#restless anchorage

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Restless Anchorage

Artist: Tyler Smith TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[almostlookedhuman]

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Restless Anchorage by Leon Tukker

[aller-geez]

Remington Connors & Levi Anderson

｡☀︎⋆(RemixLevi)⋆☀︎｡

Mini Fic Masterlist ᡣ𐭩

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@thekinkyleopard owns Levi ᡣ𐭩

A Shifter’s Tale is canon lore, and is in chronological order, however, all fics listed afterward are NOT in order. (I SWEAR I WILL GET THESE LINKED ASAP!)

Split into four categories. Lore/Canon, Snz fics (snzr listed), vanilla fics (no snz), and series.

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Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Reunion (Lemon)

Part Nine

After Lunch (Lemon)

to be continued.. *

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Writing Prompt (Remi sneezes; cold)

I’m Not (Remi sneezes; cold denial)

The Festival (How ‘Bout Them Apples?) (Remi sneezes; allergies)

A Late Night Tickle [Part 1] (Levi sneezes; allergies?)

What’s Up There? (Levi sneezes; allergies)

Bless You (Levi sneezes; allergies)

Camping, Anyone? (Remi, Levi, Meeko, Connie, Biziil, Draeko, & Kanai sneezes; cold/contagion)

The Lil Engine Who Blew (Levi sneezes; cold)

Insatiable (Remi sneezes; cold/caretaking)

Souvenir (Levi sneezes; cold/contagion)

29: Another Year Sicker [Part 1] (Remi sneezes; cold/caretaking)

29: Another Year Sicker [Part 2] (Remi sneezes; cold/caretaking)

Just A Lil Bit? (Levi sneezes; cold)

I’ll Make You A Deal… (Remi sneezes; cold)

I Said… (Levi sneezes; cold)

The Gathering (Alistar, Remi, Biziil, Meeko, Kriia & Rexar sneezes; cold/contagion)

Don’t Mention It… (Remi & Reader sneezes; cold)

Day Of The… Oh No! (Levi sneezes; allergies)

A Blooming Bromance (Remi & Rexar sneezes; cold)

A Late Night Tickle [Part 2] (Remi sneezes; allergies?)

You’ve Cat To Be Kitten Me Right Meow… (Remi sneezes; allergies)

How The Wolf Snuffed Christmas (Remi sneezes; cold)

You’re Safe Here (Remi sneezes; cold/EXTRA caretaking)

A Fever You Cant Sweat Out (Remi and Levi sneezes; cold/contagion/caretaking)

Flight 676 To Anchorage (Remi sneezes; cold denial)

A Hehh— Head-On Approach (Remi sneezes; cold/inducing)

Prey (Levi sneezes; allergies [light cnc])

A Ruff Morning (Remi sneezes; allergies)

I'll Be Home For Christmas (Remi sneezes; cold/slight caretaking)

Wrecked, Restless, & Really Congested (Levi sneezes; cold/inducing)

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Mr. Steal Yo

Opposite Day

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New Guy (vanilla/no snz) / finished*

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

fin. *

Hot For Teacher (vanilla/no snz) [EXCEPT PARTS 5 & 6!] / unfinished*

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

to be continued… *

part 1 of our OC Masterlist is here 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

& part 2 of our OC Masterlist is here 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

⋆☀︎｡ For the full fic list, you can find it here! ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆☀︎｡ For fic navigation via each ship,

— Find the directory here! ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[m-printed]

❀ *◦ bang christopher chan. nonbinary. he/they. alloromantic pansexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that marcus bae ? i think that the thirty year old from seoul, south korea works as phlebotomist at anchorage regional hospital, but outside of that people describe them as atychiphobic; the extreme fear of failure ⸻ hand veins fully visible and outlined and showing through translucent skin ⸻ and a determination for the truth . i hear they are venal & phlegmatic, but they are also known to be herioc & gentle. consider giving them a visit at their home in kingpin trailer park and get to know why they’re called the disenchanted.

  ──  wc of: choi seokmin's roommate / best friend, adisorn tayen's boyfriend ( fathered Callie, their two year old ), brother to lena and lana ( wc on main )

𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂: grief, death, hospitals, narcolepsy, nightmares, sleep deprivation, cataplexy, sleep paralysis, sleep disorders, blood work, veins & needles.

# 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

tba

# 𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚂

as the first born of three children - he was the unintended experiment for how his sisters would be raised and nurtured. his parents were too young to know how to care for marcus and if you asked them they would admit they were lost and helpless during his upbringing. they didn't realize how tough they were with their love for him.

because of this, he was held at a higher standard compared to them, given higher expectations and was pushed harder to succeed. he has a bit of a rougher relationship with his parents, quietly resenting them for their pressure when he was younger.

still having problems with talking about emotions, he inherited his closed off and reluctant nature from both of his parents. they didn't provide spaces for him to express his feelings when he was growing up, but they are mending that now.

he doesn't blame his sisters, nor envy them and loves them very much. he is the older brother, but his sisters tend to protect him and care for him more than he cares for them.

his relationship with adisorn wasn't as fairytale as many believe it to be. they were good friends in high school- they actually dated within the same social circles. they didn't actually end up together until years later, and callie's conception was an accident that brought them closer together.

darker rumors around town have suggested that without callie's existence, mark and adisorn would not have stayed together. they are just too different and are arguably incompatible- better off as friends, some would say.

his parents always pushed him into the medical field. they imagined him as a doctor, maybe even chief of the er, but since mark hasn't always met their standards for ambition, he settled for a health care support job as a phlebotomist.

he is happy as a certified phlebotomy technician ii where he can work forty hours a week and overtime when he wishes rather than working nights and weekends.

he was diagnosed with narcolepsy in his teens, after signs of automatic behavior, where he'd perform routine tasks without being consciously aware of doing so. these were called black outs since he did not remember doing them afterwards.

he is still prone to blackouts while under stress.

other symptoms he is prone to are: daytime sleepiness, sleep paralysis, hallucinations, vivid dreams/ nightmares, disrupted nighttime sleep, headaches, restless sleep, and memory problems.

his main concern, however, is cataplexy - the sudden and brief muscle weakness that's triggered by strong emotions (like laughter, excitement or anger)

for example, he may have weakness in only a few muscles, like those in his face leading to a sagging jaw or mild head drop. in severe cases, he loses total control of his muscles and collapses. he remains conscious during these attacks, unlike in fainting and seizures.

he currently has shared custody of Callie with the tayen family due to his inability to grapple with grief and flare ups of his condition.

# 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙰

drawn from the greek god of sleep, dreams, hypnos, the most renowned tale portrays him in tale of selene and endymion. the moon goddess selene having fallene in love with the handsome shepherd endymion wanted her love to stay that way for ever, but zeus had no wish to make him immortal. instead had hypnos put him into an eternal sleep, with his eyes wide open, allowing him to gaze for all time, and allowing selene to always look upon his handsome face. in ancient sources, hypnos was said to reside in a cave palace in the realm of hades, the underworld of greek mythology. the palace was said to be furnished with a couch of ivory, instead of a throne, on which a tired hypnos was often depicted. around the entrance to his palace would grow poppies and herbs known to help people sleep, and the river lethe, was said to flow through the palace. the power of the god would imbue the river with its powers of forgetfulness. hypnos himself was normally thought of as being a handsome man, but with wings emanating from the temple of his head or from his shoulders.

[altarfates]

@sleeplesswork continued from here.

