killian-whump reblogged
“Some angry sad Lieutenant”
that what @thesschesthair once said on a post and well, cleaning my drafts end up finally doing the thing
killian-whump reblogged
sherlockianwhovian-deactivated2
@cshalloweek - CS Halloweek 2019 - Day 4 'Light & Dark'
All he knew was darkness, pain and suffering before she came aboard - the witch who seemed to glow and bring light wherever she went.
As a guest, she could do little to spare him from his Captain's constant wrath but he became used to the golden magic that surrounded him during the night and healed his wounds.
They would reach port soon enough and she would be gone, taking with her warmth and light that he couldn't imagine living life without now he'd experienced them.
He shook himself from his sad thoughts, focusing on his tasks and the tingle of magic in the air. He was nothing but a slave, he reminded himself, it would do no good to become attached to her.
killian-whump reblogged
WET!KILLIAN (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
killian-whump reblogged
killian-whump reblogged
hooks-and-feathers-deactivated2
Killian’s real life vs the life that was written for him in Operation Mongoose.
Because this is so important. Killian lived most of his young life in indentured servitude, but he had a temper and spunk, and this was always part of his personality, and it’s something Isaac and Gold made sure they took away from him when they wrote him in the AU, along with sending him right back where he started. They stripped him of everything he became.
killian-whump reblogged
Anonymous asked:
😘 Could you use that as a prompt pretty please? (The whumpee is forced to choose between two tortures they believe will be used on them, when in fact, the torture they chose is used on a loved one. The option the whumpee didn’t choose is later used on them, as their newly tortured loved one watches.)
The Choice
A brothers Jones whump fic… sorry?
“The choice is yours, Jones. What will it be?”
Liam knew his captain was lying. It wasn’t really his choice. It never was. Silver already knew what course of action he’d take in teaching the eldest Jones a lesson, but he’d never pass up an opportunity to have his fun first.
Fun, like offering a taunting choice between two punishments, and letting the poor unfortunate soul who’d found themselves in their captain’s displeasure believe they actually had a choice. Liam knew better. No matter which option he chose, Silver would find a way to twist things so Liam would receive the consequence of the captain’s choosing, not his. Given the choices before him, it wasn’t too difficult to guess which one he’d be destined for.
Lashes before the mast, or manually stocking the on-deck armaments.
Granted, hauling up cannonballs from the hold by hand without the use of a winch was exhausting, back breaking work, but it paled in comparison to the damage the cat o’ nines could do, to one’s back or their spirit. Liam was just thankful Killian had been spared their captain’s ire this time around.
“Well, Jones?” We haven’t got all day. Let’s have it.”
“The lash… sir.” Liam straightened himself to full height as he answered. He was in no mood for Silver’s games. He’d take the lash and be done with it.
“Liam, no,” he heard Killian hiss behind him, standing among the rest of the crew that had assembled in order to give audience to the discipline about to take place.
Liam clenched his jaw, willing his little brother to remain silent.
“Very well, Jones.”
Silver nodded, and Liam braced himself for the manhandling that did not come.
“Oi!” He heard Killian shout, causing him to spin around and watch in horror as his little brother was drug across the deck towards the mast.
“No, no, no!” Liam shouted. “This is my punishment! Not Killian’s! I chose the lash!”
“Aye, you did,” Silver sneered. “But I never said you would be the one to endure it.”
Liam rushed forward, but was held back by the crew. The shredding sound of torn linen echoed in his ears as Killian’s tunic was split in two. Long, lanky arms he hadn’t quite grown into were forcibly wrapped around the mast, his hands bound with rope on the other side, securing him in place.
“How many?” Liam questioned, realizing for the first time Silver had never expressed a specific number.
“That depends on you, Jones,” Silver answered, taking the cat in hand before stalking toward Killian’s bared flesh with an sick hunger gleaming in his eye. “How quickly do you think you can restock the armaments by hand?”
Liam blanched and stared at Silver. “What?”
“You still have to be punished, Jones. You’re brother’s lashings will continue until the job is done.” Liam sucked in a breath and choked back a sob as he watched Silver swing his arm, cracking the cat against Killian’s back. A pained grunt resonated in his hearing, and Liam knew Killian would try to hold back his cries for as long as he could. “Better get going, Jones,” Silver commanded. “The lads have placed their wagers, and no one thinks you’ll be able to complete the task while there’s anything left of your brother’s back. You wouldn’t want to prove them right now, would you?”
