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hookaroo · 2 months

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Laden of the Torn (25 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

A few weeks later…

Killian could now guess almost exactly when the pain would start, as determined by how long he’d been away from Alice. A fortnight allowed him to get within sight of the blue spires as the curse’s grip slowly tightened around his heart. One month, and he could stand at the tower’s base and gaze upward longingly with only mild discomfort. Six weeks, and he could make half the climb before the knives commenced their assault. Before now, he hadn’t had the self-discipline to test anything longer.

This time, as he climbed in the darkness of near-dawn, his still-healing hand threatened to give out before his heart even felt the first tentative prick of a blade. But his determination drove him higher, and yearning anticipation drowned out all physical concerns.

Alice knew better than to watch him climb. Her proximity as he reached the high window would put him in danger of falling, or even being flung outwards into space as he’d done in her premonitory nightmare before he’d even been cursed. So she waited against the far wall, anxious eyes watching for his first appearance, which always propelled her into an excited bounce--the only way to contain the longing energy that would otherwise have launched her forward into an ill-advised attempt at a hug.

Today was no different, and as Killian pulled himself up to catch his first glimpse of his impatiently waiting daughter, Alice let out a little squeal of relieved delight. Panting, Killian leaned against the wall to catch his breath, flashing her a bright smile as he fumbled for Mandible’s potion in the satchel slung over his shoulder. Alice grinned back with a wave, still bouncing on the balls of her feet and watching apprehensively as one decorative ceremonial cloth fluttered to the floor, followed by a second animal-skin wrapping. He could see tears glistening on her face, and the lump constricting his own throat made choking down the potion absurdly difficult.

Almost immediately, the stabbings slowed, the knives retreated, and Killian’s rib cage could expand freely as he drew a huge, satisfying lungful of air. He downed the last mouthful of tangy liquid, carefully replaced the stopper--he planned to fill the vial with water several times to be sure he extracted every last second of its offered reprieve--and then took a single eager step forward. Alice took that as her cue and was across the room and in his arms before he had even completed a second step.

“Alice…” Killian breathed, squeezing her tight as he’d done so often in his dreams.

“Papa!” cried Alice in almost the same instant, and they both laughed and sobbed and held each other as if nothing would ever drive them apart again.

Killian soaked in every last detail of that hug: the way she felt in his arms, her warmth and surprising strength as she squeezed him back, the sound of her emotional whimpers of laughter as she was overwhelmed by the same heart-wrenching delight that also coursed through his veins. The flowery scent of her hair. The unexpected height of her head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and committed it all to memory.

“Papa…” whispered Alice brokenly.

“Yes, Starfish?” Killian placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“I… I’m not sure I can let go.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and disappeared into her shining crown of gold. “Nor am I, love. I’ve missed you… more than words can tell.”

Alice sniffed, then tilted her head back to look up at him. She gave him a watery smile, saying,

“Let’s pretend… let’s pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist. It will always be today, forever and ever. Would… that be all right?”

Choking back a sob, Killian nodded. “Of course.”

He wanted to expand upon that, to offer reassurance or somehow lend credence to the fantasy, but found he could not speak as frustration and grief boiled over. A single day was not nearly enough, and it was so terribly unfair that they had to spend their limited time together dreading the unfeeling approach of sunset. With a trembling hand, he reached up and began to stroke Alice’s hair, wrestling back all of the negativity, refusing to let it spoil this one precious day.

“I can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten!” he exclaimed, tone only slightly crazed. “Slow it down, would you? I can’t have you looking down on me one day and pointing out every new silver hair that crops up.”

Alice laughed shyly, finally and reluctantly pulling away, but entwining her fingers with his and gripping tightly. She looked down at herself, then gave an innocent shrug. “Sorry, Papa; I’ve decided to become a giant when I grow up. You’ll just have to make do.”

Killian grinned at her, sincere and encouraging. “Not to worry, Starfish; I’ll be proud of you, whatever you become.”

Alice wiped her face with her sleeve, looked him up and down, and frowned slightly. “Have you been eating properly? You look dreadfully skinny.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oi, cheeky, would you rather I have a gut full of whale blubber? It would be very hard to climb the rigging of the Jolly Roger hauling that lot around.”

Alice’s laughter still contained a hint of concern, and Killian sighed. Perceptive, his daughter.

“I’m all right love; I give you my word. I had a… minor illness not long ago, but as you can see, I’m good as new now.” He glanced around the only surroundings she’d ever known, taking in the condition of her prison and noting with love the obvious attempts she’d made to make the place presentable for him. “And what about you? Not up late reading every night, I hope?”

“Papa!” Alice rolled her eyes at him. He waited for a proper reply, mock sternness completely undermined by the loving grin on his lips. Giggling, she relented. “I’ve been good, I promise. You would be proud.”

Killian couldn’t resist pulling her into another embrace. “I am, love. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Can’t fathom where it came from, considering what a buffoon you have for a father.”

“Oh, Papa…”

He had meant it as a bit of lighthearted self-deprecation--a reference to his recent scrape with Blackbeard and his monkeys, perhaps--but suddenly, the weight of his true misdeeds pressed down upon him with full force. Gently, he extricated himself and stepped back so he could look her straight in her eyes. Using his hook to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, he choked out,

“Can you ever forgive me, Alice?”

She looked completely mystified, and when it took him a moment to continue past his emotions, she asked,

“Forgive you? For what?”

He looked at the floor, recalling with painful clarity the instant the curse had been revealed. “The witch was right. It’s entirely my fault my heart was poisoned. I wasn’t thinking about anything but my own worthless, stubborn pride. I neglected my responsibility to you. I even had a whole night to consider the fact that I was risking my death for nothing more than my bloody reputation, and I still chose to be reckless and selfish. I’m so sorry, love. I’m only cursed because I’m a damn fool, and I’ve forced you to share in the consequences.”

There were tear stains on Alice’s face when he managed to meet her eyes again, but she squeezed his hand, then surged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“It’s okay, Papa. I forgive you.”

Still wracked by shame, Killian cradled her head against his heart. “You do?”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she reminded him simply, and he knew he would never forget the complex mix of relief, guilt, pride, and overwhelming love that filled him from head to toe at her quiet statement. It did not completely unburden his heart; nothing ever would until he found a way to permanently break the curse. But a noticeable weight did lift with Alice’s sincere offering of grace.

“I love you,” she said, and he only just managed to choke out,

“I love you too, Alice.” He cleared his throat and struggled to gather his composure. “Thank you for being so understanding. I give you my solemn vow that you are my entire focus, from now on. I won’t stop until I free you, or cure this heart for good.”

“I know.” Alice managed to look hopeful then, despite the number of months that had already passed with no progress on either count. She took her father by the hand again and pulled him farther into the room than he’d dared venture since his magical banishment.

“How about a game before breakfast?” she suggested as she led him to the chess board, which had already been neatly arranged, minus two meaningful missing pieces. She produced her white knight from a pocket in her apron; Killian did likewise with his black rook. As two equally faded pieces joined their more vibrant counterparts, Killian said,

“I would like nothing more, Starfish. But I must warn you, I may be a bit out of practice.”

They both took their accustomed places. Alice scoffed teasingly. “That’s only an excuse for when you inevitably lose.”

“Is that so? Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”

Alice giggled, considered him for a moment, then made her first move. And for just that single moment, tomorrow did, indeed, cease to exist.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #alice jones #knightrook #angst #the end #thank you for reading!! :)

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hookaroo · 2 months

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"You're an anchor for all the heaviest regrets inside of you"

🎵 Not the Ghost - Crane Wives

#ouat fanart #captain pan #peter pan ouat #killian jones #dub con #mischievousgraxaim #eeeeeeeeeee #so good!#love both of their expressions!#>:D

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hookaroo · 2 months

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Sailing the forever seas of Neverland...

My little tribute to that wonderful person, Chris Gauthier aka our best and wonderful and perfect Mister Smee ♥

#ouat mister smee #ouat fanart #cocohook38 #chris gauthier #jolly roger #sailing #brb crying now #soooo beautiful #T_T #i love this so much #killed by the coconut wizard again

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hookaroo · 2 months

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"Just how deep do you believe?

Will you bite the hand that feeds?

Will you chew until it bleeds?

Can you get up off your knees?"

Are you brave enough to see?

Do you want to change it?

The hand that feeds, Nine inch nails.

#ouat fanart #mischievousgraxaim #captain pan ouat #killian jones #peter pan ouat #noncon #killian's defiant scowl yessssss #i love it so much #so good!!

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hookaroo · 2 months

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I won't be able to finish today bc of the time and that i'm working tomorrow, but i thought I'd share the pain with you

some art for our beloved Smee 💔🏴‍☠️

#aww what a lovely tribute!!!#mister smee #chris gauthier #ouat fanart #cocohook38 #it's already so beautiful I can't wait to see the end result!#T_T

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hookaroo · 2 months

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366 Days of Killian Jones [54/366]

#ouat #killian jones #whump #blood #beautiful pain #underworld #i could watch this forever

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hookaroo · 3 months

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@cocohook38

Don't you dare! >:(

🫣😵

#evil coconut #cocohook38 #hehe #j/k can't wait!#still recovering from that other one

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hookaroo · 3 months

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Laden of the Torn (24 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Slowly, carefully, Killian slipped his arm into its brace, a simultaneously familiar and alien feeling after so long going without. His injuries no longer required the Warrior Ant jaws, but they were still tender and could probably still split open if he were not careful. Mandible watched with a concerned expression, but he also appeared fascinated by the straps and buckles necessary to hold the contraption in place. It would be an agonizing chore to get them all fastened, and Killian doubted he’d be able to remove it again for the foreseeable future, at least not without help. His hand was still too swollen and stiff to be of much use, but that was why he’d chosen to don his hook again. He’d have to make do.

He winced as he grasped a strap between his first two fingers, preparing to thread it into the intersecting loop circling his upper arm above the elbow. Mandible shuffled closer.

“May I assist?”

Killian was only too happy to allow the healer to take over. His hand was already throbbing from the exertion, and even the slight angle required of his neck to allow him to see what he was doing pulled at tight lines of fire that stretched from hairline to shoulder. He passed the supple leather to the monkey and coached him through the complex process of threading and tightening the buckles in various places. Thankfully, none of the straps intersected the worst of his wounds, though one came close enough to be a constant reminder of the inflamed skin.

When the last one was pulled tight, Killian straightened his arm slowly, hiding a grimace. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near rehabilitated yet, but he didn’t want Mandible to know how much pain still plagued his every movement. While he could always leave without the healer’s blessing and attempt to navigate the entire Stone Forest on his own, he was hoping he could convince the First Clan to allow the use of their transporter magic to get him at least part of the way out. Killian bit his tongue as he slipped his heavily bandaged hand into Blackbeard’s satchel.

“If you are searching for your mirror, I have placed it somewhere safe where it is less likely to be broken again,” Mandible told him, vaulting his legs to pull wide the opening of the sack so Killian could more easily access its contents.

“Thank you,” grunted Killian. “But that’s actually not what I’m after…”

He spotted the silver gleam nestled near the bottom of the pouch and leaned gingerly forward. With only the slightest bit of mental cursing, he snagged the steel with his pinkie, the least-badly injured of the lot. It took a bit of painful finagling, but eventually, he managed to trap the slender part of his hook between pinkie and ring finger and draw it forth from the bag.

“Take a good look, Mandible,” he said, straightening and feigning swagger. “I’d wager this puts to shame any hook you’ve ever encountered. Including a few hundred blasted fishhooks I’m well acquainted with.”

“It is rather larger,” Mandible agreed as Killian struggled to align the hook and brace. “It would certainly be effective were we ever seeking to disembowel our prey before bringing them back to the Burrow.”