The counterfeit sky should offer solace, as if by their own leisurely pursuit the leaves rustle and the world persists in this sense of sequestered normalcy. Mizi isn’t wrong, in fact, it was that restlessness that had his gaze lingering upon the place where Ivan had left what seemed hours ago. Time between classes was inexplicably short, pervaded with the purpose of interacting with others and stagnantly sat in anticipation for their return. So, they’re kind of the same in that regard, without the anchorage to keep them firmly in place they’re left to listlessly drift. He cannot say for certain but filling the apertures left in their absence with productivity seemed to soothe him, like his hands needed to be occupied and this — this was a reprieve of sorts for him. He stared for a few seconds too long and then, in an act of genuine sympathy, his mind was able to catch up. When she smiled how could he repress the urge, even if it began as something sheepish, the corners of his mouth lifting tentatively, her delight was contagious. In his mind it was easy to understand why he would be swept up by it, as if it were shafts of diaphanous light shining from somewhere beyond those elevated ceilings. She asks about what he’s writing and he instantly grows diffident. Was it because it was incomplete, a series of inelegantly scrawled abstract ideas, sometimes, they converge, becoming the inception of something promising, other times they too dreamily wander amongst these moments of stolen quietude. 

Despite that initial reluctance he parts with it, proffering it to her as if it were a treasure and not a piece of paper marked arbitrarily with big, bold letters and interspersed sketches. The others that had her or ivan on them were kept closely guarded, his knee restingly idly on two or three loose sheets. There’s only so much courage he can muster at once, even if the teachers thought him rebellious, no thanks to Ivan’s intervention, there were still parts of his heart that could grow timid when she stood so close. ❝  I wasn’t scared, just distracted.❞ he wants to reassure her, or himself, maybe if he does that it’ll disperse the disconcerting fluttering in his chest. ❝ It’s not — finished yet. ❞  which was to confess it might not actually be any good to begin with, inwardly, he was still quietly strumming out what he surmised would compliment those disjointed words. He doesn’t believe she will judge him harshly but still finds himself peeking over to look at his own haphazard handwriting, as if getting a good-look at it might determine its potential worth. His gaze flits up to meet hers, hesitating before asking, a little boldly. ❝  so.. what do you think ?❞ 

[deadgodjess]

I've got blackout curtians up but i think my brain is still detecting the sun. still sleepy but restless.

behold, 4:22am in Anchorage in May:

[afro-dave]

Ready for when Pioneer RCQs start up again. Zero reps so far but this allows for so many retro foils, so I’m in.

3 March of Otherworldly Light

2 Get Lost

3 Temporary Lockdown

1 Farewell

3 Memory Deluge

3 Shark Typhoon

1 Dig Through Time

3 Dovin’s Veto

2 Absorb

4 No More Lies

2 Supreme Verdict

4 The Wandering Emperor

2 Teferi, Hero of Dominaria

1 Castle Ardenvale

1 Castle Vantress

4 Deserted Beach

1 Eiganjo, Seat of the Empire

3 Field of Ruin

1 Hall of Storm Giants

4 Hallowed Fountain

4 Hengegate Pathway

1 Otawara, Soaring City

2 Restless Anchorage

2 Plains

3 Island

Sideboard:

2 Rest in Peace

1 Temporary Lockdown

1 Narset’s Reversal

2 Mystical Dispute

1 Summary Dismissal

1 Dovin’s Veto

1 Elspeth, Sun’s Champion

2 Narset, Parter of Veils

1 Lyra, Dawnbringer

2 Regal Caracal

1 Hullbreaker Horror

[maievolution]

what does home mean to you?

To her, a bed and a home held uniform depths. For most, they were the places they devote the greater part of their lives to. Restless summer nights. Warm, raw winters. Infancy and parenthood and unearthing all the hidden depths to oneself. So, when she welcomes another into her home—tells them to take their shoes off at the door, hang their coat on the rack. And when she invites someone to lie with her in bed, she was inviting them into her haven. Her asylum. Her shelter and her anchorage. She’d been denied this from her motherland when the conquerors age had come, and when she’d recouped this feeling again in a boy, in a man who fostered her as a brother would, and in Vecure—the refugee dominion of this city—she’d fled to Beaulac before this could be stripped from her as well. It was seizing control of circumstances, she liked to think, and for this she cannot stomach removal from Beaulac. A bed and a home have since lost feel. Not in nine years of life, would she have welcomed the people of this dominion, of Erivue, nor her equals here at Beaulac, to her home. Not in nine years of life, would she have invited so many faces to her bed, for one throwaway night, and one night only. Home to her, was a person, and she knew only one face earnest enough to lie with her at night.

Until her last days, she will grieve this loss.

When This City Was Ours, Chapter 2.

[prismagpie]

“Likewise,” said Ash, sticking out his chin and cocking his head, his best attempt made to banish any hint of anxious giddiness from his face. “I'm doing this whole thing in good faith, got it? If this goes to shit for one of us, it goes to shit for us both. No jumping overboard.” Yet, despite the somewhat intense word choice, Ash spoke with a playful grin and threw his hand out first for a handshake, until he remembered how he felt about those and pivoted for a high-five instead. After all, he was pretty eager to get this show on the road. Lately, he'd been feeling particularly restless. That was how Anchorage was. Someone could vanish one day, they could even turn up dead the next, but eventually life would continue as normal. And Ash was a little bored of life. A risky task like this, with all trust placed in the palms of a total stranger, was the perfect boredom-killer.

He kept his eyes fixed on the liner too, trying to memorise its position on the shelf so he could return to it quickly later. It was only a shelf above the black liner he'd been planning on swiping. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand on edge and the impending adrenaline rush had him wondering if he shouldn't just grab more than planned, just because he could. Ash was an excellent thief but nobody ever said he was sensible. Still, without so much as flinching, Ash let the lipstick fall into his palm and then down the sleeve of his jacket. Moments like these were why he'd never had any complaints in his life about sleeves being a little too long. Nothing was a problem if you could make good use of it, right? “Safe and sound,” he said, with a satisfied, close-lipped smile, that could have almost been described as smug if it weren't so well-meaning. ”Well, I'll leave you to it.” And then, in a mock-dramatic stage whisper, he added, “Go break a leg.”

Satisfied at Ash's response, Ava allowed a self-assured grin to slip past her mask of rehearsed nonchalance, confident to know that at least she wasn't in the presence of a snitch. Maybe a team-up would be in their best interest after all. "Good to know. 'Cause if you were planning on ratting me out for this, I have no issues taking you down with me," she threatened just under her breath, flicking silken raven locks over her shoulder for good measure. Though the young Adler's days of swiping things from stores just for the thrill of it had cooled down considerably since her wilder years of teenage rebellion, as the adage goes, old habits die hard. In an odd way, it felt nice to be in total control of something for once, especially with everything going on around town recently. Maybe it was a bad coping mechanism (certainly not the healthiest or most productive outlet), but giving into her hedonistic tendencies felt strangely anchoring when she felt restless and uncertain about her life.

Raising a brow at his challenge, an impish grin threatened to disrupt her cool façade, but she managed to maintain her unaffected veneer. For a girl that was usually urged to tone herself down, accused of being far too much for most, Ash's urging that she should set her sights on more was a refreshing change of pace. "Oh, you'll never have to twist my arm to go bigger, trust me," Ava assured her fellow recreational thief, eyes already scanning the nearby displays for something to add to her haul. Noticing a vampy white gel eyeliner that she'd love to add to her stash, the brunette raised a brow, saddling up next to her companion. "I happen to be an expert at causing a scene, and I can talk my way out of a paper bag, so I can totally be the decoy. You just have to promise to grab me a white liquid liner. And keep this safe for me," the hairdresser replied, discreetly transferring the lipstick bullet in her pocket into his hand, nimble fingers making quick work of the subtle sleight of hand.

