#wedge anchor service

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

Happy new year 2023

[eilinelsghost]

An Anchor Incarnate

A septet of double-drabbles for @searchingforserendipity25. Seren, you're an absolute gem of a person and I'm so glad to have gotten to know you this year. I hope you enjoy this horseshoe fic of the Tragedy Brothers!

He is nearly weightless. 

Gelmir expected his arms to strain under the weight of this soul new-wrought, to feel in his body the same gravity that sang within him; for he had known the moment his brother first breathed of Arda—presence rippled along his spirit like daybreak. He had rushed back from the orchards at a sprint, reaching the gates just as his cousin passed in search of him. 

But the bundle Guilin sets in his arms is feather-light, wrinkled as a mole-rat, and snuffled grunts rise from the woolen wrapping as the infant settles in against his brother’s chest. He is not even the length of his forearm. 

Gelmir holds him like glass.

“Speak, onya,”[1] Guilin urges, then laughs as the tiny face turns to root against Gelmir’s arm. “Speak, that he might know thy voice.”

He draws a finger along Gwindor’s cheek. It is impossibly soft—like freshly risen dough, he thinks in quick amusement, the loaves his mother kneads each enquië[2]—then he shifts to trace his finger along the tiny row of fingers. “Gwinig,”[3] he murmurs as they fold around his knuckle and he too laughs, delighted. “Take my hand, little one. I am here.”

When he shoves the barrel aside, Gwindor is already shaking, his breath coming in gasps and fingertips bloodied from scrabbling against the rock and wood. Gelmir swears under his breath and pulls him free of the crevice. Foolish children…he must have been wedged there an hour or more, alone in the back wall of the wine cellar. 

“Hold thine eyes to the far wall.” Gelmir’s arms are about him as he collapses against the stone. The boy has ever feared the dark, the many small, constrained places within the caverns that lurk sightless and breathless amid the stone—the other children have learned of it. “Match thy breathing to mine. Slower, honeg, steady and full.” The child’s hands tremble as they clutch his brother’s tunic and Gelmir runs a hand over the matted hair, slowing the rhythm of his own breathing. “Number the gems of the sky, gwinig. Can you say them with me? Twenty stars in Heaven’s Hunter.”

Faint and shaking, Gwindor’s voice joins the rhyme, “Seven in the Sickle bright.”

He rests his head against his brother’s shoulder and Gelmir feels the drumming pulse begin to steady.

“Thirteen stars crown Anarríma.”

“A thousand weave the netted light.”

Gelmir kneels. The air of Tol Sirion is crisp with the bite of early spring, the river full and singing. It is fitting, he feels, cohesive in some way to join the King’s Guard here on the watchful isle, the waters rushing past in chorus with his own spirit. 

“Hold my oath bound in love and fealty,” Gelmir recites while the king grasps the proffered hilt, “my service in steadfast faith.”

Gwindor watches at their father’s side, his face eager amid the gathered crowd. His features have begun shedding the roundness of childhood and Gelmir feels a pang at the shift.

“All my days I pledge in service to my king. Bond of word made bond of heart, unto death defending with blade and body.”

His brother had held the new sword in awe when Gelmir dressed for the ceremony, his fingers tracing the signet of the Guard.

When I am of age, I shall follow after thee.

Gelmir shivers again. A foreboding arose at Gwindor’s words that had nearly turned him from this rite. But still he kneels, still he binds his oath, still he bows under the blessing and takes the sword the king returns to his hand. 

The gates open to admit two shrouded figures—Atani men, the both of them. Dark-eyed and sharp-featured, they linger in the arched passage and ask for the lord of the tower. 

“Gorlim!” Edrahil’s voice carries through the courtyard, broken and hoarse from the battle, half-choked by the smoke as his sprint outpaces Orodreth’s. “Arthad!” He is beside them in an instant and catches the foremost by the arms. 

Guilin cannot hear the words that pass between them, but he watches the desperation carve lines upon the captain’s face. 

They are lost, then.

He is not dead. Gwindor was adamant when Edrahil returned in the night, haggard and wounded, empty handed. The host had been swept in two and the king ambushed with the remainder of his guard. He could not reach them. My brother is not dead. I would have felt in my own if his spirit had gone.