Another slap of the lash had Liam sprinting towards the hold, jeers and laughter from the crew following him down into the dark. Should he try and carry as many as he could manage each trip, even though the extreme weight would slow him down; or take them up one at a time, which would be faster, but require more trips? He didn’t have time to consider the merits of either option. Another muffled strike, encored by cheers from the heartless men above deck filtered down with the dust and dampness. Liam secured two shots, one cradled in each arm, and raced back to the stairs. Nearly stumbling from the blinding light of the midday sun, Liam did not wait for his vision to adjust before depositing the cannonballs and hurrying back for more.
Five.
He fumbled in the darkness for two more.
Eight.
He made the mistake of glancing over at Killian once he was back on deck. Angry, red welts cris-crossed his back.
Nine.
Some of the marks were no longer welts.
Twelve.
Liam grunted in his attempt to carry a third ball this time; a sound that harmonized with Killian’s scream, who could no longer remain quiet.
Fifteen.
His legs burned, but the pain was forgotten as his stomach turned at the sight that met him when he reached the deck again. The crowd had parted, purposefully leaving him with the perfect vantage point to witness his little brother’s suffering. Blood ran down his back, and spattered through the air.
Sixteen.
Killian’s body contorted, twisting and arching in an attempt to alleviate some of the torment each blow delivered.
Twenty.
Liam’s legs were like jelly. His arms ached, and his lungs felt as though an inferno raged within his chest, each breath drawing in new fuel to fan the flames. It was nothing compared to the fire licking its way through Killian’s extremities, though. That knowledge alone was enough to keep his legs moving, his arms lifting more than he should have been capable of, and his lungs drawing in against the painful sting of exhaustion. That, and the pitiful cries of his little brother, now sobbing out pleas for his torment to end between the soul rendering screams of each strike.
Thirty.
“It’s done!” Liam shouted, doubling over with his hands braced against his knees.
The cat stilled while the Bosun came over to inspect Liam’s work. A nod was given, and the captain ordered Killian’s release from the mast. He had no strength left in him, and therefore crumbled to the deck before Liam could get to him.
“I’m sorry, little brother,” Liam whispered over him, not even sure if he was conscious. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Younger,” Killian croaked, pulling a watery sound from Liam; a mixture of amusement, relief, and weariness.
There was no time for rest, though. Liam would have to dig deep within himself in order to convince his strained and overworked muscles to get Killian below, so he could begin administering his healing.
“Come on, Killian,” Liam coaxed. “We have to get you to your bunk.”
With Herculean effort, the brothers managed to get on their feet and began to make their way to the hatch.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Silver’s voice rang out from the helm.
“To tend to my brother,” Liam replied through clenched teeth.
“Has it escaped your notice that your brother has left quite a mess upon my deck? It needs swabbing.”
Liam bit back a sharp retort, and caught Killian’s eye, imploring him to do the same. Despite the toll his body had taken, his eyes blazed with murderous rage and Liam feared Killian’s tongue would get him killed if he did not quell such emotions.
“I’ll see to it once I get Killian settled below deck.”
“You’ll see to it?” Silver questioned in a tone that made Liam’s stomach drop and a shiver run up his spine. “I don’t believe it’s your mess to see to, now is it?”
“You can’t expect me to be… up to the task… in my condition,” Killian panted through pained breaths.
“Hmm,” Silver hummed, giving a show of considering the youngest Jones’ words. “Perhaps, not.”
Both men relaxed slightly, and let go a shaky breath of relief. Prematurely, it seemed.
“Very well then, Jones. If you are not up to the task… let me offer you a choice.”
my fics | ao3 | ff.net | buy me a coffee
Tagging the Curious Whumpers:
Oooooooooh! I love it! :D
killian-whump reblogged
Magnificent and Furious (2/14)
Summary: After many years, rumors swirl that the Evil Queen is back and filled with more vengeance than ever. But instead of setting her sights on Snow White she goes for the thing Snow loves most, her beloved daughter Emma. For her own safety, Emma is to be transported to safety on an unassuming merchant ship, where she meets two indentured servants hoping for a way to find their freedom.
A/N: Just look at that gorgeous chapter header @princesse-swan created! Big big thank yous to her and to my beta readers @justanotherwannabeclassic and @eloquentlyenchanted!
