#BUT NO THAT BITCH HAD TO BUY TWO GODDAMN FUCKING FISH ON A WHIM

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

god im so sick of my mother i take my post from this morning back i hope that bitch chokes on her coffee for real

[wildroseofarran]

Barnacles || Tristan, Oliver, & Ronan

Oliver: The day was hotter than he'd ever felt before from Edenton. Sweltering, nasty heat like he'd felt on his deployments.

Oliver felt in the cooler for something to drink. How were they out of everything? He could swear he could see the water evaporating from the goddamn ocean.

Off came his tattered gray shirt, tucked into his jeans.

"At this point I fuckin' pray for another hurricane," he called to Tristan.

Tristan: "Bite your tongue, Cole," Tristan called back. He too was shirtless, hair piled into a messy bun and sweat pouring down his forehead. "Unless you wanna put in another few days of ship maintenance."

Oliver: "So long as this thing don't have a breakdown. I'll get under the boat right fuckin' now if it got me a drink."

Tristan: He poked his head around the corner. "That a serious offer? Feel like scraping barnacles?"

Oliver: "Get me some fuckin' cold drinks n'I'll dive right now."

Tristan: "Is there any more ice in the freezer? There's a case of water in the cabin but it's at room temp. Probably hot as fuck just like everything else."

Oliver: "S'more like a slushie at this point. Toss it in the cooler n'I'll get started."

Tristan: "Done. Grab the goggles and tool belt."

Hell, maybe he'd join him, he thought as he went into the sweltering cabin to get the water.

Oliver: Back to following orders, tossing his shirt into the cabin, along with his necklace he'd forgotten to remove. He didn't need a tan line of a cross on his chest.

"Hear 'bout that tropical storm brewin'?"

Tristan: "Yeah. If it turns into another full-blown hurricane I'm gonna lose my goddamn mind. I tell you my dock at home took a beating? Gonna have to take a weekend to fix it."

Oliver: "I'll help with that, man."

Ronan: Tristan would feel his phone buzz. It would be a message from Ronan, a picture of him and the stranger from far away.

{Text} Send me $1m or I'll kill ur daughter. I have her hidden away & I've got eyes on u RIGHT NOW

Tristan: "Seriously? Thanks. I'll pay you in beer and margaritas. And actual money."

He felt in his pocket for his phone, squinting at it for a moment before laughing.

{Text to Ronan} Are you creeping on me over there?

Oliver: "Ya had me at beer." The laughter had him turning, body beginning to bead with sweat. The house tattoo on his arm was given the illusion of being rained on with his perspiration. He wiped his mouth and pointed.

"Someone ya know?"

Ronan: {Text} Bitch I might be. Whos the guy???! U have other friends??? disappointed

Tristan: "Yep, sure is. That's my friend Ronan."

{Text} The guy is Oliver, he works with me

{Text} Take a break from creeping and come meet him

Oliver: "Now that's a name." Over the side of the deck he went.

"Can he help with the barnacles?"

Ronan: {Text} I dunno. Whwt do i get in return?

Tristan: “Is he physically capable? Yes. Will he? Highly doubtful.”

{Text} My company and everlasting platonic love

{Text} Also pizza later

Oliver: "Great. What's he, a Northerner?"

Ronan: {Text} u had me at pizza.

He'll be over shortly, eyeing up the stranger the closer he got.

Tristan: “Irishman. One who’s not all that crazy about manual labor.”

{Text} Deal. Be polite, okay?

Tristan put his phone away and waved as Ronan approached. “Hey, renaissance man.”

Oliver: "Renaissance man? That your official title?" Oliver called.

Ronan: "Actually my full title is Renaissance Man De La Miguel Rodriguez the Third."

Ronan: He hadn't seen that last message, so he doesn't have to be polite. That's the law.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled and shook his head. “It’s his nickname. Ro, this is Oliver, my first mate. Oliver, this is my friend Ronan.”

Oliver: A stained rough hand was brought out for Ronan to take.

"Sup, man?"

Ronan: Gross. He smacked Oliver's palm with his own by way of greeting. "Hey. What's goin' on?"

Oliver: Uh, the fuck? His gaze remained steady despite his desire to glance at his captain.

"Anyway. Gonna start scrubbin'."

Ronan: Ronan finally looked at Oliver's face properly, having to drag his eyes away from those gross hands. He smirked. Where has Tristan been hiding this fucker?

"Or you guys stop workin' for the day an' we go out for some drinks?"

Oliver: "M'at the whim of my captain, but also wherever the beer flows."

Tristan: “The beer can flow after we scrape those barnacles.” Tristan gave Ronan a look. “No distracting my crew, you.” My straight crew.

Ronan: Ronan gave Tristan a wink. Suuuuuuuuuure thing, Captain.

