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @winterbythesea​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ 

[winterbaby89]

The Fate of the Medjai - Prologue

Summary: Librarian Emma Nolan joins forces with Ex-Military man Killian Jones on the adventure of their lifetime as they venture out into the deserts of Egypt in search of ancient secrets. They encounter an unforeseen evil determined to resurrect his lost love and rule his new world. Based on the 1999 Brendan Fraser movie The Mummy.

A/N: The time is finally here. This is the prologue for my @cssns contribution. It is a re-adaptation/reworking of the 1999 version of the Mummy (that was supposed to be a one shot). This fic has been a labor of love for me, and I truly hope that I have done the movie justice with my CS transmog. 

Beta’d by the lovely: @ilovemesomekillianjones

Amazing Artwork by: @abeylin1982

Rated M for language and dark themes

Prologue trigger warning: Minor character death during childbirth.

Also available on AO3 & FF

The commanders of the twelve Medjai tribes had seen the war coming. They’d had just enough time to move the women and children to a camp that would remain safely away from the carnage the war to defend Hamunaptra, would surely bring. Taking up arms as they were honor bound to do, they engaged the invaders in a great battle to keep the creature undiscovered.

Elizabeth was eight months along in her pregnancy with her second son when the tribes had to prepare for the coming war. All of the women and children were travelling to a place far and away from the line of fire. All women save for Elizabeth who’d started having complications with her pregnancy, and her favored handmaiden Jasmine. It had been decided that Elizabeth and Jasmine would go to Cairo so she could have her best chance bringing her second son into the world. When it was time to say her farewells to Brennan, he’d told her to meet with their man Nemo at the museum, that he would help her find suitable lodging and medical care. He’d also handed her a packet of parchment, beseeching her to give it to Nemo as soon as she found him. She had kissed her husband goodbye, unsure if she and her oldest son would ever see him again, or if her second son would ever meet his father, but praying that they would. On the morning Elizabeth was to depart for Cairo, she held little Liam just a bit longer than normal, knowing that he’d be fine, and well cared for by all the other women in her absence, but knowing she would also still miss him terribly.

Once the two women arrived in Cairo, Nemo was as accommodating as Brennan had assured her he would be. He got them set up in a small flat halfway between the museum and the hospital, stopping in everyday after his shift to make sure that they had everything they needed.

Finally the day came for the babe to make his way into the world, but unfortunately more complications arose. Elizabeth was hemorrhaging and the doctors were unable to stop the bleeding. They had to make a heartbreaking decision based on her pain filled pleas, she had begged them to get her son out. “Please, save my Killian. If you can’t save us both, please make sure he survives.” Cutting her womb open, they went in to retrieve him as her heart stopped beating. For a few long moments the room was silent, everyone stared at the babe who had yet to scream; the nurse rubbed his back hoping to coax him to take a breath. Finally, after what felt like ages the babe, Killian, made his discontent known with a hearty wail.

With Elizabeth having passed on, and Brennan away at war, the nurse handed Killian to Jasmine, making a comment to the handmaiden. “I’ve never seen a newborn babe born with a mark like that, it looks almost as if it has been tattooed on. It is an interesting symbol, do you know what it means?”

Looking down at the resting babe in her arms, Jasmine feigned ignorance about the importance of his mark, “I think it’s just a birthmark.” Then, looking back to the nurse in front of her, she continued, “Thank you for all you have done. I know you tried to save them both, but Allah had another plan. I shall take the babe home to be with our family.”

