#anyone else
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Tagging@ouatwinterwhump,@killian-whump,@sancocnutclub,@killianjonesownsmyheart1,@courtorderedcake,@facesiousbutton82<3
***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38HEREandHERE!!!!!!!!!*************
***Chapter 12 animationandart that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********
***LETHALChapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************
**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**
****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********
*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*
***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***
***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***
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Present (Thursday)…
Zzzzzzzz…
Shave day.
Killian had only to close his eyes to be transported back there. That dreadful hovel with its table of pain. Those callous hands dragging a dull-edged blade along his jaw. And nothing ahead of him but more suffering. No hope.
Focus on the differences. Warm, soft bed, no splintered, uncomfortable wood. Blankets and a gown instead of cold nudity. The din of automation replacing the scratchy ring of imprecise steel. Similar pungent disinfectant but less decay, less blood and pain and fear. And, most important, gentle touch. No intent to hurt or degrade. Only meticulous, loving care from the one person on Earth he trusted without reservation.
“Holy crap,” teased Emma, “I think we need to get Whale to put a sign on your door warning that there’s a handsome pirate inside.”
Knowing that he still looked like a wreck despite a neatly trimmed beard, he played along for her sake. “And what would its purpose be, to entice eligible nurses inside, or warn them away from his jealous bride?”
“I don’t mind them looking,” smiled Emma. “What’s the point of having a gorgeous husband if a girl doesn’t show him off every once in awhile?”
Killian clenched his teeth as a wave of violent shivering overtook him; to a casual observer it would have appeared as if he were suddenly chilled to the bone despite climate-controlled surroundings and the layer of blankets draped atop him. Through nauseating pain, he heard Emma lay aside the razor and felt her grip his elbow in solidarity.
Whale remained hesitant to classify them as seizures, stating that the corresponding brain activity did not match any known convulsive disorder and responded to none of the anticonvulsant drugs they’d tried. Of course, that didn’t rule out the possibility of eventual development into actual seizures, as most of the slave fatalities had experienced just before their deaths.
Killian had managed to catch snippets of conversations, grave tones and sobering words that betrayed what they seemed to be trying to hide from him. He would probably have guessed on his own, anyway, with his worsening state mirroring the course of the slaves who had preceded him in death. Sometimes he was able to comprehend what a shame it was, for him to have survived so long only to succumb now, when peace had returned to his home. In those moments he tried to take solace in the thought that he’d been granted more cherished memories with his wife and daughter, without a threat hanging over them, when he could focus on lavishing them both with the fierce love he felt for them. Emma would remember. Hope… he liked to think she would.
None of that mattered in the moment, though, as quivering muscles shocked every single inflamed nerve ending into high gear, enveloping him in a fog of inescapable agony.
Emma met his watery gaze with a sad, stiffly calm smile, and he read the desolate grief in her forged reassurance even as he realized that the attack was finally subsiding.
“Morphine?” she asked quietly, but he shook his head. Hope would be coming by for a visit soon, and he wanted a clear mind for her.
Her grip on him relaxed by degrees as some of the tension drained away from his body.
“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispered. “If only we could somehow bring magic back. I might not be able to stop these attacks, but I could at least heal your wounds and prevent some of this pain.”
She sniffled and before Killian could summon the breath to respond, she continued,
“It doesn’t make any sense; I mean, we thought it was related to the Vocivore, but maybe we’re wrong, ‘cuz it seems like we should have found something by now…”
“I have something to report about that,” came Regina’s voice from the doorway. “But you’re not going to like it.”
Emma turned with a weary expectancy, and Regina stepped inside. She was the very picture of classic irritated aloofness, but she did glance at Killian and say,
“Sorry for barging in like this.”
“You found something?” demanded Emma, and Regina stopped at the foot of the bed. Her scowl could whither the blossoms off an apple tree.
“It’s those damn pigeons.”
“The… pigeons,” repeated Emma slowly. In his mind’s eye, Killian saw a ragged pink feather coated in slime; white, powdery droppings splattered on chancel cobbles; black and amber irises reflecting nothing but pure animal instinct. He heard the trilling cooing that had been the quiet backdrop for many a scream, memories as clear as if the blasted birds were right there in the room with him.