Be aware that this chapter includes some pretty harsh corporal punishment.
last chapter/ AO3/ ff.net
Killian’s eyes itched with fatigue as he stood with a straight back and stiff knees for the arrival of the precious cargo the captain told them they would be transporting. He shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot and wondered why all the crew members had to wait out on deck for this so-called “precious” cargo, surely only a few crewmen needed to see the object on board.
“Stand up straight Jones, show some respect,” the first mate barked at him. Killian rolled his eyes and thought longingly of his flask stowed away in his bunk. Hopefully, once all this pomp and circumstance was over and done with he could sneak below deck and have a nice long drink. He heard the hoofbeats of approaching horses, finally whatever they were transporting had arrived. He craned his neck, looking for a chest or trunk, surely something so valuable would come locked away securely.
Instead, he saw a group of six or so people riding towards them, most were wearing heavy plate armor while one seemed to be smaller and lighter than the others. They pulled up to the docks and started to dismount. He noticed that the smallest of the party was a young woman, her long hair pulled back away from her face.
“Kneel before the princess, mates,” the captain shouted as the party began to walk up the gangplank. Kilian’s mind blanched as he struggled to keep his expression, the princess? Surely they weren’t transporting the princess?
“Be aware that this chapter includes some pretty harsh corporal punishment.“
*perks* You don’t say... :D
killian-whump reblogged
Anonymous asked:
“Just stay with me.”
Since you left the pairing as dealer’s choice… and it took me longer than I wanted to decide, I’m forcing angst on you. 😝😘
CW: alcohol abuse, alcoholism in a minor Posting from mobile, so no cut (it’s only 300 words anyway), and no link for the other prompts. BUT prompts are still open.prompt link
Killian waited for Liam’s breathing to even out, listening intently for anyone passing by. He crawled out of his bunk and knelt on the floor beside his brother. Taking care to not jostle him, he grasped Liam’s hand and placed his forehead to it. “Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me,” he chanted softly. He lost count of how many times he said it, and eventually woke up to a crick in his neck and his brother’s bemused expression looking down at him.
Years passed, captains changed, and every night remained the same. Killian was unable to fall asleep before Liam, only his whispered prayer helping him fall into dreams.
When he turned eleven, Killian found the bliss of alcohol-assisted sleep. He stopped needing to find Liam’s hand, didn’t have to chant his silly plea every night. It was much easier, even with the lashes marking his back as he shirked his duties and let the alcohol and rage take over. It was childish, the way he sought to never be parted. He was a man, he didn’t need stupid superstitions. He needed to stop burdening Liam with a good for nothing younger brother.
One drink turned to two, turned to four, turned to half a bottle. The goading from the others grew with it, sometimes resulting in a beating, sometimes in more rum, and Killian found the odds were ones he was willing to live with. Or not.
He struggled back to life, throat raw and stomach absolutely churning. It felt like there were nails under his skin somehow, and a star burning his brain away. “Bloody fucking hell, Killian! Are you trying to kill yourself?”He forced his head to the side, Liam kneeling by his bunk. He could barely keep his eyes open, but Liam looked almost like he was crying? Maybe he was hallucinating. He let consciousness slip away again, his brother’s desperate words following him into the dark.“Stay with me, little brother, just stay with me.”
killian-whump reblogged
Homesickness - Bad Things Happen Bingo
@badthingshappenbingo
Word count: ~1k Previously written prompts
Warning: This chapter contains mentions of child labour and vague mentions of child abuse.
~
He always missed home. He missed their warm hearth, where they would sit together during stormy nights, eating warm, spicy soup and telling stories. He missed their garden, where their parents would grow vegetables and flowers and healing herbs. Mama was always trying to teach him to memorize each of the latter and what they helped with, but he was too young to remember. He now thanked his lucky stars - no matter how few they obviously were - that Liam was old enough to remember. Now there was only a small fire where they’d desperately try to dry their clothes and warm their freezing fingers as they swallowed tasteless hardtack and listened to the sailors sharing bawdy stories of lay and rum. Now there was only what greens they could buy with their meager savings and what would survive on week-long journeys on a ship. And as he lay in bed, body shivering with fever and sight blurry, he thought he hadn’t missed home more before. He didn’t want Liam to risk their captain’s ire every time he took a break to check on him and give him water. He didn’t want him to have to add to his already doubled work time. He wanted Mama. He wanted to sniff her shoulder, feel her warm hand on his forehead, hear her sing to him. But what he wanted didn’t matter. Three years of indentured servitude and the fear of more on the road had taught him so. Liam was back on deck, and Killian’s only comfort was the gentle rocking of the ship and the singing words whose meaning he was too feverish to understand. Oh, poor old Stormy’s dead and gone Storm along boys! Storm along John!
