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colinf7 · 2 years ago

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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!

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tgarnsl · 2 years ago

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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 :-)

#the flight of the heron #fic rec

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atsukashii · 3 years ago

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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.

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the-pan-ace-writings · 4 years ago

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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.

#fanfiction #fallout4 #fallout4 companions #fallout #maccready #Robert Joseph MacCready #sole survivor x maccready #reader x maccready #sole survivor #found family #one shot #oneshot #fluffy #gender nuetral reader #gender neutral terms

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emcads · 3 years ago

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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. ❞

#HHHHHh #spervier #✘; VERSE: BETWEEN IRON & SILVER ( main )#✘; LETTERS ( answered )#✘; LOOSE，CATCH THE WIND ( meme response )

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pars-ley · 4 years ago

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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...

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becameundone · 10 months ago

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The gallery had been so quiet upon his immediate entry that he'd half-assume it to be totally deserted. It would have been surprising but not much of a shock, not with the way things had been around Anchorage lately. The Chinchilla Café still stood abandoned, as though the owners had been wiped off the face of the Earth the day the internet started failing. A voice cutting through the silence was almost enough to make him jump but common sense took control just in time. Min's brows raised at the mention of blood and gore. Somehow, despite everything, Min had avoided seeing anything too unpleasant. At the Halloween party, he'd gotten drunk enough to trip over and knock himself out right before any of the carnage so he'd been forced to rely on second-hand reports. He was best friend with the damn host and he'd still come out of it utterly clueless. "If you work here and you're using that as a greeting," said Min, his tone just vaguely teasing but not unkind, "Are you really sure it gets people's minds off of all the gore?"

He stepped past her and stopped in front of a poster for some exhibit that was close to finishing. His eyes scanned the words but his mind took none of it in. Min had come here because he'd felt restless but he'd never been very good at putting words to that feeling. He looked back at her over his shoulder and said, simply, "I want to see something cathartic."

the hanging arts gallery, february 1st open: 0 / 4 ! @anchoragestarters

The halls of the gallery were quieter than what Murphy was acclimated to since returning. Normally, she would have struck up no protest about this development — if it weren't for the fact people suffered for it to occur. Now the sounds of her boots echoing throughout the empty corridors was a haunting chorus that beckoned unease everywhere she stepped. It felt, in rare instances, that she could even hear the rush of blood in her ears tunneling through her nervous system as she wandered aimlessly. She contemplated clocking out early and welcoming herself to the sweet embrace of her apartment; turning up the dial on the TV all the way and letting the sound of bickering newlyweds play as background noise while she busied herself at her easel. Then she heard the delightful noise of a door creaking open and, for once in her life, leapt at the opportunity to answer the call that was summoning her from what felt like an exile from the rest of society.

"Welcome," she announced, voice reverberating off the marbled floors as she plastered as amicable a smile as she could produce naturally. "Uh. Hoping to get away from all the shit — uh, stuff out there?" she corrected herself swiftly. Months away had diluted her common sense when it concerned guests. "If so, I can give you a tour. We've got a few new pieces that've just come in. Really phenomenal. Will totally get your mind off the blood and gore."

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & murphy. 」#i hope this works okay for you!! he's a lil dramatic :'|

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anyonecanfall-anyonecanfly · 3 years ago

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Anyone Can Fall (Part One)

We Meet Again

Summary: As the threat of a new attack looms on the horizon, Raleigh meets RJ, the newest prodigy of the Shatterdome. At the Marshal's request, he's tasked with training her for the upcoming war against the Kaiju but she's not having it. Instead of meeting Raleigh for training at the scheduled time, RJ goes to the Infirmary to check on her partner and learns the fate of their team.

Pairing: Raleigh Becket x OFC

Warnings: mild language, mention of character death

Word Count: 2793

A/N: Here's the first part of what I hope will be an epic story.

Get caught up here.

Shatterdome, Hong Kong; 2030

Raleigh quickly wove his way through the Shatterdome, a million thoughts swirling through his head.

