nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

A word. JK. How about greedy?

Greedy! Oh, boy, there are fun ways this can go...

__________

“A roll fell off the table,” Killian whispered to his brother, his eyes wide as he watched for others to notice what he had.

“No, Killian.” Liam grabbed Killian’s shirt. “Don’t even think about it. You know the trouble we’d get in if you’re caught.”

Killian twisted away from his brother. “I won’t get caught,” he muttered angrily. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m hungry, and no one else saw.”

“Killian...” Liam knew ordering his brother around wasn’t going to work. He’d grown too stubborn after all their time on the ship. Inwardly, he wanted to cry for Killian’s lost childhood, and then rage at the men who’d turned his innocent baby brother into the grouchy, sullen adolescent he was now. There was no use, in any case, and he knew it.

“Killian, please. Don’t be greedy. I’ll split half of mine with you.”

Killian looked at him, a hard glare that hadn’t been there a year ago at the edges of his eyes.

Don’t be greedy.

“It means that much to you, Liam?” Killian knew Liam was just as hungry as he was, if not more. But he was tired of being the one who needed to be taken care of, tired of his brother sacrificing for him like he was... a child.

“Yes, Killian,” Liam nodded, offering half his roll.

Don’t be greedy.

Killian took it. Stuffed it into his pocket before anyone would see.

And later that night, when he snuck out to eat the dirty roll from the corner, he felt the shame and guilt in his stomach as strong as the hunger pangs they replaced.

Don’t be greedy.

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Snacks

Hi! How the heck are you?

Since you asked this one twice, I’ll give you something a little longer.

__________

“What do you want, Hook?”

She shouldn’t have snapped at him, she realized once she saw his face. She knew the isolation was getting to her, stuck inside for the most part with a teenage boy and a pirate. 

A guilty look settled on his face as he stood in the doorway of their bedroom.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to...” He waved toward her with his hook.

She took a deep breath, slowly letting it out between clenched teeth. God, she’d give anything to go to the beach, or go sailing. The thought of the rocking waves managed to relax the muscles in her jaw, just enough.

“It’s fine. What’s the emergency?”

He flashed her a sheepish grin and took a step closer. “Not really an emergency, love,” he said. He scratched behind his ear with one finger. “It’s just...”

“Did something break?”

“No. No, everything’s fine,” he said. “Henry and I were playing video games downstairs and...” He wrapped his hook around her waist, lightly holding her against him.

She took another deep breath, not wanting to admit that his smile was finding its way to her face. “So what is it?”

He grinned wider. “We’re out of snacks. Can you... you know?” He waved his hand around.

She let out a short laugh. Finally, something she could handle. She smiled at him, and waved her hand, gathering the magic she once used to save lives, calling on its power to refill the chip bowls and popcorn bags on the couch.

He ducked his head and kissed her cheek, the rough stubble on his chin scratching her skin. 

“Thanks, love.”

“Save some for me, pirate.”

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Anyone still around?

Hop into my inbox with a word and I’ll try to write something for you!

#ficlets #I'm trying #it's been a really long time #is writing still a thing? #inbox games

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

So... hi?

I’m back, for now. Anyone still around? What did I miss?

#hi! #I miss you all #hope everyone is ok #stay safe

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Whumpetition #2:  Our Broken Fairytale

Inspired by another song, Many of Horror, by Biffy Clyro.  Still not up to my usual physical whump, but I’m easing into it... I hope...

Tagging the other players: @icecubelotr44 @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl

We were two lost souls.  

I thought that made us different.  Special.  Connected.

I trusted you.  Shouldn’t have.  You broke my heart, left me with the loot, sent me to jail.

But that wasn’t the worst part, Neal.

You destroyed my chance for a family.

See, I trusted no one before you.  Don’t know why you were different, kicking myself for it became a habit in jail, and for years afterward.  Thought I’d be alone forever, like my parents must have wanted by giving me up, like those foster parents were telling me by skipping over me, handing me back, letting me down again and again until I became numb.

But you thawed all that, Neal.  Convinced me to give you a chance.  That we could be more than our broken pasts, better than the families that didn’t want us.

And then you ran, leaving me behind, holding your watch and carrying your child.  The child I might have kept, if you’d stayed.  The opportunity for a real family if only you’d loved me enough.