"Stop bein' such a killjoy, your little boat will still be here tomorrow."

Oliver: "Could help n'get it over with? I'll buy ya two rounds of your favorite drink."

Tristan: Tristan grinned at the suggestion. Ronan doing physical labor was a delightful thought.

Ronan: "My clothes are worth a bit too much t'start... what did you say? Fuckin' scrubbin'?" Yeah, no.

Oliver: "Yeah. Ya take those off." He gestured between himself and Tristan, very much shirtless and sun baked.

Tristan: “And if you’re particularly attached to your pants, you can take those off, too. We won’t judge your choice in underwear.”

Ronan: Why is Tristan gesturing like Ronan hadn't very much noticed........ He may need to make a point of walking this way every day from now on.... What time do you start work, guys? Which days? Asking for a friend.

"I've got silk underwear on, so I'd have t'take those off too."

Oliver: Oliver's smile returned with a mischievous show of teeth.

"Tris, ya still got a scuba suit in the cabin?"

Tristan: Tristan grinned back. “Ya know, as a matter of fact I do. Goggles and everything.”

Ronan: Ugh fuck. "How 'bout I jus' support you, like, emotionally?"

Oliver: "Gonna miss out on free shots."

Tristan: He chuckled. "Go on then. You can heckle us while we scrape."

Ronan: "Heckle?" Hm... but the free rounds... "What would I have t'do if I helped?"

Oliver: "Ya take this here - or this brush - n'ya remove the shit on the sides of the boat." He'd deal with the bottom.

Tristan: Tristan was riding the same train of thought. "Just the sides, don't worry about the bottom. We'll take care of that. If you decide to help, that is.'

Ronan: He inspected the boat from where he was stood.

"Gimme your pants." He gestured to Tristan.

Tristan: "You wanna wear my pants instead of the scuba suit?"

Ronan: "It's gonna be fuckin' tight an' shit."

Tristan: "Have you ever been in a scuba suit? It's designed to be mobile and comfortable in the water. Especially this one since it's me sized and not you sized."

Ronan: "An' clingy. You tryna catch a glimpse of my cock size?" the question was directed at both Tristan and Oliver. "Jus' gimme your pants. You can wear the suit."

Oliver: Gayyyy. "They won't fit ya anyway. You're already fuckin' wearin' pants." And he was removing his own in favor of the new black, red, and blue board shorts in the cabin. The door creaked halfway shut behind him. If Ronan was determined, he would catch a glimpse of perfect swimmer's tan, accentuating the pale firm muscle of his ass.

Tristan: “It can’t cling if it’s too big for you,” he chuckled. “Also, it’s not silk. Silk clings. And Oliver’s right, my pants are too big for you, but if you insist. Just tighten my belt all the way.”

Ronan: "Yeah but mine are fuckin' clean an' nice. This is what clothes are meant t'look like. Must be a shock." Ronan would glance but nothing else... even if the image would linger with him for a moment after looking away.

"Uh huh. You're so lucky I'm even doin' this for you, you likkle prick."

Tristan: "Aww, you cut me to the quick." He grinned and kissed Ronan's cheek. "Yes, I'm very lucky. Thank you."

Tristan proceeded to strip out of his jeans. Unlike Oliver, he already had his trunks on underneath as he'd been vaguely planning to tackle the barnacles before the ungodly heat forced his hand. "Here you go. I need to get my tank on."

Ronan: Ronan was clearly very proud of himself! He smiled to prove it. The kiss helped.

"Don't start fallin' in love with me, 'kay?" He takes the jeans. Yeah. Pretty huge. He'll need to swap one pair for another... where... should he change...

Oliver: Oliver widened the door to the cabin and stretched. It seemed his favorite boss caved.

"So how pale are ya, Irish? I wanna see veins. Ya better bring honor t'Ireland," he smirked.

Tristan: "I'll try my best," Tristan chuckled, gathering his goggles and scuba tank from a storage compartment.

Ronan: Hm. He steps towards the cabin, putting a hand on Oliver's chest in order to guide him out of the way.

"I grew up in Italy an' have been around America for years. I'm tan, thanks."

Oliver: Touchy feely. Not new by any means, and not a surprise. What little he knew of the man, the touch was accepted.

"Italy, huh? Ya like the Mediterranean?"

Ronan: "Nah, fish kinda freak me out. Why the fuck do they move like that? Eugh, yikes." He stepped into the cabin to start changing. He'll have to message Matheus and let him know, too. Ronan'll also send a picture of his shirt folded up neatly and ask if he's proud.

Oliver: {Text via Matheus} Very tight fold. You've learned well.

Tristan was given a smile, humored by this random piece of information. A phobia, maybe?

"What about, ha, octopus? That do anything to ya?"

Tristan: Tristan was laughing as he strapped his tank on.