Killian growled as he strained delicate structures in his hand, trying to apply enough force to twist the locking mechanism into place. He couldn’t bring himself to use his palm yet, but his grip with the fourth and fifth fingers was tenuous at best. At last, the satisfying click announced his success, and he flashed a devilish smirk at Mandible. Hoping the manic pain wasn’t quite as visible as he feared, he lifted the weapon a fraction and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think? Worthy of the outer name of Hook?”

“A logical inspiration.” Mandible closed the satchel and dragged it to the foot of the bed, out of the way. “Do your allies address you as such, or just your enemies?”

Killian rested the weapon on the bedding in preparation to rise. “I… don’t have many of the former, anymore. But they would more likely address me as Captain. Outdated as the rank may be.”

“You have many allies here,” Mandible reminded him. With a quick smile, Killian nodded at the small creature beside him.

“Aye, so I do. Thank you.” He tried to suppress the cynicism bemoaning how inaccessible these new allies were and concentrate on the fact that he had them at all. And was even alive to have them. The monkey beside him seemed to read his mood and rested an encouraging paw on his knee.

“From what I’ve observed during the short time I’ve known you, Laden, I believe you have the ability to forge new alliances wherever you go. But it requires a determination to see the good in the world--and a belief in your own worthiness to ask for help.”

Killian was once again astounded by Mandible’s insight. These days, it did tend to feel like everything was conspiring against him, and that he had to bear the entire burden on his own. How did this little creature, who had probably never been alone in his entire life, have such an uncanny ability to peer into Killian’s heart?

“If I didn’t know better, I’d peg you for some sort of wizard in disguise, mate. Does your magic allow you to gaze into the souls of others or something?”

Mandible remained unreadable as he answered,

“Sadly, no. I can only imagine myself in your place and advise accordingly.”

Killian reached past him and snagged the satchel with his hook, grunting,

“Well, you’re damn good at it, however it is you manage to do it.” He pulled the satchel closer, then smiled down at his obviously concerned friend. “Thank you for the words of wisdom. I’ll take it to heart, to the best of my ability. You have my solemn oath on that.”

“You are preparing to leave,” Mandible said, more than asked. Killian gave him a sidelong glance, gauging how the healer might feel about that.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality and assistance...”

“I understand. You are eager to begin your journey to see your child.”

“Aye.” The understatement of the century. And Mandible did not make even a token attempt to convince him to wait until he was stronger, or better healed. It seemed desperate love had no species barrier.

Without saying a word, the monkey scampered over to his shelves of supplies and retrieved Killian’s carefully secured mirror, as well as the small, stoppered vial representing the most precious gift Killian had received since his heart had been cursed. The healer proceeded to bundle this carefully as well, knowing it would have to survive the rigors of travel before it could be of any use. As he returned to the alcove, one item in his paw and the other wrapped safely in his fluffy tail, Mandible said,

“I know that Favor will want to see you before you go. I will speak to him while you finish your preparations. Please meet us at the Gathering Circle when you are ready.”

Killian reverently accepted each of the fragile packages in turn, holding them tighter than was comfortable until they were stowed safely in Blackbeard’s satchel. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

***

As it turned out, most of the clan would be there too. Perhaps his intentions had been more obvious than he’d realized. Even Blackbeard was present, tied and guarded in the periphery, glowering at the spears held ready for a ruling on his fate. Killian ignored him and moved stiffly into the center of the circle, where Favor and Puzzle waited side by side.

“Laden of the Torn,” began Favor without preamble. “As leader of the First Clan, in honor of services rendered in taking on the role of Champion in time of dire need, I now bestow upon you the well-deserved Inner Name of Valiant.”

The cave rang with a cacophony of whoops and shrieks as the clan gave voice to their approval, sounding very much like the frenzy of the battle nearly two weeks ago. Though startled, Killian stood his ground, watching the spectators and waiting for the surge of adrenaline to subside. Puzzle, too, seemed affected by the din and momentarily edged closer to her father.

When the noise had abated, Favor turned and blinked at one of his attendants, who came forward holding a jingling pouch. It looked heavy.

“To simplify your departure, we have taken the liberty of selecting a variety of our finest treasures as a token of our thanks.”

The First warrior set the pouch at Killian’s feet and retreated as Favor continued,

“We cannot honestly place a value on a life; therefore, please tell us if the sum is inadequate.”

It didn’t seem right to Killian to discuss a specific price either, but he also did not want to offend the monkeys. With great effort, he stooped and snagged the pouch with his hook, took a brief look at its contents, and declared,

“This is most generous; thank you.”

“Is it enough?” persisted Favor, and Killian glanced quickly at the stoically silent Blackbeard.

“I ask only one additional price.”

“Name it, Valiant.”

“Will you allow me a say in the fate of my Torn compatriot over there?”

Favor cast a solemn eye on Blackbeard. “Gripe of the Torn, step forward to be judged.”

Whether or not Blackbeard understood the words, he got the message when two spears started prodding him in the back. Grumbling, he stumbled forward until he stood only a pace or two behind Killian.

“Let me guess,” he said, customary boredom in his tone. “Captain Softy spares the life of the nasty bully, but keeps the spoils for himself. Does that about sum it up?”

Favor made a recognizably human impression of disdain as he addressed Killian. “This Torn coward was prepared to sacrifice your life for his own gain. It would be completely reasonable for you to cast judgment upon him.”

Killian was tempted, for an instant. Releasing a rival might be setting himself up for trouble in the future, and if not him, then certainly Captain Smee. But, as Blackbeard had pointed out, Killian did owe him for getting him out of his quarry sentence, at least. Assuming Blackbeard hadn’t set the whole thing up to begin with…

“Give me a couple of days’ head start,” Killian sighed. “Then set him free.”

He heard the overexaggerated scoff behind him but paid it no mind. He dumped approximately half the contents of the treasure bag into the satchel on his shoulder, then turned.

“This should more than cover your expenses and your time. Afraid your heart’s desire will have to wait.”

He tossed the pouch with the remaining reward at Blackbeard’s restrained feet, and the other pirate smirked.

“You really are a complete and utter pansy, aren’t you?”

Killian graced him with a look of weary exasperation. “Don’t make me regret this. I’m not obliged to do any of this for you. In fact, one could argue that you now owe me a favor.”

He raised a disdainful eyebrow, and Blackbeard mimicked his disgust.

“Maybe so,” Blackbeard admitted, then sneered. “Just don’t expect me to give up my pursuit of the Jolly Roger. She’s worth more than a few trinkets in a goat’s ballsack.”

Killian smirked right back. “I’ll agree that your worth pales in comparison, but there’s no need to refer to yourself so crudely in civilized company.”

As Blackbeard brayed a single exaggerated, sarcastic laugh, Killian made a mental note to warn Captain Smee of the danger the next time he saw him. If nothing else, this whole ordeal had served to demonstrate the lengths to which Blackbeard would go in satisfying his desires, and Smee would need to take ample precautions if he were to stand any chance against the covetous rival captain.

The First warriors did not allow Blackbeard to return fire with the vulgar insults he was surely concocting beneath that smug facade. The repositioned gag muffled his initial syllables, which slurred into a snarl of frustration when he realized he was about to be dragged away from the center of attention. Good riddance. Killian turned his back, eager to put the other man both literally and figuratively behind him. It was long past time to return his focus to the only thing that truly mattered.

“It is my honor to have true allies in the First Clan,” Killian told Favor and his followers. “My departure today is not intended to--”

“We understand, Valiant,” Favor interrupted his faltering apology. He pulled Puzzle closer. “Go now, with our blessing.”

A haunted smile was the only thanks Killian could give. Mandible drew near, clutching a clay pot, and this was the cue for several other warriors to join him. They all took a pawful of the pot’s contents, then formed a ring around their Champion.

“Close your eyes, Valiant of the Torn,” instructed Mandible. “We will transport you to the very edge of the Stone Forest, beyond the reach of its blades.”

“Thank you.”

Killian took one final look at the odd collection of furry faces surrounding him, catching at the end a streak of red-gold as a tiny mass scaled his form in record time. Noticeably more warmth crept into his smile as he closed his eyes, and his last sensation before dazzling light engulfed him was a silken caress of farewell, just beneath his chin.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #ouat blackbeard #farewells #had to post this on Puzzle Day lol

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hookaroo · 4 months

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Laden of the Torn (23 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

CHAPTER 23 NOTE: A million thanks to @cocohook38 for acting as this story's savior and rescuing us from a plot hole!! Your attentive reading and detailed comments came just in time to edit this chapter and salvage the ending! Phew, that was a close one! ;)

THANK YOU, MY WONDERFUL FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💓🫶🏼💓

***

Killian was no True Love expert, but almost everyone in the realm knew the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. So the surprising thing wasn’t the way his fever dreams wove together scenes of his upcoming reunion and painful fantasies of rainbow shockwaves bursting forth from a kiss placed tenderly on Alice’s forehead. Nor even that he had retained enough awareness through the relapses to realize that these were the attempts of a beleaguered mind to make a connection despite a sometimes-tenuous grasp on reality. The surprise, once he was well enough to recognize it, came from the fact that this potential method of breaking the curse wasn’t his immediate thought when he had first learned of Mandible’s potion. That oversight he had to blame on the fog of his recovery… but the length of time he’d buried the question behind mundane exchanges with the healers was due only to his fear of being disappointed yet again.

***

“You really need to improve upon this method of delivery,” said Killian wryly, nearly a week later, as he watched Mandible score his inner arm with the too-familiar stone blade. Damn healer was running out of intact areas of skin to cut in order to introduce his anti-infection paste.

“I am sorry,” Mandible replied, laying aside his knife and preparing to cover the burning slashes with another of those ubiquitous sticky leaves. “Bite wounds are particularly dangerous; those caused by the filthy mouths of the Less even more so. I dare not take any chances.”

“Understood,” sighed Killian. “It's more a nuisance than anything else, though I suppose gangrene would be worse.”

“Take heart,” said Mandible as he spread the last edge of the leaf across Killian's forearm. “You are nearly at the point where this will no longer be necessary.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that, mate. Lately it’s been feeling like I’ll never leave this place.”

“You have made great progress just within the last pawful of days. Your visit with your daughter will be upon you sooner than you think.”

Such a powerful surge of desperate longing washed over Killian at the thought that it nearly convinced him he could climb the tower right then, distance and ailments be damned. Clutching reason, he wrestled back the impatience. He had to heal first, and nothing could hurry that.

“And then…” he said slowly, “on our only good day in nearly a year…”

He did not want to continue. It would almost be easier to cling to his delusional hope for a few more weeks… if it weren’t for the fact that he had a young soul to protect. His devastation, should it come to pass, could not be her burden.

“You mentioned True Love, Mandible, and you’ve given us a way to be together again… I don’t expect you to accurately judge our bond, not knowing just how much we’d sacrifice for each other, but… surely there’s at least a small chance…?”

Killian trailed off, pleadingly searching the owlish eyes of his monkey ally. Mandible set aside his herbs and edged closer, resting both paws upon Killian’s shoulder.

“All I have been witness to in the short time you’ve been among us… I can imagine no deeper love. It would give me the greatest joy to pronounce such a thing possible.” Once again, Mandible’s visible regret forecast his upcoming answer, and Killian could not watch the clouds of sorrow roll across his friend’s face. He looked away as the healer continued to speak. “I should have anticipated this hope. I am truly sorry for my carelessness. Laden… by shielding your heart from the curse’s impacts, the potion’s barrier also imprisons the magic of True Love--a cruel but necessary side effect. I’m afraid it must be a temporary reprieve and no more.”

