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foursideharmony · 3 years

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The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 9)

Summary: It's time to end this...

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Swordfighting, a wee bit of blood, swearing, total exhaustion

Word Count: 2,738

Read on AO3: here

There was no obvious way to cross. Roman stopped with his toes nearly brushing the surface of the water. “JADIS!” he called across the distance. “Usurper! I, Prince Roman, do hereby challenge you!”

For the briefest instant, a paper-white face appeared in one of the high windows of the castle, displaying a subtle but unmistakable expression of pure disdain before its owner moved out of view again.

Roman was crestfallen, but Virgil moved up alongside him, saying “Pfft, rude.”

“I would have thought she'd be thrilled to take out her vengeance on me.”

“I'm sure she is...but she wants to do it on her terms. Why answer an open challenge when she can wait a while and then ambush you when you least expect it?”

“Well, she's getting an open challenge whether she wants one or not. I just have to figure out how I'm getting to her.”

Logan tossed a pebble out into the water. It made a very satisfying plunk, with rows of even ripples. “The water is at least a few feet deep. I recommend against swimming or wading—immersion in liquid that supports a large quantity of floating ice is almost certain to cause hypothermia.”

“Maybe we can somehow get the ice chunks to line up and form a bridge...?” Roman suggested, but he didn't sound confident.

“Can't you just make a bridge? Or a boat or something?” said Patton. “Now that you're back to being the Creativity we know and love?”

Roman made an exhalation that was halfway to being a sob and said, in a voice with a hairline crack, “I suppose it can't hurt to try...”

He closed his eyes, cupped one hand beside the other as though sheltering a tiny flame, and focused all his power on making something, anything, that would enable them to cross the water. Please...I'll accept anything...a raft...a rope...come on, please!...

He couldn't even say who or what he was begging, but whatever it was...it answered. Roman knew his attempt had worked—more or less—when he heard Patton snicker behind him. He opened his eyes and turned around.

Roman hadn't known what to expect, but he definitely had not expected a buff-colored mushroom the size of a dinner table for eight, with Logan examining it curiously and Remus poking the spongy substance and giggling. Roman blinked at it several times before the irony hit him, at which point he abruptly doubled over with guffaws, bracing his hands on his knees in order to keep from falling over.

“Roman? You...good?” asked Virgil.

“I finally made a mushroom!” Roman wheezed. “After all that angst back there...”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” said Logan.

“I'll tell you guys later,” Roman said, straightening up and rubbing fresh tears from his eyes. “For now...” He unsheathed his sword and severed the mushroom's cap from its stalk almost effortlessly. It landed at the water's edge, floating high. “All aboard who's coming aboard!”

They all fit easily enough, though they had to crowd together to keep their feet from getting wet. Roman took up a perch at the side of the mushroom facing the bank, braced his boot against the earth, and shoved, casting them off. Their peculiar vessel spun gently as it drifted toward the White Witch's castle. Now and again an ice chunk would approach, and whoever was closest to it would kick it away, altering both the spin and the drift in little ways. It took several minutes before the mushroom grounded itself in the far side of the lake.

The portcullis was closed, its iron lattice too tight to admit anything larger than a loaf of bread. But Roman was unfazed. He had made a mushroom. He whipped his sword through the air a few times, and a man-sized section of the bars simply collapsed. He led the other Sides through the courtyard—now empty of statues, as though Aslan's spring had freed the petrified creatures without his direct involvement—and down the corridor to the White Witch's throne room.

They were expected.

Jadis sat enthroned, flanked along the dais by the captains and lieutenants of her armies, a fair sampling of the horror monsters Roman had brought to the Stone Table only that very morning. Many of them carried spears, axes, and clubs. Maugrim paced along the floor in front of the dais in an oddly catlike fashion, his eyes never leaving the party as they entered.

“And here he is!” the Witch declared as though Roman had been the topic of conversation in the room. “I knew you would not be long in returning to me, Prince Roman. And you've brought your fellows with you! Tribute, perhaps? They will look lovely in the courtyard.”

Roman marched to the middle of the hall and leveled an accusing finger at her, eliciting gasps from the assembled creatures. “Usurper! Pretender to the throne of Narnia! Why do you still sit there? You have lost—Aslan has returned, your endless winter has given way to spring, and I...” He swallowed. “...I have purged myself of your malign influence.”

“An influence you welcomed,” Jadis said smoothly. There was the faintest hitch of breath behind him, and her smile broadened. “Why, Roman. Did you not tell them how you came to be the White Warlock?”

“Not yet,” Roman said, trying to sound casual about it. “Don't change the subject. The jig is up, Jadis, and you will quit this castle, take your followers, and leave Narnia forever.”

“Or?” she prompted. Her voice was like a shower of slender icicles pattering down from a shaken branch.

“Or face me in single combat. Me, Jadis. The one who stole your power, stole your very being, into myself, when you were on the brink of victory. Duel me for the right to say what will become of you and your armies.”

Something unprecedented happened.

Jadis laughed.

It was nothing hearty or prolonged, just a quick scoffing exhalation, but it was a laugh. “Or perhaps I shall simply ignore your demand, kill you all, and carry on as I have. Aslan's return means nothing with no candidates to place on the thrones of Cair Paravel.”

“You may find that difficult,” Roman said through gritted teeth, “if I drop the scenario right now and all this vanishes.”

“Oh shit, he's going meta!” Remus stage-whispered.

“Watch your language!” Patton scolded.

“Is that an extreme measure?” Logan asked.

“Are you kidding, Five-Eyes? It's the last resort for a creative type! He's talking about scrapping the story before he gets to the ending!”

“Bollocks!” shouted one of the lieutenants, a goblin-esque creature. “If he has that kind of power, why even offer a duel?”

“My reasons are my own,” said Roman. “The point, Jadis, is that you are being offered a chance. You're a proud woman, but suicidally proud? I don't think so.”

All Narnia held its breath as the Witch considered. After a moment that seemed longer than it was, she rose to her feet. “I accept. We shall duel here, and at once. It begins as soon as I descend to the floor.” She began to walk down the steps of the dais, directly toward Roman.

“Weapons only! No magic from either of us!” Roman said hastily.

“Agreed,” said the Witch with the confidence of someone who is stronger and has longer reach than their opponent. She drew her long stone knife from the sash at her waist.

“No one is to interfere!” Roman added, fighting the urge to back away.

“Agreed.”

Jadis's foot hit the floor, and she charged.

Roman launched into motion himself, and met the charge.

That first blow, stone blade meeting steel, threw up a shower of sparks too bright to look at. The Witch pressed Roman until his boots skidded on the frozen floor, and only by reacting immediately, breaking the blade lock and flinging himself to the side, did he avoid being stabbed then and there.

He rolled onto his back—and she was on him, forcing him to block again, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword, the other awkwardly pincering the blunt edge of the blade. He managed to get his knee up and threw her off, over his head, while ruthless physics sent him slipping in the opposite direction. He scrambled to rise and got as far as a sitting position just in time to see the Witch roll, turning her tumble into a graceful slide, one leg bent under her and the other extended off to the side, her arms counterbalancing.

Elapsed time of the duel so far: perhaps six seconds.

Lewis really undersold her, Roman found himself thinking lightheadedly.

And now the spectators were finding their voices. The prince's spirits lifted when he first heard Patton crow “You can do it, Roman!”...but in the next instant, it was drowned out by the gibbering howls of the Witch's followers from every side of the room. That was all he was able to register before she came at him again, her knife lashing the air in a pattern almost too complex for him to follow.

Almost...Somehow, he managed to parry every strike and even offer a few ripostes. The very end of the sequence gave him an opening to lunge and swipe—she dodged the blow handily, but his sword sheared off a lock of her coal-colored hair. She shrieked with rage.

“Yeah! Shave her bald!” Remus cackled.

“Not helping!” Roman barked.

But it hadn't really hurt either. The prince was getting the hang of fighting on the slick surface; his footing became surer, his movements more confident, his strikes more forceful. The Witch was taller and stronger and had the home-field advantage, but Roman had the superior weapon—two feet of folded steel compared to eight inches of carved stone—and with his insecurities about the arena ironed out, it began to make a real difference. She could lunge at him with inhuman speed and grace, but if he brought up his blade in time, she had to pull her blow lest the knife break on the sword's edge...and that instant of hesitation would give him an opening. The tide of battle turned, and Jadis began to be driven back within her own throne room. The shouts of alarm from her followers were nearly deafening.

(It was at this point that Maugrim, who was nothing if not loyal, began to slink around behind the rows of spectators, looking for a chance to rush to his queen's aid. He thought he found one and tensed to make his move—only to find himself physically stopped by an arc of steel wrapped around his neck exactly as though he were a wayward sheep. He turned to snarl at the interloper and was greeted by a slit-pupilled eye as frightening as any in the White Witch's armies.

“None of that, naughty puppy,” Janus said in silken tones. “No interference, remember? I'm sure your mistress would much rather you strive to keep her honor intact.”

Maugrim's hackles went up and he prepared to overpower Janus through sheer bulk and muscle, but then...)

A gasp went up from Jadis's followers, followed by an immediate hush that blanketed the entire hall. Roman had disarmed her, sending the stone knife tumbling end-over-end across the chamber. She desperately ducked his sword and scrambled to retrieve her weapon, but it struck the wall point-on, digging deep into the frozen surface and sending out cracks that spread rapidly until a section of ice the size of a mattress was sheared off. It barely missed her as it crashed to the floor and shattered, the impact throwing her off her feet.

She looked up into the tip of a blade. “Yield,” Roman said coolly. “You are defeated.”

“You mean to let me live?” Jadis said with a bitter smile. “You know I would not do you the same courtesy.”

Roman winced almost imperceptibly. “I have caused enough death in Narnia. Yield...quit this land forever, and take your creatures with you.” When he got no response, he thrust his sword at her face, drawing a single drop of blood from her chalk-colored cheek.

“I-I yield,” she said, wide-eyed.

Roman half-turned to address the room, keeping his sword trained on his downed opponent. “You have all witnessed her surrender!” he declared. “This regime is at an end!”

One of the monsters raised a keening wail, an acknowledgment of defeat, and was soon joined by others. Those who bore weapons threw them down, and a few made florid obeisances in Roman's direction.

For the first time in days—since he had first begun to feel that he was being steered toward the role of Edmund—Roman felt the tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. With the wails of the Witch's followers blending into a sort of white noise in his head, he let his eyes slide closed and his sword arm droop, and took a moment just to breathe—

“Roman! Look out!”

—and his eyes snapped back open just in time to see Jadis springing at him with her wand raised (where had she gotten it from?) and there was no time, no time to do anything but drop his sword and bring up his hands to grab—

There was a flash of light, as bright as lightning at the same distance, and a horrible cracking, crunching sound. When it subsided, Roman and the White Witch stood perfectly still, holding her golden wand aloft between them, her face frozen in a snarl of fury, his in understated alarm that hadn't had time to gel...neither one blinking.

Utter silence reigned in the throne room for a long moment. When sound returned, it was in the form of a whimper. “Both of them...both...” Patton muttered, before he broke the stillness and ran up to the twin statues. He lifted a hesitant, trembling hand to touch Roman's shoulder...

Roman blinked, and sighed, and his posture sagged...not stone after all. He let go of the wand as if prying his fingers free of some powerful glue, and as Patton seized one of his hands in a desperately relieved gesture and the other Sides jogged over to the two of them, his knees began to buckle in slow motion. He wound up in a sprawled kneeling position, his legs bent out to the sides, gazing up at the petrified form of his enemy. Her marble complexion was now literal, her hair sculpted waves of obsidian, her lips a scarlet flaw in the surface of the stone, parted to show more white marble behind.

“I did it...” he said in a tiny voice.

“You did do it!” Patton agreed. “Roman, you were amazing!”

“Indeed, I never realized before just how adroit you are at swordsmanship. Well done,” Logan added.

“I defeated the White Warlock...” Roman continued.

“You mean the White Witch,” said Virgil.

“Yes...her too.” Roman closed his eyes again. He was exhausted. “It's time to go home,” he whispered, or maybe just thought. A proper denouement would have been nice, but his energy well had finally run dry. The throne room slowly faded to white around them.

“Uh...” Virgil observed.

“S'all right,” Roman murmured. “Remus, can you...”