[colinf7]

So what happened to your Dynamic Duo and the flooding boat! Jumping catfish, they were in a pickle.

I rushed below and inspected all the seacocks. We have a lot of through hull fittings, four in each heads, two under the sink in the main cabin and two supplying the engine. In addition there are various other fittings for the bilge pumps, engine exhaust, speed transducer, heater, scupper drains, vents for the various fuel, water and waste tanks.

As we had been sailing well heeled, any of these could have been under water, however the most inportant are the permanently submerged ones.

I went round them all and switched them off, opened up the engine compartment to see if there were any leaks there and drained the bilge with the electric bilge pump.

Up came all the floor boards to inspect the keel bolts. At this stage I had not identified the source but it was clearly quite a substantial leak as the ingress had been significant.



Well heeled.

Having done all this there did not seem to be any more coming in. However the combination of this issue and the unidentified hum from the transmission meant that carrying on to a remote anchorage was not a terrific plan and I thought we needed to return to civilisation.

I radioed Livianda and told them that we were returning to Datca because of these problems. This was a return trip of about 16 NM but the wind would be behind us and with a bit of luck we could sail the whole way before dark, without the need to motor.



So that is what we did. It was a good sail with a following wind of 15-20kts. As we reached the point of Ince Burundari, the wind failed and we had to motor rounf for just a few minutes before the breeze returned, but this time from the N directly ahead of us. We only had about 4 miles to go so we carried on sailing up wind, but as we closed our destination the wind strength increased and we ended up forereaching into 25-30 knot winds for a couple of miles to get to Datca. We managed to sail into the harbour before turning on the motor.



As useful as....

There was no berth obviously available so we anchored in the bay. 

The only clue I had was that the toilet paper repository under the sink in the aft heads was wet when I pulled it out to look at the seacocks there. It could just have got wet from the water in the bilge slopping in there but I was suspicious this could be our source of trouble.



Sinking by the sink

So with the seacock draining the sink closed, I filled the sink with fresh water. Lo and behold it poured out the underside of the sink. We had been sailng well heeled to port and seawater would have entered up the piping and leaked out. I felt much better that the source of the potential calamity had been found, and we settled down to have a beer and a relaxed evening.

However I was still concerned about the lubrication of my sterngland, so to speak, and spent a restless night going through the various strategies available.

I sent a message to the Beneteau 423 forum. This is a brilliant group who are highly responsive, highly knowledgable and always kee to help. Witihn a few hours I had several replies offering a range of views.

The problem I faced was that the rubber hose on the stern gland lube system was ancient, hard and possibl;y fragile. If I put a mole grip on it to block the water flow, it might crack.



Sterngland lubrication setup

I could turn off the inflow at the seacock, but the outflow is through a brass tube, fibreleglassed into the stern tube apparatus. This is notoriously fragile and I know of several people who have snapped them off trying to work on them. So I did not really want to go there.

The reples I got varied from “dont touch that lot while afloat, you could sink”, to”don’t worry about it when I snapped mine off I just dived over the side and blocked the inflow round the prop shaft with plasticine and an anode”!

Someone else on the forum said they had also had this humming noise intermittently but had never found the cause, and had not noticed a hot prop shaft.

So I tossed and turned a bit wrestling with this dilemma.

In the morning we tied up in the harbour.

I put my big girl pants on and set to work. I got the area cleared for action and recruited my assistant. I had new hose if I needed it but the plan was to remove the hose from the inflw side and put a bung in it to stop the backflow.

Fortunately the 20 year old hose came off the junction more easily than I had expected. There was good brisk back flow from the hose, and on opening the tap, good brisk inflow. So the original hypothesis of a blocked inflow was wrong. What a relief, we did not urgently need a diver.

There is an instruction in the handbook that after the boat is relauched after a period ashore the sterngland should be lubricated with a small amount of magic grease and burped. Because we had not dried out this winter I had not done this, but perhaps?

The magic grease trick involves putting a small amount inside a plastic straw, flattening the end of the straw, slipping it inside the rubber stern gland and milking the grease inside.



Magic grease delivery apparatus

The burping procedure involves putting your hands around the gland and squeezing hard (think least favourite boss or manager) until it deforms and a ”burp” of water spills out.

I then re-sealed the drainage of the sink with Butyl goo – great stuff. So with a bit of luck we were a going concern again.

Livianda had retraced their track back to Datca and re-joined us. The next morning we set off E again. It was quite a brisk breeze but we motored for a bit to test out the transmission. Cool as a cucumber, Well a black rubber one. Amazing what a little bit of lube can do. The possibilities for puerile humour are immense but I will resist in the cause of decency.



Dottin about.

Over the next few days we dotted about favourite haunts, Dirsek, Orhaniye, and ended up at Bencik, one of thr nicest anchorages. The water is still cold but we finally mustered up the moral courage to get in the water with the scrapers to havea go at the hull.



Sea life

It then became clear why we had been going so slowly. There was a thick layer of sea life from stem to stern. Tubeworm, barnacles and fronds of weed everywhere. After half and hour we had perhaps cleared about quarter of it but without a wet suit it was not possible to do much more.

We also found that there was no anode whatsoever on the prop shaft.



Absent anode on prop shaft.

The anode is made of zinc and corrodes sacrificially to protect the sterngear. Without one there is a risk the prop might de-zincify, which is a form of corrosiion that results in it turning mostly into copper and becoming fragile. I had one on board but theere is no way one can be fitted without an aqualung.

So we still need a diver!

[tgarnsl]

So you finished The Flight of the Heron...

First of all, welcome to the club. There are tissues and hot beverages of your choice available. And now onto some fix-it fic recommendations...

Fix-it Fic Masterlist There is exceptionally good fic in The Flight of the Heron fandom, and what I’ve recommended below scarcely scratches the surface. There is also plenty of space for new writers, should anyone wish to join in!

That Good Faith by Luzula (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham; rated E.) A thoroughly researched and expertly written epic that spans from the fourth meeting between Ewen and Keith to some forty years later.

Highland Laddie by Philomytha (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated T.) Three years after the events of Morar, Keith and Ewen meet again, and a second chance is offered. 

When the Fighting is Over by Garonne (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated M.) Ewen and Keith find their way back to each other, and not without a certain amount of pining on Ewen’s part.

No Unfitting Anchorage by regshoe (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated T.) Having made a decision on the shores of Morar, Keith lives with the consequences until Ewen Cameron is thrust once more into his life.

a gentler night by @chiropteracupola​ (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated T.) In which a life is saved, and a broken heart averted. (An utterly inadequate summation of a gorgeous fic.)

I’m going home, no more to roam by thedisasternerd (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated G.) A charming and humourous vignette of a relationship in a moment of peace.

Shore and Ship and Moonrise by Hyarrowen (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated T.) After Morar, Ewen and Keith flee to France and are at last given the time to discover what they might mean to each other.

The Return of the Heron by Ardea Cinerea (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated T.) There are no limits to the lengths that Ewen Cameron will go to protect a greviously wounded friend.

A Thread of Another by goldenhart (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated G.) Obligatory self-promotion. Ewen returns to Ardroy, with Keith at his side.