Thwarted at every turn. Killian should have been growing used to it by now. Allowing himself a single bitter sigh, he nodded once. It was still better than nothing, and he could probably talk himself into being grateful. Eventually.

Mandible seemed about to say something else, but he hesitated, smoothing the edge of another bandage that was beginning to come loose. Then, almost timidly, he spoke up.

“The potion reached maturity this morning. Perhaps it would lift your spirits to see it?”

Killian gave him a sad smile. “I would like that, thank you.”

The healer leapt from the bed and disappeared from view. Killian closed his eyes to wait, battling resentment towards a universe determined to conspire against him and his undeserving daughter. Yes, he would now have a painfully short visit with her--or maybe a few, depending on the attributes of the potion--but then what? A brutal farewell, and back to a lifetime of lonely, fruitless searching? Praying to somehow find True Love elsewhere as the endless struggle continued to take its toll upon him? He may have the fortitude to persevere now, but what about five years from now? Ten? Just how long could he keep this up before crumbling beneath the weight of despair?

A slight rustling at his shoulder alerted him to Mandible’s return. Killian opened his eyes to see a small vial clutched in ash-colored paws. As Mandible presented the result of so many days’ labor, his ears drooped fractionally in an apparent wince.

“It is not difficult to imagine the many paths your mind is laying out before you with this potion,” he said, gently turning the vessel to allow a better view. “But I must set you upon the correct one and warn you not to deviate.”

“I’m listening…” said Killian cautiously, his every remaining hope balanced on a dagger’s edge. Mandible kept him there, suspended, while he went off on a seemingly unrelated tangent.

“I did not dare speak of this before now, lest I affect your mind’s role in your recovery, but when I saw the signs of the Mire Dragon venom upon your flesh that first day, I was convinced you would not survive. Certainly no member of either clan would have stood a chance, nor would the average Torn victim, to my knowledge. Even with the assistance of the Teardrop Vine. Yet even through the worst of its effects, through the bleeding and pain and fever, you continued to fight.”

Killian studied the vial as he listened. He wasn’t particularly surprised by the revelation; there had definitely been moments lying here when he could feel himself slipping away. Mandible was only confirming what he had already suspected.

“Your resistance, Laden, is what ultimately led me to the idea for this potion. The Fossa Flower has properties very similar to the venom, and it would have been too strong for anyone else to consume in this fashion. But you have demonstrated that you can withstand its rigors.”

Killian met Mandible’s gaze, skeptical eyebrow raised. Was the healer hinting at unpleasant side effects? Not that it truly mattered; nothing short of certain death would deter him from using it.

“However…” continued the monkey. “Because its ingredients are so carefully balanced between effectiveness and safety, I must advise you to use it all at one time. Saving a portion may result in incomplete protection against the curse, and the remnants would gradually lose potency anyway.”

As Killian registered the sympathy in his friend’s eyes, he again marveled at the surprising perceptiveness accompanying Mandible’s depth of knowledge, rivaling that of any human expert in the sciences. It was no wonder that folklore had developed around these monkey clans, obscure though they may be.

“I can only give you my honest advice,” said Mandible. “I cannot stop you from testing my theories despite the dangers. I certainly understand the temptation and do not know for sure what I would do in your place.”

Killian contained his frustration behind a feigned serenity. “It’s all right, mate; I trust your counsel. Even a single visit with my daughter is more than I could have dreamed of a month ago. Thank you for clarifying the boundaries.”

“As I have said before, I wish I could do more for you and will continue to work on the problem even after you have taken your leave of us.”

“Thank you, Mandible; that is most kind of you.”

Well, the limits had been set, and Killian did not dare stray beyond them and risk derailing his only chance at a visit with Alice. Despite his disappointment, it was a small relief to have most of his questions answered. But the revelation of the venom’s role in all of this did raise a new possibility…

“Just how similar is the dragon venom? Any chance of creating an equivalent potion in the future, using venom instead of the extinct flower?”

Mandible managed to look thoughtful, skeptical, and frightened all at once. “That is a question I will need time to consider. But not a very practical one, if we are honest with ourselves.”

“Not to worry, mate; it’s just a thought. Perhaps a future quest for this dragon-slaying Champion, should he ever find the strength to one day navigate the Stone Forest again, unhindered and on his own terms.”

The healer monkey relaxed noticeably, fur settling back into its usual charming fuzz. “You are always welcome, and no nets will be necessary the next time.”

“That’s a relief,” Killian retorted dryly. “Let’s try and forgo the Warrior Ants as well. Unless you’ve already beheaded them to extinction…”

“Their population will recover… eventually.”

***

Cautiously, Killian followed Mandible out of the healer's corner of the cave and toward the main living area. He’d been receptive to the monkey’s suggestion of finally getting up and moving around a little, knowing that the faster he regained his independence, the sooner he could see Alice again. As predicted, the activity intensified his pain, and it felt as if one wrong move would split his wounds wide open yet again, but it wasn't exactly his first time trying to get on with life while feeling like complete bilge water. He did not lose his balance as he’d feared, and he felt stronger than he had since before this whole misadventure had started. He wouldn’t deceive himself into thinking he could make it all the way to the tower yet, but it was definitely a step in a positive direction.

It was fairly quiet that day; likely a large contingent of warriors were out fishing or whatever it was they needed to do to provide for their clan. In spite of his injuries, it felt good to be stretching his legs and seeing something other than the little alcove that had been his only scenery while recuperating.

Just past the goat pen, Killian spotted Blackbeard, wearing a bored expression as he lounged, hands and feet still chained to the wall. Their eyes met, and immediately Blackbeard’s apathy was replaced with the customary scorn.

“Blow me down, if it isn't Captain Codfish, returned from the grave. I had given you up for shark bait ages ago.”

Killian hobbled closer. He knew he should ignore the goading but could not resist the opportunity to return fire.

“Blackbeard,” he growled. “I see you haven’t been eaten yet. That's a shame.”

Blackbeard snorted. “Not a chance. These little buggers love me.”

Killian looked pointedly at his chained limbs and what appeared to be a gag hanging loosely around his neck. “Clearly.”

He wasn't particularly interested in wasting his limited energy in pointless conversation, and he turned to continue on his way. Blackbeard's false congeniality promptly disappeared as he snarled after him,

“Hook! Whatever treasure you receive from these rats, you owe me half. I researched the legend; I saved you from the quarry and brought you here. If you have any honor at all, you'll realize that we are full partners in this. Hook! Do you hear me?”

His language became less polite as he realized he was being ignored. Not long afterwards, the target of his fire switched from Killian to the monkeys attempting to secure the gag back in place, and soon, the invectives gave way to muffled wrath.

At the cave entrance up ahead, where gentle sunlight formed an inviting pool in the dust, Killian could see Puzzle and a number of other young ones wrestling and pouncing on one another, having a grand old time as they were supervised by some older relations. As soon as the princess spotted her Torn rescuer, she leapt off of her cousin's shoulders and raced to Killian's feet. She stared up at him with wide, adoring eyes as the remaining younglings also gathered around. The urge to crouch down and address her at something closer to eye level was not quite strong enough to overcome the instinctual avoidance of pain. But he did send a warm smile in her direction.

“Your Highness. It's lovely to see you again.” He glanced at each of her friends in turn. “But there's no need to interrupt your game on my account.”

“Actually,” said Mandible, peering back the way they had come, “she has something to give to you. Don't you, Princess?”

Bursting with excited energy, Puzzle leapt halfway up Killian’s leg before vaulting off and racing into the depths of the cave.

“Perhaps you would like to take a seat,” suggested Mandible. He led Killian and his entourage over to a flat-topped rock near the cave wall. Killian lowered himself down with only the bare minimum of sound effects, though it did take several moments before he finally caught his breath. By that time, he could see Puzzle returning with her father in tow. Favor carried a cloth-wrapped parcel in his long prehensile tail.

An impressive, acrobatic hurdle carried Puzzle to Killian's side; her father joined them soon after. With an impatient grunt, Puzzle began to tug at the gift.

“Be careful, child,” scolded Favor, albeit gently. He allowed her to take hold of one edge of the parcel, but he kept one paw on it as well as his daughter proudly presented it to her new friend.

“Thank you, love.” Killian carefully rested the item on his lap. Puzzle was quivering with excitement, tiny squeaks sounding as she hopped in place. Her companions all stood on their back legs, respecting their leader’s space but desperate to be the first to see what had gotten their playmate so riled up.

Killian slipped a barely functional finger beneath one edge of the cloth, then thought better of it and grinned down at Puzzle. “Would you do the honors, Princess?”

In a flash, the little monkey had severed the cord securing the wrapping, and just as quickly, she peeled back both flaps of hide to reveal its contents.

“It's…” Killian blinked in astonishment. “It's my mirror.”

He reverently flipped it over, revealing completely smooth glass, not one single scratch marring its surface. “You repaired it...?”

“And restored its enchantment,” confirmed Mandible. Blinking back tears, Killian met the eyes of each monkey watching him.

“Thank you, I... truly, it means more than you know.”

Reacting to the complex emotions in his voice, Puzzle gently nudged his bandaged hand with her nose, prompting him to stroke the top of her silken head.

“Was this your idea, love? So that I can see my Alice again?”

Puzzle just leaned a little harder into his hand, soaking up the affection. And the beings more likely responsible were content to allow her the credit.

“Would you like to test it out and make sure it works?” suggested Favor, and Killian could only nod as excitement and anxiety warred within his poisoned heart. He used the sleeve covering his stump to swipe at his eyes, cleared his throat, and adjusted the mirror to center his reflection as required. Then, in a tremulous voice, he called,

“Starfish? Alice, love, are you there?”

Silence. Killian’s eager anticipation quickly transformed into unreasonable terror as a hundred unlikely scenarios formed an instant, ghastly vignette of death and dismemberment in his mind. Alice must have fallen and broken her neck, or a bad storm had come and toppled that cursed tower with her inside, or her magical supplies had run out and she’d starved to death, or the hearth had caught fire while highwaymen were sneaking inside during the middle of the storm as the escaped Dark One giggled his approval…

A wild tumble of an image accompanied a clattering decrescendo, bits and pieces of a haste-driven wreck settling into place under a breathless young voice.

“Papa? Papa, is it really you?”

“Alice,” laugh-sobbed Killian. Head spinning with relief, chest prickling, he struggled to balance the mirror on badly shaking arms. “Gods, it's so good to see you,” he said, even though most of what he could see was an indistinct blur. At the same time, he heard Alice say,

“I was so worried about you! Your image sort of… broke apart, and I couldn't call you back no matter how hard I tried; I was afraid I'd never see you again!”

Irrational guilt clawed at Killian’s insides at the note of vulnerability in her tone. “I'm so sorry, love; Blackbeard broke the mirror right in the middle of our last conversation. Some friends of mine have only just finished repairing it. But even if they couldn't, Starfish… you know I would never rest until I found another way to see you. You believe that, don't you?”

Worry still clouded Alice's eyes, but she gave him a brave smile. “Yes, Papa.” Her gaze roamed his image, pausing on the bandages and bruising still apparent on his throat. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, I’m fine. It’s nothing a little rest won’t fix.”

She was less easily convinced by bravado these days, and he could tell that she wasn’t entirely reassured by it. But then she caught sight of a furry face peeking above the lower rim of the frame, and her eyes lit up. “Aww, is that a little monkey?”

Killian tilted the mirror to bring more of the subject in question into view. “Alice, this is Princess Puzzle; her father, Favor; and Mandible... the friends I mentioned before.”

“I love them!” Alice cooed, not even questioning their names, or their ability to repair magic mirrors. “They’re so adorable!”

“Favor. Princess. This is my daughter, Alice.”