“Brilliant idea, giving Remus an open-ended question,” Janus remarked dryly. Curiously enough, however, the other Creative Side was already drawing lines in mid-air in a hurried fashion. Color and texture filled them in, making the image of a miniature door, about half the size of a normal one.

“Whoops, drew it too far away,” said Remus. “Well, come on, it's not going to pound itself until it bursts open!” He set out at a brisk walk.

Virgil and Patton helped Roman to his feet, one arm over each of their shoulders, and more-or-less carried him the short walk to the door.

“Remus, while we have your attention,” said Logan, begging a rather important question, “I have a more defined question for you. Specifically: five eyes?”

“Yep!” Remus replied, arriving at the door and rapping on it in an uneven pattern that had to be a code of some kind. “The two in your eyesockets, your glasses, and the one on the end of your—”

Fortunately, the door opened before he could end the sentence.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #platonic lamp/calm #dlampr #platonic dlampr #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #narnia

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prince-claremont-diaz · 5 years

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Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them.

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Warning: very vague smut (literally like a paragraph)

Word count: 2.5k

Ao3 version

Chapter Eleven: Hairpocalypse

“So, what shall we do while we wait?” Eliott asked, getting up from his seat.

Lucas shrugged, peeling the disposable gloves off, careful not to rip them, and dropped them onto the table. “There's not much we can do in just 20 minutes. We could watch tv?” Lucas suggested, gesturing over the kitchen counter towards the empty living room.

“That's boring. Isn't there something else more interesting?” Eliott whined, pouting.

“I'm sure there is, but I don't think there's much to do besides watch Netflix or read a book,” Lucas said simply, shrugging. “We could cook something. That could take up some time.”

Which is how they ended up with Eliott standing at the stove with the weirdest concoction Lucas had ever seen. It had started out as scrambled eggs, but then Eliott decided to add various other ingredients like cinnamon and fennel to the dish. It smelled terrible and Lucas was almost certain there were some bits of egg shell in the mix as well, but he was too busy laughing at Eliott's excuses for the different additions to the sizzling pan.

“And then the fennel will create a nice mixture with the cinnamon because it'll bring a sweet and salty contrast,” Eliott was saying as he sprinkled the strange green plant into the eggs. “Should we add syrup? Do you have that? Or bacon maybe. That would be even more like breakfast,” Eliott continued, looking over his shoulder at Lucas who was simply watching in awe.

“We have honey somewhere,” Lucas suggested, opening and closing various cupboards in search of the bear shaped bottle.

“Oh, fuck, that's perfect!” Eliott exclaimed as Lucas presented the bottle. He squeezed a generous amount of honey into the pan, stirring the eggs all the while. “Too bad you don't have bacon. Next time we could make that. Or we can bake blueberry muffins with bacon! That would be delicious.”

Lucas shook his head, leaning over to turn off the stove with Eliott split the “PONI” onto two plates. Lucas took both of the plates and grabbed a couple of forks, carrying the plates over to the kitchen counter. Eliott was almost skipping behind him, hopping into the chair and grabbing a fork.

Lucas sniffed the strange meal and felt his stomach turn, gagging at the odd odour of eggs, cinnamon and honey. Wrinkling his nose Lucas said, “Okay, that smells awful, Eliott. We can't eat that.” He poked his fork into the eggs, already gagging.

“It'll be fine. On a count of three, we can both try it. I'm certain it will be delicious, trust me,” Eliott announced,already scooping a generous helping onto his fork. “One...two… three!”

It most certainly was not delicious.

In an instant, Lucas was sprinting over to the sink, coughing and spluttering the revolting food into the sink. Laughing, Eliott hurried over after him, spitting it out as well. Lucas continued to whine and gag as he turned on the sink, rinsing his mouth out. Tears pricked at his eyes at the foul taste, coughing water and leftover bits of egg into the basin.

“Remind me never to let you cook again,” Lucas breathed out, shutting the sink off and scowling at Eliott.

A few minutes later, Eliott was back in the chair with multiple clips here and there and Lucas was armed with the dye applicator. Gently, Lucas spread the freezing cold gel over Eliott's hair, careful not to miss a spot. Eliott's eyes were closed as he let Lucas apply the stuff onto his hair, chattering nonsensically all the while about whatever seemed to pop into his head.

“When I come to school tomorrow, what if, when everyone saw my new hair, everyone died? As if you were so good at dying my hair that everyone just lost it when they saw how good my hair looks and then I go to jail for manslaughter because it was technically my hair,” Eliott was rambling, letting Lucas comb his fingers through his locks to get extra dye off, “But then because of how good you were at dying my hair, everyone in the world wanted you to dye their hair. But then everyone starts dropping dead because you're so good at it and everyone is getting it dyed and so you finally go to jail for mass murder. But then you and I are in prison together and we escape thanks to a smuggler and we help smuggle drugs across the world on a giant boat.

“Everyone in the whole world is obviously freaking out about it because so many people have died and they're all afraid that now that you're out of prison, you'll want to dye everyone's hair again so that you can take over the world. And then you become this infamous criminal and we'll avoid everyone by just sailing the world forever and ever and we'll be on the news and everyone will talk about us, but then we'll get bored with sailing so much and we'll go back on land and discover that even more people have died because of your skills and you know what they'll call it?” Eliott glanced up through his lashes, beaming broadly. Lucas shook his head, dipping the applicator again. “It’ll be a full on hairpocalypse! Because it was my hair and your excellent dye skills that caused the apocalypse!”

Lucas chuckled, tilting Eliott's head to the side to get a better angle for the sides. He was almost finished now, furrowing his brows and biting his lip in concentration. “Do you think animals have feelings? I think they do. You can tell that cats and dogs have feelings, but do lizards have such complex emotions?” Eliott asked suddenly, flinching in surprise as Lucas poked his neck with the brush covered in the cool liquid. “Can chickens mourn? Do snakes get jealous? Do raccoons feel complex emotions? How do I not know that? What else? Can fish feel insecure about their scales?”

Lucas wheezed a laugh,shaking his head fondly. “I don't know how complex their emotions are, but I'm sure animals can feel at least a few,” Lucas replied, moving one of the clips over to get another strand of hair coloured. “Speaking of raccoons, have you got any idea about how you'd draw me? You know, if you're still thinking about that,” Lucas added.

“I am still thinking about it, actually. But I'm torn between a few animals,” Eliott replied, “But I won't tell you just yet. You'll just have to wait until I decide.”

“There, all done,” Lucas announced, dropping the brush into the pretty much empty bowl. “And please tell me soon about the drawing, I'm dyeing of curiosity.” Lucas raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the empty bowl and Eliott's head. He was proud to say Eliott promptly guffawed, clapping his hands together as he laughed at Lucas’ truly awful pun.

But it made Eliott laugh and that was all that mattered.

Another 20 minutes later, Eliott was leaning over the sink again while Lucas attempted to rinse out his hair using the strange hose thing. The black dye was flooding into the drain in rivulets as Lucas carefully helped to drench Eliott's hair and remove all the excess dye from it. Lucas massaged Eliott's scalp with one of his hands, trying to make sure the dye was all out.

“Okay, I think that's enough rinsing,” Eliott complained, pushing Lucas back and standing up straight again. He managed to splash Lucas in the face with his dripping wet hair, much to Eliott's delight. “Sorry! I'm like a wet dog!” he exclaimed as Lucas rolled his eyes.

Lucas used the towel around Eliott's neck to dry off Eliott's hair, rubbing it vigorously between his hands. Once it was mostly dried, Lucas tossed the towel onto the disgraced kitchen table and stepped back to admire his work.

Eliott seemed to be on the right track. He was drop dead gorgeous with his new hair. It was a startling contrast with his pale skin, making the blue of his eyes and the pink of his lips pop out like a 3D image. His hair was sticking up haphazardly after its clumsy drying method, but this only served to improve the overall look.

“Holy shit, Eliott. You look amazing,” Lucas breathed, eyes wide.

Eliott grinned, eyes sparkling at the compliment. “Where's the toilet, I wanna see in the mirror!” Eliott asked, already pushing past out of the kitchen. Lucas told him where to go and he followed him into the toilet where Eliott could admire his new colour. “Woah! That's me! I look totally different! Fuck!” Eliott squealed, running fingers through his hair and leaning closer to the mirror, grinning.

“Ooh! Can we see the new colour?” Mika's voice appeared on the other side of the door, followed by Manon's voice requesting the same. Eliott opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, pulling on Lucas’ hand. “Damn, kitten, that suits you!” Mika exclaimed, mussing up Eliott's hair.

Manon nodded, smiling. “It looks awesome! It really makes your eyes pop,” she commented.

Eliott blushed slightly at all the compliments, waving them all off with his hand. As Mika and Manon disappeared back into their respective rooms, Eliott leaned over and muttered right into Lucas’ ear, “I told you you were going to be brilliant at dying my hair.” Despite the completely innocent sentence, Lucas felt a chill all the way down his spine, shivering from the hot breath that washed over his ear and neck, Eliott’s lips just a centimetre away. When Eliott finally pulled back from Lucas, he was sporting a devilish grin, raising his eyebrows cheekily and running his fingers through his jet black locks. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Eliott asked with a wink.

Lucas’ jaw dropped and he sputtered pathetically for a reply. But all that came out was a breathy incoherent mess as if he became the physical embodiment of slamming his head on a computer. This only made Eliott laugh harder, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along the corridor. “My room is the last on the left,” Lucas muttered, allowing Eliott to guide him as usual.

“I like your room,” Eliott commented as they made their way inside. He walked over to Lucas’ shelf, skimming his fingers along the wooden panels and looking at the various photographs, DVDs and books he had set along the shelves. “Oh, wow! This is you and the gang! When was this taken?” Eliott asked, pointing excitedly at a photo Lucas had pinned to the side of him, Yann, Basile and Arthur.

“I think like six months ago? Maybe five? Not too long ago.”

Eliott beamed, running his hand over the shelf one last time before turning back around to face Lucas with an intensity that should have set Lucas on fire. It definitely did not help with his new hair, making each one of his perfect features stand out. Lucas opened his mouth to say something, anything before Eliott finally cut the distance between them and pulled Lucas into another kiss.

Lucas huffed in surprise, though he recovered quickly. Melting into the ferocity of the kiss, he let his hands wander over Eliott’s body, reveling in the smooth slide of their lips against each other and the fiery eruption in his gut when Eliott licked his bottom lip, asking for entrance. He felt Eliott pushing him towards his bedroom wall, never once pulling apart, hands gripping tightly to Lucas’ waist and tongue searching his mouth like it was trying to map it out in detail. Lucas felt Eliott lifting his shirt up cautiously and pulled away for the shortest of seconds so he could whip off his shirt, tossing it to the side for later.

Eliott laughed against his lips, teeth bumping into Lucas’ and hands searching the hills and valleys of Lucas’ body. Soon enough, both boys had their shirts and trousers off, leaving them in nothing but boxer shorts, still making out fervently against the wall. Lucas pushed Eliott back until he stumbled onto the bed, dragging Lucas along with him in a tangle of limbs. Lucas giggled, pulling away from Eliott to admire him in all his glory, thanking the universe for gifting him with such a beautiful man.

Soon after, they were a muddle of skin, limbs overlapping and intertwining, chests heaving and hearts pounding in unison. They were fireworks setting off on New Years, a burning flame that licked the sides of a house and setting the sky alight. They pushed and pulled, music notes playing a harmony of voices building up and up and up to a crescendo. With a last supernova that engulfed them both, they were left gasping for breath, looking up at the ceiling, entirely blissed out.

“Well that was something,” Lucas breathed, glancing sideways at the other lying next to him, eyes closed serenely.

Eliott nodded, opening his eyes and turning to look at him. “That was definitely something,” he replied just as breathlessly. “Am I your first?”

“First guy?”

Eliott nodded. “Yeah. Yeah you are,” he replied, “Am I yours?” Eliott paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively, a soft smile beginning to appear. "I'll take that as a no, then," Lucas said with a laugh, rolling his eyes.

Lucas yawned, looking over at the clock on his bedside table, shocked to see it was already almost nine. "I'll be right back. I have to pee," he mumbled through another yawn, carefully stumbling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers from the ground and picking up his discarded hoodie.

Lucas leaned over the sink once he was finished, staring at his face in the mirror. Sometimes, it hit him how he was actually a real, living, breathing person. He never thought about that stuff, really, but when he did, it always left him with a strange sensation. He poked at a spot on his cheek and then with a great sigh, he turned off the bathroom light and headed back to his bedroom.