If, however, you do not wish to read a fix-it and would instead prefer to wallow in feelings, then the following may be for you:

That Restless Sleep by @sanguinarysanguinity (Ewen Cameron/Keith Windham, rated E.) Following the events of the fifth meeting, neither Keith nor Ewen rest easily. There is also plenty of phenomenal art, two excellent fanvids, and an assortment of other things poking around. I may eventually add on to this post, but if anyone has any personal recommendations let me know and I can add it in :-)

[atsukashii]

ii. thus always to tyrants

✗ synopsis : imprisoned for a crime you did not commit, you are left shackled in the dark away from the world. vowing to end the queen who dealt your life sentence, you bide your time waiting for your chance to end it all. However, a promise of freedom comes on a whisper in the shadows, taking the form of dark eyes, and grey wind swept hair carrying the scent of the sea.

✗ pairing : osamu miya x reader

✗ genre : pirate au, royalty reader, mutual pining, fluff + a pinch of angst

✗ word count : 4.9 k

✗ warnings : mature content : mentions of alcohol, language, implied murder

✧･ﾟ:* previous | m.list | next *:･ﾟ✧

Osamu never liked sitting still.

Ever since he were a child, there was always some part of him that was physically constantly in motion. A tick of sorts that he was admonished for a long time ago, fused deeper into his bones as he grew until the simple act of being somewhere for a prolonged period of time made him uneasy.

And the fact they had been sitting off the east coast of a glitzy harbour in the southern kingdom of Fukurodani for over two weeks had Osamu more agitated than he would ever care to admit. And it definitely had nothing to do with the imminent threat of the corrupt nation across the narrow sea. In the beginning, being moored off the coast of such a rich city had its benefits to him. The first night, he and his brother had got rip-roaring drunk and had to have their carcasses dragged back to the ship by their crew. After getting a lackluster and pathetic attempt at a lecture from their captain who, in their defense, never said not to do it again, Osamu had the common sense to drag their entire crew out for an evening. One which ended in him having to row their drunk asses back to the boat. Some would say it was karma, but it was definitely luck that he just happened to be the least drunk. 

During the days of their anchorage, Osamu meticulously searched the city markets for any news on the world outside, and sought out anything that caught his interest; star charts, swords, females, not in that particular order and the latter mainly was him being dragged into his twin’s antics.

But now, his restlessness was dragging him from sleep in the earliest hours of the morning. Far before dawn would break, one could find Osamu prowling the deck like a caged beast. He’d tried sleeping tonics, ale, and even trying to bore himself into slumber by listening to his brother drone on about pointless things. So after many failed attempts, Osamu had begun to use the time to make himself more useful to his crew, slouching over his hand drawn maps, star charts, plotting courses and venturing the glamouring capital city for anything alarming or interesting.

No one brought up his restlessness, more out of fear of being mortally wounded - besides the one person on the damn ship who made his life a rutting nightmare. But no matter the agitation rolling off him like the waves lulling the ship, they went unnoticed by the one person in charge.

Kita Shinsuke - the captain of the Nine Tails had rules that not even the most restless of souls could change. The most blindingly logical being that he wanted even a sliver of an idea of where the hell they were going next before they set sail so they could use the advantage of being in such proximity to a harbour offering such goods to their benefit. Because depending on whatever crap the silent, ill carcass of a man currently locked in the hold finally let slip would no doubt have them not seeing occupied land and civilized society for a while yet. And that was if and only if everything went to plan.

Which really, Osamu could only hope for.

“Rutting mother,” The groaned curse has Osamu’s eyes drifting up off the map that covers the entire surface of the dishevelled wooden desk in his shared quarters. Leveling the incomer a look of indifference, Osamu isn’t entirely surprised by who barged into his quiet announced by nothing but a filthy curse.

“Yer looking like shit ‘Samu. Yer need to get out into the sun and stop being cooped up in ‘ere,” The voice of the other resident in his quarters says with a feral grin that matches his own. In fact, a lot of him matches Osamu, including the wild gleam in his eyes, his nose and his damned face.

“If ya ain’t got news that we’re headed out of this shitty cove, I don’t wanna see yer face ‘Tsumu,” Osamu simply deadpans, looking back down at the map and not giving his twin brother anymore attention. Instead, Osamu’s eyes gaze over the many coal crosses marked across the large map. Drawn by none other than himself, they stood as symbols from their voyages over the years, the more recent resulting in nothing but dead ends. Because it had been years since he and his brother had been dragged from the fighting rings in the depths of Inarizaki’s slums and put to work under their captain’s command. They’d been barely adults, and Kita not much older, but they’d sworn an oath to the man when he’d promised them nothing but a roof over their heads, warm meals when they wanted and the open ocean. And they had never once looked back.

Osamu had never doubted Kita when he’d taken them across the seas in search of what they’d once thought was only a folktale. But now, with someone who possibly knows a partial truth - that myth had validation behind it and more importantly; they had a lead, for the first time in years. They were closer than they had ever been before to the Emperor of the Sea’s treasure, so why were they sitting off the damned coast of Fukurodani for so damn long?

“Nah, the damned bastard’s more likely to die before he talks,” Besides his blonde hair and brown eyes, Atsumu was his twin in almost every other aspect. With the same build, the same stature, they were like two sides of the same coin, or like night to day. The latter had stuck with them since their early days, and Osamu now had the phases of the moon mixed in with some of his other tattoos on his body, whilst his twin held the sun over his heart.

It’s too bad his brother was a rutting moron.

“Then what the hell are yer doing here ‘Tsumu?” Osamu’s patience for his brother wavering by the second as the knowing smile that covered Atsumu’s face only grew. It’s a look Osamu’s seen countless times before, one that says both ‘I’m a stuck up prick’ and ‘I know something you don’t’ simultaneously.

“We’ve got a new crewmate little brother.” The dig rips a growl out of Osamu’s mouth, and has him shifting and throwing the closest thing in sight right at Atsumu’s head in milliseconds. Luckily for his brother, it’s a battered and only half working compass that almost smacks into his face. However the blonde catches it with ease before slipping it into his back pocket. Rutting kleptomaniac.

“Kita wants your ass out on the deck.” Why he couldn’t have just stated that before now is beyond lost to Osamu, but not nothing to attempt to ask and wanting to tear his brothers head off when Atsumu talks them in circles whilst refusing to give back the compass- Osamu instead tunes him out and shoves him out of his way as he walks through the ship.

Once out under the blinding sun, the gentle breeze dances through the grey strands of Osamu’s hair. The sensation brings a calming touch, something akin to welcoming him home. It’s not as if it had always been this way, hell Osamu didn’t even know how to swim until he was in his teens - and that had been more of a live or die situation than anything. Necessity breeds talent and all that. But since he’d been dragged upon the infamous Nine Tails in his early teens, this waterlogged beautiful piece of trash was his home. He’d never felt more comfortable and sure of himself than he had standing on the battered wood of the deck with his twin by his side and their chosen family flanking them.

Osamu’s grey eyes open to face the world once more, taking in the crowd in front of him, before settling on the figure leaning against the wooden walls of the ship, his captain. It’s the stranger standing to Kita’s left that quickly has Osamu’s attention shifting to. The stranger’s yellow gaze stares right back at Osamu with pure indifference. There’s a familiarity in those eyes that he can’t seem to place, but it could be from anywhere in the world.

“Who’s this kid?” Atsumu asks, being unable to help himself, and the unperturbed glance that the brunet stranger gives his brother has a feral smile pulling across Osamu’s lips. He doesn’t even have to look at Atsumu to see his brother bristle at the complete disregard from the newcomer, and it makes Osamu think the scrawny brunet might not be too bad.

“Suna Rintarou, and from today he’s part of our crew.” Kita explains, the conviction in his gaze having everyone keep whatever smart remark they were going to let fly stay firmly in their mouths.