But you left.  I lost you, lost hope, lost the ability to imagine family as anything other than pain.  Gave the kid away, couldn’t even look at him.

I moved on.  Grew up, got a job, made something of myself.  On my own.  The only one who saves me is me.

Not sure why I’m thinking of you now.  I thought I was done with memories of you.  Should be thinking of other things, better things, my life without you.  So why do you always pop into mind this time of year?

We were two lost souls, and you should have let me stay lost.

“Another banner year.”

*doorbell rings*

#ouat #ouat ff #whumpetition #our broken fairytale #my ff

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! I hate you.

“Stay.”  (Whumptober 2018 Day 13)

For @la-vie-en-whump‘s Whumptober 2018 prompts.

What even are deadlines, anyway?

All prompts from last and this year: HERE Previous Days: Stabbed | Bloody Hands | Insomnia | Stop! | Poisoned | Betrayed | Kidnapped | Fever | Stranded | Bruises | Hypothermia | Electrocution

for Whump-etition, entry 1

Killian half expected the porch light to flicker on and off as if he were a teenager breaking curfew with Liam waiting impatiently inside.  He thought that his nosy neighbor might peek out from her curtain and chastise him.  There was always the possibility that one of his enemies was out there, biding his time and just waiting to make his move.

But Killian wasn’t a teenager, his nosy neighbor thought he and Emma were a cute couple, and… well, as for his enemies, he’d taken every precaution in choosing this neighborhood and this home.  And, after all, Liam was just inside should they need anything.

Until then, Killian was going to take another moment to enjoy the scratch of his wife’s fingers in his hair and the feel of her pressed up against their door as he, admittedly, made out with her like they were a couple of carefree teenagers.  If anyone had something to say about it, they could take it up with him in the morning.

“Killian,” Emma managed while he took a breath, “maybe we should-”

Killian slanted his lips over hers again before she could finish her sentence.  Emma giggled in a way that neither of them had been carefree enough in a long time to manage, so he continued his efforts to make her forget about everything except for him and the bubble of nothing that they could exist in on this side of the doorway.

Time had no sense of meaning as they lost themselves in one another, Killian with half an ear on his surroundings but no real notice of anything but the sweet sounds he could pull from Emma with just a little effort.  He’d learned them all before, would know them in an instant if he were quizzed, but it didn’t make a difference.  To Killian, drawing them from her was just one more perk to being in love with her.

“Come on, Casanova,” Emma finally managed, pulling back just far enough to brush noses with him.  “I want to check on Alice.”

Killian whined a little, leaning forward and chasing her lips.  “She’s been with Liam all night, luv.  The old worrywart would have called if her fever spiked.”  Before she could protest, though, he reached around her to unlock the door.  Emma wasn’t the only one who wanted to check on their princess.  He hated seeing any of his family ill.

The alarm wasn’t on.

Keep reading

#i don't #but i do #but i don't #you jerk #not ok #THIS IS NOT OK #ouat ff #tda #the darling affair #cs ff

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Whumpetition #1: Broken Like Me

Inspired by lovelytheband’s song, somewhat.  It’s not as whumpy as my usual stuff, but it’s there... if you squint?

Tagging the other players: @icecubelotr44 @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl

He’d seen it first in her eyes.  A hardness flashing green, wary, suspicious.  It was a look he knew well, one born from betrayal.

The way she moved was his second clue.  She carried herself with the strength and gracefulness of a fighter, one who knows her limits and how to fight back.  Definitely not one to underestimate.

Her voice was next, a sharp edge to her words, nothing wasted, no information given away freely.  She was a woman who kept her own counsel, trusted no one, and relied on her own assessment, wit, and agility to defend herself.

He’d put all this together by the time they got to the beanstalk in the Enchanted Forest.

He didn’t really think much about his assessment of her until later, back in Storybrooke, when he learned more about her past, each new piece of information fitting in with what he already knew.

She had been hurt before, carried marks from the wounds of her youth.  Like him.

It should have made him think twice before falling in love with her.  Instead, it made him fall faster.

The more he learned about her, the deeper he loved her, each of her scars so similar to his own.  Abandoned.  Betrayed.  Lost.  Forgotten.  Touched by death, loneliness, and despair.  Becoming a toughened shell to hide the broken pieces deep inside.