His bedroom which was alarmingly empty.

"Eliott?" he called, eyebrows knitted as he looked around. "Eliott, where are you?" He wandered around the flat, stepping into the living room and kitchen, both of which were just as empty. "Eliott? Hello? Eliott!" he called out, walking back down the hall to his bedroom. He surveyed the room and found that Eliott's clothes were gone, except for his big black hoodie, which was still discarded in a bundle by the door.

"What the fuck?" Lucas muttered in horror, prying on his jeans from earlier and marching into Mika's room, breathing faster every moment. "Mika, have you seen Eliott?" he asked, running his hands through his hair.

Mika, who was sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone, looked up curiously. "Not since his big reveal, no. Why?" he replied, barely looking up from his phone.

Lucas groaned, hurrying into Manon's room across the hall. Still no luck.

Eliott was gone. Without warning, he had disappeared, fading from Lucas' grasp and leaving him with nothing but a discarded hoodie and a messy kitchen.

#elu fic #elu #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallament #posting after a decade whoops #sorry i was abroad w/o data or laptop

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vantemei · 6 years

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OK SO soulmate au where when you meet your soulmate you see in color for the first time and when they die your world goes back to black and white and jimin and taehyung are soumates and super in love and they found each other when they were children in the same fourth grade class. they met each other on the playground where taehyung went up to a pouting jimin and introduced himself with a smile and asked why he was playing all by himself. jimin had looked up at him and the world had burst into color for the two boys and it was beautiful. they stayed close after that, excitedly telling their parents who were so happy that their sons had met their soulmates so early in life and would be able to live their lives together. fast forward to adult hood, they've moved to busan and taehyung is a marine biologist and jimin works as a veterinarian in his own store. taehyung works on a boat that docks every few days but it's winter so they stay out a bit longer this time of year to look for new species and observe more ocean life because the lack of people wanting to swim in the cold water means the ocean life comes closer to short. one day jimin is at work and no new patients have come in that day so he's just checking over the cat he has staying with him for a few days after surgery because she tried to eat her owners wedding ring. all in all it's a normal day, nothing extraordinary and jimin is about to go out to lunch, just locking up the front of his business and when he turns around he freezes completely because the beautiful tree in front of his store front is grey. the flowers on it are no longer a vibrant red and leaves no longer a rich green. it's all just shades of black and white and it takes jimin a moment to process it because he can't even remember a time before he could see color and his heart feels like it stops beating in that moment. taehyung's boat was supposed to dock in three hours and they had plans to watch the new gong yoo movie when he was home. jimin is rooted to the top step of his clinic for a few more seconds before his legs jerk into action, body lurching forward as he takes off in a sprint. the beach isn't too far from his clinic. it's fifteen minutes by car but jimin makes it there in ten, throat so tight it feels like he can't breathe and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. all he can think of is taehyung's smiling face and it just makes him bite his lip harder. the beach comes into view and jimin turns left so hard he almost looses his grip on the wheel, cars honking on all sides as he speeds towards the dock where taehyung's boat always docks. he sees the boat, big and grey and docked with a few hazy figures rushing across the deck. jimin doesn't even realize he's crying until he's screeching to a stop, nearly in the sand, and jumping out of his car and the cold winds hits his cheeks like knives. his lungs burn and his heart feels stopped as he runs across the sand and every moment of black and white is like acid in his veins. he's close enough that he can hear panicked shouting from the deck. taehyung's name and something about cpr and jimin can barely make himself run faster, nearly slipping in the sand twice as he finally reaches the ramp and scrambles up it. in the center of the deck is taehyung. he's in his wetsuit and it's pulled down to his hips showing the rashguard he wears underneath and he isn't moving. chest still, eyes shut, and skin a sickly pale that makes jimin's hands shake. jimin pushes someone aside, he doesn't know who. all he can see is taehyung. minjae, taehyung's co worker and one of his close friends, is crying, knelt over his body and doing chest compressions, shoulders shaking and whimpering out apologies. "his leg- it got stuck- he's didn't come up-" minjae looks at jimin hopelessly and jimin hates it. he can't be hopeless. he can't lose taehyung. jimin tells him that, shoves him away with tears in his eyes and takes over. it's been over thirty minutes. he knows that. it's not likely. he knows that too. but he also knows he can't live without taehyung. he can't live in black and white without taehyung by his side. he presses their lips together and exhales, pulling back and pressing hard one two three four he breathes again and goes back to compressions. someone's called an ambulance but it won't be here in time. minjae is sobbing beside him on his side. jimin continues with compressions. he's begging softly. "please, tae. don't leave me. come back to me taetae," he begs and begs and his lungs burn and his cheeks are cold with tears. taehyung still doesn't move. again. again. again. taehyung still isn't moving. jimin can't breathe. he's choking on his sobs and his hands are shaking too much to continue. he falls forward hard, hands fisting in taehyung's rashguard and shivering from the cold both around and beneath him. "his hand!" minjae's voice yanks jimin back and he looks in disbelief, eyes trained on the hint of pink beginning to peek through the haze of grey on taehyung's cheeks. his hand's shake as they cup his soulmate's cheeks and he feels his chest burn. he starts compressions again, breathing for taehyung and repeating until taehyung's whole body jerks, lurching to his side and eyes scrunching shut as he expells water from his lungs with violent wet coughs. jimin can't believe it as taehyung falls back, red faced and bleary golden brown eyes blinking up at him. it feels like he can breathe again and it almost hurts. he sobs harder, and leans down pressing his lips everywhere he can as he pulls his soulmate into his lip, gasping softly when taehyung raises a weak hand to cup jimin's cheek and calls his name oh so softly . "i love you" jimin sobs it into his skin as the ambulance arrives. he doesn't let taehyung go in the ambulance, holding his hand and staying beside him even as they wheel him into the hospital. when taehyung wakes up late that night jimin is still by his side, counting the number of his breathes to reassure himself until taehyung is pulling him into the narrow hospital bed next to him and pressing jimin's soft hand over his heart. "it's still beating. just for you jiminie. i'm still here." "but you were gone. the world was so dark without you taehyungie. please, never make me see that again. i don't think i could bare it." "i won't, i promise." and he's smiling, the beautiful soft smile that he shows when he want's to tell jimin that he loves him. "you and me, forever." taehyung presses a kiss to the tattooed ring around his left ring finger and jimin nods with misty eyes. "forever."

#hmmmm angst #this was written so quick #but bruh when inspiration hits #vmin #vmin soulmates #soulmate au #bts soulmate au #bts #vmin fanfic #angst #near death #listen to hyung

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shitstrawhatssay · 6 years

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Andi

Commissioned fic for @inktostories

Kofi

Wealth, fame, power: for all these reasons and more, people were leaving home and in search of the One Piece. Was it a myth? Was it a reality? With Gold Roger skewered, it was hard to estimate what was more likely so there was only one way to truly find out. That is what triggered the Great Pirate Era: an era of hopes and dreams, of blood and violence, of stories that would become great bellowing songs in taverns or distance memories nearly forgotten.

In all sorts of logical ongoings, the output of pirates into the world is utterly unprecedented. It is astounding any work can be done on the mainland with the influx of pirates going out to sea. Such a curious phenomenon has Andi’s interest piqued. Ever since they were a child, they have had a fascination with all the ongoings around them and this has been an interest that was lovingly fostered by their parents. Perhaps, that was why the illogical evolution was for Andi to join the influx of those going out to sea in this era of hopes and dreams.

Or something like that anyway.

Having set out at age eighteen, it has been a long haul to where Andi had gotten to now. They’ve seen the bounties escalate in real time and read the newspapers on the deaths of Whitebeard and Fire Fist Ace. It’s been unreal to see so much history unfold just beyond their reach but still in front of their eyes. It was fortunate that many people were recording it: journalists are busy in this age.

And then there’s Andi whose dreams push just beyond the ordinary. They had big dreams and big plans. Yes, it would be nice to get hose first page articles in the newspaper but that wasn’t satisfying enough. Andi had something far grander in mind: a book to call their own.

Books are immortal and beautiful. They are wreathed in soft leather and scented of vintage parchment, it is hard not to love a book. In contrast, newspapers are flimsy and delicate. They yellow and tear easily. They are not remembered the way in which a book is remembered. Andi may not necessarily want to be remembered but this was a grand era in time which had to be immortalised in every way possible especially since this era had fostered an unusual cast of characters.

Pirates. There were so many weird and wonderful pirates. Yes, some were terrible and some would be remembered but there were just so many and each had a tale to spin. They deserved some recognition so Andi has set their sights on each and everyone of them. They wanted to compile a book with information on every single pirate to have taken arms upon the sea and set sail in this Great Pirate Era.

Their parents have been supportive of this goal, after all, Andi is talented enough to get out of any trouble they bumble into. Having set out at eighteen, much has changed in the four years Andi had been sailing. Part of their book had been put together but there was so much more to see and question especially with changing ideals and the Supernovas and the War. It all seemed to miraculous to watch this unfold in real time and to be able to pen the details as Andi saw them with their own eyes.

It was within that four years that Andi had realised something invaluable. Chaos can be trusted. Entropy is weird and wild and can usually be taken advantage of in some form or another. It was peacefulness and serenity and tranquility: all pretty ideas which had to be stayed the hell away from. Those long stretches of ocean without any sort of hazard are deceptive. At least chaos is upfront about its dangers which Andi can appreciate.

And, now, as they drop anchor for the night as a preventative of any useless wanderings, Andi realises something quite daunting. It’s been quiet for some time now. That, Andi decides, is very much not good and having led the life they have led, Andi knows from experience that such peace can only lead to disaster. The life, Andi has led, being one rife with chronic bad luck.

A disgustingly naive thought crosses Andi’s mind as they yawn. Surely, in the middle of nowhere with nothing but miles of blue, they would be safe from the arbitrary here. Even though it was in direct contradiction to everything Andi had learned over the years about bad luck, Andi trusted the falling night and the beautiful, starlit illumination of an empty sea that it brought. Goodness, it really was gorgeous out here.

Andi went below deck and rugged up in blankets on their bed. It was likely going to be a nice and normal, ordinary night. Andi quickly fell asleep despite a strange, nagging worry that something was going to go wrong because Andi was Andi and things always go wrong for Andi.

However, that strange, nagging feeling was validating not too much longer. Andi had probably gone to sleep about ten, maybe a bit before or maybe a bit after. Andi was woken up quite rudely two hours later, maybe a bit less or a bit more but for all intents and purposes, Andi had gotten to sleep and had gone a little bit of restorative shut eye before being woken up.

Andi had been tossed out of bed with a great start and hit their head on the floor. Which was very, very wet and with concern - rather than frustration - flooding their veins, Andi skipped the part where they were confused. They glanced around panickedly and saw that their hull had taken a lot of damage and they were quickly sinking.

They were sinking.

Andi’s mind went blank as they decided they needed to get into gear. Andi quickly shimmied up the ladder to the top deck and was awed by the large ship that had battered into their own, smaller one. Andi recognised the figurehead but wasn’t certain. Was it a flower or was it something else?

It was difficult to discern in the night’s minimal light. Andi squinted around the side and hoped to try and catch a name. Again, it was difficult.

“Oi!” a voice cried out.

Andi’s ship continued to sink.

“You alright?!” the voice continued.

Andi looked around and scrambled to a higher point on their ship. Their heart was slowly breaking.

“No?!” Andi yelled back.

“Okay.”

There was a dull thunk and a screech. A new voice in a hushed tone spoke.

“Hey, do something, that person probably needs help.”

“Oh? Oh! Okay.”

What happened next, Andi could barely believe but as frigid seawater lapped at their ankles, panic flooded them and their hair stod up on an end. In the darkness, something swung out at them and some snaked around their waist and hoisted them back. It sounded like the reel of a rubber hose but felt fleshy. If it wasn’t the lesser of two fears, Andi would likely be far more scared.

Andi screamed as they were whipped back and brought onto the deck of the large ship. Andi squirmed and was released. They ran to the edge of the ship and clutched onto the railing. As their ship sank, so did their heart and all the past years of research. Tears slipped down their face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that ain’t cool? What’s the matter, you need help to get somethin’ else off that ship? Don’t tell me, there’re others on there.”

Andi sobbed. “N-No, thankfully not. B-But my...my life’s work.”