As Aran, their quartermaster and second hand to Kita helps lay down the law, Osamu can’t tear his gaze off the new kid. Suna looks around their age, but it’s his eyes that have Osamu hesitating to look away. Not because of their familiarity, but because of the quick glances between Osamu and Atsumu, with the calculating glimmer circulating in them as if he’s putting together dots that he shouldn’t know. And only when smirk tugs at the man’s mouth seconds later does Osamu’s own lips downturn.

He knows something.

“-from Hyogo.” Without even thinking, Osamu’s thoughts explode like cannon fire until he finds himself looking his captain dead in the eye. Kita’s brown irises flicker between Osamu and his twin, a look that would seem like nothing but a brief glance to other people, but to Osamu; he knew his captain enough to guess where this is going, and that glance was Kita’s warning.

Look around you, listen to what’s going on. Pay attention to your surroundings now, Osamu.

Lessons embedded in him from childhood have him easily falling into fake disinterest, even as he pays more attention to the conversations around him than he ever did before.

“Suna is the son of an noble.” Kita explains further, many of the men burrowing their brows in confusion. Why would they want to know this? No one in their current company gives a flying shit about where you’re from, or your past. You’ve killed someone? Great, most people on this ship have - it’s a result of the profession. You’re an orphan? There are four others aboard who fit that category.

But the son of an aristocrat? Normally that would maybe raise some eyebrows. But one from Hyogo? That alone brings nothing but trouble.

“So? What’s it to us?” Ginjima questions, levelling Suna with a glare that currently covers many of the faces of his crewmates. One full of scepticism and fierce intimidation that has a sliver of something akin to fear entering Suna’s gaze for the briefest of seconds. It’s a look that clearly states; you fuck us over and you’re going to die - brutally.

“Like many aristocrats, he received a formal invitation to the coronation of his new majesty, his highness Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

For the first time in years Osamu finds himself catching glimpses of the marble floored palace that he had once called home. Followed by memories of stealing food, of the sweetest of smiles and the most stunningly enrapturing eyes Osamu has ever seen.

The crown princess of Hyogo.

Where are you now?

Because judging by the stunned faces of the other three people abroad that had once called the empire home, they were all thinking the same damned thing. Prince Wakatoshi was to be the next king?

Doesn’t matter if one is rich or nothing but a beggar in the side alleys of the slums of every city and town in the empire, everyone knows that succession within Hyogo isn’t by birth right, but by choice. A choice from ruler to successor, and a decision that could be contested if other contenders saw fit upon the death of the previous king. It was a brutal way of life, and many royals in the past had been killed by their own siblings for the spot on the throne.

Including the current king. Upon his succession to the throne, the warrior-king had been forced to defend his chosen position against three of his siblings. It was a bloodbath which resulted in the annihilation of almost all of the royal line but his majesty.

Was that what had happened to you? Has Ushijima challenged you?

Osamu’s heart lumps painfully in his throat as his body struggles to find a way to ask the question that he partially doesn’t want to know the answer to. There are so many questions the soft, reminiscent part of Osamu’s soul that lies hidden behind lock and key wants to ask, but the expressionless pirate mould he’s forced himself into knows better.

Luckily for him though, his brother doesn’t give a shit.

“What ‘bout the princess? Everyone with ruttin’ eyes knew she was the next in line.” Atsumu points out, hardening his glare at Suna as if he were lying to all their faces. For almost every memory Osamu has with you as the star in which he orbits, Atsumu was more often than not in rotation right with him. They were your shadows within those sea sprayed walls, providing you with a semblance of freedom in the regimented society you had been forced into.

“King named Wakatoshi his successor in the final testament.” Suna shrugs as if that response is answer enough. It’s not. Osamu doesn’t realise his mask has broken until Suna’s eyes almost grin at the frown stretched across his lips.

“That’s a crock of shit.” Just this once, he’d thank the gods for his moronic brother and his habit of not being able to hold his tongue. Just once.

“She’s the daughter of a rutting concubine. She was ostracised by every noble in the whole of Hyogo, not just Inarizaki.” This was common knowledge, along with the understanding that many of those people held high levels of sway and influence within the empire, and often used their positions to look down on you and add to your misery. Osamu had seen this first hand, hidden in shadows where adults thought no one resided. People talked, and stuck up aristocrats spoke the most - and the loudest.

“Even if she were to be chosen as successor, the council would have pushed for Ushijima to challenge it.”

“Is she still ya know… alive?” Riseki asks the question plaguing their minds and the unamused shrug that Suna responds with almost has Osamu reaching across the few feet to ring his throat.

“Not sure. Some people say they’ve seen her, but considering they haven’t had a public funeral for the King yet, no one’s completely sure.”

“And why is this important to us again?” Aran prods, looking completely unamused at this entire situation. No one can blame him though, his whole village had been burned to the ground by the Hyogo forces when he was just a kid. So the death of the man behind it all was to him no doubt a good thing.

But as Osamu glances at his captain once more, he can see the feral gleam to Kita’s eyes that has anticipation rising in response. As the small crowd around him erupts into questions, Osamu lets his brain run a mile a second, trying to put the pieces together. Out of all his teammates, his captain often relied on him to see through his unvoiced plans, it was both an exciting challenge and the bane of Osamu’s existence. 

Why would an invitation to one of the biggest political events in one of the biggest superpowers matter to them? Such celebrations call for large crowds, and diplomatic relations will be reinforced due to a new political power…

“Kuroo.” The name has teeth gleaming in Osamu’s direction with pure malice and distaste. But as Osamu narrows his gaze at Kita once more, he knows he’s right. “Because there will be a delegation from Nekoma attending - ergo, Kuroo and the rest of the Fleetfoot will undoubtedly be there.”

“With King Yasufumi Nekomata sitting so deep in their pockets he can’t rutting see out.” Ōmimi growls, but no one protests it. In every known land, it’s common knowledge just how deep in pirate pocket’s the whole empire of Nekoma was. They don’t try to hide it, but the nation doesn’t publicly disclose they are either.

Until the past decade, the kingdom of Nekoma wasn’t even considered as a possible political threat or power. However that changed when a ship of pirates found themselves in front of the king with more gold than they could count and the nation became indebted to a bunch of rag-tag thugs that Osamu couldn’t stand.

But more than him, their captain Kita held the most loathing for the other captain, after he was stabbed in the back and mugged, literally, by the other crew. The scar dragged over Kita’s right eye was a permanent reminder to them all of the mildest repercussions of misplaced trust.

Osamu’s crew had been sitting in this shitty bay for a week, trying to figure out their next move, only for their next decisions to come straight to them on a silver platter. He did not care for how convenient it seemed, only that they were leaving. Finally.

With a final look, Osamu knew what his captain was going to say before Kita even said it.

With an animalistic grin pulled across Kita’s mouth and a cunning prowess that could be found on no one else, the energy had the rest of the crew beaming in but seconds.

“We’re heading to Inarizaki. Man the sails.” Turning around and walking off the deck into the galley, Aran and Suna followed behind the captain smoothly as Atsumu offered Osamu a savage grin.

It’s about time, right brother? His twin’s eyes seemed to say. They were going to the kingdom they were born in, not to remain but to settle old debts. The excitement in Atsumu’s step as he bounced down the deck was contagious enough to have a smirk pulling at Osamu’s mouth as he quickly slipped back inside, following Kita and the others down to the hold. Moment’s later, he steps to a stop beside Aran, watching quietly as Kita bends down against the bars separating one side from the other.

“Well, looks like we won’t have to wait as long as we thought,” He hums. Through the strip of sunlight the crack in one of the panels gives off, brown almost golden eyes stare back at them.

“Looks like you’ll get to see that captain of yours real soon, that’s if you’ve got anything useful to say Kenma.”

