killian-whump reblogged
365 Days of Colin Characters - Day 147 [JJ Sneed - Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings]
killian-whump reblogged
Noose (Whumptober/Inktober Day 4)
For the inktober whump prompts HERE. Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa
All prompts: HERE
He can’t exactly say that he saw this coming. Killian Jones, Texas Ranger, was far more apt to condemn a man to the noose than to find himself strung up in one. But Cassidy was a sly bastard and had convinced this little backwater town that he was the outlaw and that they didn’t need to wait for the circuit judge to carry out his sentence. He had even produced a wanted poster with Killian’s face on it, “Dead or Alive” written across the bottom. Not one person in this little hole in the wall would hear his denials. They’d taken his damned badge and given it “back” to Cassidy before shackling his wrists and tossing him in a cell. They’d hang him at dawn, and Killian knew he had no chance of escaping them - what with the three men guarding him, all armed to the teeth.
That doesn’t mean he’ll sit there helpless.
Every time he tries, though, the men bang on the bars, throw empty shell-casings at him, curse him out for getting all uppity.
Not once do they let their attention waver, taking shifts to sleep through the night.
So it is that dawn breaks over the horizon and Killian Jones is led to the center of town, feet dragging a little in deference to the utter lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. He’s shoved to his knees at the base of the stairs, Cassidy’s hand between his shoulder blades as they recheck the shackles around his wrists. The bite of the stair against his knees is sharp and Killian imagines the blood that’s trickling down the inside of his pant legs when he’s finally allowed to stand once more. He climbs the stairs with his head held high, but inside he’s anything but calm. He’s running out of options, running out of escape plans.
The sunlight stabs at his eyes as he faces east, the promise of a beautiful morning drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears.
Standing proud atop the hangman’s platform, locking his knees against the tremors of fear that shake him to the core, Killian looks out at the jeering crowd with a sneer. These simple men and women can’t see beyond their noses and he would almost feel sorry for them - for whatever long con Cassidy is pulling - if they weren’t about to hang him, that is.
The bite of the rope around his throat is terrifying, constricting his air supply enough to make him gasp quietly for oxygen. The hangman’s knot is heavy against his back, the thirteen loops against his spine weighing down his very soul. Cassidy’s self-satisfied smirk burns through him, stoking his temper and making Killian step forward without thinking.
The hangman yanks him back by his bound hands, the tug tearing at his shoulders and further fueling his anger. These people have no right. Cassidy has no right.
And yet.
The rope goes taut, the noose tight and the knot by his ear now rather than at his back. His moments are numbered and still, he sees no escape.
At least Emma isn’t here, he thinks morosely, caught between the burning need to have her at his side and the icy chill of relief that she won’t see him go out like this - strung up like a mangy dog no one wants to deal with.
He’d left her, safe and sleeping, at her ranch ten miles from here. Left her with a kiss to her brow and a promise to return by week’s end.
Another broken vow she’ll use to strengthen her armor against this cold, cruel world.
He gets no warning before the trapdoor under his feet falls away.
By the grace of God or the whim of the Devil, his neck doesn’t break.
Killian has half a second to revel in the fact that he’s still alive before the panic sets in.
He can’t breathe.
He can’t get free.
He can’t get a foothold.
He’s going to suffocate.
His eyes squeeze shut, his mouth pops open, gaping like a fish out of water as he tries desperately to find air where there is none. His feet kick wildly, his arms trapped uselessly behind him still pulling to try and reach his throat. The sounds he makes echo through him, choked whimpers, raspy gasps that do nothing, keening pleas in his head that he has no air to make aloud.
Warmth at his groin followed by the pervasive chill that tears through him.
Spots dance and then explode across his vision.
His legs slow, his arms drop limp, his head bows forward.
Killian forces his eyes open one last time, the sight in front of him swimming in and out of focus.
They’ve killed him, and nothing he could have done would have changed a thing.
The last thing he hears is the sharp retort of a rifle.
The last thing he sees is the panicked look on his Swan’s face.
The ground rushes up to meet him, his body smacking the packed down dirt and leaving him stunned.
He only just barely feels Emma tearing the rope from his neck before the sweet darkness of oblivion claims him.
It’ll be all right now; Swan will keep him safe.