“Uh-oh, Franky, can you see if you can do anything. I can’t imagine how soul crushing it would be to have my life’s work ruined. See if you can fish it out.” a woman - the second voice, actually - spoke.

“Gotcha.”

Andi turned away just as the last of their ship went underneath the black waters. They pawed at their face and tried to look presentable. Their eyes widened as they were able to see with the lights scattered about on the top deck.

“No way….” they gasped. They stared.

Their rescuers glanced about each other, as though sensing some sort of brewing confusion but it was quite the opposite. Andi already knew as much as there was known about these so-called “rescuers”. It was with these familiar faces, Andi was able to decide that this ship’s figurehead was not a flower but rather a lion.

“You… You’re Cyborg Franky. Cat Burglar Nami. Devil Child Robin. Pirate Hunter Zoro. Cotton Candy Lover Chopper. God Usopp. Black Leg Sanji. And, of course, Strawhat Monkey D. Luffy.”

“Fan...person?” Usopp said, raising an eyebrow.

“Sort of.”

“Ah, sane person.” Zoro corrected with a shark-like grin.

“Sort of.”

“Fun person!” Luffy decided with a grandiose beam.

He became visibly excited which made Andi all the more nervous.

“If academic history is your thing, most certainly but that’s not to say I don’t mind a good joke… just like my freaking life.”

“Franky, hurry up!” Nami roused.

“Yikes, I know!”

Franky bustled off and the group closed the gap of where he had been.

“So, what’s all this about, eh?” Usopp asked.

“I’m a freelance scribe.” Andi began. “My life’s work is an encyclopedia on every pirate I’ve met so far… Dammit, and… and now it’s gone forever!”

Andi’s fists balled by their side. They choked back a sob but they had snot hanging out their nose and tears on their cheeks regardless.

“Well, it’s lucky you ran into us then, right?” Luffy said with a shrug. “I mean, we’re pretty famous right?”

“Yeah, only captained by the man with the biggest debut bounty ever.” Andi huffed.

“And we know a thing or two about a few different pirates. Maybe we could help whilst Franky fishes out the wreckage of your boat.” Nami said.

“Sounds wonderful, and I shall make us all some midnight snacks, what do you say… my lady?” Sanji said.

“I mean, I am hungry but I am not your lady. Or a lady at all… at least not right now. I’m havin’ bit of a masculine kinda day but…” Andi trailed off.

“What do you say, my gentlemen?” Sanji corrected himself.

“A li’l bit better.” Andi murmured.

“How about we set you up in the office then, and we can work out sleeping arrangements, oh my, it seems we haven’t caught your name even though you know ours.” Robin said.

“Ah! How rude of me! I was so caught up in my drama that I forgot. I’m Andi. Just Andi.”

“Short, snappy, I like it.” Zoro nodded to himself before yawning. He chucked a glance at Sanji. “Oi, curly cook, count me out in the portions. I’m headin’ back to bed.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Duly noted.”

Andi was terrified at first. They had met pirates of all sorts of calibre - usually low but still, they were bloodthirsty and scary regardless - and was ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice, and yet… Andi was made to feel welcome upon this ship: the Thousand Sunny Go.

The office Andi was given permission to use until further notice was homey. The food Sanji prepared for them was beyond belief. Andi had never tasted more divine cuisine and Sanji was talking about this was just something simple to whip up and yet, Andi couldn’t devise a simple way in which such intricate treats could be made so quickly. Nami, Robin, and Chopper were helpful. They hovered, yes, but they made interesting comments about what Andi should add to their new notes. Luffy, however, was annoying and far too happy to chalk many things up to a mystery but he was funny. It was endearing.

Overall, it was all dreamy and beyond belief. Andi had never been treated this way except by their own family. They felt more than an acquaintance to these easygoing, happy-go-lucky pirates despite the way they had met and the fact that it had only been mere hours since meeting and they felt more kindred to them than merely a friend. It was bizarre.

And given the stories they were spurning about Alabasta and the Fishman Island and more, Andi was beginning to think that this was not a lone incident. Andi was beginning to think that the Strawhat Pirates simply had this affect on anyone who crossed their path without instigating too much of a fight. How peculiar. But Andi liked it.

Loved it even.

By morning come, Andi truly felt like one of the gang. More importntly, by morning come, Franky had returned with remnants of their ship and their belongings. What could be savalged was minimal but Andi cherished the effort.

That being said, there was one among the Strawhats who didn’t seem all that taken with them. Andi supposed that not everyone would find them a novelty but they didn’t expect that among such a lackadaisical bunch, there would be one who seemed outwardly hostile to them. That person was Usopp.

The rumours of Usopp were… odd to say the least, or so Andi had come across in their journeys. Some reports recorded him as a brae warriror of the sea. Others, wrote him in speech as a bard or minstrel or similar with a voice that could ensnare all minds, no matter how rational, and make them believe in nonsensical lies. Andi wasn’t sure what to believe. Usopp was complex.

Sometimes he was of bravdo and humour, other times he cowered in fear and was arguably slothful. But none of it explained his hostility towards Andi. A hostility that continued well after two days of having settled in.

Slowly becoming uset by the outward aggression, Andi decided that it was time to do something about it. The other Strawhat Pirates had welcomed them with open arms and Andi wanted the whole set so speak. So, they set to a task by themselves: to convince Usopp they weren’t untrustworthy or unfriendly.

Andi really wanted to befriend Usopp. They felt as though they and Usopp could be kindred souls as they were both story-tellers. Surely, someone of Usopp’s calibre of scribe would be willing to cooperate so it was imperative that Andi befriend him.

Andi’s plan was simple. All they wanted was to get to the root cause of Usopp’s animosity and see if it could be resolved from there. This meant that all Andi had to do was somehow corner Usopp and force them to talk. Despite it being a forced meeting, surely discourse of a civil manner could be born.

However, Andi being Andi, things could not naturally be so simple.

Andi had been observing Usopp for the past hour. He had been flicking between reading and fishing to idle his time on the calm seas. He was set in a loose pattern but one Andi could take advantage of nonetheless as lunch came nearer still on the clock and Usopp had to be getting hungry as he was out of snacks and hadn’t visited the kitchen in a while. More importantly, Sanji had visited earlier to let him know there’d be a place at the table for him soon too and this gave Andi an excellent opportunity.

Andi hid themselves behind a wall and watched as Usopp began to walk past. With a one and a two, Andi sprung out from their hiding spot. They crash tackled into Usopp and Usopp’s back his the deck. Together, they skidded off. Andi screamed. Usopp yelped.

Soon enough, Usopp was pinned beneath Andi.

“Get off me!” Usopp yelled.

Andi would have liked to pause to think but this was not a time for thinking.

“No! We need to talk!” Andi shouted back; going red in the cheeks.

“Why do we need to talk?” Usopp asked.

“I know you don’t like me and I want to know why.” Andi replied.

Usopp propped himself up and Andi slid down his legs; he was still effectively anchored and trapped though. He frowned as he played with his hair.

“I don’t trust like that.” Usopp replied, hesitantly.

“What do you mean?” Andi asked.

“I just don’t like that you know so much. It’s… disconcerting.” Usopp replied.

“…Huh?” Andi replied. They didn’t see the logic in that at al.

Upon seeing the confusion on Andi’s face, Usopp erred. His brows twitched and Andi laughed.

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s just, nothing good has ever come from someone knowing too much. Especially since we’re not exactly the type to be of thorough thought ‘round here.” Usopp explained.

“I’ve noticed.” Andi joked.

Usopp ruffled at the back of his hair, pinned up in a ponytail. He smiled awkwardly.

“Do you wanna get off me yet?” he asked, cheeks tinging pink.

Andi’s nerves jolted. They got off him and now their cheeks were pink to match. Laughing nervously, Andi offered a hand to Usopp. With a yank, he anchored himself and Andi helped him.

Now Andi was nervous for a different reason. They realised they had been straddling Usopp – more or less. How embarrassing! For them both, too. Not to mention, now that Andi had been up close and personal with Usopp, they could tell that Usopp was a rather remarkable looking fellow with his long hair and toned body. It could attract anyone. Even someone like Andi. Friendship had been the desired outcome of this incident but now infatuation was beginning to bud in Andi’s heart.

At least, for now, Andi could cherish Usopp’s companionship. With him won over, things were far different. They had a lot in common. Perhaps it was that which had led to a barrier in the first place as opposites attracts and likes tended to repel each other, like magnets. Though, that can’t be the case now. Now, they were thick as thieves. Everyone in the ranks of the Strawhat Pirates were joking and teasing about it; seemingly unable to bring up one without the other. It was strangely flattering.

Both were scribes of the sea with tongues for telling tall tales. Usopp had a beautiful mind. He had a blunt way of putting things: simplistic and stylised though but a linear narrative nonetheless and yet the stories he conveyed were comedic and entertaining. He had quite a talent. Though, to begin with, Andi did struggle to discern truth and lies but they were beginning to get a grasp on his ticks now.

It was because of this budding friendship and gift of the gab of his, that Andi was able to restock their damaged notes and add more. The Strawhats had been on so many amazing and nearly unbelievable adventures but the truths of them were worth their weight in gold. Andi was now part of part of an exclusive and privileged party to get their account first hand. From Buggy the Pirate Clown to the Warlords of the Sea to the Four Emperors: the connections the Strawhats held were astounding.

Eventually, Andi was told to pick absolutely anyone who was on their good side. Anyone who they wanted to interview, anyone at all and the Strawhats assured them that Andi would be able to strike an interview with that person because of their friendship with the Strawhats.

It was an enticing offer. It was one Andi was even quick to accept until other ideas began to float through their head. They had some time to consider who they wanted to track down so Nami can navigate the appropriate course, but Andi knew they weren’t going to use the two days they had docked to think about that. No, Andi was going to use this time to consider their feelings. The interview can be an impulse but this other ting playing on Andi’s mind was something that deserved thorough thought.

The feelings regarding Usopp were complicated, Andi found. It was far too soon to decide upon the true extent of romantic implications, but Andi was enamoured with Usopp’s company; far beyond that of friendship. They wanted to at the very least verbalise this confusing, fluttery feelings that cause their heart to skip a beat, their cheeks to redden, and their palms to sweat.

Time was limited between them. It was foolish and ephemeral, but Andi wanted to give these feelings a chance regardless. So, whilst their ship was being built – not rebuilt, built from scratch by Franky’s designs – Andi made plans based on these strange feelings and faint thoughts.

Andi watched idly as their new ship went from being sketches on paper to a wooden skeleton to an almost complete ship. It was soothing to watch the construction and helping Franky helped filled the time. Andi had heard once that menial labour can facilitate the higher thinking part of the brain and with all these murky thoughts, helping screw small together or adding a slap of paint was a comfort that made things strangely clearer.

Upon the completion of Andi’s new ship, Luffy decided it was good cause for a farewell party and being pirates, none of his crewmates could resist the idea. Sanji made enough food to feed a few dozen armies and Brook played gorgeous melodies upon his violin. Jokes and stories were told; some danced. It was great fun.

Andi really enjoyed themselves. A party on the docks, listening to music and the ocean lap at the shores. Lights in houses behind them sparkled and there was a coolness in the air that was soft and romantic even. And yet, despite all the gorgeous ambience, Andi found themselves in utter denial of all the thinking and resolving they had done. They also fond themselves in utter denial of Usopp. Consciously avoided hi despite his confusion but he kept distance to be courteous, just in case.

Andi kept reasoning with themselves that this was the most reasonable thing to do.

But the end of the night was drawing nearer. The fun around Andi was inescapable and contagious and though they were enjoying themselves on the surface, their memories were slowly becoming tinged by regret from inaction. From that regret, a new resolve was born though faint, Andi wanted to trust their heart, so they were the one to scoot in next to Usopp.

He looked a little bit weary. Who wasn’t? It was past midnight, after all.

Andi sat next to him and he sat in closer to Andi. Their shoulders brushed together and hands fumbled. Usopp chuckled awkwardly. He spoke first.

“Hey Andi. So, uh, is it me or, um, are you – were you – avoiding me?”

Andi laughed back and averted their gaze. “Uh, yeah… I was, kinda.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Not at all! I just needed… space.”

“Yeah, I know that feel. It’s a big ship but it’s easy to get overcrowded.”

“That’s not… it.” Andi hesitantly replied.

Usopp’s eyes widened as he turned his head slightly, “It’s not?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then what is it then?”

