favourite character meme: killian jones → one/three emotions - fear

I just have your best interests at heart.

(x)

Whump Trope

When they’re tied to a chair and have fought so long and so hard against their bonds their wrists begin to bleed.

Cops & Rogers

HookxHook  rogers x killian

It’s late when Rogers finally gets home and he’s tired. He fumbles his keys and drops them twice mumbling ’fuck’ before he manages to unlock the door and step inside. It’s pitch black in the living room, he grumbles to himself wondering why the hell Killian didn’t leave a light on for him. Suddenly the door is pushed closed and he’s shoved against the wall, his right arm twisted behind his back.

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Whump scenario:

This has been bouncing around in my head for a while so here goes:

Character A has been kidnapped, tortured, the works, you know it. And they’re tied to a chair, completely out of it from the pain and shock. They’re awake, but only just. Their head hanging down, eyes glazed, a slow trail of blood from their mouth trickles to the floor. The ropes are the only thing keeping them upright on the chair.

Bonus points: the villain brings in Character B, who is A’s friend/SO/commanding officer/whatever. They call out to A in a panic, but A is so out of it they don’t even stir.

A captor having fancy meals in front of their captive, making exaggerated noises of delight as they eat. The captive is forced to witness it all, unable to block out the sights or smells as their stomach aches and rumbles with hunger.

The scuttle backwards a whumpee does out of fear when they’re on the ground, slowly being approached by the antagonist. Bonus points if the whumpee has an injury, making it hardーif not impossibleーto escape. Also that moment when their back hits the wall and they freeze, paralyzed with fear, knowing there’s no escape.

YES! Like when their injury is on their side so they’re just holding that with one arm and shuffling awkwardly back with the other arm and foot and asdasuhfklsj

Extra cookies if their SO/savior suddenly steps in front of them just moments before the villain strikes - the whumpee slowly prying his eyes open and finding them standing protectively in front of them, hissing “You won’t touch him” with a snarl.

(ʘ‿ʘ✿) Excellent addition @marysherlocked

Extra points if the whumpee is whimpering, crying, or panting hard as they push through the pain to try and get away. Until their back is against the wall and the whimper/cry of pain turns to fear and desperation.

To add to what @bunny-cops said: bonus points from me, if the SO/saviour is smol, weaker part of that couple or somebody you would never think has the guts to do so. That’s some good shit right there.

A New CS AU: What Lies Beneath the Mask - Prologue

What Lies Beneath the Mask - A Captain Swan AU

Notes: Killian is not deformed under that mask, as you learn early on, but wanted to assuage your concern in case it was a sticking point for you to even begin reading this tale. 

Shout outs: Mad props to my amazing beta @ilovemesomekillianjones (to whom I owe copious amounts of chocolate for betaing outside of her fic comfort zone), to @juliakaze for the AMAZING artwork, and to my cheerleaders and enablers @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 - I love you both so, so much!

Rated Mature for darker themes, depictions and references to violence, and possible sexy times ;o)

Available on ff.net and ao3.

Oh, my goodness! Let’s just get to the fic already!!!

 Prologue

The hushed blackness of night weighed down on the float that transported the frightened gypsies as they attempted to slip unnoticed into the province of Misthaven. Their caravan had been raided by Lord Gold’s men after the death of his wife had been laid at the feet of their matriarch, Mother Ruth, who had been unable to heal the ailing woman.

Gold had issued an edict calling for the death of their entire gypsy clan - men, women, and children. Ambushed just after dawn, the once peaceful clearing that the caravan had inhabited ran with blood while the air had become choked with the smoke of burnt out wagon homes in less time than it took for the gypsies to take up arms. Those lucky enough to escape the slaughter made haste for the woods in an effort to wait out the carnage.

The primary target of the massacre, Mother Ruth managed to flee the campsite with several others, but, unfortunately, she was not unscathed. An arrow had managed to fly true from one of the archers’ bows, embedding itself in the elderly woman’s chest.