Later than usual that afternoon, Nemo had stopped by the residence Elizabeth and Jasmine had been staying in, only to find it empty, without a trace of either woman.

~~~

Several years later Nemo received a package, inside he found letters from Jasmine, as well as her personal journals detailing what had happened that fateful day he had discovered her gone, and learned of Elizabeth’s death. She confirmed that Elizabeth had died from complications in childbirth, and that she had taken the babe to London after having been followed by sinister looking men from the hospital to their abode. The men had markings that resembled their most recent enemies, and they’d seemed to know she was of the tribes. When they continued to stake out the place, she’d hurriedly packed all of their worldly possessions and snuck out of a window to get away from them. Feeling that Cairo would not be safe for her or the child, she’d booked passage to London for his safety. Jasmine told him the child’s name is Killian, and even mentioned that he had been born with the symbol of the protector on his wrist. There was a sketch included of what it should look like. Nemo discovered the reason he was receiving these letters was because Jasmine had fallen ill, and would presumably be dead by the time he received her correspondence.

Jasmine had until her dying breath, done everything she could to protect Killian from the enemies of the tribes, so that one day he could rejoin his family, and take his place as the second prince of the preeminent tribe.

Chapter 1 (will be up on 09.15.18)

Tagging the folks that have been asked to be tagged. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged (or removed from the tag list).

@artistic-writer @badwolfreturns @branlovesouat @gingerchangeling @goldengirlschildhood @hollyethecurious @hooked205 @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @jsilva0117 @kday426 @killian-whump @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @laschazi @resident-of-storybrooke @seriouslyhooked @sherlockwhovian @shireness-says @smutqueen27 @snidgetsafan @superchocovian @teamhook @tiganasummertree @therooksshiningknight @ultraluckycatnd  @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin @yayimallamaagain

[searchingwardrobes]

The Valley of Tomorrow

Deleted Scenes Week Six: Underworld

In honor of Once coming to its conclusion, I will be posting my deleted scene fics here on tumblr leading up to the finale. There are 14 total, and they will be posted in chronological order. Each week leading up to the finale, I will post the scenes in a particular arc.

Summary: But the one thing that cuts deepest of all is the mirror that hangs on the other side of the chamber. This is Killian Jones true torture. Or how Killian went from a hero's death to being tortured by Hades. Title and lyrics from song of the same name by needtobreathe.

Words: Almost 2,000

Rating: T

Episode: Swan Song through Labor of Love (contains dialogue from Labor of Love)

Trigger Warnings: Major Killian whump

I am a troubled mind, I am a calloused heart

A failing engine from driving way too hard

Trying way too hard

I pulled a thirty eight out of my bleeding heart

I killed my selfishness for bringing me this far

This far away from you

Oh, this is the way I wanna go down

This is the way I wanna go out

Killian Jones, sadly, has lied to Emma Swan before. Many times. It’s a fact that he wishes weren’t true. A fact that merely points to the depth of blackness in his soul. But this lie has to be the worst one he’s ever told her.

He lies and tells her it’s okay, nodding at her as she sobs, Excalibur clutched in her fist. The tears streaming down her face break his heart in two, and he wishes she didn’t have to do this. He thought about doing it himself, of holding the sword to his breast and falling upon it. But he feels the darkness throbbing just below the surface, and he knows he isn’t strong enough. It has to be her. So he lies.

He lies and lets her believe it won’t hurt him, that he isn’t afraid of steel slicing right through him. Lies as if he doesn’t mind dying. Not that he doesn’t know this is the right thing to do. But he wanted so much more. His heart breaks to think of all they wanted together and now will never have. Tries not to think of all the memories they will never make in that house he picked out for them.

He told her this day would come, that afternoon in that cabin in the woods. He warned her someday he would lose his happy ending. But now he lies as if he won’t miss it at all.

And then the excruciating pain, and he tries not to cry out, strangles it when it slips past his lips anyway. The last thing he sees is her – bathed in light. Exquisite in all her radiance, the darkness gone forever, and as he falls to the ground and his life ebbs away, he knows it was worth it. In the end, he made the right choice. She’ll have a future. She’ll have her family. Henry is no longer marked for the Underworld. He saved him. He saved them all.

******************************************************

When Killian opens his eyes next, he’s confused. He hasn’t gone anywhere: Emma and Henry; all of them are right before his eyes. Then he sees Emma fall to the ground. It’s him! Or his body anyway.

A black hand shoots out and grasps his chin. Look it breathes out, and Killian has no choice. He realizes now that he’s standing in Charon’s boat on the pond in Storybrooke. His head turns to watch the scene before him, though it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Why are you staying here?” he bites out to the figure at the boat’s helm. “Take me to hell. I know it’s all I deserve.”

But Killian is forced to watch as Emma sobs over his body. He is unable to look away when the paramedics come and have to physically lift her off him. They check for vitals, though it’s useless anyway, and his heart breaks (can it when he’s dead?) when he sees Emma lift trembling hands to her lips. He sees the hope spark in her eyes: maybe, maybe . . . then sees it die. She gasps and folds in on herself as she takes his hand. The emergency crew gives her a minute to say goodbye, but then Emma won’t let go. David and Snow have to physically pull her away. She doesn’t release his hand until the last possible moment, then she collapses into her parents’ arms. He’s never seen her cry like that; never seen her so broken.

“Please,” he begs the wraith by his side, “take me away from here. I can’t bear it.”

Mercifully, there’s black.

************************************************

When Killian opens his eyes again he’s in the living room of their blue house – or what would have been their house. Emma’s crying reaches his ears, and he hugs himself around the middle, the agony of her cries causing a physical ache. He goes to her, tries to talk to her, but she can’t hear him. He reaches out to touch her, but his hand is made of air.