“Those ridiculous pink pigeons, Sheriff Swan,” Regina confirmed, completely oblivious to Killian’s uneasiness. “I cannot fathom how, but they’re the ones responsible for the magical shielding. Pesky vermin.”
Emma looked unconvinced, and Killian wanted to agree, but considering how the birds seemed inextricably linked to the Vocivore’s presence, perhaps the idea wasn’t so farfetched.
“Regina, are you sure? They’re just dumb birds. How can they possibly block magic?”
“I’m… still working on that,” admitted the queen. “But I know I’m right. Did you hear about those hooligans who set off the fireworks in front of City Hall this morning? Right in the middle of an inter-realm council meeting?”
“David filled me in, yeah; said he thought it was some Lost Boys from the Wish Realm.”
“Well, as disruptive as it was to the meeting, it was a hundred times worse for our feathered friends. They took off like their tails were on fire and made for the Enchanted Forest or… Madagascar or somewhere; trouble was, they’re too stupid to remember that for long, and they were back within 10 minutes. But in that time, there was a brief window in which I could almost access my power; it was there, just on the edge of awareness, just out of reach.” She made a growl of frustration, both hands tightly fisted. “I thought for a second that the shield was collapsing for good, without us having to do anything about it, but wouldn’t you know, we’re stuck with our usual luck again.”
Regina looked like she’d rinsed her mouth with lemon juice as she continued ranting. “The first bird to come back, while we were still searching the area for any unexploded fireworks? A pigeon. A fat, iridescent pink pigeon. And that’s when I made the connection.”
“Well, I’ve been saying we needed to get an exterminator, but just because you saw one doesn’t necessarily prove that they’re the culprits.”
“I think she may be right,” Killian said with another shiver. “They were… fairly strongly bonded with the Master. Sometimes would even ride on its shoulders.” He cringed as the haunting outline of the beast filled his imagination, complete with winged companions, its tentacles pulsating as they reached toward him….
“And we have only recently started noticing them around Storybrooke,” added Regina. “Just about the same time as magic failed. They’re remarkably distinctive, and I remember being surprised the first time I saw one.”
“I don’t see the connection,” Emma began, still doubtful. “But it can’t hurt to check it out. So say it is the pigeons. What’s the next step?”
“That’s the bad news.” Regina glanced at Killian in apology. “It won’t be a quick fix. Short of poisoning them, or making the town somehow inhospitable to birds in general–both of which are options that I can’t see our critter-loving neighbors approving of–we’re down to trapping and relocating each one individually, or trying to figure out what exactly gives them the ability to block magic. And either way, it’s going to take time.” She folded her arms, waiting for questions, but Emma and Killian were quiet, mulling over the situation. “I’ve tasked Robin with the job of bringing one to me for study. Don’t tell your mother.”
Killian was only half listening as a whole movie’s worth of scenes replayed in his head. Pigeons, pigeons everywhere. He felt foolish for not noticing their conspicuousness before, but, of course, he did have other things to worry about at the time.
He felt his spirits sinking impossibly lower as the consequences of the news took shape. No quick solution would mean no magical healing. He’d be stuck in this infernal hospital, recuperating in the conventional way, spending whatever time he had left uncomfortable and in pain. Somehow, the Master had managed to orchestrate continued torture for him; even in death, it was having the last laugh at his expense.
“Pigeons,” scoffed Emma. “Pigeons and a crab. Who would have guessed?” Seeming to sense Killian’s dark musings, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Sorry, Killian. This sucks.”
“They must have evolved together,” muttered Regina absently. “Developed some kind of symbiosis; they shield the Vocivore, and it gives them, what, shelter? Protection from predators?”
“Blood,” realized Killian suddenly. The inspiration had come out of nowhere, a thought buried deep within his subconscious that had burst unbidden into full awareness. He’d only ever seen it out of the corner of his eye, with no attention to spare, his own misery and how long he’d been given before the next Session at the forefront, always. But there they were. Pink bodies fluttering to earth, a writhing mass behind him as he left the church, squabbling among sticky smears and warm pools, dipping dainty beaks, plunging belly-first in some macabre bathing ritual…
Then outside. They would be strutting through the gutters, congregating near fresh corpses while his tunnel vision kept him limping in the direction of Z’s cottage, never truly seeing how beady little eyes sized him up even as blood-crusted heads burrowed into decaying flesh in search of more nourishment.