It’s not until the sails catch wind and the hull of the Nine Tails slices effortlessly through the dark sapphire waves does Osamu finally have a moment of peace once again. Although, living on a pirate ship with a crew of men with arrogant swagger dripping off them in waves isn’t a recipe for a peaceful lifestyle. So his momentary silence doesn’t last long, and the most frequent uninvited guest in his life is the one to break his stillness.

“Ya know she’s goin’ to be alright.’’ Atsumu’s voice lacks his usual arrogance, and Osamu’s gaze flicks towards his twin now leaning against the railing by his side. There’s none of the overly confident obnoxiousness that’s as much a part of twin as breathing, instead Atsumu’s shoulders lay slouched, and actual concern furrows at his brows and body like a deadweight ready to sink him to the depths.

Whether Atsumu’s saying it to try to convince himself or Osamu, he’s not sure - but he’s not buying it.

“There’s no way that the King left it all to Ushijima. By law, she would have been the next in line.”

“By law, she should have been killed before she reached her first name-day.” Atsumu point’s out, and a growl threatens to rip from Osamu’s mouth at the idea. Instead, he steels his spine and lets logic push his emotions aside.

“By law brother, we should also be dead.” A feral grin tugs at Osamu’s mouth, and as he turns to face his brother once more, a matching one falls across the blonde’s face.

“Look, she’s a smart one. I’m sure we’ll go in, see’er all happy and safe and we can be on our merry way.”

“And if we don’t?” Osamu questions. Once, there hadn’t been anything Osamu wouldn’t have done for both you and his brother. But since their families banishment from the kingdom, neither of the twins had heard a peep about you since.

“Then we’ll do what we must when the time comes.” Atsumu lets out a smothered shriek of surprise at their captain’s sudden appearance behind him and Osamu earns himself a glare from his twin as he tries to muffle a chuckle. 

Go jump overboard, his brother’s eyes scream at him.

After you shithead, Osamu wags his brows in return. Atsumu just offers him a vulgar gesture which has Osamu wanting to reach out and break his finger.

“Is Kenma still alive?” Osamu questions Kita instead, tearing his gaze from his brother and then to the white and black haired captain.

“Yes.” The frustration that had dug its talons into Kita’s shoulders over the past few days seems to have released its grip ever so slightly, and a sense of relief fills Osamu’s veins.

“And I’m going to keep my word and give him back to his captain.”

“I’m assumin’ he told ya somethin’ useful then?” Kita nods in response, his fingers fiddling with the gold ring around his middle finger.

“Possibly, but we’ll have to see.” Their captain responds, his eyes staring off into the ocean as if he can see the mainland over the horizon to which they head. The three of them stand in silence, letting the crashing whitewash waves against the hull lull them into a peaceful quiet.

“I want you with us Osamu, when we go into the palace.”

There is a part of Osamu that wanted to just say no to his captain, a word he has never uttered in response to him being asked to do something before. Kita was aware of those around him, especially his men. He knew their limits, their weaknesses, what drove them. And he knew just what Osamu would have to face going into the stone castle.

His captain’s light brown eyes finally shifted from the darkening horizon until they rested on Osamu’s face. There was understanding in that gaze, as well as an apology. He knew why either him or his brother were needed for the task. Having grown up with the marble tiles beneath their feet and the domed ceilings above them, they remembered every nook and cranny of that place. So should something go wrong, they were prepared.

“Okay.”

“It’ll be like the old days little brother.” Atsumu grins, a useless fact that he continuously hangs over Osamu’s head in the most inconvenient of times.

“You’re staying here.” Kita settles the blonde with a stare and ignores his squawks of outrage.

“One of you not being recognised in there will be a borderline miracle, but both? Then we will be meeting the god of death much earlier than I intended to.” They were easily recognisable already, but if both him and his brother were to go into the kingdom side by side, any noble or worker within the castle would recognise them immediately. And the tattoo’s that peaked out from under their rolled up shirts didn’t help to hide their identities.

But they would make it work, because the fact that Atsumu didn’t argue back, plus the genuine sliver of concern in their captain’s gaze only emphasised the dangers of what they were about to do.

So they’d come out the other side, or they would die. There was no in between.

The chattering of your teeth vibrates inside your bones as the temperature drops and the equally cold soapy water drenches you from the shoulders down. Honestly, you can't remember a time you’ve ever felt so cold in your life.

In a familiar practiced silence that has been instilled in them from an early age, the three handmaids worked in a fluid elegance that tugs deeply at your heart strings. Never looking you in the eye, never even looking at your face until one was applying a light dusting of kohl to your eyes and a powder to bring out the roses of your cheeks, you feel less like a human and more like a puppet. Even though they show you no attention other than to perform their duties at the words of the queen, you much preferred the handmaids to the psychopaths that guarded your cell day and night.

It isn’t until you are being shoved into a dress do two of those psychopaths return to the room. The traditional snarl of disgust on his face as he takes you in is nowhere to be found, as if just remembering that you are in fact a woman. The look in his eye is anything other than innocent and it has your spine locking tightly. You would do anything to have none of them look at you like that, preferring to suffer kicks to the spine, punches to the stomach and broken bones rather than what’s no doubt running through his head.

“My eyes are on my face shit-bag.” You hiss to the guard, and any desire is immediately wiped straight from his face, as if he too remembered that you were but a bastard.

Although they lacked a moral compass, apparently that title was enough to keep men from you as if you carried the plague. And whilst as a child, you’d hated that it kept you from making friends - now, as a woman after her eighteenth nameday in a prison with only male guards, you were glad for it.

“Bite your tongue before I tear it from your mouth scum.” The dark haired guard growls in response, his tone promising nothing but pure malice. But as the handmaidens thread the golden earrings through your lobes, you tilt your head down, feigning fear of the promised words knowing full well that it wouldn’t happen - at least by his hands, and not yet.

Do not be afraid. The voice that feels like a gentle hand on your shoulder speaks into your mind. You do not yield to anyone.

You uphold the façade as the shackles around your wrists are unchained, slipping onto the handmaid’s hands quietly, and your ankles practically sighing in relief at the lack of weight of the metal. Your mind fills with images of your deepest nightmares to ensure that your anticipation is masked deeply by feigned horror and fear so it is hidden from all but yourself in preparation for the night ahead. The exotic scent of Jasmine fills the air as shoes are slipped onto your feet and more jewellery draped across your collarbones.

It was more finery than you had ever worn in your life, as if to show that you had been accepted into the ‘new’ royal family under the façade of being taken ‘under the queen’s wing’. No doubt, in order to appease any rumours and to cover the truth for the masses.

The chiffon of your skirts dusting against your feet was an unfamiliar feeling, yet you focused on the brushing of the material as you stalked down the hall, flanked by guards to seem as if you weren’t paying attention to every stationing and every weapon glittering their white golden armour. As you breach one of the main halls, you try not to gape at the many soldiers manning each doorway. What an auspicious occasion for a coronation, the whole of the known world would have eyes within Inarizaki tonight no doubt. Once upon a time, the idea of such a large crowd would have had nerves bubbling inside your blood, but now only anticipation remains. A large crowd means twice as many eyes, and many eyes mean that the guards could not hover over you like a prisoner, they would have to be lenient.

And as you took your first steps into the throne room for the first time in months, your eyes settling on the golden throne, flames etched into the metal as if it looked as if it was made of it you couldn’t help but release a sliver of your hidden emotions.

The smell of the food wafting from the kitchens down the hall almost had your stomach rumbling, however as your gaze shifts from the throne and to the glass dome ceilings, the constellation of Kalaeo glimmering down at you, the chill that had been straining your bones settled.