Andi turned their body towards Usopp and took a breath. Usopp’s body language became surprised before steadying. He could tell that Andi had a lot to say and he intended to listen carefully. He knew what was about to happen wasn’t going to be some happy-go-lucky story or the like. This was serious. And, he would respectfully meet the matter with his own sternness.

“Usopp, um, I…” Andi faltered with their words. They took another breath and their eyes gleamed with a newfound confidence and resolve. “We haven’t known each other for very long but I feel like we have a connection. Am I wrong in thinking that?”

“What? Not at all. I feel the same. We get along great. I mean, we’re a bit different to each other but we make each other laugh and stuff. It’s very easy to get caught up in, well, friendship, I think, and I think we’ve got a connection too.” Usopp explained honestly.

Andi blushed and their heart hammered. There was an underlying bait in what Usopp had said. He hadn’t intended as such, but it encouraged Andi to keep pushing at these feelings; at this conversation.

“It’s just…” Andi hesitated again.

They could barely hear their thoughts of their heart but maybe that was a good thing because it allowed them to feel intuitively what they needed to say rather than overcomplicate it. “It’s just I think I like you.”

“Like me? Well, I’m glad. I like you too, Andi.” Usopp replied.

Andi frowned, huffed. “No, I like you like you. Like-like you.”

Usopp’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. He murmured, repeatedly: “Oh… O-Oh… Oh…”

It would have been endearing had it not been excruciating to listen to. It was like he was attempting to record the information in his brain, but it was just getting continually rejected and thus, needed to process again and again. It was horrible.

At least it was, until, Usopp shut himself up with a big breath and he turned slightly ajar from Andi. Andi felt as though their hopes had been dashed. Had they been wrong?

“I’m… I feel the same way.” Usopp murmured, almost beneath his breath.

Andi lifted their head. Now it was them whose eyes were widening. Their heart fluttered in their chest. It was a sweet, twinkling feeling devoid of fear or anguish. It was pure and chaste.

“Y-You do?” they manage stutter out over their rapid heartbeats.

Usopp scratched at the back of his head, shy, then affirmed Andi simply: “Yeah.”

A moment of sweetness blossomed between them where they fumbled with the ramifications of their confessions. A sweetness soon tainted by bitterness. It was such terrible timing. Both led temporary lives on the sea, battered by the winds and going with the waves. It was hard to coordinate meetings and Andi, though a brave rapscallion of a person, was a civilian and Usopp a pirate. It was such unfortunate circumstance.

But that didn’t mean it had to be hopeless.

Andi looked towards Usopp. “We might only have tonight but perhaps, it could be worth it.” they said.

“Yeah, maybe.” Usopp replied.

Andi yawned but leaned in. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be just tonight. Perhaps it was just going to be now: a bittersweet and ephemeral moment on an everchanging clock.

Reading their cues, Usopp leaned in also and he put his hand over Andi’s. Andi’s hands were writer’s hands. They were soft and unworked by strenuous labour, like that of carpentry or paving, but they were ink-stained and callouses rose from odd places upon their fingers. Small and squishy-feeling, Usopp liked Andi’s hands.

Andi puckered their lips and met Usopp’s. Usopp��s lips were chapped by hours spent at sea, in the razor wind. His nose, awkwardly long, bumped against Andi’s face. It was strange but not necessarily unpleasant. It was a good, chaste kiss that seemed to slow the world. It seemed to extent the ephemeral moment their feelings were taking place within but it wasn’t enough to completely stop the flow of time.

They needed breath eventually, so they pulled away. Disjointed and awkward, worried about how they had performed. Strangely sheepish, even, because of their kiss.

“How… was it?” Usopp asked.

“Good, good, great – excellent even!” Andi yipped before going red. “Not that I have a frame of reference or anything… That was my, my um, first kiss.”

“Oh. Oh…” Usopp muttered.

“You’ve had past experiences?” Andi asked, not intending to pry but the journalistic sense within them was trying to demand otherwise.

“Uh, yeah, my childhood friend. Kaya. She was my first kiss and crush. But you’re really different to her. Apples and oranges, I guess you’d say.” Usopp rambled.

“It’s fine.” Andi almost panickily stated.

There was a lull in conversation and awkwardness permeated them both as they were left to dwell upon the fact all they had was a moment and now the moment was gone. There was little else to say and do besides ponder the missed connection. If they had met sooner, if they had later: a lot could have been different. But it hadn’t. It had been this.

Soon, tiredness set it and the party came to a faded and dwindled conclusion. If, it truly ended at all. Perhaps it merely moved to another moment in time, much like what would happen to the feelings Andi had harboured.

They didn’t regret it. That had been the best course of action. It was better to have lost and loved than to never have loved at all; fumbling with loose-ends and potential possibilities. As bittersweet as it was, it was better than the regret of what if?

The following mid-morning, it was time for Andi to set sail onto their next adventure. With Dracule Mihawk in their sights, that was the adventure and knowledge Andi wanted to chase; with a recommendation from Mihawk’s ex-pupil Zoro, of course. Still, it was bittersweet to go.

“I’ll miss all of you.” Andi called out from atop their newly varnished deck.

“We’ll miss you to!” Luffy called out.

“Some of us more than others.” Sanji teased; he nudged Usopp who sheepishly blushed.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Mihawk, he’s all bark an’ no bite; he’ll love you!” Zoro added, thankfully salvaging the conversation from an embarrassing turn.

“Thanks.” Andi added.

They were intimidated. Mihawk was a warlord after all. He was a fearsome, fearsome man and, yet Zoro spoke of him softly, gently, despite their scuffled meeting in the East Blue. Andi supposed cohabitation would train things, even when under the guise of an enemies-like relationship.

Andi firmly believed now, having met the Pirate Hunter, that he would one day achieve his dream and take Mihawk’s claim from him. Andi looked forward to meeting him then subsequently interviewing. Based on Zoro’s tales, he sounded like a cool and honourable man who has seen much and would, therefore, benefit Andi’s notes.

“Thank you for having me and thank you for building my ship after you destroyed it. Thank you for sharing your stories with me.” Andi gushed as they fidgeted with ropes.

Their boat was designed to be able to keep guests whilst only being staffed by a lone person. There were all sorts of kooky contraptions and mechanics to allow for Andi to do the work of multiple workers. They appreciated Franky for all the countermeasures they were slowly familiarising themselves with.

“My heart would break if any of these dweebs destroyed my work – and they have in the past. You have my sympathies. I hope nothing like this happens again in the future, Andi!” Nami called out.

Andi reeled back the anchor and their ship began to move out. Luffy threw his hands in the air upon noticing. He waved them ferociously through the air with a silly grin on his face. All the faces of all the Strawhats seemed both happy and sorrowful: parting continues to ring true as such a sweet sorrow.

“Bye, bye, Andi: I hope we meet again!” Luffy called.

“Yes, I do too!” Andi called back. “And you, young man, had better be King of the Pirates by then!”

“Hell’s yeah I will be!” Luffy laughed.

Andi slipped away from the railing. Their smile shortened upon their face and their heart grew heavy but that’s just goodbyes were like. They didn’t want to, but they turned their back on the Strawhat Pirates. They were probably doing the same. They didn’t have all day, after all. This was a busy port. They needed to go just as much as Andi, lest Marines decide they’re easy prey or rival pirates. Anything could happen.

Andi visited the figurehead of the ship. Franky had asked what their favourite animal was so Andi had replied and now they had an adorable elephant to lead them through their voyages. It wasn’t particularly fearsome-looking, no, not all, but Andi cherished it as they ran their hand over the wood of it. It was so sleek. It was nice to the touch. Andi could understand better now why the figurehead doubled as Luffy’s favourite seat on a ship. It had a lovely view too.

The voyage to Kuraigana Island was long and hard but it was journey Andi was able to make just fine. They missed the bustling company of the Strawhat Pirates and it made them yearn for friends once more. But they were a somewhat introverted person, so they appreciated the peace. It was hard to strike balance between being overcrowded and not being crowded enough.

As they drew nearer to Kuraigana Island, they wondered if Mihawk had that problem too. Mentally, it was hard to realise Mihawk was just as human as anyone else, but his eyes were so avian and his reputation so fearsome, it was hard to categorise him anything human at all.

Kuraigana Island was every bit as creepy as Andi had been warned it would be. It was swathed with a thick mist that seemed almost teal as it clung to the frigid air. It was mossy moors and swamps. It was eerie and quiet except for the cacophonic singing of a young woman: Perona, if Andi was correct by what Zoro had told them.

They docked by a rickety pier and dropped anchor. They looked around. Their heart pounded as they swallowed muddy breaths. Andi was well aware of the dangers hidden in the mists, but it was a clear path from this beach to the castle. Andi could see it through shadows and mystique. It excited them. They clutched excitedly onto their stationery as they clambered down.

This would be their next adventure. The next knowledge found and recorded. Surely nothing could go wrong.

#mod stuff #not a quote #inktostories #commissioned fic #one piece #opfanfic #i will only be posting it here #hoo boy this is huge #commissions will be closed for a bit unless you want fortune telling btw #this has left me drained tbh #but i love andi and i hope i have done them justice

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sjrresearch · 4 years

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“Greyhound” On Target: A Review Of Tom Hanks’ New World War II Naval Drama

Coming on the heels of the successful 2019 naval epic “Midway,” Tom Hanks’ equally intense and exciting “Greyhound” is on target as it chronicles a harrowing 52-hour running battle between an Allied supply convoy’s escorts and a German U-Boat pack across a remote, undefended region of the North Atlantic during World War II.

The fictional story is set in February 1942 and follows the USS Keeling (DD 548), a U.S. Navy Fletcher-class destroyer codenamed “Greyhound,” and its captain, Commander Ernest Krause, as he leads a multinational escort fleet comprising his vessel, the two British destroyers Harry and Eagle, and the Canadian Corvette Dickie. Their mission is to protect the 37-ship Convoy HX-25 from Halifax to Liverpool as it runs the U-Boat gauntlet.

Greyhound was shot aboard the USS Kidd, pictured above.

The USS Kidd stands in for the fictional USS Keeling (Greyhound) in the movie.

This was a daunting task during that early phase of the war, with America having only entered it two months before with a small, unprepared navy and obsolete technology. The Keeling’s radar and sonar are balky, its window wipers freeze up, it’s low on fuel, and the warship does not carry enough depth charges for the job. Moreover, the wintry heavy seas of the North Atlantic are unforgiving, forcing Krause and most of his crew to fight on the Keeling’s weather deck and weapons stations while soaking wet and shivering cold. There is no air cover either since that part of the deep ocean was beyond the reach of Allied land-based anti-submarine aircraft. Naval planners formally named it the “Mid-Atlantic Gap” but sailors and merchant mariners simply called it the “Black Pit.”

An Allied convoy traverses the Atlantic in November 1942.

An Allied convoy crosses the Atlantic Ocean in the Tom Hanks movie.

While contending with the U-Boats, his ship’s limitations, and the environment, Krause himself also has to resolve an inner struggle with his personal frustrations, insecurities, inexperience, and even guilt in killing his German adversaries. In his forties, over-the-hill, and still a low ranking officer, he was the victim of the peacetime Navy’s practice of “fitting and retaining” competent officers by shuffling them from one administrative assignment to another during the 1920s and 1930s without ever assigning them to a sea command. Therefore, he is acutely aware that all eyes in the convoy are upon him since this is not only his first command but also his first combat crossing of the Atlantic.

Krause is emotionally hurting too since, in an early flashback, his girlfriend Evelyn had refused to move from San Francisco to the East Coast with him and accept his marriage proposal. Her explanation that “the world has gone crazy” and that she wanted to wait until they “could be together” rang hollow. What she was really worried about was getting married and then quickly becoming a widow, which a heartbroken Krause understands and accepts. As a consolation, she then gives him a toy destroyer to commemorate his first command at sea and a pair of monogrammed slippers to remember her by.

Krause perseveres under these multiple burdens by drawing upon his devout Christian faith, daily prayers, and a handbill that he has posted on the mirror in his cabin quoting Hebrews 13:8 from the Bible—“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and today, and forever.” Ultimately, Krause proves to be quick thinking, stalwart, and tactically brilliant, as seen during his first encounter with a U-Boat. Despite his problems, he falls back upon his training and intuition and successfully deduces his enemy’s circular dogfighting path to port, orders a rapid “right full rudder” to cut it off, and then destroys it with depth charges, much to the delight of his crew and British peers. While his men are celebrating their first kill, he takes no joy in his achievement, quietly mourning the deaths of the 50 German souls he had just sent to the bottom of the Atlantic.