Placing one paw on the mirror’s handle, Puzzle tilted her head comically, and Alice's delighted giggles accomplished more towards Killian's recovery than weeks under the healers’ care.

“Yes, I see a strong resemblance,” Favor said politely. As Killian smiled his thanks at the clan leader, Alice remembered her manners, somehow unsurprised by the fact that her father seemed to be able to understand the unintelligible chatter of his simian friends.

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I should very much like to come visit you one day, if I can.”

Killian had been debating with himself: tell Alice of Mandible’s potion, or keep the visit a surprise? He’d been imagining the moment when he would appear above that damned windowsill, the look in her eyes when she recognized him, being knocked over in a fierce hug long overdue. It would be fun to surprise her, but would it also be a bit cruel? He wanted to respect her privacy, and some warning would give her the chance to prepare. It would also give her something to look forward to, which was a scarce commodity these days.

Above all, Killian hated it when she lost herself dwelling on her ongoing imprisonment, in moments just like these.

He had to tell her.

Killian tilted the mirror back toward himself. “Alice, love… what would you think about having me come visit you for a day?”

Cautious, excited hope warred with fear. “But... what about the curse? I couldn't bear it if you were hurt, Papa.”

“It's okay,” he assured her. “These clever creatures have come up with a way to temporarily suppress it. We can be together again, for a whole day. Just as if the curse never existed.” He grinned at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can hardly wait.”

Alice's chin trembled, and he could see the shimmer of a tear tracking down her cheek. He empathized. There was no way she had missed the ‘single day’ stipulation, and they were both already feeling the pain of that goodbye. She would be lamenting her circumstances, limited existence in the tower and horrific curse alike, and asking the fates the same questions ever-present in Killian’s own mind. But, in true Alice Jones form, she grasped the single thread of happiness offered, returned his grin and bounced once in her seat, rattling the remnants of whatever it was she had knocked over in her earlier scramble to reach the mirror. “I can't wait either! I have so much to show you! And when we make supper, you won’t even have to get the spices for me; I can do it on my own now, without even standing on a chair!”

Killian affected an air of skeptical disbelief, squashing a pang at the reminder of how much time had already been lost. “You must be joking. Even the Island Vanilla?”

“If I stand on tiptoes.” Laughing at his exaggerated doubt, she got to her feet. “Watch; I’ll show you right now!”

Another loud clatter nearly drowned out her words, and she froze, a hint of guilt crossing her face before she became the picture of innocence. “Erm, when did you say you were coming?”

Killian stole a glance at Mandible, then answered,

“Probably not for another few weeks, Starfish. I’ll call again when I’m close.”

She nodded and returned carefully to her chair. “Are you very far away?”

“Only physically, love.”

“It almost feels… how will I know this is real? What if I’m only dreaming this conversation?”

Alice looked so concerned that Killian had to restrain himself from the completely useless urge to brush the hair back from her image’s face.

“Then you call me. Anytime, day or night. I’ll keep this mirror to hand at all times, I promise.”

“And be more careful with it this time?” Alice smirked, and Killian chuckled ruefully.

“Aye. That too.”

By this time, Puzzle had slipped away to resume her game, with Favor close behind, and only Mandible remained to keep an eye on his patient. Alice seemed to sense Killian’s flagging stamina and flashed him a wistful smile.

“I wish you were here now.”

“As do I.” He watched her reflection for a moment, memorizing once again the image he kept always in his heart. “I love you, Alice. More than all the stars in the sky.”

“I love you too, Papa. More than the whole entire universe!”

“Oh, surely not as much as all that,” he teased. “Even near-perfect former pirate captains must have some limit to their worth.”

“I don’t know about all the others. But my papa doesn’t. If there are universes beyond ours, then I would love you even more than that.”

Aching heart so full he could hardly stand it, Killian relented. “Likewise, darling. To the end of time. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

Alice must have been similarly overcome, for she only nodded. And though Killian wished he could keep the connection going forever, he knew he needed rest if he were to tackle the journey home anytime soon.

“Goodbye, Starfish.”

“Bye, Papa. Please thank all of your monkey friends for me.”

“I will. Most definitely.”

Satisfied, Alice gave him a small wave, which he responded to with a nod and as warm a smile as he could muster. Then he carefully turned the mirror over in his lap, severing its link, and wrapped it gently in its goatskin packaging.

“You must be very proud of her,” Mandible commented, and Killian forced his answer through a sizable lump in his throat.

“Aye. She is incredible, despite my influence.”

The healer came near and offered to carry the mirror, which Killian allowed with only the slightest hesitation. He wouldn’t put it past Alice to call back in five minutes, holding him to his word and checking on the reality of the conversation they’d just had. But he certainly didn’t trust it to his bandaged hand at present.

With the mirror safely in Mandible’s care, Killian got up slowly, groaning and looking forward to a nap. And as it turned out, despite his slow pace and the length of time it took to get settled back into his alcove, Alice managed to hold off on the expected call back until the mirror was once again squarely in Killian’s possession.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #alice jones #knightrook #knightrook angst #mirror magic restored #ouat blackbeard #wound care #slow recovery #monkey cuteness

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hookaroo · 5 months

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Laden of the Torn (22 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Bleary with the heavy sleep of the wounded, Killian tried to pull away from an unexpected bloom of heat scalding his neck, grumbling a hoarse protest. He felt glued to the bed, limbs stiff as if he’d been turned to stone, and his mouth and throat were dryer than the dunes of Agrabah. The burning intensified as it penetrated deep into his being, lighting up his whole shoulder and chest until his spine began to ache. Again attempting to shift his weight, he was rewarded with a sudden flurry of piercing stings, everywhere at once, and he gasped a huge breath, suddenly flooded with adrenaline in response to the apparent attack. His eyes snapped open, but he couldn’t sit up or even roll in either direction.

His limbs were bound.

Where was he? Gods, was this Neverland? About to be vivisected in front of a mob of unhinged Lost Boys out for blood?

Panting, Killian struggled, which turned out to be a very foolish thing to do indeed. A hundred sore places flared to life, so numerous he couldn’t tell one from the other, and he fell back with a whimper.

A soft touch to his brow startled him and he opened his eyes again, wincing.

“Laden. Relax. You are confused. That is expected. But you are safe, and you will disturb your healing if you continue to struggle.”

Blinking and gulping air, Killian worked to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Gentle fireglow painted stone in deep red hues, disturbed only by dancing shadows with long, graceful tails. Killian gingerly turned his head, just as much as throbbing inflammation would allow. Staring back at him with huge, intelligent eyes… Mandible. Memory flooded back. Killian relaxed by degrees. Imagined threats faded, though each pain remained, distinct and terrible.

“How long have I been out?”

Killian could hardly form the words, and they came out rough and feeble. Now assured of his patient’s grasp of reality, Mandible returned to the gruesome task of bathing the red-hot, weeping injuries lining Killian’s neck and shoulder.

“Nearly four days. And you must continue to rest. We are doing our best to combat infection and the Mire Dragon venom, but you are not yet out of danger.”

Cringing at each brutal touch against raw flesh, Killian hissed,

“Bloody hell.”

Other, more disturbing sensations were occasionally rising above the background pain, and he risked an ill-advised glance downward to try and deduce what might be causing them. The agony from his neck quickly put a stop to that, before he saw much of anything. He had confirmed the vines, though; those had not been imagined. He could still see green tendrils out of the corner of his eye, wrapped several times around both forearms.

“Have I been making an arse of myself?”

One of Mandible’s assistants appeared with a small cup, which Killian sniffed suspiciously before accepting. The blessed sip of water, though meager, did much to relieve the sticky hoarseness in his voice.

“No, you’ve mostly been sleeping,” replied Mandible.

Killian grimaced. “Then why the restraints?”

The healer monkey shooed away the coveted water, apparently intent on limiting his patient’s intake for now. Then he skirted Killian’s head to stand near his other shoulder. He motioned at someone on the floor, and then one of his larger compatriots leapt up onto the surface, holding what appeared to be a potted plant. Mandible lifted an immature sprout beneath a thicker, more sturdy stem.

“Not restraints, Laden. This organism produces and secretes a substance which combats the venom. It may be the only thing keeping you in the fight at present.”

Killian eyed the plant, where its stalks branched into the vines he’d glimpsed earlier, curled around his arms. Imagining their paths made the peculiar aching stings all the more noticeable. “Quite clever, I’m sure. Let me guess: this ‘substance’ drips from thorns, which are currently embedded in my flesh. Painfully, I might add.”

Mandible’s ear flicked away a dancing mosquito. “Correct. I regret the pain. But better that than death?”

Killian had to reluctantly concede the point.

“We will begin to gradually remove them over the next several days. For now, it is best if you continue to sleep. Drink this; it will help.”

Killian allowed Mandible to assist him with slow sips of the brew, though he could already feel the darkness creeping back in and making the assistance redundant. Eyelids at half mast, he fought the pull of sleep for the moment, mumbling,

“What news of a cure?”

Mandible tilted the remainder of the cup’s contents into Killian’s mouth before answering. “We need more time. Some of the experiments show promise, but they may take several more days to show a final result. But you can rest assured that we will continue to try everything in our power to help you.”

Killian allowed his eyes to fall closed. The neutral response would not do much to soothe his subconscious worries, but it was better than the dreaded negative. “And… the hand?”

Mandible was somehow able to understand the slurred question, and he rested a gentle paw on Killian’s arm. “There was not as much internal damage as I had initially feared, and we successfully repaired what we could reach. It may take many seasons to completely heal, but I believe you will recover fully in the end.”

A tear trailed down Killian’s temple as he whispered his thanks, both to the monkey working so hard to save him and to whichever fates had decided to give him a rare break from the misfortune.

“Rest now, Laden. Release your cares. You have proven yourself to be the true Champion of the First Clan. The gods will reward you for your bravery, on a day of their choosing. You will be reunited with your daughter one way or another, of this I am certain.”

“Aye,” whispered Killian without much conviction. The ‘champion’ designation was likely the closest he would get to actual knighthood in his lifetime, but that only mattered if he could play the role for the one person who had always seen him that way. Mandible’s well-meant reassurances did not change the fact that, so far, she had been the only one he couldn’t save.

***

Time passed.

In waves of misery, hours crawling while his entire being was wracked with anguish unlike that which he had ever known before, so intense that he grew ever more certain that the next second would find him waking up in the Underworld, about to atone for his long list of failures and mistakes.

In long stretches of tedious stupor, too uncomfortable to sleep but too weak to do anything but breathe.

In repeated, merciless wound care sessions that he came to dread and could not fight, that seemed to come to an exhausting end only to resume all over again in nearly the same instant.

In nightmares, hallucinations, or maybe premonitions of the future, warning of nothing but continued defeats, a complete smothering of his survival instinct that could easily have been the catalyst for his demise.

And in rare moments of lucidity, when everything made sense again for a while and he could be grateful for the tireless ministrations of the intelligent beings watching over him. Even if they did lack the ability to make time pass any faster, or in a manner that was any less excruciating.

***

A tiny shape lay curled up in the crook of Killian's elbow, barely noticeable except for the radiant heat and rhythmic rocking motion that could only be the deep, even breaths of infant slumber. Killian was technically awake, but still close enough to sleep that the sensation could yet be the remnants of a dream. He lingered there, dead still, savoring the innocent affection even though he knew it could not be his Alice. She had never been that small, not even as a newborn.

He fought off weary disorientation by taking stock of his current condition. He still ached everywhere at once, but it was tolerable as long as he remained completely motionless. The number of thorns piercing his flesh had been reduced by half with the removal of the vines from his arms earlier that day, though both legs were still entwined as plant sap warred with dragon venom within his bloodstream. He could easily have slept for another straight week, but he had also never been more thirsty in his entire life. His appetite was making a comeback, which he took to be a good sign. Perhaps all of the agonizing treatments he'd been enduring over the past blur of days and nights would be worth it after all.