He stands and screams, “Is this hell? Why am I being tortured like this?”

He tries to go to the door and leave, but he can’t. He’s forced to hear and watch Emma’s grief. He had forgotten how many different ways a person could cry. He went through them all with Liam and with Milah, but hearing Emma grieve is worse than his own. She alternates between sobbing with gut-wrenching gasps and crying softly as tears course tracks down her cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping them away, and he yearns to reach out and do it for her. But he can’t. The worst is when she simply lies on her back, emptiness in her face, her hands clenched around the ring he gave her.

Killian felt deep inside that eventually he would lose his happy ending; lose Emma. But he always assumed she would move on. That she would be fine without him. He knew she would grieve losing him, of course. He knew she loved him. But he hadn’t expected this level of grief.

Killian clenches his fist, then lifts his head and shouts at whoever is in charge of this torture. “Okay, I see what you’re doing! But she won’t grieve this way forever! She’ll move on; she’ll be happy.”

Before Killian even realizes what is happening, the floor gives way beneath him, and he’s falling. He feels as if he’s falling forever, and then with a jarring crash, he’s lying on a stone floor. He groans as he rolls over and sees a dispassionate figure in a crisp suit. Killian chuckles.

“Who knew a dead body could still feel such pain?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” the man tells him cooly. He squats down so he’s on eye level with Killian. “Forgive me, I don’t believe I introduced myself. I’m Hades.”

Killian just scowls at him. “What was the point of all that?” he spits out. “Torturing me by showing me how Emma is grieving? Is this my hell?”

Hades chuckles, “I’m god of the Underworld, not Hell. But that’s a common misconception. You see, my domain is where people languish because of their unfinished business. You were getting your passport stamped for the Elysian Fields, and well, I just couldn’t have that. The more souls in my kingdom the better, you see?”

Killian struggles to his feet and suppresses the urge to kick Hades feet from under him. “So now you’ve made Emma my unfinished business.”

Hades stands toe to toe with him. “Precisely.”

“Too bad it didn’t work,” Killian snarls. “I have no regrets. No unfinished business. I know she’s hurting, but in time she’ll realize there was no other way. With her parents and her son beside her, she’ll move on. She’ll find happiness.”

Hades leans back and taps his fingers on his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yes. And what’s more I finally did what I always wanted to do. I destroyed the Dark One.”

Killian startles as Hades begins to laugh. An uproarious laugh that has him doubled over and sniffling away tears. “Oh, I’m sorry, pirate,” he finally says. “You don’t know.”

Hades then snaps his fingers and a crystal ball appears in his palm. Killian leans forward to see Emma sit up from her couch with a start. Then she’s marching into Gold’s shop, and . . . Hades snaps the ball again, a smug grin on his face.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Killian chokes out, “he’s the Dark One again.”

“Yes,” Hades sighs, “so much for your heroic death, huh?”

Killian lunges forward, but before he can get his hands on Hades, the god has sent him hurtling backwards. He collides with the wall, then slides down to the floor. Every bone in his body feels broken, and when he lifts a shaking hand to the back of his head, blood is on his fingers. Hades looms over him.

“Yes, bones are broken. Yes, cuts are bleeding. But you’re dead, so there is no end to the pain. It just goes on and on. For eternity.”

Hades then kicks him repeatedly, chains him to the wall while his demons slash at him, and uses any number of torture devices. But the one thing that cuts deepest of all is the mirror that hangs on the wall on the other side of the chamber.

A mirror of Emma Swan getting older, and older, and older. Still weeping, still lying awake night after sleepless night. Always alone, always clutching Killian’s ring.

That is Killian Jones true torture.

*******************************************************

Finally, mercifully, he passes out. But the torture doesn’t really end because he hears Emma calling his name. And then – shadowy before him is Emma herself. And she looks so real. She tells him she’s here, in the Underworld, to bring him home. He tries to respond to her, but he can’t.

Killian gasps, his eyes opening suddenly. Or at least, one eye. The other is swollen shut. He’s on a cold, stone floor. He struggles to his feet, confused when he sees that he is in an open corridor.

“Is this a bloody trick?”

Killian takes one tentative step.

“No,” a voice calls out, and he pauses. A girl is huddled in an alcove on the other side of the corridor. “That’s exactly what it is. A trick. Don’t move. He wants you to think you can escape, but you can’t. No one can.”

“Aye,” Killian spits out, shuffling forward, “we’ll see about that.” Emma had seemed so real, he has to go and try to find her.

“Don’t!” the girl shouts again. “He’ll hunt you down!”

“Hades?” Killian almost chuckles. “He’s already done his worst to me.”

“I don’t mean Hades,” the girl replies, her eyes glazed over with fear.

“Who then?”

Her fear is so intense, she can’t even answer, just shakes her head trembling, “Nothing, just . . . don’t.”

Killian growls in irritation. His Swan may very well be here in the Underworld, and he has to get to her before Hades does. “Look, this isn’t my first cell. I don’t just sit around and rot. Now, somebody’s come down here to save me, and I need to make her job easier.”

The girl lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “How do you know she’s here?”

“She got me a message.”

The girl furrows her brow. “How do you know that isn’t one of Hades tricks?”

“Because I know!” Killian shouts at her in frustration. “When you love someone, you know.”

And with the first flicker of hope swelling in his breast after many dark days, Killian Jones reaches out his hand for the girl to take.

Perhaps this isn’t the end after all. Perhaps this is just the valley of the shadow of death, and on the other side of the valley is tomorrow. For him. For Emma. For both of them.

I never second-guessed the little voice I heard

It’s just a whisper, that sounded like a scream

I ain’t never felt so free

I will stand alone in the valley of tomorrow

  @kmomof4.

@hollyethecurious.

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@kylalovesbabeme.

@couldnthandleit.

@tiganasummertree.