Would Gelmir’s brother be adamant still? Guilin strains his ears as Orodreth reaches the passage and the message is delivered. He cannot hear a word. With an effort, he draws his eyes from the gate and turns them to Gwindor in a hopeless query. His son’s face is a mask, expressionless.

Edrahil kneels. The air in the great hall is taut like the aftertaste of lightning. It is fitting, Gwindor feels, a recompense in some way that they share the same fall—his king who led them to ambush, the captain who returned without his brother.

No oaths of faith has he broken this night, Gwindor reflects as Edrahil returns the crown to the king’s hand. His own were broken upon Tol Sirion when the messengers came. He had looked upon the king’s prostrate form and foresworn any fealty the moment they bore him to the healers while Gelmir was forsaken in the Fen. And Barahir’s men said the prisoners were blinded.

“You remain my king,” the captain’s voice rings out, “and theirs, whatever betide.”

Gwindor feels himself tense at the words. Somewhere within him a child’s outrage clamors, for they have turned on Felagund like wildcats, toying and wearying before the kill. 

All my days I pledge in service to my king. Gelmir had sworn it so. Gelmir had wished it so. 

Yet still Gwindor stands in silence.

Finduilas shifts from his side and for the first time he knows her anger, cold and sharp, and their mingled thought fractures.

Gwindor’s breathing is frantic. His fingers claw at the rock and his palms slip on blood, on the sludge that seeps through the mine shafts.

He should never have attempted it. The stone scrapes each shoulder, it keeps his head bowed nearly to his wrists. He can hardly draw a breath.

A scream presses at the back of his throat.

Close thine eyes, gwinig. The memory of his brother’s voice is precise. Number the gems of the sky.

“Twenty stars in Heaven’s Hunter,” he whispers in a shaking sob, dragging himself forward. “Seven in the Sickle bright.”

The Talath Dirnen opens around him, the vast canopy of sky soaring beyond sight. He breathes deep of that imagined air and remembers his hair trailing through the wind. He had clung to his brother’s waist against the speed of their father’s stallion and Gelmir’s hand rested over his wrists in reassurance.

Gwindor fills his lungs and forces himself forward as wind brushes his face in tandem with memory and he shivers. 

Wind brushes his face.

His eyes fly open and a sliver of sky blazes through the slag, Elbereth’s jewels fierce and brilliant, welcoming as he pulls himself free of the mines.

He is nearly weightless.

The fëa is present, tangible and steady, but the hröa is an afterthought. It hovers, insubstantial yet beneath the hoary yews, an uncertain companion in the spirit’s venture.

Gwindor knew the moment his brother’s decision was made—warmth rippled along his spirit, presence he had not felt since the horror of Anfauglith—and he passed Námo’s messenger as a blur upon the plains, galloping north ere the summons arrived. 

The fëantarwa’s[4] stillness is disorienting after the mad rush. But the figure that stands before him is whole, achingly familiar, his spirit as vibrant and fierce as the hour he rode north from the guarded isle. 

Gwindor steps forward as one in a dream. 

He will not see you, the Maia at the gate had advised. The body is capable, but oft we find the soul carries forward its wounds till the healing is complete. Speak early that he might know your voice and find an anchor incarnate in the memory.

“Mírenya.” Gwindor’s voice trembles through the silent grove as he reaches out, his own sight fumbling through his tears, and he grasps his brother’s fingers within his own. “Take my hand, dear one. I am here.”

1. onya: son 2. enquië: Eldarin six-day week 3. gwinig: baby, little one (Elvish play-name for the little finger, used by and taught to children) 4. fëantarwa: garden of the spirits (lit: spirit-garden)

[riverguides]

@factiousfcrged said, " just go, okay? let me do this. "

growing up in valais, desiderius joined the army because it was really the only thing to comfortably do at the time. that knowledge helped him through the early years of his immortality where he loaned out his services as a pikeman to earn his way to food and lodgings. it wasn't really until arthur found him that he stopped fighting. even then, when the old guard needed help with a particular contract he was willing to step back into that mentality.

but, amos was a different creature entirely. he hunted the things that went bump in the night and not necessarily because it was the right thing to do. desiderius always attributed to whatever happened to the immortal before they'd met that fateful day. really, it was the duality of the man that desi had fallen in love with. the gentleness beneath the monster's skin.