He thought back on Milah on occasion, of his love for her, how it compared to his love for Emma, both of his loves burning his heart in two very different ways.  He and Milah had both been running away, turning to each other to fill the loneliness that consumed them.  They truly loved one another, of that he was certain, but it was a desperate kind of love, a fire that pushed them to become fearsome, tougher, something other than what they both naturally were.

His love for Milah had forged him into the man he had been, a man respected and feared.

Instead of being alone, he and Milah were lonely together.

With Emma, it was different.  He was different, with her.  Though she had been broken like him, there was a goodness in her that inspired him, moved him, changed him.  Her love filled him in a way he hadn’t thought possible in all his centuries.  He could still feel the broken shards of his heart, fighting to mend, but with her mending beside him, he wasn’t alone.  The look in her eyes, her fierce grace, her voice, the roughened parts of her remained, but softened as time went by, and he felt his own defenses relaxing.

With Emma, he could become the man he wanted to be, a man he could be proud of.

Broken like him, together they were whole.

#ouat #ouat ff #cs ff #whumpetition #broken like me #my ff #i tried #i haven't whumped in ages #or written at all #be gentle please #like I was to killian #kay????

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Captain Swan ► Kissing

#ouat #cs #kissing #like two idiots #i missed these puppies

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Uh.. could you not? Also, no? Plus, whyyyyyyy!??

Whump-etition: Prompt from @badthingshappenbingo “I know you’re in there somewhere” fight. 

 Jones Brothers pain.  It’s me.  What do you expect these days

Keep reading

#ouat #jones brothers ff #jones brothers #ouat ff #whumpetition

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Nina!!!!

HI!!!!

image/gif

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

I still hate you.

Now I just hate you more.

Oh, this hurts.

Growing Pains (1/1)

Based on this post by @fraddit:

@gusenitsaa sent me and @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable this prompt when I asked for help beating writer’s block here.

Nina’s version is here

Liam wasn’t sure which one of them was shaking more: himself, or his little brother.  Killian was barely able to stand on his own, his tiny and far too lanky body trembling and slick with sweat that dripped down to mix with the bloodstains on his tattered shirt.  Thirty lashes.  Gods.  Liam wasn’t sure how his little brother was still conscious, wasn’t sure how he, himself, still had a tongue for all he’d bitten through it trying to keep silent.  He’d nearly failed with the first sound of the lash falling, nearly thrown caution to the wind and charged across the deck to tear the leather from the boatswain’s hand the first time Killian’s tortured eyes had turned to his big brother for help.

But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t help his brother, he couldn’t help anyone.  Not with their servitude hanging over their heads.  Not with no resources, nowhere to run, and no one to help them.

Liam wasn’t old enough for this.

Neither was Killian, taking a man’s punishment when he hadn’t even sprouted his first whisker.  By rights, he should have been bent over a canon and caned - small favors – but Silver had never catered to the rights of slaves.  Why should he bother when, if Killian couldn’t survive the punishment, Silver could just buy another whelp?

“Li’m?”

Liam hadn’t realized that he’d stopped moving them forward, across the deck and past the jeers of the rest of the crew.  He was staring – glaring, seething, fuming – at the grate where Killian had just been tied and beaten.

“Come on, little brother,” Liam said instead of answering the unspoken question.  “Let’s get you down below.”

“Jones!” Silver bellowed from where he stood behind the ship’s wheel.  “Don’t take too long or I’ll have you both punished for shirking your duties.  Wouldn’t want little brother writhing against the grate again too soon, would we?”

I’m going to kill you one day, Liam thought hotly with a barely concealed sneer on his face.  And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

He thought all of it, but he only answered with a reluctantly respectful, “Yes sir.”

Killian shook more violently as Liam leaned down to open the hatch, his small fingers clutching his big brother’s shirt at the lack of contact between them for that instant.  A panicked whimper floated on the stale air when they’d managed to get down the ladder towards what passed for their quarters.

“I know, little brother.  I’ll get a light lit as soon as I can,” he soothed, resisting the urge to just pick Killian up and carry him.  It would be too much for his little brother’s back, for one thing.  And he’d heard the taunts and sly comments from the rest of the crew all too often.  He didn’t care what the bastards thought of the brothers, but Killian did.  He’d bristled every time one of them had called him a baby, told him that he needed to let Liam cut the apron strings.  Killian’s temper was going to get one of them killed on this ship if he couldn’t rein it in.