Despite its removal, and the care she received from her apprentice (the wife of a visiting gypsy family, Amelia Jones), Ruth succumbed to her injury, but not before urging her son and the Jones’ to seek out refuge from Lord Gold’s wrath. Now Ruth’s son, David, along with his expectant wife and the Jones family were making their way to the only sanctuary available to them - Misthaven Cathedral.

The oarsman had offered them safe passage into the province at a steep price, and the two couples, along with the two young Jones sons, held silent as they made their way along the canal that led to the Misthaven docks.

Stopping short of their destination, however, the float came to rest at a small pier as the oarsman turned and demanded they pay him three times the originally agreed upon amount.

“But… but, sir,” David pleaded. “We cannot pay that sum. We can barely pay your original price.”

“If you cannot pay for your safety,” the oarsman sneered, “then you will pay for your crimes. Guards!”

The gypsies watched in horror as an ambush of armored men, led by Lord Gold himself, emerged from the shadows.

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Shoulder to Cry On (Whumptober/Inktober Day 30)

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

Continuation of Guilt

same universe as: Bag Over Head, Held at Gunpoint, Drugged, Grief, Panic Attack, Outnumbered, Surrender, and The Darling Affair

The cattle prod came out next, finding all the places Killian already hurt and lighting them aflame.  He tried to hold back, tried to bite through his lip rather than crying out, but when the prongs dug into the sluggishly bleeding wound in his side, he couldn’t help it.

“Liam!  Help me!  Please!!!”

Killian woke with a start, sheets tangled around his aching body and his heart in his throat.  Only when his fingers curled around the barrel of the gun that always rested underneath his pillows did he finally relax.

He was home.

He’d made it, despite all the odds and the injuries and the distance, back to Boston and to Liam.

Where is the old Mother Hen, anyway?

Killian wasn’t afraid to admit (to himself, under his breath, hidden in the darkness of the room and buried under the assurance that no one else would find out) that waking up without Liam right there - hand circled around his ankle and whispering that Killian was safe, that he was right there - was mildly terrifying.

He wanted Liam.

He needed his big brother to chase away the monsters - far more real now than the ones of his childhood, hiding in the dark corners of this room or that - and to remind Killian that he was home.

Killian needed to lean on Liam’s strength at the moment, and he wasn’t too proud to go searching for it.  Grabbing the old blanket from the end of his bed, Killian wrapped the ends around his shoulders and padded (limped) to the door.  It wasn’t too far to Liam’s room, and despite how grown they were, he knew his brother wouldn’t mind.

The door to Liam’s room was wide open, the darkness within not enough to show Killian that his brother wasn’t there.

Where did Liam go?

…

God, was his brother all right?

Killian turned in a circle, debating going back for the weapon he’d left under his pillow when he noticed the light from downstairs.

Oh.

Liam was just downstairs.  That was probably why he hadn’t been in Killian’s room.  It was probably time for more of those Godforsaken pills that Whale had Liam shoving down his throat.  Or maybe Liam just needed a drink, or was refilling the glass he’d kept religiously filled and waiting on Killian’s bedside.

Didn’t matter, Killian still needed to see his brother.

The stairs were a bit more trouble than he’d counted on, leaving him winded and sore when he finally made it to the landing.  One hand clutched the banister, keeping him from sinking down to sit on the bottom step (he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand again) and the other gripped the soft flannel pants just above his still-swollen knee.

Everything hurt.

But the kitchen was pitch black as well.

Liam?

Ah, there he was - the door to the office was just barely ajar, dim light spilling out into the hallway.  Liam must have gotten involved in a conference call or a check in with one of his other men.

Killian would just peek in, reassure himself that his brother was there, and then - hopefully - make it back upstairs without triggering his brother’s nursemaid alert.

It was a little surprising that they hadn’t gone off as soon as Killian stuck his nose out his bedroom door.

What the bloody hell?  Liam?