Killian had become good at judging the time of day based on the noises he could hear in the cave. Currently, the ambient sound was about one quarter of that at mealtimes, but with enough action to exclude the middle of the night, when all but a few sentries slept. Likely mid-afternoon, then: rest time for the youngsters and some of the elders as well. Which explained his little napping buddy. Although, considering the monkey’s likely identity, Killian was surprised she would have been let out of her father's sight this soon.

Thirst won out over the temptation to sink back into pain-dampening slumber. Killian dragged his eyes open and blinked a few times, hoping to see Mandible or one of his assistants nearby. No one in the immediate vicinity. He steeled himself and slowly turned his head to the side, wincing as the stretch pulled at the gashes on his neck and shoulder. A short distance away, Mandible hunched over a mortar and pestle, grinding herbs while deep in conversation with his golden-maned leader. So Puzzle was not unsupervised after all.

It did not take the ever-attentive Mandible long to notice his patient’s eyes upon him. He set aside his tools, said something to Favor, then sauntered over to Killian's alcove, striped tail held jauntily above his body.

“Laden,” he greeted softly. “How do you feel?”

“Slightly less like a dead man walking,” Killian replied. He winced. “Do you happen to have some water close by?”

“Of course.”

The healer went to fetch the requested water, then helped Killian to take a sip. While he waited for the signs of pain to recede, Mandible said,

“I have been in discussion with Favor. He would like to speak with you, if you are feeling well enough.”

Killian didn't, not really; he would rather slake his thirst and return to sleep. On the other hand, he had suffered greatly to garner the goodwill of these creatures and would hate to do anything that could be construed as a snub, even if he was not feeling his best. Grimacing, he gave a reluctant nod. Noticing his slight hesitation, Mandible helped him with another mouthful of water and assured him,

“He will not be long.”

Skillfully, he helped raise Killian’s head with an additional pillow, and while Killian breathed through the increased pain, the healer signaled his leader with a flick of his tail. Puzzle stirred briefly with the activity, but quickly settled back into dreams.

Favor leapt up onto the bed and settled himself at Killian's knee, pelt shining as he cast a fond look at his sleeping daughter. Volume low, Favor turned to Killian and said,

“Is Puzzle causing you pain? She wanted to be with you, but I will move her if she is a bother.”

“No, she's fine where she is,” Killian assured him, touched that the little princess would seek him out voluntarily. Favor appeared satisfied with his response. He eyed the bandages covering Killian’s neck and hand, then asked,

“How are you feeling, Laden of the Torn?”

“Improving, thanks to the excellent care of your healers.”

Favor glanced over at Mandible and nodded his approval. Then he turned his attention back to Killian, saying,

“Please accept our most heartfelt thanks for what you have done. It means far more to us than we can express to have our princess returned safely. Especially at such great physical cost to yourself. And it means even more than that to me.”

His eyes were upon his daughter as he continued,

“Mandible has related the details of your story to me. I pray you may one day be blessed with a reunion similar to that which you have granted us.”

“Thank you.” Killian did not doubt his sincerity but was far more interested in what Mandible might have to say on the subject. The healer paused, waiting for Favor’s permission to begin speaking. And somehow, before Mandible had even said a single word, Killian's faint hopes were dashed upon the rocky shoals of reality.

“The curse upon your heart is dreadfully complex. I'm afraid an act of True Love is your only hope of a cure. I'm sorry, Laden; I know that is not what you wish to hear.”

All of Killian’s stern self-coaching against hope provided very little armor against the news he'd been dreading and expecting. Even as he nodded numb comprehension, the cave walls took on a depressingly dungeon-like quality. He knew how rarely True Love actually occurred, and his only love remained forever out of reach. He'd be no further away if he were imprisoned in that moldy cell with the bloody Dark One.

At some point, above the aching of his heart, Killian realized that Mandible was still speaking.

“--flower has gone extinct, as far as we are aware, so this is the only time I can create this potion for you. And I can only give a rough estimate of how long its effects will last, but my guess is the span of one day, sunrise to sunset.”

Killian blinked at Mandible, feeling as if he had missed a step. “Apologies, mate... Potion?”

Patiently, Mandible backtracked. “Yes. It will temporarily make the curse on your heart inert. You will be able to visit your daughter for a short span of time. But, as I said before, the plant which makes up its active ingredient is now extinct, and I have used up my supplies, so I cannot prepare more than one dose.”

Killian's throat constricted at the thought of seeing Alice again, and excitement quickened his pulse as a hundred thoughts flooded his mind. Should he make use of it immediately, or save it for a special occasion, if he had the patience…? Perhaps he could split it into two shorter visits, or a mouthful at a time for an hour here or there, and maybe if he brought the potion to a sorcerer somewhere, it could be replicated without the need for Mandible’s extinct flower, and if he had to drink gallons of the foulest concoction imaginable every day just to keep the poison at bay, he would never hesitate for an instant... it would not be a cure, but it would be the next best thing and a hell of a lot more tolerable an existence than the one he currently led... gods, he ached to have his daughter in his arms right now, injuries be damned…

Reeling with the peaks and troughs of emotion--hopes crushed and then partially restored in the space of a few moments--Killian realized he was once again tuning out the conversation, this time missing a question from Favor. He grimaced a sheepish apology.

“We may have to continue this conversation later… I’m having trouble keeping up… my apologies.”

“Of course.” Favor did not appear to take offense, but he did insist on a final word before yielding to Killian’s request. “I simply asked that, as you recover, you consider what you would accept as a reward for your service, since we could not deliver what we originally had promised.”

Killian’s first instinct was to wave the offer away; he hadn’t truly expected an actual cure, and if Mandible’s potion worked as promised, it was worth more than any treasure these monkeys could possibly possess. But… if he did seek the assistance of a sorcerer to try and duplicate the potion, that would not come cheap, and he was running low on funds these days… “I… thank you, I will mull it over.”

Gratified, Favor took one more adoring look at the cozy, sleeping princess. “I leave you to your rest, then, with a wish and a prayer for your well-being.”

It had the ring of a traditional blessing, but not knowing the expected response, Killian merely said again,

“Thank you.”

The clan leader gave a nod to Mandible and then leapt nimbly to the floor and ambled away. Mandible helped Killian to drink some more water, and though the pirate had plenty of questions about the potion, he decided to save them for later, when his head was clearer. For now, the promise of at least one future reunion in the tower would be enough to get him through the final stretch of his recuperation.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #wound care #recuperation #pain #restrained #thorns #exhaustion #confusion #disappointment #knightrook angst #small hope

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hookaroo · 5 months

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OUAT Week Day 5: Favorite parallel(s)

Here's a riddle for you.

Once upon a time, there was a man. A father, to be precise, who loved his child with all his heart. The child's mother had left, so the father was the only parent the child had left. One day the father met a man, a pirate, who mocked him for his softness and weakness, for that is what the pirate thought being a loving father was: soft and weak. But the pirate was not unreasonable; he gave the father the chance to prove him wrong. He challenged the father to a duel. But, of course, such a venture was risky, as the father's child was waiting for him back home, and needed him to come home safe.

What did the father say? Did he say no?

Or did he say yes?

When we first meet Killian Jones in 2.04 "The Crocodile," he takes on the role of the pirate in the story above: the tormentor who believes that putting your child first is worthy of scorn. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants," he declares, "deserves what he gets" -- an impressive bit of rhetorical theatre that erases the very personhood of Milah and Baelfire both, instead constructing a world that revolves around the figure of the "man" and his success or failure to live up to a hyper-individualist and violent ideal of masculinity. No one else figures into the equation -- not women and certainly not children. To even consider putting fatherhood before being "a man," in Killian's worldview, is nothing but weakness.

By the time 7.13 "Knightfall" rolls around, Killian is now in the role of the father in the story, faced with the choice to duel a pirate and affirm his masculinity through meaningless violence or to go straight home to Alice and free her from the tower without risking his life first. It is no accident that he finds himself in the same situation he once put Rumpelstiltskin in so many years ago. Rather, it is a necessary step in his journey of redemption, growth, and healing.

Like so many other villains and former villains on Once Upon a Time, Killian was once a victim of other people's actions, but over time he has become his own worst enemy. Therefore, it is himself and his own false ideology that he must defeat in order to progress on his journey. So while Captain Ahab is not literally Killian, the way the Split Evil Queen is literally half of Regina or Wish Rumple is literally a version of Rumple, he is metaphorically Killian, and specifically Killian from "The Crocodile."

Captain Ahab makes metatextual sense as a mirror-Killian. Melville's Ahab was a direct inspiration for Barrie's Captain Hook -- in their source texts, both captains lose limbs to sea creatures and dedicate their lives to pursuing revenge against the ones they blame for this loss. And Captain Ahab's name is practically synonymous with obsession and revenge in popular culture. Ahab is revenge made flesh, the originator of the legacy of vengeance and violence that all Captain Hooks are heir to, here to tempt Killian into undoing the work he did in 7.07 "Eloise Gardener" to give up his revenge and his old pirate life behind for the sake of his child.

"Eloise Gardener" is a major turning point for Killian, arguably the biggest one possible. It is the moment where he chooses Alice over his quest for revenge, and in doing so rejects the version of himself who sold Baelfire to Pan, who orphaned and abandoned Liam II, who hated his father and Rumpelstiltskin so much that (as Bae put it) he didn't even realize he had become just like them. In this moment, he chooses not to continue down the path of becoming like his father, instead choosing to identify himself with his mother, who stayed with him "as long as she could." He names his daughter after her; he sings the same lullaby to his infant child that she used to sing to him; he promises to follow her example in staying with his child. He breaks the cycle he's been trapped in for literal centuries.

But that is not the end of the story. Just as Regina choosing Henry over the curse in the 3.09 "Save Henry" flashbacks was not the end of her story. She still had a lot to learn. And so, at this point, does Killian.

Thus, when faced with the same choice Rumple was faced with all those years ago, Killian chooses wrong. Unlike Rumple, he does not swallow his pride and go home to his child, even as Wish Rumple begs and cajoles him to do just that. Wish Rumple has his own self-serving reasons for not wanting Killian to accept the duel, but it is hard not to see him as an echo of the past, urging Killian to make the same choice he himself once made. But Killian doesn't listen. He accepts the duel, choosing the path set for him by Ahab -- his mirror-self, the reflection of the man he once was, his own false ideology that he has yet to truly reckon with. And it costs him everything.

Although he does not die in the duel, the way Rumple surely would have if he'd accepted Killian's challenge, Alice still loses him. A tiny graze from Ahab's bullet permanently poisons his heart and makes it impossible for Killian to stay with his daughter the way he once promised to. It is a profound cruelty on Gothel's part, but perhaps the cruelest part of it is that Killian, like all great tragic heroes, did it to himself. He chose to risk never coming home to his daughter, and that choice in itself ensured he never would. His own twisted ideology has failed him, and he has been forced to confront just how wrong and empty it truly is.

But this is not the end of the story, either. Indeed, in its own way, it is a kind of new beginning. For all that the curse of the poisoned heart is an awful thing for Killian and Alice to endure, Killian's experience with the duel does ultimately change him for the better. Not instantly, for it is hard to change without a support system, especially when you are suffering; but once he has people who have his back, he is able to take the lesson he's learned to heart. What is that lesson? That there is nothing in the world that matters more than one's child; that cleaving children from good parents who love them is nothing but petty cruelty; that being a good father is more important than being "a man" who is willing to "fight for what he wants"; that what he did to Rumple centuries ago was wrong.