“Um… what?!”
Killian returned to reality to find Emma and Regina staring at him with matching expressions of revulsion.
“The pigeons, they… they seemed to fear the noise and, f-for the most part, remained in the rafters… during…” He hesitated, winced, then carried on with great effort. “But afterward… the Master didn’t care about the stains on the floor, yet I never saw fresh blood when I first arrived. I… I think the pigeons… consumed it.”
Killian thought he might vomit. Both of his visitors seemed to share the feeling.
“Okay, that’s… disgusting.”
Regina gulped and plastered on a weak smirk. “So. ‘Carrion’ pigeons. I wonder if their feathers are just stained, then, or if they turn pink from some substance in the blood they eat, similar to flamingos.”
“Gross,” moaned Emma. She took a sip of her bottled water. “But hold on a sec. If they’re so fond of… that… then why did they make their way all the way to Storybrooke? There’s way less… that… around here.”
“Guess they can do without it. Or maybe they live off roadkill out here.”
“Overcrowding?” suggested Emma, answering her own question. “Better nesting sites?”
“Would have made an intriguing Exchanges topic.” Killian cringed at the thought. “Had I known to ask.”
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the trio, until finally, Regina grunted her irritation at the whole thing.
“Well, I can try to confirm all of this once I get my hands on one of those little pests. Guess it’s good to finally be getting some answ-”
“Mr. and Mrs. Hook, get your Thank-You cards ready; I’ve just-” Dr. Whale paused when he noticed Regina in the room. “Oh. Your Highness.”
“Victor.”
Whale caught Killian’s glower and smirked. “What’s that look for?”
“I’d explain but I’m still recovering from that utter shipwreck of a salutation.”
“Sounds like you’re feeling better. Guess I’m wasting my time, then, working around the clock?”
“Did you have something to tell us, Whale?” Emma’s feigned irritation fooled no one–it was obvious she anticipated more important news.
“We’ve had a bit of a breakthrough, thanks to the data gleaned from you and Detective Jones.” The physician held up a cautionary hand. “Results look promising, but this is by no means a sure thing, and there’s no guarantee of long-term success. We’ll of course continue to tweak it as we go along, but for now I think Killian could benefit from an initial dose as soon as possible.”
“You think you’ve found a cure, then?” clarified Regina.
“A therapy,” he corrected. “To slow the degeneration and maybe, eventually, reverse it. Tested on some lab animals, then this morning on two rescued slaves who were near death. They seem to be doing better.” He pulled a hand-labeled vial from his pocket and set it on a table with a flourish. “The FDA would burn my license and probably toss me into prison for this. Good thing none of us officially exist.”
As Killian stared at the little container of clear fluid onto which, suddenly, all of their hopes were pinned, he was struck with unexpected anxiety. It was all well and good when there was nothing that could be done, his fate seemingly sealed. Now that there was a reported chance, he wanted nothing more than for it to work. He wanted to live, to be a husband and father, to watch Hope grow and be there for her. The vial represented that future… and what if it didn’t work?
Whale took Killian’s silence as reluctance, and he sighed. “Yeah, I can’t guarantee its safety either, or provide you with a list of possible side effects. Just that for you, with your weird, extra barrier that we still don’t entirely understand, I’d like at least the first few doses to be administered directly into the CSF, and we do know the risks and side effects of lumbar puncture. But, well… listen, if it were me or a loved one in your position, I would still say that we need to try something, because the risks don’t matter once the condition becomes terminal. Make sense?”
“None of that is in question,” said Killian slowly. Then he flashed a short, tired smile at the physician, radiating self-deprecation. “Believe it or not, I actually do trust your medical expertise. I was only… praying for its success, I suppose.”