if he were being honest with himself, desiderius had also fallen in love with the violence. on having that moral line in the sand and following it no matter what. he'd known, no matter what, he'd do his best to protect amos in any way he could no matter where their relationship took them.

his facial expression is the farthest thing from disapproval. if anything, it's disappointment in himself for not being able to follow amos on these journeys.

stepping forward, gentle fingers glide along the other immortal's jaw and they anchor him down for the kiss that follows. it's a touch infused with all the love in his heart and meant as a reminder that nothing amos did ( or felt he had to do ) would ever wedge anything between them. " i love you. please come home to me. "

[midseo]

Through Bolt Anchors - TBA, Drop In Anchors - DIA, Manufacturer, India

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[luminous007]

New Construction Brackets for 1-1/2" Helical Pier

Material: Bracket-Ductile Iron, Grade 654512 Per ASTM A536; RCS Shaft-Per ASTM A29 or A576

Hot-Dipped Galvanized per ASTM A123, after fabrication

Do not exceed 165 ft/lbs of Torque on 7/8" dia

Lifting thread rods during stabilizing or load lock-off

Recommend anchor shaft cutoff level above the bottom of the footing is 10" to 11" maximum lift distance

5/8"X4-1/2" wedge bolt

Notes: OEM service is available, different materials and specifications can be customized according to your demands.

[kaizenmetals]

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[sarahdgordon]

HEADSTONE READS: In Memory of Charles Albert Cowdery and Bessie his beloved wife. Both were lost at the wreck of the barque James Service off Fremantle July 23rd 1878. aged 33 and 28 respectively.

photgraph taken Mandurah Cemetary, Pinjarra road.

While exploring a little cemetery in the new town we now call home I came across this headstone and became fascinated by the events that led to this young couple being buried here.

In 1878, the James Service, a 455-ton iron barque built in Scotland in 1869, set sail from India to Melbourne. It carried a cargo of sack bags, castor oil, jute, and sundry items including crates of bowler hats.

On board was a crew of ten* and ten* passenger, the passengers a theatrical group from London, bound for Melbourne.

One of this group was well known actress Bessie (stage name Edwards) Cowdery 28 and her husband Charles Albert Cowdery, 33.

I have found in a search for Bessie Edwards as an actress two mentions in newspaper courtesy of Footlight Notes:

‘Mr. R. BLACKMORE has organised another company for a five months’ season in Calcutta, the artistes engaged comprising Messrs Crawford, Cowdery, [George] Titheradge, Bond, E. Sheppard, Owen, Beverley; and the Misses Alice Ingram, Bessie Edwards, Alma Sainton, A. Rose, Phœbe Don, G. Leigh, F. Seymour, and Tessy Hamerton. They sailed from Southampton on the 21st inst. in the ”Poonah.” The Corinthian Theatre will be the scene of their operations.’ (The Era, London, Sunday, 24 September 1876, p. 4c)

‘CALCUTTA. ‘My dear Tahite, – Miss [Rosa] Cooper‘s benefit came off a few days ago. She played Miami in ”Green Bushes,” and the house was wedged. I understand the low-comedy man of this theatre is engaged to Mr. Coppin. The artist and the manager are shortly going to China in a panorama (”The Prince in India”). The French opera has been a disheartening failure. I never saw anything so bad, even at a third-class concert in Melbourne. Miss Bessy Edwards is a pretty taking actress, and Miss Phœbe Don, if not a great actress, is so bewilderingly beautiful a woman, that young men – and for the matter of that old men – go distraught about her… .’ (The Australasian, Melbourne, Australia, Saturday, 28 April 1877, p. 19c)

On July the 22nd, 1878, residents south of Mandurah, Western Australia, claimed to have heard a signal gun of a ship in distress with another local claiming to have seen a large vessel minus its mizzen mast.  This was the James Service. The next day a local stockman reported to the police that wreckage had washed up on the beach. From the tallest vantage point, a police officer could see the top mast of a vessel but as the sea was so rough, no boats could be launched to attempt a rescue. By late afternoon the mast could no longer be seen.