Liam couldn’t – wouldn’t – step back from protecting his brother, not ever, but he could take a baby step to the side and let Killian walk on his own two feet.

Well, sort of.

It took forever, but he finally got them to the corner of the hold they called their own, lowering Killian down to lay on his belly on the old grain sacks that passed for bedding.  Killian whimpered again, his hands balling into fists around the rough material under his head as his body arched in pain.

“I’m just going to get some supplies, little brother.  I’ll be right-”

Liam stopped abruptly when Killian’s hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, the pads of his fingers indenting Liam’s skin so hard it would likely bruise.

“No!” Killian hissed pathetically, his voice choked with the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since the lash had ceased.  “Please!”

Gods, what was he supposed to do when his little brother sounded like that?

Liam knelt fully by Killian’s head, bent over the boy’s head and stroking his sweaty hair back from his forehead.  “It’s all right, Killian,” he tried to soothe, knowing he was lying through his teeth.  This wasn’t all right.  Seeing his brother in this much pain would never be all right.

Killian, it seemed, knew it, too.  He shook his head pitifully, biting back a cry when the movement pulled on the lacerations and welts on his back.  Liam pushed down lightly on the back of Killian’s head, just enough to remind him to be still.  Not enough to hurt – he’d already done enough to hurt his brother by not being enough to their bastard of a father to keep him from selling them for a blasted rowboat.

If only he could have been more useful – maybe they wouldn’t be here now.

Maybe Killian wouldn’t be ignoring the reminder not to move, trying to crawl forward so he could lay his head in Liam’s lap and wrap his spindly arms around his brother’s waist.

“I’m right here, little brother,” Liam promised, tamping down the anger that still boiled whenever he thought of Brennan lest Killian think that fury was directed at him.

Killian nodded shakily, his breath hitching every time he inhaled.

Silently sobbing into his brother’s shirt.

Gods, the light peeking through the slats above them wasn’t enough to light the hold, but it was enough for Liam to see the angry marks on Killian’s back.  They had to be cleaned.  He had to keep his brother from falling ill on top of being injured.

Silver would only turn a blind eye to Killian’s absence on deck for so long.

“Killian.  I need to go and find oil for the lamp and-”

Killian interrupted him with a sharp shake of his head.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”  Liam ignored the way his heart broke at the panicked cry when he eased Killian’s arms from around his waist and managed to stand.  “I promise, little brother.”

It wasn’t the first promise he’d break, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last one.

By the time Liam got back to the hold, finally free of the tasks Silver had required of him, Killian was sitting up on the grain sacks and pulling a fresh shirt over his back.  The lacerations had scabbed over and the bruises stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin.  The flicker of the lantern was enough to see that Killian’s hair was still sweaty, his face pinched in pain as he reached up to drop the rough cloth over his head.

“I won’t let it happen ever again.  I swear,” Liam vowed in a hiss, vehemently promising himself as well as his brother that they’d not suffer through this again.  It was his job to protect Killian.  It was the last thing he’d promised their mother.

But Killian just looked up at him with a sense of resignation in his eyes that no one his age should possess.  “You can’t swear that,” he said, matter-of-factly, with no hint of remorse or condemnation.  It just… was the way of things now.

To the Underworld with that, Liam thought to himself.  It was his job to look out for Killian, and no one was going to get in his way.

“I mean it!” The words slipped out unbidden, begging his little brother to trust him again.  To believe him.  To feel some small modicum of safety in a world where there was little to give.

Killian just smiled sadly, a funny little quirk to his eyebrow that Liam would come to know as his brother.

“I know.”

tagging: @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl @killian-whump @gilliangrissom

#ouat fic #growing pains #the evil edition

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

Growing Pains (1/1)

Based on this post by @fraddit:

@gusenitsaa sent me and @icecubelotr44 this prompt when we asked for drabbles here.

IceCube’s version is here

“Thirty lashes for the boy!”

“No!  You don’t need to do this!  Killian won’t do it again!”

“Oh, I know he won’t do it again.  I’m making sure of that.  He needs to learn his place, Liam.  As do you, it seems.  Now stand there and hold your tongue or he’ll get fifty instead.”

