I do love a beaten Hook. The angle was different and leather is always a challenge 😊

Yeah Well, about that Lord of the Rings TV series and Celebrimbor speculation…

(thx @killian-whump @lillpon for your post that push me to do that lol )

—- Plz don’t repost —-

*PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

I neeeeeeeeeds it!!!

*Whimpers*

OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DOOOOOOOOO

YOU JUST MADE MY DREAMS COME TRUE. HE’S AN ELF AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THIS IS WHY SPECULATING IS THE BEST PASTTIME EVER, PEOPLE

Like, even if we’re wrong, we’ll forever have THIS gloriousness!!!

fideliswill Dia longo de gravação, long day shooting #fairytaleofnewyork #movie #cinema #dublin #ireland #extra #figurante #figuracao (x and his Instagram Story)

Christmas Giveaway!

As it’s Christmas, I’ve decided to give away TWO Amazon eGift cards to my followers! They can be used to purchase all sorts of products on Amazon, including Once merch, eBooks and Colin’s films on Prime Video 😉

Each gift card will have a value equivalent to £10/$10 and will be purchased from your region’s Amazon (please only enter if Amazon sell gift cards and goods in your country) before being emailed to you.

All you need to do is follow me and reblog this post to be entered into the draw, I’ll then use a randomizer to pick a winner on Saturday 22nd December.

Good luck and Merry Christmas!

A Captain’s Heart (20 of 34?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 19

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight & @killian-whump by request :)

The garbled voices were not matching up at all with the rhythm pounding through Killian’s brain. It should not have been so disturbing to him. But for whatever reason, it was. Enough that it drew him out of the blackness to which he clung so desperately. He just wanted to sleep, damn it; was that so much to ask for?

As sensations trickled back - everywhere below the shoulders because he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge anything higher - Killian noticed a hand wrapped around his own. Another, rubbing his back. He was lying on his side, somewhere hard, somewhere cold. Uncomfortable. Except for the part of him that didn’t exist at present. That was being cradled gently, resting on a lap. Emma’s?

Confirming that would mean opening his eyes. Which would certainly make everything hurt worse.

More words slurred through the air, voices unrecognizable and uncountable. Made-up phrases. Speaking backwards. Or something. Killian stopped trying. Deciphering was way beyond his current capacity.

Touch was dangerous. Sight impossible. Hearing out of the question. So… smell? Therein may lie a clue. He cautiously deepened his breaths, paying specific attention. As much as he was capable, at any rate.

Ocean. Obvious. And unhelpful. And the deep breaths were only contributing to his whale-sized headache.

Killian failed to interpret the sound coming from beside him for what it was: a warning. He vaguely connected it with a cry of protest, but by then it was too late, and he was being hauled roughly up by the elbow as he moaned and tried to hold onto the contents of his stomach. He made no attempt to straighten on his own. His head lolled forward, eyes shut tightly against the pain in his skull. By force, he was set upright on wobbly legs that would have collapsed beneath him had he not been propped between two other beings. They smelled like orange and mint. Blossoms and vinegar. Sulfurous, burning hair. Killian’s gut lurched again.

Keep reading

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

“Captive” by @artistic-writer

‘He had been held for two days, denied food and beaten for answers to questions he didn’t know how to answer.  His muscles were weak, burning from being suspended from the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse, the rope that bound his hands pulling against his wrists.  

Blood smeared his face, a mixture of dried and fresh, the cut on his cheek from the baseball bat reluctant to stop bleeding.  He had, at some point, smudged his face against his arm, the splatter of crimson on his bicep now long since crusted over.  His head wound had reopened, his blood trickling down around the column of his neck and into his chest hair.

He couldn’t make out the face of his captors, not through his shaky vision and with one eye swollen completely shut.  He didn’t know what they were after, and he didn’t care.  All he cared about was surviving.’

Please like and reblog.  Do not claim as your own or post ANYWHERE else.

@hollyethecurious @sherlockianwhovian @killian-whump @lillpon @resident-of-storybrooke @killianmesmalls @cocohook38

Oh, Salem, it’s absolutely beeeeeeautiful!

When ppl make your dreams come true …. made by my friend

The little princess

Whump Challenge

Write a paragraph in which your favorite whumpee is restrained, but don’t use the name of the restraints.

“Wakey-wakey, buttercup It’s time for you to wake up” Tied down; hands behind his back His lip’s bleeding from a smack

Blood is trickling down his chin Contrasting against his skin When he coughs, he chokes on air – Bending forward in his chair

Hair obscuring half his face; Look! Our hero in disgrace Behold, for he played and lost Watch him realize the cost –

Knowing this will end in pain He yanks at his bonds, in vain Wrists are bloody; breathing’s quick Skin is clammy; he looks sick

He looks up, asks with a hiss: “Why … why are you doing this?” I grin and reply: “Oh, hun Simply cause it’s so much fun”

Whuuuuuuut!!!! Whump POETRY????? I love it!!!

IT’S WHUMP POETRY EVERYBODY

For the lovely @hollyethecurious who is in a bit of a meh mood today, and I wanted to cheer her up.  What better way than with Killian Jones, in military garb with a little dirty on his face and a cut cheek.  I mean, this man <3

also tagging these ladies who i know will appreciate some of this @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @cocohook38 @killian-whump @resident-of-storybrooke @wingedlioness @sherlockianwhovian

Hello soldier ;)

The Deckhand and The Dagger by @flipperbrain

that chapter was short but hell full of emotion!I cannot wait to see what is happening to Hook and how sweet-pure-cinnamoroll-Jones can handle sailing the Jolly on his own.