Whale looked genuinely touched, for a fleeting instant. But soon enough his cocky demeanor was back. “You’re right: I’m not sure I do believe it. I’m gonna take that admission as another symptom and then we can just carry on the way we always do.”
He tossed some forms at Emma, ordering,
“Read and sign for him. Assuming you want to go through with it, we’ll be back shortly to perform the procedure.”
He left in a swirl of white lapels, muttering a polite farewell to Regina on his way. The queen turned back to Killian and Emma, wearing a slightly uncomfortable grin.
“Well. Good news, then. Or, a seed of hope, at least.” She brushed invisible dust off her jacket and made other I’m-about-to-leavecues.
“Yeah. Thanks for filling us in about the pigeons.” Emma glanced down at her phone, and a tiny frown creased her forehead. “Although you could have just called me.”
Squirming, Regina blustered,
“I… thought the news would be better delivered in person. And… well… maybe there’s a… small part of me that wanted to see how Killian was doing.”
“That’s most appreciated,” said Killian. “Thank you.”
Regina nodded stiffly, shot an, “I’ll keep you informed,” then exited.
Killian gritted his teeth through another bout of shivers–thankfully shorter this time–and when he could open his eyes again it was to find Emma watching in sympathy.
“Hope that’s over with for now. You don’t wanna be doing that while they’re trying to stick a needle into your spine.”
Throbbing and aching, Killian grimaced. He needed a distraction. “Everything okay, love?” he growled. “You were rather tight-lipped toward the end there.”
It was then that he noticed the tear tracks staining her face.
“Emma?”
She lay aside the consent forms and wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve been so scared, Killian. Starting a month ago, but it hasn’t stopped even with your rescue. I… well, Whale’s been pretty pragmatic about your condition, and… truth is… I was starting to prepare myself to lose you.” She caught two droplets before they had a chance to fall. “I mean, how horrible is that? You aren’t even gone yet and I’m coaching myself to start saying goodbye.”
She started to reach for his hand but stopped and gripped his wrist instead.
“That’s human nature,” he pointed out. “I’ve been doing it, too.”
Her eyes glistened with sad questions. “We didn’t… I mean, Whale thought that…”
“No, no one’s told me anything; not before now at any rate. No one had to.”
Emma leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, brushing back some stray hair as she murmured,
“I’m sorry, Killian. Shoulda known better than to give up so soon.”
His eyes found the vial, which Dr. Whale had left on the table. “Do you think it will work?”
“It has to,” she said simply. “If nothing else, to give us more time. And you know… Whale’s kinda the expert at this sort of thing, even if his attitude leaves something to be desired.”
Killian was tiring rapidly; it had been one hell of an afternoon, and this was the most he’d participated in a conversation since his rescue, if not longer. But he still had one final question before hopefully catching a nap between interruptions.
“Whale mentioned ‘data,’ gleaned from you and Jones. Did I hear that correctly?”
Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Just a couple of tests he did on us; no big deal.”
“You subjected yourselves to becoming his laboratory animals, all on my account?”
“And to help the other rescued slaves.” She flashed him a twinkling grin, which softened into loving fondness. “But… yeah, mostly for you.”
“Thank you, Emma, truly.”
She graced him with a quick kiss, saying,
“You’re welcome, and like I said, no big deal, and that’s all we’re gonna say about that.” Noticing his heavy eyelids, she smoothed an eyebrow and then sat back. “We better do that paperwork before you fall asleep. Want me to hold it up so you can read it, or I could read it aloud to you…”
“Don’t bother about it, love,” he murmured. “You can read them yourself if you’d like, but I think we both know that there isn’t much they could say that would change our views on the matter.”
Killian cast his eyes on Hope’s artwork once more before succumbing to his weariness. Perhaps it would guard his dreams and bring positive thoughts from here on out. Because now that he had a fighting chance at survival, healing his psyche had suddenly become that much more important, and it would most definitely be a longer road than the not-insignificant path to physical health.
Would he be up to the challenge?