It took two days before Killian could hobble across the room without assistance.  He was glad, he hated having Liam’s help just to get to the toilet.  His back hurt fiercely, but he was determined to downplay it as much as possible.

He was ashamed at his weakness, at his public punishment, at Liam having to see just what pain and humiliation he went through.  He was also furious - mostly that he got caught in the first place, but also that he needed Liam’s help at all.

I’m not a baby, he thought angrily, limping back to his bunk.  I don’t need him hovering all the time.

As if on cue, Liam popped into the room.

“I brought food,” he said softly.

Everything Liam had said the last two days was “softly”.  Gently.  Calmly.  Killian was sick of it, his brother still acting as mother hen around him, as if he was too injured to be spoken to normally.  Treated differently because he had been beaten.  If it was anyone else, Liam wouldn’t even blink.  But for his baby brother....

Killian kicked the edge of the bed as he carefully climbed in, his back stiff and straight as he tried not to rustle the thin shirt covering his wounds.  He refused to grimace at the pain in his foot, even though he knew Liam wouldn’t recognize it.  Dumb brothers.

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.

“It’s the scrapings from the soup today, I know you like the bits on the bottom.” Liam offered Killian the bowl, relieved his brother took it.  The scowl had been etched into his brother’s face since their father had left, but it seemed darker the last couple of days, and not only from pain.  He was trying to be helpful, but the darkness he knew was a part of his little brother was burning its way out, Liam could nearly feel its heat radiating from his brother’s expression.

“Thanks,” Killian muttered.  He took a spoonful and winced.  Raising his arm to his mouth shouldn’t ache this much.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  That’s all I’ll ever be around here.  That, and Liam’s personal burden to shoulder.  Stupid.

“How are you feeling?”  Liam kept his tone as neutral as possible, hoping his voice didn’t crack.  I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help you, I failed you.

“Fine,” bit out Killian between swallows of soup.  Leave me alone.  Just leave.

Liam sat for a moment, eyeing his brother quietly.  I’m sorry, you need to stop antagonizing the crew, I can’t watch you go through this again and again.  

He made a decision.  Liam stood, turned toward the door.  “He needs to learn his place.”  But where’s my place?  I can’t protect him all the time.

“My watch starts in a few minutes,” he said, forcing an edge to his voice.  “I’ll be back later.  If you need anything, ask one of the other boys until I’m off.”  I’m sorry.

Killian looked up, the tone in his brother’s voice a surprise, but one he wanted to welcome.  About time.  I’m almost 10, he’s not our mother and I’m not his project.  “Yeah, sure,” he said, his spoon twirling circles in the warm broth.  “See you.”

Liam nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

I’m sorry I have to leave you.  You have to grow up someday.

I don’t want him to rush back, I don’t.  I’m not a baby.  Stop it.

I’m sorry, Killian.

Come back.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, Liam.

#ouat #fic #writing prompt #wow #writing is so much harder than i remember #i'm so out of practice #i need a drink #growing pains

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

"I'm not quite dead!"

Do it, people, and we promise to crush your spiri... uh, I mean, make you happy?

Prompts

Okay, so here’s the deal.  @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable (who is still alive, despite the Nothing that is her blog these days) and I need to learn how to write again.  So!  Send me a prompt and a pairing and we’ll try to write some pain fic for you all.  Get your prompts in quick because the Nothing might steal her away at any moment and I need a writing partner to torture push fic out of me at the moment.

#Do it #writing prompts #send them to icecube #or here #well share

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

So

I just re-watched 3x17 The Jolly Roger, after re-reading @mossandmushroom 's elephant saga, "Tally."

Why do I do these things to myself?

#hi #is there anyone out there #send help #I'm messy

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

You are mean and I am mad at you.

That is all.

Grief (Whumptober/Inktober Day 23)

I’m sorry.

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl All prompts: HERE Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic | Threats | Thrown | Fever

When Liam looks up, his little brother is being dragged into the small room as little more than dead weight.  The fight has gone out of Killian completely, but it is the bag over his head that stalls Liam’s breath in his throat.

Killian hates the dark.

He’s hated it since they were small, since their father used to scream bloody murder at their mother while the two boys huddled in their room.  Liam wants to reach over and snag the fabric from Killian’s head, wants nothing more than to let his brother see the dim light that filters into the room.  But he can’t.  He’s frozen in place, unable to move or breathe or even think.