Once Killian has learned this lesson, he can overcome his own previous failings as a sort of anti-father figure (or in other words, a Captain Hook -- George Darling's other face, a man whom "no little children love"). Instead of separating families and orphaning children, Killian helps keep families together. He abandons his plan to replace expectant father Storybrooke Hook in 7.02 "A Pirate's Life"; he helps reunite Zelena with Robin Jr. in 7.11 "Secret Garden"; he defends Regina's decision to cast the curse to save Henry in 7.10 "The Eighth Witch"; and, perhaps most touchingly, he gives Jacinda the white elephant to keep her and Lucy together in that same episode, sacrificing his own chance at a life with Alice to do so.

He becomes a living embodiment of loving fatherhood, surpassing not just his past self and his own father but Rumpelstiltskin as well. Indeed, in 7.22 "Leaving Storybrooke", he dies redeeming Rumpelstiltskin's greatest betrayal of Baelfire -- Killian keeps hold of Alice's hand while a portal threatens to separate them even as her very touch kills him, in sharp contrast to Rumple's series-defining moment in 1.19 "The Return" when he lets go of Bae's hand for fear of losing his power. Rumple, in turn, dies redeeming Killian's greatest transgression against Alice -- he gives Killian his heart to replace the one Killian poisoned with his choice to duel Ahab. Rumple, whom Killian taunted when they first met for choosing to get home safe to his son rather than risk his life, gives his life so that Killian can get home safe to his daughter, and in doing so finally heals the wound Killian inflicted on himself all those years ago when he made the opposite choice.

It is a powerful and beautiful ending for Killian and Rumpelstiltskin both: an ending where they redeem themselves by redeeming and healing each other, where they do for Alice what neither could do for Baelfire, where they defeat the ghosts of their past selves for good and pave the way for a better future. And it was all set in motion a long, long time ago -- with a father, a pirate, and an offer to duel.

#ouat #ouat meta #wish hook #wish rumple #ouat s7 #knightrook #moistvonlipwig #awesome analysis #well done!

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hookaroo · 5 months

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Laden of the Torn (21 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Awash in a sudden, palpable gloom, Killian lurched to a dazed halt. Either he had missed the entire transition from dusk to night, or blood loss and dragon venom were affecting his vision in a most unnerving way. Or perhaps he'd lost consciousness and now lay hallucinating the sensations of standing. The throb of an uneven pulse in his ears drowned out any hint of background noise as he struggled to catch his breath and decipher his current situation. He caught a whiff of wood smoke. Blood. Dampness and animal musk.

A gentle tickle below his ribs caused brief confusion until he remembered his important passenger. Puzzle stirred again, underneath his shirt, more excited than scared this time. And as faint chattering began to filter through the static in his ears, a torch flared to life only a few paces away, and Killian's confusion cleared just enough to recognize the interior of the First Clan’s cave. He had no memory of approaching the entrance, nor of much of the flight before that. But apparently that did not matter, and he had made it. Somehow. And not a moment too soon, either. Intense vertigo dropped him to his knees then, with the distinct possibility that he would never rise again.

Puzzle was nearly frantic now, caught in the folds of his shirt like a nightmare victim entangled in bed sheets. Killian lifted a trembling, heavy hand toward the v-neck but could not move any of his fingers, so he made do with painfully slipping the mangled digits beneath and peeling blood-caked cotton away from skin. The miniature princess bolted without a moment's hesitation, and all Killian saw then was a streak of red-gold as she leapt into her father's waiting arms. Reluctantly mesmerized, Killian watched the reunion in silence, frozen there on his knees. The gestures of simian affection were perhaps somewhat alien in detail, but recognizable enough as the very thing he longed for most. The cold emptiness at the crook of his elbow spread upward to envelop his cursed heart, smothering all but the barest hint of shared rejoicing that should have been the natural response to the tender moment.

Lost in emotion, the duo had no thought to spare for the rest of the clan celebrating their princess’ safe return, and Killian found he could not reproach Favor for that. His focus was right where it should be.

It should have inspired hope, this hard-fought victory…

Some hazy span of time had passed captive to that poignant scene when, between soul-crushing pangs of longing, Killian sensed that he was no longer quite so alone. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and turned to look, immediately regretting both actions as the worst of his injuries flared to a more scorching level of intensity. Throughout the cave, additional torches were being lit as joy returned to the clan. Killian caught a bleary glimpse of Blackbeard against the back wall, gagged and glowering, but he was too exhausted to even feel like relishing the other man’s plight.

Then he caught sight of the gray stripes of Mandible, approaching on all fours, watching both his princess and the bloodied pirate who had rescued her. Mandible settled himself at Killian’s side, studied the touching sight one moment more, then looked up. He rested a gentle paw on Killian’s forearm.

“Thank you,” said Mandible quietly, and Killian saw more empathy in those non-human eyes than he would have thought possible. He swallowed hard and flashed a wan smile.

“You lot arrived just in time.” His voice sounded feeble even to himself. “Thank you for the navigation assistance.”

“The Less have lost many warriors today,” Mandible said bluntly. “They will not try anything like this again. Puzzle is safe, thanks to you.”

Knowing better than to nod, Killian merely sat silently, watching as Favor meticulously groomed his restored child. When he glanced back down, it was to see Mandible studying the wounds on his neck, obviously concerned. Killian sighed and grimaced.

“I hope you’ve built up an appetite for those bloody ants.”

Mandible’s expression did not change.

“The First will feast in your honor tonight,” he said, and Killian couldn’t tell whether he was trying to be humorous or not.

“You’ll have to pass along my regrets. I have a pressing duty to be comatose for at least the next fortnight. That’s assuming the Mire Dragon bite doesn’t finish me off in the meantime.”

Though Mandible seemed to understand the sarcasm, the concern did not fade from his demeanor. “Can you make it to the back of the cave?”

Killian had his doubts, but he gathered his strength for the attempt.

“Aye,” he grunted, “but keep the transporter magic on standby.”

***

The cave went black again, and not for lack of torches this time, but Killian managed to drag himself along after Mandible, past revelers and wavy shapes that squeaked their thanks as they passed. Killian’s limbs felt as if they were coated in iron, and his toes, ears, and cheeks had gone numb. A part of him longed to inquire after Mandible’s progress in developing a cure for his heart, but he was too close to oblivion, and he needed to save his breath for the mere act of limping onward. Still, any good news on that front would go a long way toward bolstering his strength for the torturous healing soon to come. Because while the rescue of Puzzle had provided a small amount of satisfaction, watching the reunion had only served to highlight his whole motive for enduring all of this brutality. And so far, he could not say whether it had been worth it, especially while still suffering the worst of the battle’s effects. Especially not knowing whether his hand was now permanently damaged, or whether he would succumb to venom, blood loss, or infection despite Mandible’s best efforts.

Killian shivered, suddenly massively disoriented, and it was only a stroke of good fortune that kept him from reeling into a nearby wall. He stopped to get his bearings, cold sweat prickling at his temples. The healer monkey swam into view, as unsteady as the rest of his surroundings, and urged him forward.

“Nearly there,” he promised, sounding much farther away than he appeared. Killian reached out his scarred wrist to steady himself against the stone. Just a few more steps. He’d made it this far; it wouldn’t do to lose consciousness now. But bloody hell, he’d rarely been closer.

Warmer light up ahead.

Killian stopped when the wall stopped. It took him a moment to recognize the alcove as a refuge rather than an empty void. Those inviting animal skins could have been damp straw and still been just as tempting.

He landed a little too heavily; there was still a rock slab beneath the bedding, after all. Groaning, he managed to kick off his boots before stretching out on his side, not waiting for instruction. He’d just saved their princess. They should be able to forgive a bit of blood on their linens.

Through half-lidded eyes, he watched Mandible giving orders to his assistants. Quite a demanding creature, that monkey.

“This’s the part where you supply enough rum to get me through, right, mate?”

Golden-furred Aura cringed back from the unfamiliar rasp in Killian’s voice, but Mandible nodded at another healer carrying a small wooden bowl, which he took possession of before leaping up onto the bed.

“This will take the edge off,” he promised. “But it will also make you feel quite ill for the next several days, so use it sparingly.”

Killian planned to be asleep for the next several days; to hell with sparingly. “Cheers.”

Having been prepared to administer the draught himself, Mandible wasn’t expecting Killian’s torn hand to come crashing in and splashing the bowl’s entire contents--which wasn’t much more than a single mouthful anyway--past parched lips. Killian swallowed, winced, and fell back. He opened one eye to find an affronted monkey puffed up in a defensive reflex.

“That’s got nothing on Gentleman Starkey’s grog,” Killian slurred. “I’ll take my chances with the hangover.”

Mandible had no response for him; neither did he feel the need to force-feed Killian a purgative, so the dosage must have been safe enough.

And even that wasn’t much once the healers got started in earnest.

***

Killian hadn’t had time for more than a breath of preparation, and certainly not enough for Mandible’s concoction to have had any effect, before a soaking wet rag was draped over his neck and shoulder. It was soothingly cool at first, but apparently dripping with an antiseptic of some sort that soon had the bleeding tooth marks blazing with anguish. Killian sucked a desperate breath through his teeth, praying for the impending darkness to hurry it up already. But alas, relief remained out of reach for the time being.

Mandible’s other minions were occupied with cutting away the remains of Killian’s clothing, peeling off strips that were stiff with his blood. And even though it was one of the last outfits he owned and could scarcely afford to replace it, he couldn’t exactly rebuke them for their destructive methods. He sure as hell could not provide much assistance and was in too damn much pain to even try.

Then Mandible was reaching for Killian’s hand, holding another rag dripping with liquid agony. Killian squeezed his eyes shut as every other muscle tensed in dread.

“Careful,” he hissed, shuddering. “I was hoping to retain some semblance of function in that hand.”

Mandible made no assurances. Wordlessly, he wrapped the rag around the back of Killian’s hand, and that part wasn’t even so bad until the antiseptic got to the swollen knuckles, but when he began to gently straighten each mutilated finger to ensure the palm was doused in the stuff as well, that was when Killian had to fight back the desperate urge to pull away. Tears stung his eyes and he growled through gritted teeth.

Go to a happy place, he would have urged Alice. And even though she had never been anywhere but her tower, her imagination was always up to the challenge and she would be off with her animal friends, bravely stoic as he washed a scraped knee or abraded elbow, and the encouragement of loved ones real and imaginary was enough to see her through. The trouble was, his happy place was also so, so sad.

“The… cure,” he hissed. “Tell me--”

His breath caught in his throat as fresh flames engulfed his arm where claws and teeth had savaged the final barrier between the attacking Less and their prize. He could feel himself trembling. He opened his eyes and was met with a confusing clash of color and shadow, flickering torchlight, alien furred faces with impassive eyes. A futile search for Mandible among those images only erased the question he’d been about to ask, and it didn’t seem to matter anyway, for the hoots and chattering he’d understood just seconds before was now as incomprehensible as the day he’d first been magicked into this bloody cave.

Breaths came and went, marked with the crashing of boiling waves in unpredictable patterns, and though he experienced each sensation as sharply as the next, he had started to feel disconnected from it all, suffering and not particularly caring as creatures with monkey paws and ant heads swarmed him from head to foot. Closing his eyes did not help in the slightest, for the visions continued either way, equally as unsettling. So he stared, unflinching though parts of him were being gnawed, other parts tangled in Dreamshade vines complete with thorns, and he lacked all fear and demanded no explanation.

His happy place may well be lost to him forever. What were a few hours of torture in comparison to that?

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #knightrook angst #longing for a hug from Alice #everyone always gets a reunion except for him #T_T #dizziness #confusion #injury treatment #pain #blood #hallucinations

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hookaroo · 6 months

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😂😂😂 but also 😍🤩😍🤩😍🤩

This is amazing!!!!!!!!