Over the next weeks, items that had once been on board the James Service washed ashore. Tins of castor oil, a long boat bearing the name James Service, items of clothing, boxes, trunks and luggage, some labelled as belonging to Bessie Edwards. Sadly, bodies also washed ashore. Some, like Bessie and her husband were buried in a small cemetery in Mandurah.  Others were interred in the sand dunes on the beaches they washed up on, so badly decomposed they could not be transported to more suitable places. They in time, however, were moved to different cemeteries.

It is not certain what caused the James service to flounder and sink as no one survived to tell the tale.

The only clue comes from a passenger's diary that washed up on the beach. Dated 20th July, the writer stated that ‘the ship had encountered very boisterous weather for some time, and that on one occasion the wind had been so strong as to put her on her beam ends, the yards touching the water.’

It is assumed that the ship was damaged in this bad weather and attempted to reach Fremantle for urgent repairs sinking before reaching the safety of the port.

The James Service is virtually part of the reef now, encrusted with marine growth. Its anchor rests in the small Mandurah cemetery alongside some of the unfortunate passengers and crew.

There is an interesting newspaper report of the sinking courtesy of TROVE which can be found here.

https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/5941437

Information used in this post is courtesy of the City of Mandurah, Museum of WA, and Footlight Notes websites.

*Some sites put crew at 11 and passengers at 7.

[brandz-fly1]

Securing Your Cargo: Best Practises for Safe and Reliable Transport 

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One of the primary considerations when securing cargo is selecting appropriate equipment. High-quality cargo straps, chains, ropes, or nets should be used to secure items within the vehicle or onto trailers. These tools should be rated for the expected load capacity and be in good condition, free from any signs of wear or damage. Using the right equipment ensures the cargo remains stable and intact during transportation.

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Securing cargo using multiple anchor points is a recommended practise. Anchor points within the vehicle or trailer, such as cargo hooks or loops, should be utilised to secure the cargo at various locations. This distributes the force and ensures that the load remains stable, even when encountering road bumps or sudden stops best movers and packers in abu dhabi

Using blocking and bracing techniques can provide additional stability to the cargo. Blocking involves using wedges, chocks, or braces to prevent movement in different directions, while bracing involves using additional support structures to reinforce the cargo. These techniques are particularly useful for irregularly shaped or fragile items that may require extra stability and protection.

Regular inspections during transport are crucial to ensuring that the cargo remains secure. Drivers should periodically check the load and re-tighten straps or reposition items if necessary. If any signs of shifting or loosening are observed, immediate action should be taken to re-secure the cargo. These inspections help identify potential issues before they escalate into safety hazards cargo abu dhabi

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In conclusion, securing cargo through best practises is vital for safe and reliable transport. By using appropriate equipment, employing proper loading techniques, utilising multiple anchor points, applying blocking and bracing methods, conducting regular inspections, and complying with regulations, cargo can be effectively secured. These practises mitigate the risk of accidents, damage, or loss during transit, ensuring the safe delivery of goods while promoting the overall well-being of drivers and other road users cargo services in abu dhabi to india

[unickvibration]

nchoring Installation

Sometimes, Industrial Machines need to be anchored to the ground. “UNICK” provides the service for anchoring to fix the machine position. There are two types of anchoring:..https://www.unickvibration.com/product/anchoring-installation

[formeryelpers]

K Grill, 3646 Nogales St, Ste b, West Covina, CA 91792

There aren’t many Mediterranean restaurants in/near West Covina. K Grill is Persian and halal. The menu includes appetizers, salads, kabobs (chicken, beef, lamb).

Chicken koobideh plate ($14.99): Two ground chicken kabobs, long grain rice with a bit of saffron, grilled tomato, garlic sauce/spread. The rice was plain and dry – some Persian places have very flavorful, moist rice. The kabobs were fine – lightly spiced. A bit plain too. The tomato had no char. The garlic sauce was runny but strong. They provided a thinner pita cut into wedges.

Appetizer combo ($12.99): yogurt, hummus, shirazi salad, 3 dolmas: The four items were packed separately and I think they gave us more than we’d usually get for an appetizer combo. Mr. Froyo said it was good. The hummus did not have much tahini. He said it tasted like ground up garbanzo beans but he was fine with that. He liked the yogurt but there was so much of it that he didn’t finish it. The dolmas were small and not too sour; they seemed fresh. He really liked the freshness and simplicity of the shirazi (cucumber tomato salad).