He can’t scream or shout or beg them to hurt him instead.  Because he knows the men won’t listen.

No, all he can do is watch as Killian is dropped to the ground, his fingers curling and uncurling against the dirt floor as he gasps in much needed oxygen.  He only has a minute to compose himself before the first foot connects with his ribs.

Liam cries out along with his brother, knowing that Killian can’t hear him over the shouts and the muted sounds of boots impacting his side.  One of the men kneels down to start punching Killian instead, and Liam wants to leap out of the chair he’s stuck in, wants to beat this man within an inch of his own life.

Anything to turn their attention away from his little brother.

Killian can’t anticipate the blows with the bag over his head, so each time he’s punched in the face, his head snaps backwards violently.  He curls around his ribs a little too late, only to arch out a moment later when he’s kicked in the back.

Tears track down Liam’s face, feeling each blow as if they are beating him instead of leaving him to watch, impotent and helpless.

One particularly nasty blow to what must be Killian’s temple snaps his head to the side and then he goes completely limp, no more muffled sounds coming from under the bag, no more fight to him as he drops wordlessly to the ground.

Liam’s breath catches in his throat, waiting, praying for Killian to move.  To get up.

To live.

They don’t stop kicking Killian, not even when he’s clearly no longer reacting to even the most heinous of kicks to his groin and his abdomen.  

Liam shouts himself hoarse, but no one listens.

He watches in abject horror as Killian is kicked in the back of the head before the man who has been watching all of this from the sidelines calls out in a foreign language. Killian’s attackers stop immediately, dragging Killian up between them.  When they try to let go, Liam’s little brother starts to fall forward, and they are forced to continue holding him.

“You thought you could infiltrate our organization?” the man who is clearly in charge spits out angrily.  He keeps speaking, but Liam is concentrating solely on Killian.

Liam notices the moment his brother bites back his weakness, wishes Killian hadn’t been trained so well in how to do this.  His little brother summons whatever reserve of strength he has left and pulls his shoulders back in defiance of what is going on around him, out of his control.

A fourth man steps behind them, gun shoved ruthlessly into the base of Killian’s skull before the bag is finally, blessedly tugged off.  Killian blinks owlishly in the dim light, blood trickling down the side of his face and his head seemingly too heavy for his neck.  His lip is split wide open and he clearly needs medical aid.

And then the fear that Killian never could hide from his big brother washes over the both of them and leaves Liam wanting to lean forward and empty the contents of his stomach.  His little brother is terrified and there is nothing he can do about it.

The look is only there for an instant before Killian masks the fear with his temper.  He leans forward as much as he’s able and spits blood at the man who is clearly in charge.  “Was that the best you could do?  I’ve had worse mornings in the Hilton,” he spits at his captors.

Liam groans and wants to smack Killian upside the head for his cheek.  Quit antagonizing the men with guns, little brother, he begs.

“Your only warning,” the man hisses at Liam, ignoring Killian completely.  He says something to the man behind Killian and Liam can’t turn away, already knowing what is coming next.  Killian knows it, too, if the way his eyes lock with Liam’s is any indication.

The sharp retort of the gun echoes through Liam’s ears and tears the cry of agony from his chest.  His whole field of vision is covered in red and he can only hear as Killian’s body hits the—

REMINDER: MEETING WITH FUNERAL DIRECTOR 9AM DISMISS?  SNOOZE?  REPEAT?

Liam blinked, startled out of reliving the scene on the video over and over again.  It was six am, he’d been watching Killian’s last moments alive since he’d sat down at the computer with a fifth of scotch that had been his constant companion since that day in Ops when the live feed of Killian’s death had come through.  Liam had assigned half of the analysts in his employ to pour over the video for any hint that Killian was alive, that this damned video was some kind of trick.

They’d come back to him with some information - none of it good.

The compound that they’d been holding Killian in was the same one that Liam’s operatives were set to storm within hours of the livestream being set - they’d simply been too slow.  News of Killian’s death had reached them before there was an unnecessary loss of life, but that didn’t set well with Liam, either.

He’d burn the whole world to the ground if it meant Killian’s murderers were taken to task (and maybe drawn, quartered, and tarred in the process) for their involvement.