This was just the beginning of the Keeling’s ordeal. Over the next two days, Krause, his crew, and the other escorts fight an increasingly desperate series of engagements with the U-Boats, which penetrate the thinly-stretched destroyer screen and pick off several of the merchantmen as they cross the Black Pit. The lead U-Boat commander, calling himself “Grey Wolf,” taunts the Allies with blood-curdling threats and predictions of their doom over the open radio frequencies. “You and your comrades will die today,” the mysterious German skipper warns Krause in his final rant.

The Grey Wolf’s cat-and-mouse game with the Keeling is both deadly and personal but Krause eventually succeeds in his mission though not without loss. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, Krause runs his feet bloody raw during his non-stop scrambling back and forth across the Keeling’s bridge and weatherdeck. He can barely walk before the climactic battle with his nemesis and finally replaces his stiff leather shoes with Evelyn’s lined, warm slippers, not only easing his physical pain but also comforting himself with her virtual presence in the midst of combat.

Hanks’ story of Krause follows closely that of Cecil Scott Forester’s original character in the 1955 novel The Good Shepherd, right down to the sonar and radar bearings, the same orders, and the same combat maneuvers, blow for blow, against the same U-Boats. One notable difference though is that Forester’s Krause is named “George” and he is much more damaged psychologically than “Ernie” in Hank’s film. In the book George Krause suffers overwhelming guilt from a broken marriage, his wife’s infidelity, and their divorce, as well as the professional shame of a stalled career and passed over promotions. He also has to deal with the awkwardness of commanding more experienced crew members and Allied captains in the convoy.

However, both George and Ernie reveal quiet inner strength that allows them to overcome their adversity and to win both their battles and the respect of their sailors. Each is “the man alone,” as Forester liked to call his prime characters, such as Horatio Hornblower, for whom the author is most famous. Indeed George and Ernie embody many of the introverted Hornblower’s traits, including his introspection, his dedication to duty, his discipline, his command brilliance, and his loneliness. Commander Krause is in effect Captain Hornblower in a World War II naval-setting, without the chronic sea sickness.

In his many books Forester (real name Cecil Louis Troughton) went to great lengths to portray his characters, their appearance, equipment, and customs and traditions in minute detail based on meticulous historical research. In 1943, the author was able to sail as a civilian aboard the Royal Navy light cruiser HMS Penelope as it patrolled the Mediterranean Sea. During that experience, he learned first-hand how a ship-of-war operated and made several key naval acquaintances who later served as advisors and proofreaders for his books, including the The Good Shepherd, as reflected in its exquisite accuracy.

Tom Hanks took Forester’s historical approach to heart in making Greyhound and consulted with Naval History Dr. Craig L. Symonds of the Naval War College and Marine Historian Gordon H. Laco to ensure that the film’s technical details and crew interactions and behavior were as historically accurate as possible. He toured the U.S. Naval Academy and filmed as much as he could aboard the USS Kidd (DD 661), the only remaining Fletcher-class destroyer still in existence in its World War II configuration, currently moored as a ship museum in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. According to Symonds, one point of contention was Hanks’ desire to portray a more familiar relationship with Mess Mate George Cleveland, a black sailor who feeds and looks out for his captain when not handling ammunition at his General Quarters gunnery station. Symonds told Hanks that this would have been impossible in the segregated World War II-era Navy which was dominated by hard-nosed, old school, class and race-conscious officers. Hanks resisted but Symonds insisted, so the producer met the historian half-way and split the difference in Greyhound, portraying Krause’s relationship with Cleveland as gentle but firm.

Other details are more authentic, from the uniforms and personal gear to the actual control knobs, lights, and wheels of the Keeling’s control panels and even its guns and their specific rates of fire. The burial at sea scene was also accurately done too, based on Navy regulations and customs of the period, which Hanks researched from the original archived manuals.

The shootout between one of Grey Wolf’s surfaced U-Boats and the Keeling and Dickie at mid-film is based on an actual close-quarters brawl between the Canadian destroyer HMCS Assiniboine and U-210 that occurred on August 6, 1942 while the Assiniboine was escorting Convoy SC-94. Both vessels had encountered each other by chance in the early morning mist and fog. Historian Gordon Laco described the action to USA Today, noting that “They were literally blasting each other with pistols, rifles, revolvers. The cook even came out of the galley and threw an empty case of Coca Cola bottles down the submarine hatch.”

U-210 photographed from Assiniboine's deck, 6 August 1942

There are a few inaccuracies though that should be noted. The USS Keeling itself never existed, since destroyer (DD) hull #548 was canceled before construction, and the first of the Fletcher-class warships did not launch until May 1942, three months after the events of Greyhound. It would have been more authentic to show the Keeling as an earlier Mahan-class destroyer, as Forester originally wrote it, but the Fletcher-class was likely chosen by Hanks because of the availability of the Kidd in Baton Rouge for filming. Further, radar and sonar technology was not quite as advanced as portrayed in the film, even though the U.S. Navy had been participating in convoy operations since early 1941, with the USS Reuben James (DD 245) sunk by U-552 near Iceland on October 31 of that year.

And although the Type VII U-Boats were the most widely used of the war, with 703 built, generally they would not have fought Allied warships on the surface in broad daylight unless it was absolutely necessary, the chance historical battle between the Assiniboine and U-210 notwithstanding. Considering that a U-Boat’s chance of avoiding detection and survival was already slim, stealth was its key weapon and the darkness its ally, as was portrayed in 1981’s German film ‘Das Boot.’

German U-boat U-848 is attacked by a U.S. Navy Consolidated PB4Y-1 Liberator in November 1943.

A German U-boat is besieged in the Tom Hanks Greyhound movie.

Additionally, it would have been suicidal for a U-Boat commander to openly taunt destroyers on open frequencies as shown in the film and thus reveal their presence and locations. Forester did reference one instance in The Good Shepherd in which a British officer refused to send Krause an important message over voice radio because “Jerry’s been on this circuit more than once during the night. He has an English-speaking rating who chips in with rude remarks, and I wouldn’t like him to hear this.” This is undoubtedly the source of Hank’s plotline with the Grey Wolf’s rather childish howling, which is historically implausible, since German naval officers of the period were thorough professionals and considered to be the elite of the Kriegsmarine. They tended to follow Kriegsmarine regulations to the letter, which required strict radio silence while stalking and attacking convoys. The submarine profession is not called the “silent service” for nothing. Consequently, there is no historical record of such taunting ever occurring, even though there are a couple of recorded incidents of U-Boats “blinking” distant destroyers with their signal lamps after dark.

And while we do catch a brief distant glimpse of a brave U-Boat captain fighting his submarine from his conning tower and his crewmen manning its guns during the Keeling-Dickie surface battle, it is also unfortunate that Hanks otherwise chose to depict the Germans collectively through the disembodied, sneering voice of the Grey Wolf, particularly in light of their more realistic portrayals in previous classic films like Das Boot and The Enemy Below.

Those nitpicks aside, Greyhound is an excellent film depicting the often neglected “Battle of the Atlantic,” which was in fact the longest continuous and most complex military campaign of World War II, running from 1939 to 1945. British Prime Minister Winston Churchill himself later wrote that “The only thing that really frightened me during the war was the U-boat peril. I was even more anxious about this battle than I had been about the glorious air fight called the 'Battle of Britain'.” Indeed, 3,500 Allied merchant ships and 175 warships were sunk in the Atlantic, with 36,000 merchant mariners losing their lives, while 783 U-boats were sunk with 28,000 out of 39,000 German submariners perishing by war’s end.

Up to now, there have only been a few films focused on this crucial theater of the war, perhaps because it was previously difficult to capture its vastness and complexity before the advent of current CGI technology made it possible. Among the most notable from a surface warfare perspective are The Cruel Sea (1953) and The Enemy Below (1956), while submarines and submariners are the focus of Das Boot (1981), U-571 (2000), and In Enemy Hands (2004). And although current reviews of Greyhound are mixed, with many reviewers (perhaps spoiled by Midway) complaining about the film’s short length at 90 minutes and its lack of character development, and without any German voices except that of the generically evil Nazi Grey Wolf, they miss the point. The Allied navies and the merchant mariners they protected acted in concert as a team, and because of that “all hands job”, as portrayed in the 52-hour snap shot of Greyhound, the Grey Wolf howled his last howl, portending “Wolf” Hitler’s last howl four years later in April 1945. That too was an “all hand’s job.”

Working on your next award-winning documentary or binge-worthy historical fiction drama? Our team can help you create media so captivating your viewers can’t stop watching. How? By giving you the details you need to turn casual browsers into super fans. From screenplay creation, to costuming, to final review, SJR Research can bring immersive accuracy to your project every step of the way. You can browse SJR Research’s service on your site at SJR Research.

#media and film

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buckyismyaesthetic · 7 years

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Punk (Chap. 4)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 1878

Warnings: Cursing, low-self esteem, chubby!reader x bucky, idk….

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I needed some time. I’ve got the next few chapters just about ready to go…and I’m gonna try and make them hurt ;) yay angst!

After Natasha successfully slammed you to the mat for the sixteenth time in a row you finally cried ‘uncle’ and ended the hour long workout/torture session. You’d come here to kickbox and beat the holy hell out of a bag but a certain spider had other ideas.

“I deserve this,” you groaned. Your chest heaved as your lungs strained for breath. The amorphous blob of a sweatshirt you insisted on wearing while exercising was soaked with sweat and made you feel as if you were slowly cooking in one of Hell’s saunas. “This is why I hate exercising.” Nat extended a hand to pull you to your feet but you shook your head dramatically on the mat. “No, just leave me here to die. I quit. You go out and fight the good fight. I’ll save my skills and start a nice, quiet dart league or somethin’.” Natasha rolled her eyes and kicked your leg. “No, seriously. I retire my knives to you. My guns, throwing stars, all of it. Take care of Ferd for me. Tell him his mummy loved him,” you wailed with a huge fake sob.

Nat chuckled as she sipped from her water bottle. You did this every time she beat you; abandoned your position on the team, gave away your possessions, forced someone to take care of Ferdinand after you were gone. Granted, hand-to-hand wasn’t really your strong suit. You were a sniper…of sorts. A deadshot. A bulls-eye artist. Basically, you always hit your target….except when it came to love…

Speaking of love… “Aw, come on. You can’t die on me, Punk.” Bucky’s throaty chuckle caught you off guard and you scrambled to your feet, blowing out your cheeks at the nickname. Punk Uuuunnnngggghhh. He was leaning against the door to the training room, shirt soaked with sweat and clinging to his torso. The ripples and panes of muscle became more defined with each breath. God, he was so rude! Who did he think he was?! Just walking around looking like that?! Ugh. He was all sweaty and slightly out of breath, but his eyes were bright and he looked like he was fucking glowing. Who looks like that after they run twenty miles in an hour?!

You, on the other hand, looked like a boiled potato. After an hour of having your ass introduced to the floor on loop, your face was bright red, you had underboob sweat stains, the deodorant you had obsessively applied earlier had failed about forty-five minutes ago, and sweat was running down from your hair in long rivulets. Why were you so gross? Nat wasn’t sweating like a pig and she had been working out just as hard as you. You sighed inwardly. Everything you did just seemed to fall somewhere on the ‘disgusting spectrum’. Usually leaning towards ‘ugh’ or ‘blegh’ but right now you were done right ‘oh dear lord’.

“Hey, B,” you mumbled quickly, trying to fix your rats nest of a ponytail and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Hey. Glad ta see you’re still alive,” he chuckled at you, giving you a flash of those pearly whites. “Just stopped in ta let ya know that the food’ll be here in thirty. Best get cleaned up.” And with that he waved and walked out of the gym.

“Let’s save water and shower together,” you whined at his retreating form.

Nat barked in laughter. “Oh my god, you should’ve said that!”

“Aaaahhhh-bsolutely not.”

“Oh come on! That would be the perfect way to flirt with him.”

“No, that would be the perfect way to watch me spontaneously combust.”

“How about we try flirting tonight?” the red head suggested.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” you teased.

“Yeah, how do you think I got ‘im?” She quirked an eyebrow up at you.

Touché.