His focus veered to ten years prior to the death of his older brother by the Kaiju, Knifehead. He promptly quit the Jaeger Program and joined workers on the Anti-Kaiju wall; it hadn't been much but was enough to make ends meet. He spent a good five years as far away from Jaegers as possible. Raleigh placated his anger at Yancy's death with the thrill of danger, he took the riskier jobs on the wall that no one else wanted, scaled to heights no other worker dared to reach. High risk, high reward was Raleigh’s motto during his time on the wall.

Then January 2025 saw his first return after so long, his first return without Yancy by his side...

Marshal Stacker Pentecost visited him at the wall in Anchorage; convinced the young Ranger to travel to Hong Kong with him, once there, he met the woman who would go on to co-pilot Gipsy Danger in Yancy's stead. He was aware of two things upon his arrival: one, no one had been inside his head since his brother's death, and two, he preferred it that way—no matter what Stacker Pentecost had to say.

Unfortunately for Raleigh, while he succeeded in piloting Gipsy solo right after experiencing Yancy's death in the Drift, the toll such an endeavor had taken on his mind and body was a gamble the PPDC couldn't afford to take again. So, Marshal Pentecost introduced Raleigh to Mako Mori. Following her assessment of his skill against hopefuls she believed more than compatible with Raleigh's skill, he challenged her to a quick sparring session with him. Marshal Pentecost, though reserved, let her go against his better judgment.

Raleigh's synchronization with Mako was unlike anything he felt since Yancy, and the two of them convinced the Marshal to let them Drift together. The rest is, as they say, history.

Now, though, Raleigh marched on in silence, trying to work out in his mind the reason Marshall Hercules Hansen summoned him to LOCCENT, with no luck doing so. He pulled his eyebrows together as he entered the command center, scanning the room for Mako. He stopped behind Tendo Choi’s chair, studying the screen in front of the J-Tech Chief. Red blips on the map captured the young Ranger's attention.

“What's the patrol status?” Raleigh asked, leaning down to get a better look at the monitor.

Tendo hummed. “Still no change in the Kaijus' heat signatures, they haven't moved. But... just because they haven't moved yet, doesn't mean they won't.”

Raleigh nodded. “Right. Are the new teams prepared to head out there?” He glanced down at his watch, the time was 2100 and he just made it out of the Kwoon Combat Room. Training ran longer than planned.

“Not just yet. Marshal wanted to speak to you about that. He's in the mess hall.”

“Alright, I'll head that way. Have you seen Mako, by any chance?”

Tendo shook his head, turning back to the monitor in front of him. A long, restless night in LOCCENT lay ahead for the J-Tech Chief.

Raleigh politely excused himself with a friendly pat on Tendo's back. His eyes wandered beyond the glass window where Tendo sat, to the Jaeger Bay.

Five long years had come and gone since he'd been in the Conn-Pod of one, during the final battle that closed the Breach. He and Mako piloted Gipsy together, aided former Marshal Stacker Pentecost and Chuck Hansen in the fight against the category IV and V Kaiju where the latter team valiantly gave their lives. And finally, with the destruction of Gipsy Danger, they won the battle that day but lost two amazing pilots in return. Raleigh had not been inside a Jaeger since.

After their success with closing the Breach, Mako resumed her duties as the Shatterdome's Chief J-Tech Engineer, overseeing the Engineering Department as it worked to restore decommissioned Jaegers to their former glory and build new ones. Given Raleigh's ability in all things battle oriented, Marshal Hansen promoted him from Ranger to Officer, awarding him the position of Kwoon Fightmaster. Raleigh was just grateful that Hansen saw him as a valuable asset instead of an expendable, washed-up Jaeger pilot.

He breathed a deep sigh, entering the mess hall. He worked over 16 hours in the Combat Room that day and could feel starvation settling within his body. Keeping his head down, Raleigh headed for the stairs only to be stopped when the Marshal called out to him.

“Raleigh, over here,” he said, Australian accent thick with exhaustion.

The blond turned to meet the Marshal's gaze, offering the older gentleman a curt nod in greeting. He sighed again, making his way over to the table where he sat with a few off-duty Rangers and Officers.