Nothing about the video had been doctored.  Killian had most certainly been the victim in the video and it hadn’t been pre-recorded.

There were no further leads as to where the organization Killian was trying to infiltrate would have shifted their base of operations to.

Killian had died and there was nothing Liam to do to avenge him.

Yet.

So Liam had ordered the video scrubbed from their archives and downloaded to his personal laptop.  He wouldn’t leave his brother’s last moments of fear and agony for anyone else to find.

This was all his bloody fault.  He had been the one to give Killian the mission.  He had been the one to agree with his brother that backup would only hinder his progress.  He had been the one who had waited so long before realizing something was wrong.

And even the day that the livestream had come through to Ops.  I’m bloody well going to kill him this time, he’d thought in pure exasperation, still not believing that something could be wrong.

Liam downed the glass of scotch, set a new reminder for the meeting with the funeral director to allow his colleagues and their few ‘friends’ to pay Killian their last respects, and hit play on the video again.

A reminder that this takes place prior to the events in The Darling Affair and is completely and equivocally @gusenitsaa and @pirate-owl‘s faults, not mine.

For obvious reasons, I couldn’t put this at the top, but follows Bag Over Head and Held at Gunpoint, and in the same universe as Guilt and Drugged.

#nope

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

YOU NEVERLANDED HIM IN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!

I feel like there should be rules for this..... (ahem, Lena)

I love this so much.  Flesh out this story, please, and have it ready to read by Monday, thanks.  =P

Fever (Whumptober/Inktober Day 22)

A little late for those on the East Coast, but it still counts.

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl All prompts: HERE Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic| Threats  | Thrown

Continues on directly from yesterday’s prompt, Thrown Against Something

Every so often, Emma can hear Liam’s tinny, yet clearly panicked voice calling out through the tiny shell she’d looped back around Killian’s neck.  He wants an update from her, but she’s not about to tell him - again - that his brother is unconscious and bleeding out.

Still.

Neither of them need that kind of grief at the moment.

She can’t do anything about it, and that’s the worst part.  Emma can remember what the magic felt like as she’d begun to learn how to control it.  She can remember the pleasant buzz just under her skin that she hadn’t really taken notice of until it was abruptly gone.  She can remember what she would have needed to do, to feel, in order to heal Killian, but she can’t do it.

She’s never despised Regina as much as she does right now.

But that’s neither here nor there, and it’s certainly not helping Killian.

It had taken her ages to figure out how to help him.  The wood sticking out of his back had been easy enough to snap off, if she ignored the way his body had stiffened in agony and then gone terrifyingly slack as he’d passed out.  But they were alone in the middle of the woods with only a slew of bodies as company, and no matter how much she’d shaken his shoulder and begged him to wake up, Killian hadn’t moved.

It wasn’t often that her Lieutenant disobeyed her orders.

Emma hadn’t wanted to leave him, defenseless and vulnerable as he was, but she couldn’t… wouldn’t just sit by and watch him die under her watch.  Not now, not when she was so close to admitting to him (and herself) that she loved him.

“You hear that, Jones?” she had muttered under her breath, knowing he couldn’t hear her, knowing she hadn’t actually said anything out loud.  “No dying today.  Not until I get to tell you.”

And then she had clomped off through the woods until she’d found the knights’ cart, coaxed the horses to follow her, and dragged Killian inside.

Keep reading

#ouat #cs ff #the brothers jones #i can never remember if it's that tag #or #the jones brothers #meh #i'll do both #i love them all #and this universe #and this story #and killian injured and feverish and in pain and dying #BUT NO KILLING HIM #but you can get close

[nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable]

You’re going to finish this story, right?  And also write the beginning of it, right?  Right?  RIGHT???  I love it - the  blood, the pain, the heroism, the love, the sacifice, the kick in the head.  *sigh*

Thrown Against Something (Whumptober/Inktober Day 21)

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl All prompts: HERE Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic | Threats

Killian knows that something is wrong from the moment it happens.  One minute, he’s swinging his sword at yet another dark knight insistent on taking his head off and stealing his Swan from him.  The next minute?  Well, the next minute he’s flying through the air like someone’s tossed a rope around his midsection and pulled it tight with a bloody fleet of horses.