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AN: Well, obviously I failed to get this posted quickly enough. Blame @cocohook38 and @lillpon for killing me in their own wonderful ways :) Less than 36 hours til I’m on the plane to Ireland!!! Sorry to make you wait for the conclusion! It’s really not that long of a trip, though. I should be back to somewhat functional by July 10 :D
I’m looking for some milestone that gives me an excuse for “Winter Whump” to have lasted this long… XD The closest I’ve come is that I probably had the first inklings of what the premise would be sometime last summer, as sign-ups for the event closed June 30, 2018. So the final chapter will be released approximately 1 year later. *Shrug* Best I can do.
Does anyone else get non-verbal when they get into sub/little/animal/etc.-space?
There are a few specific moves I do when focusing on my butt and thighs while working out that could absolutely cause me to orgasm if I did them long enough.
And that’s always weird to realize while at the gym.
Looks at calendar. 15 minutes until my next meeting.
Perfect. Time to watch some porn.
*When I first heard Call it Fate, Call it Karma*
Jules: close the door
Me:
AlsoJules:not all the way
Me:
Am I the only one who’s having issues uploading images to my blog through the app today? I keep getting error messages all over, yet, text posts are fine.
PVRIS - Music Video Compilation
My dad: *lectures me about keeping my glasses safe and scratch-free*
Also my dad: *puts his glasses face down on sandpaper*
Cause I could touch a hundred thousand souls, but none of them would ever feel like home.
- PVRIS // Anyone Else
Did anyone else see the green glow in Claire’s armour in the second shot of the teaser trailer? On the bottom right of her head?
With the same thing happening with Toby in this shot here on the very far right of his armour:
And since Douxie was holding what looks like a mini heart of Avalon:
Is there a chance that something really dangerous could come from using it, which they all know could be dangerous (hence their scared or sad expressions) that they need to use that’ll be playing into a huge part of all this? And they’ll be using the big open space to use it?
I’m genuinely curious here. What is one musical (or more) that everyone else seems to really love, but you don’t? Like, people seem to praise it up and down and you just don’t get the hype? I think this could be a fun and interesting thing to talk about.
For me, there are actually three musicals I really don’t like. And those are West Side Story,Hamilton, and Grease.
I honestly don’t like West Side Story because I think the music is pretty subpar, and I’ve honestly never really liked Romeo and Juliet, which is the story that musical is based on. I actually low-key hate this musical.
As for Hamilton, I can’t say I hate it. The choreography is amazing, but I just hate rap music. It’s really just a personal taste thing. (But the song ‘You’ll Be Back’ is wonderful)!
And as for Grease, the only song I like is 'Youre the One that I Want’. But other than that, I hate this musical. All the guys are creeps, a lot of the songs are annoying and stupid, and the message of the whole thing is terrible.
Anybody else?
A game like Persona except just unlimited time wandering around the streets in and around Japan. Like you can work, build a house, relationships, school, explore, whatever. I NEED THIS GAME TO EXIST
Anyone else have the problem of having really cute ideas for fandom drawings but can’t act draw so they never turn into anything
Does anyone like a post so they can go back to it later and actually read it instead of quickly reading it. I know it sounds useless but I don’t know lol
making a character in thirty questions but it becomes increasingly more personal
- what is their name?
- do they have a nickname?
- do they have other names?
- what is their age?
- what is their eye colour?
- hair colour?
- what languages can they speak?
- what is their favourite food?
- least favourite?
- who is someone they would die for?
- who is someone they would kill?
- do they have any family members?
- did they go to school?
- what was /would be their favourite class?
- who was their childhood friend?
- what is their clothing size?
- shoe size?
- height?
- gender orientation?
- sexual orientation?
- do they have a sworn enemy?
- do they have any tattoos?
- have they ever smoked?
- what is their mental state?
- what is their darkest secret?
- who is their sacred confidant?
- what is a lie they tell everyone?
- what is one lie they know is not true but continue to believe?
- if they were under different circumstances would they stray from their storyline?
- what makes them hurt?
Ask about characters?
(Default if not specified, of course, is Celeste or Vega because new shiny). Ask whatever, how many ever. 31 for your own question, if you have one that’s not listed.
One thing about the new comment/reblog/like symbols on posts is that the chromatic aberration from my glasses makes the little white symbols wander all over the place. If I tilt my head enough, they hop right off their colored circles.