The only light in the room came from the desk lamp at Liam’s elbow.  It was enough to highlight the broken slump to Liam’s shoulders, the empty tumbler clenched in his hand, the fifth of scotch balanced precariously on the edge of the desk.

The silvery tracks of tears coursing down Liam’s cheeks.

Killian froze, caught between the absurd want to back slowly out of the room before his brother realized he’d been seen and the absolute need to tear across the office and destroy whatever or whoever was on the other side of the computer screen, breaking his brother like this.

“Liam?” he whispered, not entirely sure he’d be a welcome witness to his big brother’s breakdown.

Liam’s head shot up as if Killian had shouted.

“What…” Liam started, croaked, and had to try again.  “What are you doing out of bed?”

Killian shook his head, brushing that off.  What he needed wasn’t important right now.  He needed to fix his brother.

“Are you all right?”

Killian rolled his eyes - and almost didn’t regret it - when they both spoke up together, the same question rolling off their tongues.

“I’m fine, Liam.  What’s going on?”

Since Liam wasn’t shooing him out of the room, Killian risked limping the few feet to his brother’s side.  Liam’s only response was to reach for the scotch, pouring more than a few fingers into the glass before it clunked back onto the desk.  There, in all its technicolor glory, Killian saw what had broken his brother so thoroughly at four in the morning.

His face.

Or rather, a freeze frame - he saw the progress bar of the video at the bottom of the screen - of the moments before Killian thought he was going to be murdered on camera.  The bag was still being ripped from his head, his eyes wide and frightened.  There’d been a moment, he knew, before he’d been able to slam all of his defenses into place.

He just hadn’t realized Liam had seen it.

God, no wonder he’d been so overprotective since Killian had gotten back.  (Not that thinking your little brother was dead wasn’t enough reason)

“Liam?”

It was like Liam had forgotten Killian was there, reaching out to hit play on the video again.

Killian did not need to relive those moments now - or ever - thank you very much.

“Don’t do this to yourself, brother,” he pleaded, sinking down to kneel at Liam’s hip despite the fire that erupted from his knee and his back.  Killian laid his hand on Liam’s, wrapping his fingers around the trembling palm before he could reach the touchpad.  “I’m right here.”

Liam resisted, trying to reach for the laptop despite the obstacle in front of him.

“Liam,” Killian begged, “Liam, stop this. I’m here. I’m right here, brother.  I’m not there.”

Liam shuddered, but he stopped fighting.  “But you’re not. God, Killian, part of you is still there.  And I’m still not entirely sure that all of you isn’t there. That this, that you aren’t just a figment of my goddamned imagination here to torment me.”

“Liam, I’m home,” Killian assured softly, his free hand wrapping around the back of his brother’s neck and squeezing gently.

“And the next time?” Liam asked, the liquor loosening his tongue.  “The next time I send you off to die-“

Killian risked untangling his hand from Liam’s, closing the laptop with a definitive click and forcing his brother to look at him.  “Then I’ll come back home that time, too. And the time after that. I’m here, brother. I’m not leaving you.”

Liam just looked at him, staring, trying to - Killian was sure - find the lie in the promise.  Killian kept eye contact, moving more by feel than by visual clues as he peeled the tumbler of scotch out of his brother’s hand and placing it on the floor by his knee.

His big brother was shaking now, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

Killian had come downstairs looking for his brother to be his strength, but now it was his turn.  He tugged at the back of Liam’s neck, guiding his brother’s face to his shoulder and wrapping both arms as tightly around Liam’s back as he could.

Liam’s own arms came tightly around Killian, fisting in the fleece blanket and pulling his brother closer.  The first choked sob tore through Liam and burned through Killian, far more potent than any torture he’d suffered in the past.  He’d done this.  He’d frightened his brother this badly.

He had to be better in the future.  Stronger, faster, more prepared.

He held Liam long after the sobs turned into sniffles and the sniffles turned into even breathing.  The sun rose over the brothers as they healed in each other’s sure presence.