Blood/ MCR • Killian Jones, a suffering pirate

this song is actually about him<3

(I recommend sound on from the very beginning)

#killian jones #whump #blood #so perfect!#his little sneer at the end #happy-emmdings #ouat video edit

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hookaroo · 6 months

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Laden of the Torn (20 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Retracing his steps yet again to escape another cruel dead end, Killian worked to quell mounting frustration. With less than an hour until sunset and no means of building a fire, it was looking increasingly likely that he would face the choice of continuing by whatever moonlight permeated the clouds, or hunkering down on cold stone in damp clothing and possibly freezing to death by morning. Even the map would have done them little good at this point. They seemed to be caught in an invisible tide, approaching the likely misremembered landmark only to meet a dead end and be swept backwards the exact same distance to try a new path. If only he could climb the heartless crags concealing the way.

Puzzle was asleep again, in her new favorite spot beneath his shirt, riding his braceless forearm as he held it stiffly against his abdomen. At least one of them was comfortable.

He considered again the idea he’d been toying with all afternoon: if he simply called out for help, perhaps some of Puzzle’s kin would find them and guide them home. The First had allegedly been observing Killian and Blackbeard for days before the ambush with the fishing nets; undoubtedly, they would have scouts watching for Puzzle’s return.

But a shout could bring unwanted attention, too. If the Less were attempting to get their hostage back, they may be closer even than any First scouts. And Killian was not at all confident in his ability to survive another skirmish.

He reached the fork at which he’d made the incorrect choice before and dutifully turned to follow the other path. Alice had recently gone through a maze phase, after reading the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur, and had occupied herself for nearly a week drawing increasingly complicated labyrinths for him to solve, or begging him to create the same for her. Being afforded a bird’s-eye view was entirely different than navigating one from inside, though. Theoretically, following one wall or the other might eventually lead to the exit, and would prevent endless meandering and becoming lost, but that strategy would likely also take longer as every single branching path would have to be traversed. And in this case, there were probably multiple routes and more than one exit, so he just needed to be persistent and try not to wander in circles…

Behind him. The sudden clatter of stone on stone, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. He spun on his heel, immediately tense, and as he searched dizzily for any sign of movement, his hand edged toward the precious passenger concealed in his shirt. He would not allow her to fall back into enemy hands, no matter what it took.

There was nothing there. He watched for a moment, and listened. Silence. Perhaps he’d just loosened a bit of slate passing through, causing it to belatedly shift in his wake. Cautiously, he bent to fish the spear blade from the bandage pouch. Grasping it hurt, but he refused to be unarmed this time. Even if the noise wasn’t an approaching foe.

Puzzle seemed to have picked up on his apprehension, and she positioned herself more securely in the crook of his elbow. Her tremors were visible in fluttering waves of damp black cotton. Killian limped two cautious steps backwards and halted. The silence persisted. He did not trust himself to keep his balance without watching his steps, so he did an uneasy about-face, but moved as quietly as he could and cast frequent glances rearward to keep an eye out for movement.

He made it perhaps a hundred paces further down the canyon without incident. He was finding it increasingly harder to grip his makeshift weapon as the tooth punctures at the base of his thumb pulsed with pain. But his danger sense still tingled, warning of invisible eyes upon him as he walked, and he had to remain ready for an imminent attack despite appearances to the contrary.

Killian froze. Up ahead of him this time: grating shale and the briefest hint of movement. The synchronized throbbing in his hand and leg tripled in tempo to match his racing heart. Multiple pursuers? The whole Less Clan could very well be out searching for him, but with such an imbalance in numbers, why then would they be holding back their attack?

A rumbling, repeated whoop filled the empty space behind him, starting slowly but gradually picking up speed, and Killian needed no translator potion to interpret its menace. Panting with adrenaline, he made several staggering circles but still could not find the source of the sounds. A higher-pitched hooting joined the first voice, calling an invitation: the advance scouts had found their prey.

Killian stood no chance. Fight or flee, the Less had the advantage. In desperation, he whirled and took off down the canyon, praying he would not fall and crush the treasure he carried. As the call to battle grew and became more shrill, it brought to mind certain hooligans from certain bygone days, and Killian half expected to feel a dreamshade-laced arrow pierce his heart at any moment. Instead, a well-timed hurdle sent claws and fur flying at his face, and though he ducked, stumbling, the Less warrior found purchase in his collar and was immediately on the attack. It was unarmed, the better to keep up with its longer-legged quarry, but that wasn’t much of a hindrance, considering its natural weaponry. As Killian struggled to maintain his balance, he swiped at the monkey with his spear blade, hoping to throw it off before it found flesh with its teeth.

With very little effort, the monkey dodged the blade and sank its fangs into the protruding knuckles of Killian’s first two fingers, all in one rapid motion. Before the pain even began to register, he was shaking his hand furiously to dislodge the vicious beast, but it was now wrapping all four limbs plus its tail around his forearm, intent on removing his only visible means of defense.

Still lurching down the path leading gods-knew-where, Killian took a drunken step sideways, aiming for the nearest rock wall. His desperate plan was to pummel his sharp-toothed tormentor against stone until it let go, preferably before it managed to sever any fingers entirely.

A shard of razor-stone hissed past his ear. Another bounced off the back of his neck. The terrifying din swelled in volume, coming from all directions now, monkey shrieks of aggressive solidarity. Hardly breaking stride, Killian flung his weighed-down arm against the rock face, no time for precision as more irregular missiles bruised and shredded wherever they struck. Instinctively, Killian turned his shoulder to the assault, hunching over slightly, shielding Puzzle as much as he could.

Though probably dazed, the monkey attacking his hand would not let go. Its teeth clamped tighter as it wrenched its neck side to side in an apparent effort to rend flesh from bone. Killian struck the rock again, but the heel of his fist absorbed most of the blow. Clawed hind feet scrabbled for better purchase as tiny fingers dug and scratched agonizingly at his already-injured palm, and Killian realized it was trying to take his blade from him, or maybe just to prevent him from using it…

From seemingly out of nowhere, two additional Less warriors, bigger than their comrade, alighted on Killian’s back and shoulder, and he narrowly avoided a stumble, stabilizing himself with the hand currently hammering against the rock. Pivoting quickly, he slammed his back against the wall so hard it nearly knocked the wind from him, but his passengers were too quick to be trapped. They leapt nimbly to the wall’s razor crest, then immediately back down to their target, both realizing at the same moment where the rescued princess must be hiding. Their collision momentarily caused them to forget they were allies, and the earsplitting tussle that followed gave Killian just enough time to pin the finger-biter between his hip and the wall, and with a mighty heave, he tore his hand free from its determined gnawing.

Pushing off from the wall, Killian bent forward abruptly in an attempt to throw off his remaining two attackers, but they had damnably good balance and reflexes, and they merely shifted their wrestling match to his upper back. With a cursory glance at the blood covering his mangled fingers, Killian carefully positioned his arm across his chest to cover the little “cave” where Puzzle cowered. He had somehow retained his grip on the spear blade in his fist, and he rested it against the opposite bicep, pointing upward as a pathetic obstacle for would-be arm-scalers.

Killian had just taken a faltering step forward when a solid mass barreled into the back of his leg, causing his knee to buckle and sending him sprawling forward. He managed to avoid using his arms as he landed hard on both knees. The duo on his shoulders were finally knocked loose by the jarring landing, but he didn’t have time to register that fact before his new assailant took their place. It felt like nearly triple their combined weight, and Killian could only surmise that the Less commander Quake had found him.

The big ape suddenly had his very humanoid fingers wrapped around Killian’s throat. There would be no need to pry Puzzle from the pirate’s grasp if he were dead.

Immediately panicking for air, Killian slashed upward with his blade and was rewarded with a lessening of the pressure on his trachea, though the keen edge sliced into his hand just as deeply as it did Quake’s. He stabbed upward again. The weapon slipped from his grasp. Quake seemed to be treating Killian’s throat as a tree trunk while he nursed his cut, leaning back at a casual angle, hind feet on Killian’s shoulder blades. Killian’s damaged fingers had little effect on the powerful grip.

“Kill!” shrieked Quake, between licks of his own blood. “Kill the Torn!”

Killian dragged an unsatisfying breath past the obstruction and began to struggle to his feet. He heaved himself up with an exhausted, strangled groan, his fingers still engaged in a futile wrestling match with the hand squeezing his windpipe. He could see dozens of Less warriors flooding the canyon, pouring over the walls like drones defending an anthill. Killian felt as if he were carrying a full cask of rum on his back as he braced himself for the onslaught.

They came from all sides, scaling his legs, using each other as springboards, or even leaping from the walltops and, try as he might to dodge or shake them off, there were simply too many and he was quickly overwhelmed.

One particularly conniving creature latched on to one of Killian’s boots and began a ferocious tug-of-war battle as he fought to maintain his balance. Others swiftly joined in, and it wasn’t long before he had his feet pulled out from underneath him. Once more on his knees, being flayed and helpless to stop it, Killian curled himself protectively around princess Puzzle. Should it be his fate to die today, he was damn well prepared to spend his final moments shielding her for as long as he could.

Suddenly, the tightness in his throat could not entirely be explained by Quake’s almost-lazy grasp. Another young one he’d failed to save. It seemed he deserved this death.

Into the haze of pain came a bolt of fire as mighty ape fangs pierced the back of his neck and shoulder. Doubtless probing for vital structures, though with victory all but assured, Quake must have wanted to savor the moment, and paralysis only lurked. But jolts of electricity shot down his arm and torso, and it could only be a matter of time.

Other clawed hands were digging, tearing at his arms as his strength quickly faded. Soon, they would breach the cave protecting Puzzle, drag her out, take her back or kill her in their frenzy, and Killian could do nothing.

Amidst the raging anguish of the attack, a sudden doubling of the surrounding tumult could only be Hellfire’s roar as eternity rushed to claim him. But then… one fewer set of claws raking his arm, a little less weight on his back. Fangs withdrawn abruptly, assault averted. By the next heartbeat, all of the monkeys had abandoned ship, even Quake, though it felt as if he’d taken a sizable chunk of Killian’s shoulder with him.

It could be a trick. They could be backing off to get him to look up and expose Puzzle. Killian didn’t dare risk it and remained frozen in place, panting and bleeding.

The nearby melee continued. Then the screams of pain started. And they sounded too intense to be faked.

Killian lifted his head cautiously, poised to resume his position should anything dive for the entrance. But no, one glance made plain the all-out battle taking place. First versus Less, to the death, and no attention could be spared for the Torn intruder in their midst.

Killian’s vision swam as he made desperate calculations. He should make a run for it, if he could even stand. He had missed seeing where the First had come from. Away from here, though, while the two clans fought. Figure out the rest later. Or… turn Puzzle over to a First ally? Could he pick one out with enough confidence?

This whole time, the cacophony had blended into an unintelligible animal din, too garbled for the translator portion to keep up, or maybe the pure wild rage needed no interpretation. But suddenly, one shout did rise above the noise, a single word, repeated.

“Laden!”

Killian searched frantically for the culprit. Nearby, Quake thrashed dark limbs beneath a swarm of undersized opponents. Blood, fur and carnage everywhere. No clear advantage for either side, not yet; only the vultures gathering high above.

“Laden!”

His eyes were drawn to the walltop, about forty paces ahead and to his right. Concealed in the striated shadows, a gray-and-black face peered out between two thorn-like projections crowning the canyon walls. The distance challenged his ability to distinguish facial features, but Killian was fairly certain it must be Mandible, or at the very least, another of the First Clan. Only they knew the nickname by which he was now being summoned.