“Marshal,” Raleigh said, stopping beside the table. “Tendo told me I could find you here.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? It's Herc. I may be the Marshal, but I don't need or want to be reminded of it every five seconds.” He slid a plate full of food forward, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Here, sit. Eat. Miss Mori said you worked through lunch. Again.” His voice held no disappointment, only concern.

It was no secret around the Shatterdome that Raleigh tended to throw himself at his work a little too hard; most suspected as a way to deal with the lingering trauma of losing his brother, though no one had the balls to approach him about it outright. Not even Mako, his former partner, dared to venture across that line.

Raleigh took the open seat and nodded his thanks. “I stopped by LOCCENT, Tendo said you want to talk about the patrol teams?”

“Team,” Herc corrected. When Raleigh tipped his head to the side, Herc pointed at the young woman seated to his right. “Raleigh, meet one-half of our current superstar team, Ra—”

The woman, Raleigh knew he'd seen around the Shatterdome but hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting, cut the Marshal off before he could continue. She didn't bother looking up from her meal, instead offering a gruff, “RJ,” in response.

Herc continued, “Right, my apologies. RJ is one-half of the best Jaeger team we’ve had since you and Mako. RJ, this is Raleigh Becket, the only other man in existence with the natural ability to pilot a Jaeger solo.”

Raleigh could feel RJ staring and looked up, she looked away. He extended his right hand to her. “Pleasure,” he greeted around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and corn.

RJ sneered, viciously biting into the warm roll on her plate. She made no other move to acknowledge the man's presence at the table.

“So, where's the other half of this superstar duo?” Raleigh asked, breezing past RJ's cold greeting. He smiled, though his attempts to lighten the mood were met with a series of dissatisfied grunts from the young pilot who seemed all too eager to escape his company.

“That's why I asked to see you. Carson is out of commission indefinitely.” Herc glanced at RJ as he answered Raleigh's question, gauging her reaction to the topic at hand. She stiffened beside him but didn't grace his remark with anything other than the firm setting of her jaw.

“What for?”

“Injuries sustained in combat training, he's out until further notice.”

“Shit. That bad, huh? And what's the plan with RJ? She can't pilot a Jaeger alo—”

“I can and I have. Not that it's any of your business,” she snapped, pushing herself up from the table. She tossed her balled up napkin onto the plate, chugged the rest of her water, and stepped over the bench. She laid her hand on the Marshal's shoulder before turning away, the older man leaned into the gesture. “Herc, I'll be in the Jaeger Bay.”

Raleigh watched her leave, noting the tension in her shoulders. Her attitude hadn't fazed him, instead reminding him of when he first met Herc's son, Chuck. He shook his head. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was Chuck's clone. No offense.”

Herc laughed, the smile reached all the way to his tired eyes. “None taken. Would you believe me if I told you RJ and Chuck were pals before you came along?”

Raleigh stared wide-eyed at the Marshal. “No wonder she reminds me so much of him. Could use a kick in the ass, if you ask me.”

“Pretty sure that's the same thing you said about Chuck when you met him.”

“Why haven’t I met her until now?”

“RJ stays to herself. Unless she was with Chuck or Carson, she did everything on her own. She prefers it that way.”

“She's piloted solo before?”

“When we met her, she had so much potential and no idea how to use it. I know very little of RJ's time in the Jaeger Program before she was assigned to Sidney, she never offered, and we never asked. She and Chuck hit it off instantly, I'm positive they would have made the perfect team.” Herc swallowed past the lump forming in his throat, a faraway look settled in his bright eyes. “Her partner, Carson, dislocated his shoulder in training last week and we're not sure how long he'll be out. That hasn't stopped her from continuing on. So far, it's only in simulation but she has the mental and physical skill needed to pilot Grim Assassin on her own.”

“Bullshit,” Raleigh exclaimed, more out of surprise than disbelief.

Herc nodded. “That girl is truly amazing at what she does. She's a lot like you, Raleigh.”