You do not yield, you do not falter.

And as you turn from the sky, you thank the gods for giving you a clear night sky one last time.

Because there was a high chance that your reckless slip of a plan would go up in flames, and you would find yourself never seeing that sky ever again. You had already accepted that tonight would be your one and only chance.

You know your days are numbered, a little more than mere hours if it doesn’t go to plan. But there was nothing here for you, and no one left to mourn you. So any chance, even the most microscopic, you would take it like a beast to flesh, and you will not yield.

©️ 2023 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[the-pan-ace-writings]

Under the Apple Tree

Summary~  You're stuck reminiscing on a life that could have been if things had turned out different in life, its a good thing MacCready can read you like a book and provide some comforts. You and your found family makes you whole (GN pronouns)

Warning~ None <3

A/N ~  Not gunna lie to you guys this isnt like the best thing ever, but its the first thing ive written since the pandemic and I think its good to try to pick this hobby back up. feel free to leave requests!

AO3 Masterlist

   A little over three years ago you climbed out of the frozen hell hole that was vault 111, and stumbled into a fully settled sanctuary. Apparently what was supposed to be a few seconds of decontamination turned into a 200 years worth of a nap, and resulted in your spouse being murdered in literal cold blood in front of you and the kidnapping of your child.

   You couldn't believe how much things had changed for you in just three years. You had gone from returning soldier to savior of the commonwealth. It's hard to put into words the knowledge that your own son had been the boogie man of the commonwealth and that you ultimately were the one who did him in, blowing up everything that he had worked for and becoming in your absence as a guardian. There were days that you could do nothing but sit on your patio bundled up just stare blankly into the forested backyard dwelling on what could have been.

     You lived in a sanctuary with a lot of the folks you've helped over the years. This used to be your home before the bombs and the general thought it was only fair that you gotta keep it after everything that you did to help them. And while Preston no longer lives in sanctuary, his group of survivors still do. He’d taken up to training recruits in the Castle and only stopped by to visit if you requested it. 

   It would grow lonely up here after three years of being disconnected from your old life, as terrible as it was to be a soldier in Anchorage, if it wasn't for the small bustling family you've happened to make. 

   You had your eyes closed, leaning back into your bench wrapped up in your duster and a familiar scarf snug around your neck and you were humming along to the tune of diamond city radio. Your face scrunched as you focused on the sounds coming from your home. Dogmeat’s nails clicking on the laminate, Codsworth muttering about in the front room, wooden toy cars rolling against the dining room table, and the patio door opening, the weight of someone settling down next to you.

     MacCready was well versed in your moods, it was something he took pride in. So when he felt you leave the bed early in the morning after a restless night he knew better than to show up empty handed. He had two mugs of tea, one of which he handed to you as he leaned over to kiss your forehead. You shifted how you were sitting lean into his side, he wrapped his arm around you and leaned his head against yours pressing his lips into your hairline.

    The patio door slammed open and crashed shut as Dogmeat bolted outside yipping playfully with Duncan following close behind the ball in hand. You both watched as Dogmeat bounded after the ball and returned it to the boy, and you both laughed as Duncan's face twisted when the ball was slimy in his grasp.

     You sat for hours in silence watching them play together and eventually fall asleep in the shade of a long mutated apple tree that you had planted when you first moved to this house. You leaned back from MacCready's grasp to stare at his face which had grown soft over the year you've both stopped being mercenaries. He turns to look at you for a moment before looking back at his son.

     “They have grown so much, it’s hard to believe how little they used to be.” he whispered down to you, before he fussed with your scarf. You smiled back at him before turning back to look at Duncan, and for a moment if you closed your eyes and didn't think too hard he could have been Shaun under an apple tree. You shake your head and turn back to MacCready pressing a kiss to his jaw.

     “Trust me I know.” You placed another kiss on his cheek and squeezed his arm before standing up, you moved to stand between his knees as you took off your scarf and put it on him, tucking it back into its proper place. You leaned down to whisper to him “Keep an eye on them for me, i'm going to make lunch”

    Going inside you paused after closing the door behind you, looking at Codsworth who now started in the front yard. Three years ago you couldn't imagine this, but now your small family made you feel whole and you really didn't want to change that.

[emcads]

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS       /        accepting.

 @spervier​ said:  you are comfortable, while I am weary; you sleep, while I keep awake. / >:(

THE PIRATE QUEEN TURNS OVER    to find her bedmate  adrift  in the sea of wakefulness  and misery,   sat straight  on the edge  of the bunk  with the moonlight   beating down on weathered  skin.    she furrows her brow at the tension  weighing his tongue  –– thick enough to slice through  ––   and her fingers itch  to  hold  and  to  comfort,,   but she remains still.   something tells her that if  he wanted  touch  he would seek it.   she blinks  away  what threat of  sleep  there  is,  bundled up in the warm darkness of the cabin,  and admittedly when she speaks there are still a few  remnants of it  –––   but she is genuine,  still,  and honest  ––   at least,  as honest as one may expect  from a thief.

❝     Venganza  is your home as long as you want it,   mi corazón.   ❞

it isn’t quite what she means.   her ship is a place full of luxuries ;   a  soft bed  for he who has need of one,  ENOUGH  FOOD  to sate the hunger in him,   good company  to soothe the loneliness.  all the trappings  of an appealing  respite,   but Venganza  is no more  his place than the  BLACK PEARL  is hers.   there are different souls  caulking the planks  of those vessels,   different  HISTORIES  entwined  in every length of rope.   what  Esmeralda means is of course that  SHE  is his home,  a safe harbor  as long as he has need  of an anchorage.  (  but no matter how fine her coasts,   how warm  her waters,   she could never replace the allure of the OPEN SEAS.   )    she  sits up against  her pillow.    no,   she does not have the same  bare-ribbed desperation   to see  the plundered  vessel  returned to her captain,    for all  her  genuine concern  for him   and   STALWART EFFORTS  to track  down the errant first mate.  perhaps she does sleep too comfortably  for his tastes.   she does not know how to say it is only because he is here ;   her body  safe and warm and free from  terror   at his side.

❝   I know you miss her.   I would be as restless as you are now.   ❞

her ship is an inherited thing.  the devotion  she feels towards her,  the PRIDE,  it isn’t all that different  from a scion caring  for his ancestral estate.  (  and she has,  of course,  many of the same  material comforts  as those descended from more LEGITIMATE  nobility.  )   but Jack and the Pearl  are something different.  perhaps she won’t ever understand it entirely,  only that it’s a love  apart from anything her body has ever known.

❝    but you deserve rest,  too.   ❞

[pars-ley]

Come away with me

Pairing: Jimin x f reader ft Namjoon x f reader

Summary: Roses are dead, my soul feels blue, come away with me, I only want you. Being forced into an arranged marriage is not ideal, even less so when you're hopelessly in love with someone else. But with your choice, could come bloody consequences.

Genre: arranged marriage au / affair au / angst / smut / fluff / mafia au / 

Rating: 18+ (nsfw)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Oral f recieving / sex / finger foreplay / mention of murder /

Beta reader: @taegularities​ thank you so much!

A/n: This is for the btswritersclub February prompt 'dishonest love'. 

When you die, do you think you'll be able to go back to the time you were the happiest, and relive those moments forever? 

Or if there's a life after this one, maybe it'll be another chance at happiness with the person who satisfies your soul completely.