Killian forced himself up, and the world dimmed for a disconcertingly long period of time. Wincing, he took an off-kilter step toward renewed hope, feeling as if he were floating above the horde of distracted monkeys underfoot.

Perhaps even long-disused sea legs aided him against a madly tilting pathway, for he managed to avoid falling despite obstacles he could barely see. One Less soldier made a half-hearted grab at his ankle but was immediately set upon by one of the First. Hardly pausing in his unsteady stride, Killian pressed onward.

With all of the alarmingly blurry edges the scene had taken on, it was a real possibility that he had imagined the face on the walltop. He did not see it again until he was suddenly and inexplicably passing beneath the landmark with only a vague sense of how he had gotten there. Craning his neck to search was torture, and he dared not stop walking in case he could not start again; thankfully, his guide made a reappearance a little farther down the path, beckoning him forward, and it was enough motivation for ten more steps, then twenty after that, and it did not matter that he couldn't remember each passing moment, as long as he had this semi-solid vision to follow without much thinking required.

The turf war’s fury gradually faded behind him, becoming a confusing mess of echoes off the surrounding stone. Must-Be-Mandible met Killian at a fork in the canyon, and it was then that he noticed two more friendly lurkers keeping vigilant watch in every direction. All three directed Killian down the left path--which, if he were being honest, was the opposite of what he would have chosen. So maybe they were real after all.

After two more turns which led them more or less in the expected direction but would have taken him hours to find on his own, Killian's heart rate was just beginning to settle into less of a terror-stricken sprint. But the waning of adrenaline meant a sharpening of pain, and the dogged pace set at first by necessity was no longer sustainable.

“Quickly,” urged the First as Killian began to lag behind, likely sensing things he could not.

“Take her,” he answered hoarsely. “I'll find my own way…”

Then he was ducking as a Less warrior exploded out of hiding, and the two sentries leapt to engage, and he was suddenly running again, drawing on one final reserve of strength to follow Mandible in the direction of safety.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #lost in a labyrinth #monkey attack #animal bites #strangulation #protecting the princess #blood #whump #running #simian battle

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hookaroo · 6 months

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THANK YOU FOR THE SHOUT-OUT!!!!! :D

This will probably always be my favorite thing I've ever written. 😈

Relevant jack-o'-lantern from that year:

Happy Halloween, friends!!

Vocivore, Ltd. (1 of 40?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Rating: M (warnings below)

Summary: An unidentified monster terrorizes the United Realms three years after its inception, enslaving and brainwashing innocents from every land. Casualties mount. A plan hatched out of desperation places Killian at the mercy of the savage villain… where no one survives for long.

Will be posted later today to FFN and AO3.

AN: A million thanks to the organizers of the OUAT Winter Whump event! The influx of whump in the past few weeks has been amazing and I’m so grateful to be joining with such talented, like-minded people in the torture of our favorite characters. Extra thanks to @ouatwinterwhump for graciously assigning me a later posting date by request. I’ve had some productive weeks recently and am 75% sure the story is 75% complete :]

To my new friend @huffleporg: thank you for the offer to beta for me, and SO sorry this blossomed into too much. I feel bad that you didn’t get to participate because of me. I support you 100% in having to kindly decline the role, and I’m glad you’re being sensible and not biting off more than you can chew. For what it’s worth, I think that just the idea of using a beta for the first time made me even more nitpicky than usual, so you ended up helping anyway! :) Good luck with med school! You’re awesome!

This tale is 35 chapters long so far. In order to keep it a true “winter” event, and not stretch all the way into next summer, I plan to do my very best to post twice a week. However, the holiday weeks may see only one update apiece.

One great thing about this event was the thought that it could truly be a story with whump as the whole motive, no (self-imposed) pressure to give a deeper meaning or make it fit a more mainstream audience. So… you may find that the whump and aftercare drags on longer than in a “normal” story… because those are the parts I like the most! And it’s kind of the point :) Also, in the usual OUAT style, it jumps back and forth between “past” events and “present,” and the timeline will probably get confusing. My only advice is to pay attention to the labels.

WARNINGS: Obviously, there’s going to be a lot of pain and graphic injury involved. Also: abduction, restraints, brainwashing, serious medical issues, nudity, some bad language, and finally, hints that could be interpreted as non-con. Especially if you’re a Krakillian shipper who knows all of the wonderful things tentacles can be used for :] But nothing explicit is actually shown.

Enjoy!

Keep reading

#ouat fanfiction #vocivore ltd #whump #captainswanholidayspecialreruns #mature content #tw: violence #tw: noncon

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hookaroo · 6 months

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@jarienn972 :)

Captain Swan Halloween Reruns presents: The Inbetween

Written by: jarienn972

Recommended by: anon

Summary: Emma is tasked with locating 3 teenagers who didn't come home after spending an evening trying to be amateur ghost hunters in the abandoned Sorcerer's Mansion. In a house they already knew was full of surprises, Emma and Killian find that the teens might not be the only one

What the recommender loved: I love the author's writing style, it's a creative premise and the relationships and characterizations are all wonderful!

What we love: It's a fun story with lots of spooky elements! I was on the edge of my seat! -kazzy

read it here!

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #jarienn972 #killian whump #captainswanholidayspecialreruns

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hookaroo · 6 months

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Laden of the Torn (19 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Killian was not feeling lightheaded. Absolutely not. Everything was just fine, thank you very much, and he certainly hadn’t almost lost his footing just a moment ago on a leg that was simultaneously stiff and unsteady, alternately skewered by intense heat or disturbingly muted sensation from toes to knee joint. No, there was no need to stop and rest; he could continue on like this for ages. He was a pirate in his prime, not a single thing ailing him, with all the strength and stamina of a well-rested athletic champion.

If only he could convince himself of the falsehoods he was silently reciting.

He paused to catch his breath, hunched slightly, but mindful of the priceless cargo nestled upon his shoulder. Deliberately avoiding catching sight of his haphazardly bandaged hand--the thumb and forefinger felt icy cold at this point despite the intense throbbing from the wounds above--he squinted at the natural rock spires lining the horizon.

“Look up ahead, little one. Do you see those two angled peaks, like rapiers crossed in battle? I believe I recall seeing them as I left your home. That means we’re nearly there.”

Puzzle only curled tighter against his neck, trembling. Did she know what a rapier was? Could she even understand anything he was saying to her? Wishing desperately that he had some food to give her, or at least a little water, Killian used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his face. Pity he'd been forced to leave the damned map in Lack’s one-handed clutches… this place was such a maze, with so many trails to the impassable, that if he were wrong about his landmark, he could wander until he wasted away and no one would ever know what became of him. Still could, even with the correct landmark in sight, if he were unable to reach it. To say nothing of the venom likely making its inexorable journey throughout his circulatory system, wreaking havoc everywhere it touched…

But he said none of this aloud. Instead, he nudged his cheek gently against the tiny, frightened creature he carried, and whispered the one truth he knew above all others:

“Your papa is going to be so happy to see you.”

***

The pleasant air grew heavy, humidity settled in the zig-zags between rock walls, and only the most oblivious fool would have missed the signs of a brewing storm. An uneasy Killian had no choice but to continue onward, no shelter to be found. The First Clan would not be living in their cave if this area were prone to flash flooding, he reasoned. So that, at least, was a hazard he could probably disregard.

The sky darkened in a matter of moments, a chilly breeze hastening the transition. The gaps between towering razor stones served to channel the wind to a stronger fury, and Killian could feel Puzzle’s trembling intensify. As the first fat raindrops began to fall, he made one more quick survey of his surroundings; he’d really hoped to miraculously find himself back at the First encampment before the storm hit. But no such luck, and the clouds weren’t even giving him the courtesy of a lovely shower before the torrential downpour.

Soaked almost immediately, Killian headed for the nearest patch of semi-flat ground and stiffly lowered himself down for a rest. He could at least try to keep Puzzle somewhat warm, if not dry. The ever-present serrations dug into his hips and back, and he scowled. Why any creature would choose to make this inhospitable landscape home would always be a mystery to him.

A grumble of thunder echoed the sentiment. The baby monkey on his shoulder gave a single squeak of fright before attempting to burrow beneath the sodden collar of his shirt. Too quickly, Killian reached up to try and soothe her, only for searing pain at the base of his thumb to remind him of the bite wounds restricting mobility in his hand. Reflexive cursing caught in his throat, but wouldn’t have mattered anyway as another rumble vibrated the rocks around them.

Gingerly, wincing with every twitch of his thumb, Killian wrestled a few more buttons loose on his shirt. The fabric could not have been any wetter, but it had to be marginally warmer there against the skin of his abdomen, and it would shelter Puzzle from the biting wind blowing past at regular intervals. Killian rested his left arm across his lap to act as a cushion for her, then reached up with an aching hand to stroke her saturated fur.

“Don’t be frightened, love,” he murmured as tenderly as he knew how. She stirred, craving the reassuring touch, but hesitant to leave her self-made shelter. “You’re safe, and the storm will pass.”

He carefully peeled the shirt back from his chest and shoulder, making a visible tunnel from collar down to arm-cushion. And Puzzle could not resist the prospect of a dark, secure hideaway. In a heartbeat, she had disappeared into the tunnel and curled up in the crook of Killian’s elbow, wet fur tickling his ribs, and he couldn't prevent the small, charmed smile that crossed his face. He settled himself more comfortably against the stone and suppressed a shiver as a particularly strong gust of wind blew the rain sideways against his face. He could feel Puzzle’s heartbeat speed up in response to a thunderclap directly above their heads, and he rested his hand near the trembling lump inside his shirt, using one finger to stroke soothingly despite the burn the movements caused.

He couldn't sing.

If it were Alice, he would be singing her favorite songs with her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, and neither one of them would notice a single thing about the storm. But here, he was cold, wet, and uncomfortable, his love trapped far away, and even if he managed to start a verse, he knew he’d never be able to finish.

This small innocent, though… she’d just lost her mother, and was missing her father in the way it destroyed him to think that Alice was missing him, and if someone could be with her and provide her just a little comfort, he would give anything to ensure they did as much as they were able. And so, for Favor’s sake, and Puzzle’s, and the hypothetical reciprocity he’d just envisioned, Killian began to hum softly. None of her favorites, nothing that would conjure a breath-stealing, throat-clogging memory, just an old melody without particular meaning. Puzzle may not even be able to hear much above the driving rain, but she would feel the vibrations and the intentions behind it and perhaps draw some reassurance.

Killian closed his eyes, sheets of water cascading down every inch of exposed skin, washing away mud and sweat and crusted blood. He shivered and hummed and tried not to dwell on the words he’d withheld from little Puzzle. Because he was no longer certain they were true.

“The storm will pass,” he would have told Alice. “They always do.”

***

This literal storm did pass, of course, long after Puzzle’s trembling had ceased and her regular breaths told Killian she’d been able to settle into the untroubled sleep of the very young. He himself had not been so fortunate, and as the downpour became a drizzle and the winds ceased, all of his pains were magnified until he was sorely tempted to stretch out and give up right there.

But then the tiny life at his side fidgeted, a quiet yawn and miniature sneeze awakening protective instincts, and he just couldn’t bring himself to fail her so completely. He groaned softly, shifted positions with a wince, and gathered his strength to continue.

There were puddles now, collected in hollows and crevices, and with his bandages washed clean, maybe he could even scoop up a mouthful of water that wouldn’t taste so much like blood.

“What do you think, princess? Time to prove to Blackbeard that I’m not entirely as useless as he imagines?”

A timid, bedraggled head peered out over the “V” in his low neckline. Killian smiled.

“All right, then. Let’s get you home.”

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #pain #exhaustion #cold and wet #caught in a storm #knightrook angst

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