Until that moment, Raleigh had been certain that he was the only other person to have flown solo, the late Stacker Pentecost being the first. Because of the mental and physical setbacks piloting alone created, there hadn't been another since Raleigh's success against Knifehead in Anchorage in 2020.

He shook his head again, unable to grasp how someone like RJ could succeed as a solo Jaeger pilot. Everything he learned about her from their five-minute interaction screamed the likely falsehood of such an achievement but there he sat with Marshal Hansen, learning the exact opposite of his first impression. Raleigh's head was spinning with a plethora of questions he'd never get the chance to ask.

Herc stood, tray in hand to take back to the kitchen. He pointed at the young man still seated at the table. “Beginning tomorrow at 0600 hours, I want you helping her refine those skills in time for next week's test run of our solo Jaeger, Wicked Danger.

The next morning came too early for Rae, she'd spent nearly all night in the Jaeger Bay with Mako. She couldn't stand being away from Grim Assassin for very long. Herc found her before she was able to slip unnoticed into her room and let her know she would begin training with Raleigh the following morning, instructions that were met with grumbling and disgust. The Marshal could already tell that the new assignment would be a difficult one to get her to carry out.

Rae lazily rolled out of bed.

Being forced to get up at 0530 wasn't the problem, being forced to get up at 0530 and spend the day with Raleigh Becket was. Rae couldn't reconcile in her mind the reasons why Marshal Hansen thought training with Raleigh would be a good idea. No part of her wanted to be reminded of the life she'd been forced to leave behind, of the boy who’d left her behind all those years ago. She'd done her best to put it all to rest, to remove herself from the path that had forged between hers and Raleigh's lives.

She dressed in a pair of light grey sweats and a navy blue tank top, pulled her short copper brown hair back with a headband and shoved her feet into her combat boots. Two sets of dog tags hung from a silver chain around her neck, hers and Chuck's. She wrapped the cool metal in a tight fist. She would do it, but only to honor his memory.

Rae looked up at the picture sitting on the small desk across from her bed. It was taken just after her and Carson's first successful battle with a Kaiju—one she couldn't remember the name of. In the old photo, a younger version of Rae and Chuck smiled wide; Rae at the camera, Chuck at her. If she looked hard enough, she could see stars swimming in Chuck's brilliant blue eyes, stars he believed she hung in the night sky. The first boy she loved more than she loved herself; losing Chuck left a void in her life that being a Jaeger pilot was barely big enough to fill.

Pounding against her room door told Rae she had fifteen minutes to get across the Shatterdome to the Combat Room. She picked the photo up and brought the metal frame she fashioned out of spare Jaeger parts to her forehead. If you're out there in the universe, give me the strength to do this without you, she thought. She ran her thumb over the image of Chuck, kissed his tags, and set the frame back down on her desk.

Rae stepped from her room, greeted by fellow Rangers. She hadn't given herself enough time to check on Carson in the Infirmary and make it in time for training with Raleigh, but she didn’t care. She pulled Chuck's old cap over her head and started in the opposite direction, Raleigh could wait a little longer.

Rae's demeanor changed as she entered the Medical Bay to find Carson sitting up in bed. She gave him a warm smile, pulling up a chair next to his bedside.

“You're looking particularly dark this morning,” Carson noted, giving Rae a quick nod.

She scoffed. “Yeah, that was the point.”

“Shouldn't you be in the Combat Room?”

“Probably, it's almost 6:00 AM.”

“And you're not there now because?”

“Because visiting my partner was more important.” Rae removed Chuck's cap from her head and shook her hair down. She sighed, nodding to Carson's arm. “They say how long you're gonna be out?”

A dark shadow cast itself over Carson's face and gave Rae pause. She pulled her eyebrows together in a hard glare, watching him let out a shaky breath. “What? What's wrong?”

“It's torn, Rae. I'm not comin' back,” Carson said.

“What do you mean, ‘you're not coming back?’” she asked, a look of genuine concern replacing her earlier snarky attitude.

“I mean, I'm done, Rae. Operating is the only way to completely repair my shoulder. Surgery, rehab, and a lifetime of physio.” He shook his head. “I'll be lucky if Hansen even considers me for a position within the J-Tech crew.”

