Ask Killian Jones

Dare I hope this inch that survives will be less melodramatic than the rest of you?

“Of course not,” Liam snapped. He didn’t look up from the rope he was unraveling with swift, well practiced motions. “In the short term, probably,” he conceded. “Maybe even for a few years if he was really lucky. But eventually that bastard would have abandoned Killian, too.” He started tying knots roughly along the strands of rope in his hands, jerking them tightly, emotion revealed in his movements that barely showed in his tone. “I can’t protect him as much as I want, but he needs someone here to stand between him and the captain’s anger.” He stared at the nine tightly knotted strands in his lap for a long moment before finally looking up. “Now, if you’re quite done asking ridiculous questions, we’re expected on deck where my own difficulties will likely continue to provide you amusement.”

Liam checked the rope, running it through his callused fingers to make sure it was right. It didn’t matter, not really. It was close enough and soon would be bloodied and tossed over the side. Killian always rushed the process, sometimes even taking a few extra lashes for not doing it right, but Liam never did. There was no sense in wasting the calm before the storm.

Killian’s mumbled apology startled him away from the task and he looked up.

You shouldn’t have to-

No, he shouldn’t. And neither should Killian. It wasn’t fair, and he hated that Killian would have to assemble on deck with everyone else to see the punishment. But wishing and complaining had never made things better in his experience.

“I’m fine, Killian. Really. I’ll be fine,” he insisted, managing a weak smile for his little brother’s sake. “I always am.” There had been plenty of times like this to demonstrate that. And would doubtless be many more.

“Come on.” He picked up the whip with forced casualness as he stood. “We’re both supposed to be on deck.”

No. 

No no no no no.  

“It’s not fair,” Killian whispered,  the words coming out dangerously close to a whimper.  

His muscles burned.  A useless instinct to run or fight when there was nowhere to run and no one to fight.  No one to fight that wouldn’t make it worse… He wondered if it were possible to murder a man with nothing but a scrub brush and a leaky bucket.  Knock the captain over the head with the bucket, shove the brush down his throat…

They’d both be tied hand and foot and thrown overboard, if they were lucky.  But gods would it feel good for just a moment.  He felt a light brush of fingers against the back of his clenched fist and he took a breath,  forcing his gaze away from the captain and back to his brother.  

“This isn’t fair,” he repeated again,  uselessly.  

For a moment Liam looked like he were about to say something but an officer grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back towards the gathering crowd on deck.   To the place of ‘honor’;  the Captain’s favorite place to make Killian stand,  where he’d likely be cleaning blood off himself as well as his brother when all this was over.   

That sounds lovely. Only, last time I tried to take a break, Killian decided to run off on a mission on his own. If I had been there on logistics when planning the mission, he might not have been captured.

Besides, the only solo operation I am running in the next few weeks is the occasional supply run to the pharmacy at 2 am for gripe water. It’s about the only thing that helps the little one sleep some nights. I don’t remember Alice being so fitful...

Roleplaying partner: No you’re not

Feel free to create AU situations with these, depending on the muses and fandoms. Some ideas are vague for all uses, while others are better suited to exploring new ideas or universes.

VAGUE:

😱Greatest fear(s) 🥀Illness 🤢Things they hate 🤕A time a muse was injured 😡A moment of anger/argument 💋A heartbreaking goodbye 💤A memorable nightmare 💢Peeves/annoyances 😭Something a muse misses 🔪Murder 🙏A great regret 💔Heartbreak 🖤A horrible memory  ⚠ A traumatic moment that haunts them 🃏Betrayal 😣Jealousy ☔A death that affected them greatly 💙Loneliness 👹A deadly sin associated with a muse

AU / VERSE-SPECIFIC

An officer, huh?

And does this officer get a say in whether or not a few words are worth you risking your life over?

Is it not my sworn duty to spend my life in the defense of the honor and dignity of the Navy?  I have a vague recollection of some such promise and a terribly itchy dress uniform some months ago-

If this is retribution for being landlocked for three days I think just three of the tiny beasts would have made your point.

Tell you what-

If you win we leave with the tide go as far as the rations will take us and worry about restocking along the way. If I win you give me 12 more hours and I’ll take you somewhere that may make you reconsider your opinion of landfall.

Attempts? Attempts?! I’ll have you know, I made amazing friends with Mr. Boots!

, 

And besides, what if they starved??

I’m more concerned about the crew starving due to a thriving rodent population…   

At least they were.  

“I don’t have time to relax. I have to be more than I was.” More than a murderer. More than a mutineer. More than a slave. More than a child whose father didn’t want him.

Perhaps one day he could work hard enough to wash the blood from his hands, to matter, but for now he couldn’t relax. If he wasn’t tired enough when he went to bed, he would see their faces, the men he had killed. And he would see his father’s face in the mirror, selling children to the sea for his own freedom. So he worked himself to the bone during the day, harder than he had ever worked under threat of the lash. And he read by candlelight late into the night, until he thought he could get a few hours of real sleep, unhaunted by the faces of the boys he sent to their deaths.

“I could handle the charts on my own if you wanted to get some sleep while things are quiet?”  

@ask–killianjones - illness and injury starters - accepting

Milah winced at the sight of her hands. “Well, this looks painful.” She was starting to feel the sting but the adrenaline still rushing through her veins was being kind.

She thought about his question for a split second. “The line needed to be secured. You said it yourself.”

Killian gaped at her for a moment,  he hadn’t even realized she was listening.  It was a comment borne from frustration at watching the rigging flying loose across the deck,  the sail it was meant to be holding flapping madly in the wind.  It would need to be replaced,  the wind had torn it to rags not even worthy of mending-

“You can’t just grab loose rigging in a storm love,  it could have taken your arm,  your head…  It could have dragged you into the sea.”  His tone was terse.  She didn’t deserve it.  She didn’t know.  And fool that he was, it had never even occurred to him to warn her against chasing after flying metal and rope in the middle of a squall.  

He had promised her freedom, beauty, spices in the air and colors she’d never seen.  He’d almost given her lungs full of salt and a cold rest on the ocean floor.  He took a deep breath to calm himself before looking up from her abraded hands.