“Get off the fucking counter!” Tony hollered. He was trying to unpack the Chinese food bags but a certain fat, black cat was sticking his nose in containers of Chow Mein, knocking packages of duck sauce onto the floor, and yowling obnoxiously at the billionaire. “One of these days, cat, I’m gonna—”

“Tony, if you lay one finger on Ferdinand I will carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey.” You strolled into the kitchen wearing your typical post-shower attire: wet hair in a messy bun, flannel pajama bottoms, and a New York Rangers hockey t-shirt. Ferdinand purred loudly at you and you cradled him like a baby in your arms. “Did that mean old man yell at my precious little baby?” you cooed. “My poor lil pumpkin.”

“Just keep him away from me,” Tony muttered, glaring at the cat in your arms. “And off the counters!”

You gave him a dramatic salute. Bucky came up from behind you and pulled Ferd from your arms. “Hey, buddy.” The cat began to purr like a speed boat as the super soldier held him. “You causin’ trouble?” He walked over to the dining room table and cradled Ferd in his lap as he began to spoon boneless ribs onto a plate.

“B, don’t give him any food!” you scolded, knowing full well what he was about to do. “He’s too fat.”

“Y/N! You’re gonna give him low self-esteem!” Bucky cried dramatically and you couldn’t hide your smile. “Poor Ferdinand,” Bucky cooed, slipping the cat a piece of pork. “Your mama is always fat-shaming you. Doesn’t she know that looks don’t matter?! Tsk Tsk. Well, I love ya for who ya are, buddy.” He gave the cat a loud smooch and sat him on the floor to go beg for scraps from the other team members.

“Buck,” you whined, seeing Ferd lick the pork from his lips.

Bucky merely sent you a toothy grin. “Come on, Punk. He was hungry! Come eat.”

With an inward cringe at the nickname you grabbed a bowl for you soup and looked around the table. Nat and Clint had appropriated some portion of the other’s chair as they ate. Wanda was pouring drinks and passing them down. Steve and Tony were calling out orders and handing out steaming cartons of noodles to their owners. Sam managed to steal the open seat next to Bucky, much to your dismay, and you were forced to sit between Thor and Vision, far away from your favourite super soldier, at the opposite end of the table.

Conversation buzzed around you, but you didn’t really feel up to participating. This happened sometimes, lately more often than not. Something just seemed to happen to you when it came to….eating. Now, you loved food. It was kind of obvious actually. Half the time you planned your next meal while eating the current one. But lately, and you weren’t sure exactly when it started, every time you ate something, even something you really liked, like pizza or ice cream or spaghetti, you felt….guilty?….bad?…ashamed?

With every bite you felt like you were somehow doing something wrong, something forbidden. An obsessive need to count calories occasionally seized your mind. Half the time it felt like you spent more time reading nutrition labels than actual books! And those feelings were only amplified when you were forced into eating around the others. You felt like some sort of zoo creature around them. Oh look, meal time at the hippo pond!

You popped half a dumpling into your mouth. Ferdinand rubbed up against your leg under the table, hoping that food would fall from the sky. Absently, you began to push your noodles around the plate, losing your appetite as the others munched away happily on crab rangoons and sesame chicken. Angry, self-loathing thoughts bubbled to the surface in your mind. Were the others looking at you while you ate? Judging you for the food you put in your mouth? Look at Y/N, shovelling it in like garbage truck. Were they as disgusted be you as you were? Did they think of you as fat slob with no self-control? Because that’s how you felt. Because even when you tried to be good and not eat so much, eventually hunger pangs tore through you and you just had to eat. And you didn’t always want salad or veggies. Sometimes you wanted cookies or peanut butter or candy. It was just so hard to—

“Y/N, are you going to eat that?” Thor interrupted your inner turmoil and pointed to the untouched egg roll on your plate. You shook your head and he grabbed it with a muffled ‘thanks!’ and shoved the entire roll in mouth.

You looked up and locked eyes with Sam. He mouthed, ‘you good?’ and you nodded putting a false smile on your face, not wanting to explain your loss of appetite.

“Who’s ready for desert?” Steve asked a few minutes later and was met with smatterings of approval. You helped Vision clear the plates, hoping to slip out of the kitchen and ditch desert without being noticed. Your self-control could not resist apple pie. It was your kryptonite.

“That’s the last of them,” Vision said turning off the sink and grabbing a set of desert plates and a cake knife. He gave you a small smile and walked back to the dining room as you dried the last of the bowls. You were just about ready to make a break for it when you turned around just as Bucky strolled into the kitchen. His dark hair was still slightly wet from his shower earlier causing his short curls to glisten in the light. God, he’s so fucking perfect. You licked your lips and quickly turned to put the last dish on the rack.

“Told ya there’d be pie,” he whispered as he grabbed the vanilla ice cream from the freezer, letting the cold air sweep over you. You shivered. Please let him think it’s just from the cold. “Come on, Punk.” Merhhh. “I know you can’t resist,” he teased with a twinkle in his eye that you couldn’t quite decipher. Great, he’s gonna lead the pig to the slop trough.

You sighed, torn as to what to do. If you rejected the pie he’d ask you who you were and what had you done with Y/N. If you ate the pie he’d see you eat the pie. He’d see you shovelling in spoonfuls of warm, mushy apple and crispy crust mixed in with sweet vanilla ice cream all the while sporting a blissed-out look on your face.

But either way, he knows you’re fat. The evidence was right in front of him, staring him in the face. Might as well eat the pie, hate yourself, and avoid any awkward questions. Bucky didn’t need to hear you whine about how grotesque you were. He didn’t want to hear about that. Nobody wanted to hear about it. It was your own stupid, gluttonous fault that you were this way. Nobody felt sorry for you. With a sniffled sob, you trudged back towards the others.

When you at back down at the table, Bucky gave you an enormous grin and handed you a plate with the biggest slice of pie and three scoops of ice cream, more than any of the others, and it took all you’re strength not to burst into tears. The biggest slob had gotten the biggest slice.

TAG LIST: strike-through means the tag doesn’t seem to work. If your tag doesn’t work for some reason, send me a message and I’ll take a look.

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silencethedubhar-blog · 7 years

Text

Docking the Ship #17

(Having a bit of writers block on this one... apologies in advance) Otto docked the Wet Tudd, bumping into the weather beaten wood harder than he intended to. Shape scrambled over to check the damage, then waved indicating that everything was fine. sighing deeply the greasy haired boy left the wheel house to help Shape tie the boat down. He had never captained a vessel before, it looked easy enough, but the trick was getting the ship into port. That had turned into a giant pain in the ass, he nearly rammed into three different boats, causing the crews to hurl insults and empty bottles of booze at them. "shove it where the sun don't shine!" He had retorted back, not having enough brain power left to think of anything better. Once the boat was tied off Otto and shape both looked at one another, then over to the bundle of blankets on the deck. "I-im not Goin near him." Shape said his voice trembling at the thought. Houlihan had to admit, after seeing what Silence had done, he was a bit hesitant to go near the older boy as well. After a minute of gathering up his courage he clenched his fists and walked over to the sleeping young man. "If he wanted to kill us he would have done it by now." Shape heard him say this, but Otto meant it more to reassure himeslf that he was not in any danger. The greasy haired boy knelt down and placed a slightly trembling hand on silences shoulder. He shook tentetively. "Hey, pretty boy. Wake up, we're here." The boys eyelids fluttered, a small groan escaped his lips, then his eyes flew wide open. His green and maroon eyes came to rest on Houlihan face. There was fierce determination in Ottos eyes, that determination was tinged with fear. "We are here." It was more a statement than a question. Otto nodded. "Help me up." Silence held up his hand weakly, it trembled slightly from the effort of lifting it. " You sure you can walk?" The younger boy looked doubtful. Silence nodded, with that Houlihan grasped his hand and hoisted the older boy onto his feet; the blankets wrapped around him falling to the deck in a heap. For a moment silence felt as though his legs would fall out from under him, he had used so much energy escaping from syrreth, he could barely keep himself upright. The greasy haired boy kept one hand on his shoulder, ready to catch him if he fell. "I will be ok Otto, we need to gather our things and get off this boat before the capin wakes up." Nodding the younger boy yelled at shape to grab their bags and to stop being such a damn scardy cat about everything. As the other scurried about gathering their things, Silence took a few deep breaths, then slowly took a few shakey steps. He was pretty sure it look as though he were drunk, but at least he could walk. The three young assassin's left the Wet Tudd, it's capitan still sleeping in the wheel house. They slowly walked down the crowded dock, mostly for Silences sake, he was unable to move at a rapid pace. More than once the older boy bumped into a random padestrian, causing venomous looks and insults about drunken sailors. Eventually, Otto, since shape was still refusing to go near the older boy, pulled Silences left arm over his shoulder and half carried him until they reached a ragged looking inn and pub. A rickety looking sign was poorly nailed above the entrance, in faded white paint it read 'Smatterlings hold.' Not the most catchy name in the Abarat. It was as good as any place to stop and rest for a while, they needed to figure out their next move anyway, out in the open was not the place to do it. The pub area was dimly lit, dingey, and full of unsavory cherictars. An ideal place for three would be assassin's on their first solo mission to rest. A few people glanced up at the boys as they stumbled in through the doors. But those glances were half drowned in alchohol. The bar tender was wiping the counter off with a dirty rag when he noticed the three enter. "Have a seat anywhere ya like, Kerii will be with ya in a minute." Otto nodded and half walked half dragged Silence over to the far corner and sat him down. "Lordy lou Silence, your fucking heavy!" Weakly the older boy shrugged and offered a smirk. Shape set their bags down on the table and slid into a seat as far from the older boy as he could get. "Man, Im starving for something other than fish." Shape remarked, The other two agreed, if they never saw another fish it would be too soon. The greasy haired boy sat down as well leaning his head in to whistper so no one in the vacinity would over hear. "I suggest we stay here just until silence is rested, then we get moving." "I should be fine in a few minutes." Silence said laying his forehead down on the dirty wooden table. He quickly fell into his trance sleep, he did not want to waste time, and a few minutes would get him enough staying power to walk for a while more. Shape was not convinced a few minutes of sleep was going to fix anything. "I don't know Otto, he doesnt look so good, maybe we should get a room and leave him here while we go for the target?" Otto looked at the older boy, shape had a point, Silence in this state would only slow them down. "We would come back for him once we were done, either that or he would come looking for us." Shape seemed a bit to eager to leave their comrade behind. Houlihan could not blame him though, he was wary of the older boy as well. The sheer power he had shown when he teleported the fishing boat from the middle of the Isabela to their destination, was intimidating to say the least. And the black tenticals that were chasing them? There were to many questions, and not enough answers. now was not the time to ask them however. Silence stirred in his chair and slowly lifted his head. " I agree with shape. I hate to admit it, but I am far to weak to be of any use to you. You both go on ahead, if you are not back by the time I am rested I will go looking for you." Otto almost asked how the older boy would know where to look, then thought better of it. "Fine, we will get a room here." Houliha dug through the bag on the table until he found the small coin purse. "There's not much, but it should be enough to get somthing." He said standing up to go talk to the bartender. Shape avoided looking at Silence, his long claw like fingers nervously tapping on the wooden table. The older boy wearily watched him for a moment before speaking up. "I am sorry I scared you Shape." The spidery boy jumped. "I-its fine, you didn't scare me. I j-just haven't had time to fully p-process what just happened." Silence thought on that for a moment. "If it is any consolation, this magic scares me too." Then he put his head back down on the table, unable to hold it up any longer. Shape continued his nervous tapping until Houlihan came back. "Alright, I got a small room for you to stay in, it is only for one night though. I told him you're wasted and need to sleep it off." Silence nodded, it was a good cover story. "One night will be sufficent." Nodding Otto motioned for shape to help him lift Silence to drag him to the room. Hesitantly shape stood and slid his arm under Silences shoulder. Together they picked up the older boy and walked around to the far side of the bar where a short hallway led to the only four rooms in the pub. They were small, the beds were just piles of hay with a rough spun blanket thrown over it, but it felt like heaven. Silence thanked the boys for helping him before falling back into his trance. The darkness in the room drawing close to him, restoring the strength he lost. The one good thing about the encounter on the Isabella was that syrreth would be in a similar state. This meant that, for the moment at least, he was safe from another ambush. Shape and Houlihan backed away as the shadows swallowed their comrade. As they left the room the spidery boy whispered to Houlihan. "Do you think we should come back for him?" He looked over his shoulder as if someone were following them. Houlihan gave shape an icy stare that shut him up instantly. Of course they had to come back for him, Silence was a part of their team. The things the older boy could do though made him hesitate, he had never seen magic like that before. It was obvious that silence was hiding something huge, but did he want to go poking around for the answers? Otto shook his head, he had more important things to think about right now. "We need to focus on the target Shape. We will worry about Silence later." The spidery boy just nodded, a frown turning the edges of his thin lips downward. The two young men left the small hole in the wall pub, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Otto led the way through the winding streets, weaving in between people buying and trading goods. No one payed the two young men any heed, which meant they could easily slip away between a couple of buildings to a more isolated area. After finding a well hidden, although rather rancid smelling due to the large trash bins, spot they took out their map of Effret and layed out their plan to find and neutralize their target.