Rae reeled back in shock. She couldn't fathom being a Ranger without Carson by her side. They'd been through the Academy together; Rae went with Carson to his father's funeral; Carson held Rae's hand when she received news of Chuck's death. She couldn't imagine living in the Shatterdome without him.

“Does Hansen know?”

Silence.

“Carson, does Hansen know? There has to be something they can do. You can't just go out like this.”

“Raena, stop. It's over, okay? I'm done and I've accepted it. You need to accept it, too. You need to get to the Combat Room, and you need to start training with Raleigh.”

Of course, the Marshal had informed Carson of Rae's new assignment before he told her—smart man. She shook her head. “No.”

Carson blinked up at her. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

“I'll tell Hansen he can find someone else, I won't go out there without you. They can find someone else.” Her eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. “I've already lost Chuck, I'm not gonna lose you, too.”

“RJ!” Raleigh's voice boomed from the Infirmary doorway.

Time was up, Rae had been caught.

She groaned, dropping her head onto the edge of the mattress next to Carson's thigh. The last thing she wanted to do was march out of there and spend the next eight hours training with the Golden Boy, only for him to tell her everything she was doing wrong at the end of the session. No, she'd rather bite the bullet and defy Marshal Hansen's orders, be flagged for insubordination, be slapped with a suspension and awarded more time to figure things out with Carson. Anything to keep her away from Raleigh Becket.

She looked up, feeling Carson nudge her shoulder with his knee. He gestured toward the door where Raleigh stood, displeasure written across his face.

“Combat Room. Now.”

#we’re drift queuepatible #pacific rim fanfiction #raleigh becket fanfiction #raleigh becket x oc #pacific rim imagines #raleigh becket imagines #pacific rim fic #raleigh becket fic #raleigh becket x raena joelle anders #anyone can fall

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coffeefairy · 4 years ago

Text

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 19

Day nineteen of the challenge…Maybe I can’t count. Maybe nineteen is the new fourteen.

Day 19, Prompt: De-aging

Fandom: RWBY

Ship: Cloqwork, Ozqrow, Qrow x Ozpin (this ship has a lot of names..)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Qrow and Ozpin take a long overdue moment to talk. Set during Volume 5, after they reach the safe house in Mistral.

Excerpt: Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now...it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

Tags: Angsty angst angst but also sort of sweet?

Notes: I’m lucky that this ship basically provided answer to “de-aging” prompt in canon. Still, please note there will be no Oscar/Qrow because I find it squicky. Any romance mention is when Ozpin is in the driver’s seat, and only with Oscar’s consent.

Done Deal

Love, in Qrow Branwen’s opinion, was the shittiest hand fate could deal you. And his cards had been dealt a long time ago. On a normal day it wasn’t something he’d thought about a lot. He had sex, and lots of it. He had people he liked, people he wanted. But in love? He’d been in love with the same man since before his seventeenth birthday. It was just one of those facts of life, like how hangovers sucked and your flask was sometimes empty. No use crying about it.

That was before he’d had that love. Like a door had been thrown open his life had suddenly been cast into vivid colours, full of sensations he hadn’t even known he’d been missing. He had tasted the crescendo of passion, where all was fire, hot and urgent. He’d known the gentle, the slow and the intimate. The bond born from sleeping next to someone, night after night, sharing breakfast, moving around another’s space as they both readied for the day ahead. He had felt the fear - like nothing he had ever known before - the fear of losing it all, only lessened when he had seen him. A restlessness inside only soothed by his presence.

Fourteen years of marvels. Fourteen years of his safe haven. Fourteen years of joy, of fear, of sensing a bond that was invisible, yet stronger than steel.

Then he’d known loss. Unmoored and floundering, his anchorage ripped away, leaving him alone in the storm. Only his responsibilities had kept him from going under. He’d had them to his nieces, to his brother in law. To him. He had to carry on his work now.