killian-whump reblogged
Some things that happened for the first time Seem to be happening again
Anonymous asked:
"One." The whip's sting is still sinking in as Killian forces out the word and fights back the urge to close his eyes. Liam is looking at him. He's pale, and under the stubble that is finally to a point where the men can no longer call it "peach fuzz", his jaw is clenched. His eyes, angry blue like a storm, are on Killian's. Trying to help him, even though he can't. So Killian keeps his eyes open as the whip cracks down again.
"Two." The boatswain is not a kind man, nor a gentle one, and he has never heard of mercy. The leather strap hits Killian's bare back with all the force the man can muster. Pain lances through him, making him arch his back, though the restraints keep him in place, on his knees.
"Three." It's his own fault, really. He knows that he shouldn't talk back. Liam keeps telling - begging - him to keep his mouth shut, and he tries, he does. But there's something dark and terrible inside him that just takes over when the captain jeers at him, or when Lynch makes another one of his comments, and Killian can't keep it tamed.
"Four." He's trying not to let his voice betray the agony slicing into his back. Liam wouldn't. Liam never does. Liam endures his punishments in silence, eyes blazing, chin up. Killian looks at his brother, and knows that Liam can't take seeing him hurt, and clenches his jaw so tight it hurts, and focuses on the rage.
"Five." Anger is still coursing through him, fueling a black hate deep in his soul. He hates the ropes holding him in place. The captain, for ordering it. His father, for leaving him here. The boatswain, for giving the whip his all. Himself, for letting his temper flare, for letting Liam down, for everything.
"Six." He's bleeding now. He can feel the warmth of it running over his skin, and he can hear it, too, when the whip lands again.
"Seven." It always gets worse after the first few lashes, when the skin is broken and the leather snaps against open, bloody flesh. It stings worse than rope burn. Tears are running down his face, unbidden but unstoppable. His heart is pounding, his breath coming in gasps. He can see droplets of blood spraying onto the deck beside him, and he hates that, too, because he knows Liam can see it.
"Eight." Liam is still looking at him, a steely sort of desperation in his eyes, silently telling him to hold on. It's hard to focus on that through the rage that wants to blind him. He wants to seize the whip from the boatswain and strangle him with it. He wants to take the captain's sword and lay them all out, until they're the ones bloody and beaten and begging for quarter.
"Nine." He holds on. The same stubborn anger that keeps boiling up and landing him in trouble also helps keep him upright. If the captain thinks that he will give in, he's sorely mistaken. He was scared, as a boy: of the dark, of the crew, of the captain, of the whip. He isn't scared anymore. He's bruised and bloody and scarred, but he won't be cowed.
"Ten." They release him from the ropes, and he slumps to the deck. His back is burning, searing agony, and he knows he won't be able to sleep right for at least a week. He won't be able to pull his weight, so he won't eat, either, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is that it's over, and he made it through without begging them to stop, and Liam is there, pulling him to his feet. He manages a "'m all right, brother" and it's a lie born of pure defiance, but one day, one day, it will be true.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, this is amazing and lovely and perfect!!! Thank you, precious and wonderful Anonymous Friend for sending this!!! I love it!!!
killian-whump reblogged
OUAT HD Screencaps: Deckhand Killian Jones
Screencapped by me. Free to use. Please like and reblog! I also take requests by episode or characters!
Killian collared and caged
He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but one thing was certain: whoever it was that had caged and collared him was going to pay dearly for this insult and forced humiliation. Then he saw a pair of legs stop in front of his cage. He recognized them as women’s legs, and knew instantly what had happened. “Swan.” He half muttered, half growled in irritation and anger. “I should have known this was you.”She leaned down and laughed. “This wasn’t me. But I’m taking advantage of the situation and buying you. I could use a new source of pleasure, Jones.”
He scowled and shook his head at her. “Not me, Swan. I belong to no one.” Though I wouldn’t mind belonging to you… He shook his head again, trying to get rid of that thought quickly.Months later, he came to love his collar, and the cage that she’d kept as a sort of safe haven for him to retreat to when he needed some rest.
sherlockianwhovian
A delicious little ficlet! ❤
Tee hee!