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chriscoleman · 6 years

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Pinned on the Green

Mistakes were made…

Julia and I recently bought a 17’ Clipper Tripper canoe. We’ve been on about 8 trips with it and our confidence has been growing. The Puget Sound taught us to avoid big boats. The Chehalis River taught us to pay attention to wind direction and speed. The Black River forced us to learn shallow water exit/entry repeatedly. Plus, a variety of other lessons as we’ve jumped into the deep end of the boating world.

However… nothing prepared us for what happened on the Green River between Auburn and Tukwila, just south of Seattle, WA, on Saturday, October 6th, 2018.

Early Saturday the 6th we headed out for a 15-mile paddle on a section of the Green we’ve never seen. It was a rather last-minute plan, as our weekend was open and the weather looked clear. It’s one of the many ‘urban’ rivers near Seattle that we have been exploring.

The day started out badly, possibly an omen of what was to come. We drove 2 cars to the put-in. That’s bad, because you need to drive both vehicles to the TAKE OUT first, so that 1 can be left there. We quickly realized our mistake and took the extra 40 minutes to drive to the proper take-out spot and leave my Jeep. We had another mini-adventure here because the take-out was not optimal. We scouted up and down the river for another close option, but ultimately stuck with the Van Doren’s Landing spot.

The put-in was another ordeal. The first spot we began to unload at was not possible to use. The gate was just enough for a person, not wide enough for a boat. A kind neighborhood homeowner asked us about our plans as we were unloading. He had never seen someone try to get a boat into the water via his street. He kindly gave us directions to a spot we could get through a wider fence just around the corner. This was probably red flag #1 (limited boat activity from a guy who looks to have lived there a long time). Immediately followed by red flag #2 when another friendly neighborhood homeowner at our next put-in spot also knew very little of boating on the river right behind her house.

We charged ahead, already past noon, two hours behind schedule. We instantly saw another canoe on the river. 2 guys in a red boat just like ours. Cool! We aren’t alone. This must be legit, someone else is doing it. A classic heuristic trap we learned from backcountry skiing avalanche training (just because someone else is doing it doesn’t mean it’s safe).

The first hour of floating was amazing. Perfect in every way. The water was flowing well, making our paddle strokes easy. We were making great time with little effort. This was the fastest water we’ve been in with our new canoe. The salmon were jumping left and right. One scared a scream out of Julia it jumped so close to our boat. There were fishermen on every bank. We probably passed 50 anglers in 10 miles of river travel.

The red flags began to stack up as the fishermen asked us if “it was safe” and “what do you do about the trees”. We shrugged it off with a laugh and kept going – everything was great!

Then we saw it. About 30 seconds after a fisherman said “there is a blockage ahead” - we came upon our first major hurdle.

A tree was blocking the entire river. Shore to shore, no way around in a boat. The left bank had eroded dumping the recently live tree exactly perpendicular to our path. I pointed our boat left, towards the base.

This is one of the most dangerous situations for boats of all types. The water is rushing under this obstruction. The flow wants to pull you under with it. The problem is that there is a mess of branches and other junk under the water. If you were to get pulled under – it’s very likely that you will get stuck – unable to swim upstream against the current and unable to swim downstream because of the branches/rocks. This is called a ‘strainer’ in the river community. Extremely deadly.

Luckily we handled the situation well. We balanced the boat, leaning into the tree. Julia scrambled out onto the huge trunk / muddy roots. I stabilized the boat as Skye made it towards the front of the boat. Julia pulled her on the tree by the scruff of the neck. Then I scrambled out too.

At this point our lives were relatively safe. The boat was still in a bad position though. We began to form a plan of squeezing the boat through the splintered base of this enormous tree. The water did not allow us to get the boat in line with the hole the tree provided. We pulled with all our might and eventually got the canoe wedged into the tree, out of the water. Some of our gear had floated away during this maneuver, but nothing irreplaceable (water bottles and booties).

Nothing worked. We could not get our canoe over/through the tree. The next plan was to go up the steep bank. It was nearly straight up – through blackberry bushes. I held the boat at Julia forged a path up the loose dirt into a thorny mess. 10 minutes later she returns with a story about the farmer. The farmer rode his 4x4 to the edge of the field, then kept on going. She screamed for help but no reaction.

I pushed while Julia pulled. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO. 1… 2… 3… GO over-and-over. Sometimes I only heard the number 3. Sometimes I had no strength, so just held the canoe from falling back into the water. We eventually got it balanced where I could climb up myself and help from the other end. Climbing was one of the hardest things of the trip. There was a crux where I could not get my leg up another inch and there were no hand holds other than thorny blackberry vines and loose dirt. I eventually pushed in a faithful move, successfully. Skye bounded up easily.

Julia’s legs were bloody with scrapes by the time we got into the farmers field. We could finally rest. It was about an hour from the time we hit the tree to the time we laid in the field. Collard greens everywhere.

“Our friends are out picking pumpkins with their kids. We are bloody & sweaty sitting next to our canoe in a field of collard greens with our dog in a life vest.” Sounds about right.

At this point we had 2 options. #1 – call uber. They would take me to my car, I would return for Julia/Skye/canoe, and we’d be home with our tail between our legs. #2 – find another put-in downstream of the tree and keep paddling. We really were 50/50 on this until we found a relatively safe access back to the river. We both agreed we wanted to continue. The farmer has a pipe to pull water from the river where we scampered down to re-launch the adventure.

Back on the water, it felt good. I was still a bit shaky from adrenaline and fatigue. We were happy. It should have been another 30 minutes of paddling until the takeout. Then we hit major incident #2…

We rounded a bend in the river and saw a handful of wood obstacles. The majority of the river was running left so we naturally decided to stick with the flow. We zigged past 1, zagged for number 2, and hit 3 hard. This big log twisted us sideways, Julia’s bow end pointed directly at the left shore. We leaned into the log downstream, but it was too much force. We began to take on water as our upriver side dipped into the water. In seconds we were all tossed from the boat. Julia stayed next to the boat, standing almost immediately. Skye somehow ended up in the eddy behind the boat, frantically trying to climb onto the now sideways canoe. I floated into the next obstacle of wood. My head began to go under and my mouth filled with water. This was the closest I came to dying, which says a lot after our previous experience. I was quickly able to roll out of the tree, float away, and get my footing. I quickly returned to the boat to rescue Skye. I helped her to the shore where we all regrouped.

Once again – our lives were safe, but the boat was not.

The next hour was spent pulling on the boat in freezing cold rushing water. No progress was made. We could not budge the boat, even using rocks/logs as levers. Eventually we pulled the gear we could reach out of the boat.

Getting out of the river from this location wasn’t very easy. One bank had massive blackberry thorns. There was fast moving deep water between us and the other bank. We made the command decision to go for the easier exit (thorns are bad). We scouted an area that allowed us to walk without getting swept away. I pulled Skye using her life vest handle. It was cute how she tried to still doggy paddle as I pulled her across. After much effort we made it up to a bike path at Foster Park in Kent, WA.

The boat was pinned in the river, but all 3 of us were uninjured on shore. Cold.

I called for Uber. Sat on my rain jacket as we drove to my Jeep. 15 minutes later I was back to Julia to load up the few pieces of gear we owned. Drove home without a boat.

7pm we arrived home in Seattle. Started making plans to rescue our canoe first thing Sunday. Crazy decision – I went to play ultimate at 8pm. Hip Hop had a hard game vs. Huck Butters. I had been nursing an achilles injury the past 3 weeks. I was really looking forward to playing, plus getting to hang out with my good friends for a few hours was a valuable respite from the day’s incidents. We won 15-13!!

Back home at 10:30pm Julia was pulling the cat in a laundry basket with ropes and carabiners. This was a scaled down version of the pully system we were planning to execute. It worked on the 15 pound cat, it should work on our 1000 pound boat.

Sunday morning we were back in action. Sore, but moving by 8am. We staged everything in the garage to begin the rescue mission. Our friend Jared offered to lend equipment. I originally planned to buy everything necessary, but accepting help is often the smart thing to do.

REI was still our first stop. We needed rope to make a temporary ladder into the water from the steep bank. We also got a 200’ rope to use as a ‘safety line’, to prevent the canoe from going downstream further, potentially into the next obstacle, after we release it. Plus some carabiners, prusiks, and a wet suit top for Julia.

Jared lived only 4 miles from where our canoe was stuck. It was great to stop for gear + advice. Shortly after we were parked back at the scene of the incident.

The first activity was to verify the boat was still there. It was. Not folded in half or yanked out by some other crazy people with ropes. We could begin the operation.

We tied the ladder rope, lowered all the gear down, and setup shop on a small island near the boat. The first anchor was in the water – a sturdy stump about 50’ upstream of our canoe. I laid out the rope while Julia walked to the canoe to attach the 2 lines (1 primary pull and 1 safety backup).

Unfortunately the come-along we brought was not functional. We were unable to get the cable extended out. It was fully coiled, jammed shut. Luckily we had the pully system as backup.

The 3-to-1 mechanical system we setup with the pulleys worked well. It was the first time we’ve done this. I’d like to think we did it flawlessly, although I’m sure if any experts were around they would have found mistakes. The Z shape gave us triple the pull power, which was 100% necessary for the situation.

Pull. Pull. Pull. Pull. The boat barely budged. Although we were making small progress. We changed anchors to a spot more equal with the boat. Then a spot slightly downstream. We also moved the boat anchor from wrapped around the stern to the bow handle. My hands hurt. Pull. Pull. Pull. Pull.

I’m not one to ask for help hastily. If that tells you anything about the situation we were in – I called for help. Jared and his wife were quick to accept. They suited up and headed towards our location.

Julia and I waited for reinforcements. We got cold as this was the first break after getting soaking wet. We decided to setup the anchor system in preparation for help, mainly to stay busy. We secured the most durable anchor upstream and tightened all the prusiks. Then we decided to give it one last yank.

HOLY HOLY it’s moving! We saw the most action in this final yank. We started to pull hard then release. It was rocking free. We pulled then the river pulled. It was just like in the videos! The safety line worked as expected, preventing the boat from getting away downstream. We pulled towards our little island, eventually getting the boat in a safe location. High fives all around.

Throughout the day there were people walking on the path above the river. A few asked us if we needed help or simply took pictures. I’m sure they thought we were crazy. The sad part was that when we got the boat free – no one was watching. Julia yelled out in happiness. We got out of the situation just as we had arrived into it – alone.

I quickly texted Jared about our success. He was already en route. We began to clean up our equipment to prepare for the final stage of the rescue. The boat was not out of the river yet. We didn’t bring paddles or have any desire to continue paddling this river. The plan was to pull the boat up the bank and onto the Jeep.

Jared also asked a river friend of his to come help. Together we all pulled the boat up the bank and onto the bike path. I laid next to it completely exhausted 4 hours after we arrived at the river – about 4pm.

The boat looks to be in great shape. A minor bend in the gunnel. Slight discoloration in some of the Kevlar, but no real damage. We loaded it to the top of my vehicle, changed into dry clothes, and enjoyed warm cider with Jared and Lyss. A great ending to a crazy weekend.

Now we are home. The garage is full of wet gear. My online shopping cart is full of river rescue equipment. Skye has no idea how much danger we were in, she just wants to go on another adventure. Overall – life is good. Long list of lessons learned on this one. Julia and I survived an adventure together – handling the stress extremely well throughout. I’m proud of us.

A river rescue course is next on the list. Official training will be helpful the next time we get ourselves into a situation like this (I mean – so we can avoid another situation like this).

We almost died, then we didn’t. Yay.

-Chris

#canoe #greenriver #Kent #WA #Clipper #Tripper

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