Either way, your mind only sees one person behind your eyelids. And replays one moment…

Your bare breasts shine from the orange light of the fire, bathing you in a golden glow as you watch his soft, gentle lips cascade slowly down your body. Every part of your flesh he meets, sings under his touch and creates a pathway of goosebumps, leading him onward.

"You're so beautiful," Jimin whispers against you, an involuntary shiver vibrating down your spine.

You smile at his words, fingers smoothing the hair from his eyes so you can see him. His intense stare, so full of love and adoration makes your heart ready to burst in your chest, pouring emotion singing his name at full force.

His fingers are on you and in you, manoeuvring in a way only he can, knowing your body and pleasing you in ways that make your back arch and your toes curl. Your fingernails find anchorage in the soft pile rug beneath you as you ground yourself from floating away, as the feel of his hot, wet mouth on you is enough to tip you into the abyss.

When your quaking body eases under his touch, he climbs slowly up your body, his lips journey upward leaving a trail of wet prints behind him.

You pull him into a fiery kiss, tongues dancing a heated rumba. The taste of you on his mouth brings fresh heat straight to your core.

You have never felt more free and more happy than in this moment. You do not allow yourself to think about tomorrow. You want to drink in everything about this night.

"Run away with me," he whispers. 

His words are exactly what you long to hear and what you long to do.

"You know I can't." You stroke the side of his face, the curve of his cheek fitting perfectly in your palm.

"You can. Forget about what your duty is. Forget about your father. Live for yourself."

A sad laugh escapes you. "If only it was that simple."

He sits up, pulling you up with him. "It can be! Come away with me. We can go anywhere you want. Your dad won't find us, we can just live our life." 

Tears sting your eyes as hope overwhelms you. Could it be possible? To live your life freely with him and forget about everything else? 

"Please, choose me and I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me."

The desperate plea in his eyes has you melting and in this moment you truly believe it's possible.

You nod as he responds with a heart stopping beam, one that has you weak and wanting to do everything in your power to make sure it keeps dazzling you.

His hands capture the sides of your face, lips moving against yours, pouring every ounce of love into this kiss.

You make love on the rug in the firelight until the early hours of the morning. He draws his name from your lips more than once and you relish in being able to say it so freely. You've had a taste of freedom with him and you know you can't go back now.

"Pack a bag. Meet me at the old oak tree on the edge of town at noon?"

You nod as he strokes your face with his thumb, bringing you the most amount of comfort from such a tiny action.

As he sneaks out through your window, your heart leaves with him, feeling safe and loved in the warmth of his embrace.

You watch until the dark night captures him completely from your sight.

You and him forever, how it's meant to be. Could your dream become a reality?

You race to fetch your bag and begin shoving clothes and your most prized possessions in every crevice.

A knock on your door has you frozen in place before shoving your bag under your bed in time to see your mother’s face peer in.

"I thought I saw your light on," she says sweetly as she steps in, closing the door behind her. "Wedding day jitters?" she asks. 

You nod automatically, guilt already threatening to boil over inside you.

"I thought as much. I was the same when I married your father." She walks over, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, patting the space beside her. You do as she asks, as usual, and take a seat.

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to every word." Her eyes blaze into yours, the sweet, cheery side gone, leaving you with only the intimidating and menacing side that made your stomach turn and your palms sweat.

"Before I married your father, I was in love with a boy. Handsome, charming, caring, adventurous, everything I'd ever wanted in a man, everything I could have hoped for. We had a very passionate relationship and we were seeing each other right up until the night before my wedding. That night he asked me to run away with him."

Your eyes pop but you dare not speak before she's finished.

"I wanted to, lord knows how often I still think about that moment but I chose not to follow my heart but to follow my duty, that's what matters the most, dear. I wouldn't have this wonderful life with my lovely dresses, my jewels, our cars, our boats, everything. I'd be a peasant, living the simple life. Is that what you want?" She raises a sharp eyebrow in your direction and you swallow the lump of fear in your throat. 

You want him, you'd gladly give up everything else but you dare not say those words out of fear of the consequences.

She sighs. "I know it's hard, believe me, giving up what you love and desire the most is not easy but it is worth it. Kim Namjoon can give you everything your father gives me. That's all I want for you, dear."

You don't miss the silent earning she's giving you as she stands and heads for the door.

"Because I love you, I'll give you the chance to make this right. Send a message to Park Jimin, telling him why you must marry Kim Namjoon and that he must leave you alone, and I will spare his meaningless little life." She shuts the door behind her, leaving you with a thick silence that grabs your throat and suffocates you.

Your dream is slipping away through your fingers as you grapple at it, attempting to keep it.

You want to run to him now. To grab him and never let go. You wish you could protect him but you can't. 

Seeing his face in your mind, you clutch your chest and let the sobs wrack your body. The love of your life further away than you could have imagined.

You want to run to him, to escape with him now but you dare not put him in any more danger, knowing he must already be being watched by your father’s people.

You were trapped, a prisoner in your own home, in your own life, destined to follow you mother’s footsteps and be the wife of a mob boss, enslaved in a loveless marriage forever. 

That is your destiny. As much as you want to believe differently, you have no choice. You couldn't risk Jimin's life for your selfish wants. He is more important than anything, he deserves to be happy with someone freely.

You sit at your desk and pour all of the love you have left in your words on the paper, printed forever for him to look back on, knowing you sealed your heart in the envelope just for him. Letting him know this sacrifice isn't an easy one and that he will have your heart for eternity and beyond. Begging him not to come and save you as the idea of a world where he isn't living could not keep you too.

You print the wax seal and scrawl his name across the front before letting your tears escape freely until you're lulled into a painful and restless sleep.

You snap out of the memory of last night and stare at your reflection in your long, ornate wedding gown, not a hair out of place, the perfect makeup concealing bags and red rimmed eyes.

You go through the motions of getting ready on autopilot, all noise fading into the background, everyone around you passing in a blur. You feel numb at the prospect of what you're about to do. 

You'd sent one of your fathers errand boys off with your letter, telling him exactly where Jimin would be. You can't bear to think of what his reaction will be when he reads it, you don't want to imagine the heartbreak your words will cause, you are already dealing with enough of your own.

In no time at all you are at the cathedral in the lobby, flowers in hand and desperately holding back the tears you feel burning behind your eyelids. 

"You look beautiful, darling," your father whispers as he intertwines your arm with his.

The empty pit in your chest that used to house your heart is throbbing with grief and mourning at the life you're entering and for the one you're leaving behind.

You take a deep breath and steel yourself as the large, oak double doors open and you're faced with the sea of guests turning back to admire you.

At the end of the aisle you see him, the stern, expressionless Kim Namjoon. Soon to be your husband. Looking at you with utter...indifference. As if you were nothing more than a simple business deal. Which is exactly what you are to him. You look away from his unrelenting, icy stare.

Thankful for the veil, concealing your true feelings behind the mesh fabric.

You glance at the faces you walk past, most people are here because of your parents, they're people you've never met or who you hardly know.

A familiar set of crescent eyes and plump lips draw your attention, capturing all your focus immediately as your stomach drops.

Jimin.

Your Jimin.

All you want to do is run to him, but you dare not falter and draw attention to him. How did he even get in?

Why is he here?

He moves slowly along the row towards you, panic seizing your organs and squeezing them in an alarming grip.

Your breath hitches in your throat and as it leaves your lips in a rush, your father follows your gaze and spots him. 

Everything stops. Everyone looks around to him and all you can hear is the hushed chatter of the people around you.

You can't bear to tear your eyes away from him as all he does is offer you that breathtaking smile that makes you believe in gods, and angels and everything in between.

You shut your eyes tight wanting to keep that image burned in your mind and not wishing to see whatever is about to happen next...