Ugh! My poor boys, what is happening!?! Thank you so much for this visual my darling! It’s beautiful and so dramatic, I love it and I’m honored that my story inspired you to create this amazing work of art!!! 😘❤️

They stared up at the antagonist, wide eyed and stunned in defeat, back against the wall. Gasping for air that didn’t want to come.

“Beg me to break your hands.” The antagonist took gentle hold of the protagonist’s bloodied knuckles. “Then maybe I won’t kill you. Hm?”

Anonymous said:Could you do a snippet based on your prompt /post/168501575778 ? A continuation, prequel, something with the same characters? Thanks!

The protagonist’s mind floundered - some escape, some clever trick, some sudden deux ex machina that would save them. Nothing came to mind. Their mind was crowded by the antagonist, victorious, and so dangerously close that there was room for nothing else in the world or so it seemed. 

Their hands twitched to escape, belatedly, in the too gentle hold. 

It was a fraction too late. 

The grip tightened, and the antagonist yanked. The antagonist broken one finger, than the next. 

The protagonist twisted against the wall. Their head buzzed awful. Their breath vanished like drowning

“You’re running out of time,” the antagonist said pleasantly. “You only have ten fingers and I don’t like waiting.”

“Please.” It burned. The shame of it, the pain that licked up their palms like fire, but mostly the shame. The plea was barely audible. Their skin burned with humiliation.

The antagonist leaned down to kiss one of the broken fingers, as lightly as if they were incapable of causing any hurt to the world or its people. One hand rose to wipe the tears from the protagonist’s eyes. 

“Please what?” 

They couldn’t. They wouldn’t. Not for that but god they could imagine how this would go. One hand, then the other. Then perhaps their knee caps so they couldn’t run away. A systematic murder of each body part until all that was left was the mind, shuddering, howling, inside. 

How could they have lost? They weren’t supposed to lose. 

“That’s the thing about prophecies, they’re just predictions,” the antagonist said as if they could hear the protagonist’s thoughts. “You think prophecy alone is enough to save you?” 

The protagonist would have scrambled back but there was nowhere to go. 

“I make my own fate,” the antagonist murmured. “Just as I’ll make yours. Now - beg.”

God, the protagonist didn’t want to die. 

“Please don’t kill me.”

Another finger, and the antagonist sighed. “That was not the deal. You’ve caused me too much trouble for it to be that easy, hm?” They tapped the protagonist’s chin up, so they couldn’t hide their expression away. 

The protagonist’s face twisted. They kicked the antagonist in the ribs at their arrogant, disgusting, intimate closeness. 

The antagonist staggered back, breathless. Something cold slid over their face, eyes alight. They cracked out their neck.

They locked gazes with the protagonist.  

I take it back,” the antagonist said. “You should have begged for death when you had the chance.”

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!!!

Inktober / Whumptober - 9 Self-Inflicted

I decided to participate in Inktober by writing one-shots based on this fabulous list of  “Inktober Whump Prompts” by @whumpreads.

other days

So I am super behind with this. But I will continue cause I just really like the prompts and I am enjoying writing these things when I have time. Maybe I’ll start calling it something else. But for the moment, enjoy day 9!

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and winced. He couldn’t stand the man who was looking back. What was he even doing here? Why was he still alive? He shouldn’t be. Not after what happened, not after what he had done. After his stupid and reckless actions, he had deserved to die. And he had been ready. Ready to pay the price. But he hadn’t. They had.

He clenched the edge of the sink until his knuckles went white.

They had. They had paid for his actions. Caught the bullet that was meant for him. Died….

He took a sharp breath and gripped the edge of the sink even harder. Dead, dead because of him.

He gasped. An angry scream building in his chest. He wasn’t even angry at the man who had pulled the trigger. There was no room for that. His whole heart was filled with too much anger already directed at himself.

He could have prevented it. It was his fault. They died and he didn’t even have a scratch. Nothing.

His reflection was staring angrily at him now. His eyes full of hate.

It was too much. Every breath he took while they were dead was too much. Every moment without them in it was too much. Every reflection reminding him who was to blame, why they were not there.

The angry scream finally broke free and with it his hand that had gripped the sink. He balled it into a fist and threw it against his reflection in the mirror. They collided with a sharp noise that echoed from the bathroom walls. The sight of the chattered mirror and his reflection gone, was almost worth the pain that followed.

The broken pieces cut into the flesh of his hand and the impact let some of the smaller bones break. He gasped at the pain but at the same time it wasn’t enough to suppress the ache he felt in his heart.

Suddenly drained of the energy to hold back the pain that had built up in his heart all this time, he slowly slit to the floor, shaking from sobs he hadn’t let out until now.

After a while, there weren’t any tears left to shed but he didn’t move. For a long time he just sat there, distantly watching the blood dropping from his fingers and his hand sending little waves of pain with every beat of his broken heart.

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.

This one is for “Sleep Depravation” and what a better way than to do a fanart for @justsomewhump​ whump fairy fic?