Now he had a shadow. The man he loved lived on, in mind, in the head of a boy young enough to be his son. The voice he knew better than his own, coming from the slight chest of a teenager. Whether it was his semblance - could there be worse luck than falling for someone who was only ever living on borrowed time - or Ozpin’s curse didn’t really matter - he just knew those words from long ago were true. Where you seek comfort you will find only pain. They had sought, and found it, in each other, and now that meant only pain.

“Hey.”

He turned around in the kitchen to see Oscar behind him.

“Pipsqueak.”

“He..” Oscar’s green eyes slid away over the floorboards. “He would like to talk to you.”

They both knew who “he” was.

“Fine, go ahead.”

“No,” the boy’s ears’ reddened. “Not here. In private.”

Qrow’s throat drew shut. He wasn’t ready for this.

“Maybe he...We...should leave that for now. It…” he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It can’t be easy for you to hear that...stuff.”

The boy seemed to listen to what was in his head for a moment.

“He says the same. He doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable, but I’m fine.” He squared his narrow shoulders. “There’s...There’s a lot he wants to say and it makes me feel...strange. I’d...I’d rather you talk.”

Qrow gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as if he knew they could carry on interminably without ever acknowledging the love of his life was dead, but his mind lived on inside another. To acknowledge the sliver that was left was more painful than it would have been to let Oz go completely. “Fine.”

He picked up his glass, thankfully full, and headed for what had ended up his room. Habit ensured it was positioned to keep an eye out both ways, as well as being within earshot of all his young charges at once. Oscar trailed after.

Entering the sparse room, he sank down to sit on the bed, knocking back a healthy gulp of the whiskey. The teen stopped inside the door, fidgeted, then sat on the rickety chair in the corner. Putting his hands on his lap, he drew a deep breath.

“Kid, you really don’t have to put yourself through this. It’s weird enough for you right now.”

Oscar shook his head. “No, I...I’d like to. I can sense he wants to talk to you.”

Qrow sighed, rubbed his hands over his face. “Fine. Go ahead.”

For a moment all was quiet.

“I’m here.” That voice. That deep, well-modulated voice that had haunted his dreams since he was basically Oscar’s age. It drove a blade into his chest to hear it every time. His body reacted to it on instinct and he squashed the confusing impulse to reach out.

“What is it?”

It freaked him out to see how the kid’s posture straightened, how his body language became so familiar, yet in the body of another it was nothing but cruel mockery to him.

“I thought...We...We haven’t had time to speak alone since the bar and…”

Qrow remembered the bar well enough.

He remembered how the pipsqueak had appeared, how Ozpin had taken over once he had his cane back. He’d managed to stop himself from hugging the boy and completely freak him out. But the voice was there, the normally slow cadence hurried.

The memory of it played in his head like it had numerous times before, a broken record stuck on one track, unable to move on. Like he was.

“I don’t have much time, Qrow, Oscar still can’t maintain a connection so you can hear it for very long. We need to get to the academy in Mistral, now.”

“The school?”

“Oscar will explain but before that I...” the boy who barely reached his chest stepped forward and for a moment his hand fluttered like he was reaching for him. Then he let it fall. But Qrow could see the intention, the same one he had.

“Gods, Oz, this is...I…”

The boy’s eyes began blinking faster, Ozpin’s voice breaking when he said “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

But the eyes watching him held none of the experience they’d had a moment ago. Qrow swallowed, again and again. His eyes were hot and he noticed now his hands were shaking at his sides.

The large green eyes below him were wider than before, and under his tan a blush rose.

“Ah...He...he heard you.”

Awkwardly he took a step back to widen the distance between them. After all, despite everything, they were strangers. And inside him lived the man that meant more to Qrow than life itself.

Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now...it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

“We haven’t,” Qrow agreed, his mind returning to the present.

“Oscar’s control is improving so we should have at least a few minutes.”

Desperation clawed in his chest. “To what, Ozpin? What can we do?” He pushed to his feet, swiping an arm over his eyes. He knew Oscar was still there, still aware of everything that was happening. “This is...Gods, this is worse than losing you was. To...hear you, to know you’re there and still...It’s not you. It’s...it’s worse than cruel.”