"He'd have told me, wouldn't you, Ronan? He would've freaked out every time he saw the one tatted on my arm. Speaking of, think I'll get another. Maybe a giant squid on my leg somewhere. Or a Kraken."

Ronan: "You should let Conor do it. You won't find any tattoo artist with as much experience as him." He smirked. It was a joke only he and Tristan would get.

He emerged changed, shirtless, and with the belt keeping Tristan's trousers up. "I'm fine with them. They don't move like-" he gestured the wishy-washy movement with a hand.

Oliver: The thirst which had nearly suffocated him had been quenched. Quietly, he got to work, tethered to the boat with rope and carabineer.

"I shoulda been in the Navy," he muttered, disappearing behind the port side with a wink.

Tristan: Tristan hummed thoughtfully. He actually hadn't thought of that. "Maybe I'll pop by his place and ask him," he said, smiling at Ronan. "See what he'll charge me."

He grabbed some gloves and a scraper for Ronan. "That's seriously the only thing that freaks you out about fish? The way they swim?"

Ronan: "I'll get him t'do it t'you for fre- actually you're makin' him do this, so I'm gonna tell him t'charge you double." the gloves and scraper were snatched. He put the gloves on far from gracefully. "They look weird an' move weird. An' they're wet ALL the time, or they die. It's fuckin' weird. Weird!"

Tristan: “You will not be present during price negotiations,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I pay well. Just ask Oliver.”

He laughed again. “Ain’t their fault. They’re just trying to live their lives. All right, into the water, Renaissance man.”

Ronan: "... Are there fishes around here?" He shuddered. "Talkin' about 'em freaked me out..."

Oliver: "Get in the fuckin' water!" came from the other side of the boat.

Tristan: "Nah, not in this area. The noise and activity from the ships scares them away. Come on. Oliver will show you how to do it."

Tristan adjusted his oxygen and his goggles and lowered himself into the water. A few moments later he disappeared beneath the hull.

Ronan: "Fuck you!" He casually called back. He watched Tristan disappear into the water and... shuddered. "Ugh. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Oliver: "You'll be fuckin' fine! C'mere n'start scrapin' with me."

Ronan: "You come HERE!" grumpy grumpy.

Oliver: A head peeked from the edge a moment later. "What d'ya want, an audience?"

Ronan: No, he just wanted to be a brat.

"You're on thin fuckin' ice."

Oliver: "That was easy," he smirked.

Ronan: "What was?"

Oliver: "Gettin' on thin fuckin' ice." Beads of sweat and ocean were wiped from his brow. "If ya can't swim just say so."

Ronan: He scoffed. "Can't an' won't are different."

Oliver: "The result's the same." He held out his hand. "Come on. I'll help ya down."

Ronan: He squinted at the hand. "I thought you weren't a pansy."

Oliver: "Says the man afraid of fish."

Ronan: "What's that got t'do with bein' a pansy?"

Oliver: "You're a fuckin' pussy."

Ronan: "People wanna fuck me? True."

Oliver: "People wanna fuck you?"

Ronan: "Yeah. Like a pussy." Is there a fish somewhere he can throw at this fucker?

Oliver: "You're alright with that?"

Ronan: "Are YOU?"

Oliver: "I ain't into all that gay stuff. N'I ain't wantin' a conversation. Just get in."

Ronan: He gave the other a dirty look.

"You sound like-" me not that long ago. "Make me, nigga!"

Oliver: "If you were any less black you'd be clear." A splash followed his disappearance from view.

Ronan: Eyes rolled. Yeah. He's not gonna help. He'll find a place to sit and smoke some weed instead.

Tristan: It was a few minutes before Tristan's head popped out of the water again.

He looked around. "Ro?"

Ronan: "Mm? Your friend's a piece of shit. Wanna smoke?"

Tristan: "Ro, you're supposed to be helping!"

Oliver: "He's just gonna keep tellin' me why people wanna fuck him."

Ronan: "Go back t'your fish friends!"

Tristan: "Jesus Christ. Ro, if you weren't gonna get in why take my pants?"

Ronan: "I was gonna get in 'til he annoyed me, now I don't wanna help him."

Tristan: "You're not helping him, you're helping me."

Ronan: "Ughhhh why you gotta pull that shit?"

Tristan: Tristan flashed his best smile. “Is it working?”

Ronan: "Bitch it might be." He threw his joint into the water and below and shuddered. He hadn't even smoked enough to calm his nerves yet, but apparently here he goes... "How do I get in?"

Tristan: He laughed. "Nice to know I still have my charm. There's a ladder on the side there. I'll catch you if you need."

Ronan: "Uhhhh huh." he just had to... uh... do some stretches first...

Tristan: Tristan swam over to the ladder and offered up a hand to Ronan. "C'mere, renaissance man. I've gotcha."