It’s all over for him the moment he hits the fallen tree, something sharp piercing his back and lodging deeply inside him.  It steals his breath with an alacrity that he’s never before experienced, lancing pain and a pervasive chill race through him before he can even cry out.

And he won’t - cry out, that is.  Not if he can help it.  It might pull Swan’s attention from the battle of her own that she’s waging, and he can’t risk that.  Not for a sorry sod of a man like him who doesn’t deserve her in the first place.

It isn’t too hard to play dead, his eyes closed to mere slits just in case, when the knight stalks over to him and nudges him with a boot.  The stubborn part of him wants to tear himself free of whatever has snagged him and end this man’s life before he can attack Emma, but the realistic part of him knows that he doesn’t have a chance in hell.

He thinks the ruse has worked for just a moment before the knight rears back and kicks him in the head, sending him spiraling into unconsciousness before he can even react.

He wakes to fingers in his hair and excruciating pain radiating out from his back.  The coppery tang that fills the air makes him ill, but Swan is kneeling with his head in her lap and speaking frantically into what he will eventually realize is the magic shell that connects him with his brother at all times.

Liam.

Gods, his brother is going to be insufferable about this - Killian’s first time out on his own protecting the princess and he nearly gets himself killed.

Nearly, he hopes.

His head is threatening to implode, the world swimming sickeningly in front of his eyes and swaying wildly when he closes them.  His back is on fire, the thought of moving nearly enough to make him weep.  The rest of him is cold, however, wracking his body with shivers that reignite the flames and destroy his resolve not to groan.

Or whimper, he realizes when he connects the sound he just heard with his own voice.  That was a gods’ honest whimper and he must be in more dire straits than he thought.

Emma’s fingers tighten in his hair, setting off a whole new series of aches and shivers, but also ground him in the present when the pain seeks to send him reeling.  He has to focus.  He has to keep her safe, get her away from here as quickly as he can manage.  

The princess is his priority and also… also his love.  He’d have given his life for her at any point in his tenure in the Royal Navy, the vow he took as a terrified sixteen-year old to Queen and Country never far from his mind.  But one stolen moment at the debutante ball for the princess had led to a courtship that was frowned upon by all save her parents, and things had developed from there.

Until the Evil Queen had returned, bringing with her a curse obliterating Emma’s light magic and her mother’s own brand of malice - a barricade around the kingdom that not only trapped the Royal Family within its borders, but also shut Liam and Killian off from the sea.  (Killian knew that the latter was coincidental, but it still made him seethe)  Left grounded in more ways than one, the Jones brothers had taken on the responsibility of Emma’s safety as she and her parents raced to break the curse and the siege.

Which leads them back to this very moment, Killian bleeding out in the forest and Emma’s hands figuratively tied against saving him.

“Emma, luv,” he whispered, afraid to speak louder lest it wake some new hurt, “you have to go.  Get to safety.  My brother will come for you.”

She hits him, and he cringes at the force behind the blow to his shoulder.  Every hurt voices its protest, nearly sending him back into the blackness save for the venom in Emma’s voice.

“You idiot, I’m not going anywhere until we can move you!” she hisses and Killian can’t help imagining a viper poised to strike.  Swan’s temper is a sight to behold, and he opens his eyes against his better judgment to take in her face.

Gods, I love her when she’s angry, he thinks before smirking disarmingly.  Charmingly, even.  Anything to erase the look of worry that is peeking out from behind the ire.

She rolls her eyes at him.

“Em-”

“No.  Don’t try it.  I’m not leaving you behind.”  She reaches behind him to prod at his back and he grits his teeth against the cry of agony that wants to escape.

He pants through her ministrations, writhing away from her touch when he can no longer stand it.  “Please,” he begs breathlessly.  “Please don’t do that again.”

Emma curls over his head, trying to soothe him as she apologizes in his ear.

Tears leak from his eyes as he tries to pant through the pain, his world reduced to the princess above him and the fire behind him.  The Evil Queen, herself, could march into the glade and he doubts he’d notice.

“I’m sorry, Killian, please.  I have to get you out of here.  Please forgive me,” she mutters and it’s the only warning he has before the fire in his back explodes into an inferno that steals the very breath from his lungs so suddenly that he can’t even cry out before he goes limp, thanking the blackness for taking him away from this agony.

#ouat #cs ff #cs au #fanfic #blood and stabbing and throwing oh my!