He could see Oz almost turning in on himself, visibly feeling the same as he did. But with a deep breath he spoke with the same careful control as usual. The control he’d only ever let slip around Qrow.

“I know. I know it is. And I’m...sorry. I’m sorry I caused this. I never meant to get involved with anyone in this lifetime, I know it only leads to pain in the end but I…” The green eyes weren’t the colour of firewarmed whiskey but the expression in them were the same.

“Don’t you dare.” Qrow hissed, suddenly close. “Don’t you dare regret it.”

“Of course I don’t regret what we had. I regret this,” he waved a hand in an elegant gesture that cleaved Qrow’s heart in two. “What...what my weakness has cost you.” His head bent over the hands balanced once more on his cane.

“Your weakness?” Qrow kneeled in front of him so he could see his eyes. “Do you mean...dying?”

“In a way. It would have been kinder of me to never…”

He had to physically check himself from leaning in to touch. To wrap his arms around the waist of the boy who wasn’t the man he loved.

“No. No, it wouldn’t. I loved you, Oz. I always would, whether you loved me back or not. I always will. The only thing you caused me this way is that for a few years, I was happier than I ever thought possible.”

Oscar’s hands clenched around the cane, lifted to touch him the way Qrow had loved, those long elegant fingers trailing through his hair. Then it stopped, fell. There were lines they wouldn’t cross.

For a moment Oz’s focus flickered, then a small, humourless smile curled his lips. A smile much too weary for a boy whose face it appeared on.

“He says I can touch your shoulder.” Qrow’s head snapped up. “He can sense I want to touch you.”

Slowly, as if not to spook a frightened animal, the small, calloused and tan hand that had nothing in common with Ozpin’s except its intention, reached for him where he kneeled. The hand was small and warm, touching him with the familiarity of years.

“I love you.” Qrow closed his eyes, bent his head. Just for a moment, he wanted to believe the man he loved was really there. “I wish I could be with you, more than anything. But know I love you, always.”

Qrow’s breaths caught and the tears he hadn’t allowed himself spilled over. Hot and painful they ran down his cheeks as his chest struggled to keep up under the force of them. He sensed rather than saw that Ozpin kneeled on the floor in front of him. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, as if to imprint the sensation of it. “I love you.”

The responding words couldn’t make it past the tears as he cried himself dry.

When he finally looked up, he saw the tear streaked face of the boy in front of him.

“Oz?”

The boy sniffled, wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“No, it’s me.” The voice was once more that of a young boy. “It’s just…” his breath caught a few times. “He’s so sad. He tries to shield me, I can tell, but what slips through, it’s…” The tears had made the dark lashes spiky and his brow wrinkled in earnestness. “It’s huge. He loves you a lot. I’ve…” He looked away, blushing slightly. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Qrow chuckled dryly despite everything. Sat back so the boy’s hand slipped from his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re young.” He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the remains of tears. “You’ll find someone.”

“Never!” The vehemence surprised him.

“What?”

“I’ve seen this. It’s like you said, it’s...worse than cruel. You have to...know he’s in here but…” the boy gestured to his head. “But he’s not really...real, anymore. Is he?”

“No.” Qrow pulled his legs up. His forgotten glass on the nightstand was half full and he downed it. In a moment he’d go and find the rest of the bottle.

Oscar didn’t make a move to get up the floor, just sat back too. For a long time they just sat like that. When he spoke again, Oscar’s voice was hoarse.

“Do...Do you regret it? Loving him?”

Qrow slanted a humourless smile. “There’s no point in regretting Fate, kid. Loving Ozpin was a done deal for me, a long time ago.”

“But do you?”

“No. No, I could never regret finding out what loving someone like I love Oz is like. However much it hurts, however much I want to rage and scream at Fate, at the Gods, even at Ozpin, I...I’d never take it back.”

“It still sounds...awful.”

Qrow got to his feet, only slightly wobbly. On his way out the room, he ruffled Oscar’s hair. “That’s love, pipsqueak.”

#ozqrow #cloqwork #ozpin x qrow #qrow #ozpin #rwby #writer's month 2020

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