The décor is okay – they have rugs (Persian?) on the wall and some TVs. I guess it’s homey. Parking was easy to find since they’re in a big strip mall anchored by the new Shun Fat Supermarket.

Service was friendly. I tried to call in the order but no one answered the phone. It took 20 minutes and they cooked the kabobs to order. She even threw in some lentil soup and several bags of pita wedges. Everything was packed well with lots of plastic bags.

3.5 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[angryschnauzer]

Ok imma lil drunk rn but thats besides the point. Incant stop thinking about balconies. Back in my hoe~ing days I used to LOVE BALCONIES. And i cant stop.thinking about getting dicked donw by Henry on a balcony now

Darling, your wish is my command. Sorry this took so long

Room With A View

Summary: Whilst on holiday with Henry in Southern Italy, the sight of you on your hotel room’s balcony is just too much for Henry’s desires.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Biting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie.

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites where all of my stories are posted as well. Masterlist got too big for tumblr so can be found on AO3

Resting your camera on the wall of the balcony, you looked over the gorgeous coastline as the sun was starting to set, the white walls of the town buildings shining bright in the oranges and pinks of the sky. A pollen drunk bee bounced from bloom to bloom on the bougainvillea vine that crept up the side of the building and around the balcony, and you watched as it slowly flew away. The warm breeze caressed the bare skin of your legs, your soft dress billowing in the wind as it moved gently around your thighs.

The sound of the shower shutting off brought your attention back to the present, a small smile forming as you thought to the leisurely day of shopping in the boutiques you’d done with Henry, followed by a rather impromptu game of basketball with some local kids in a courtyard when they’d recognised him and had invited him to show them a few moves. You had happily watched from the sidelines, after all your wedge sandals were hardly made for sports, but you had taken joy in seeing Henry work up a sweat despite his soft linen attire.

Upon your return to your hotel suite Henry had decided to take a shower before you went out for dinner, and as much as you’d have liked to join him, it would have taken you considerably longer to get ready afterwards, plus you wanted to get some shots of the sunset.

The view was stunning, snapping a few shots before glancing back at just the right moment to see Henry emerging from the small bathroom, towel tied dangerously low around his hips, skin still glistening as water droplets hung in his chest hair. You silently gnawed at your lip, squeezing your thighs together to try and stem the arousal that was rapidly growing between them, knowing that if you didn’t get the shots of the sunset at that very moment the sun would have set. You should however have known that they were going to be the last shots of the evening you would take, as seconds later his strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist and you felt his chest against your back;

“What’cha doing?” Henry’s deep voice held a timbre of mischief and before you could answer you felt his teeth nibbling against your bare shoulder. Leaning back against his firm body your ass nestled against his crotch and you could feel the tell-tale twitch that told you dinner plans were going to be later than expected. A deep hum of appreciation resonated through his chest, his hands slowly pulling your dress up as he started to fluidly rut his hardening length against your ass, his lips moving to your other shoulder where his sharp teeth started to playfully bite, the pressure increasing as he progressed.

Henry pulled his hips back just a little so he could lift your dress over your ass, a small whistle escaping his lips;

“You mean to tell me you’ve been walking around in this short dress with just this flimsy excuse for underwear on all day?” he hooked his finger beneath the elastic of your lacy thong, pulling it to the side before that same digit found its way to your lips. Another hum of appreciation rumbled through his chest as he found you wet, seeking out your clit and giving it a few circular strokes before trailing his hand down a little to push that finger into your velvet channel;

“Hmmmn, not quite ready for me yet”

Pulling his hand away he quickly spun you to face him, capturing your mouth for a fierce kiss before lifting you as if you weighed little more than a feather to let you sit on the stone surround of the balcony;

“Henry!” you hissed, knowing what he was planning as he quickly got to his knees. Those blue eyes sparkled like the sea that surrounded the peninsular, except there was far more danger in those eyes than the mediterreanan sea. Clinging to the edge of the stone wall you nibbled on your lip as he parted your legs and pressed soft kisses up your inner thighs, before taking hold of your underwear and with one swift tug snapped it at the gusset. His gaze only left yours as he took in your glistening petals, before the blue mischief was back upon you as his wide tongue swept through your folds. 

There was no way of being silent when Henry ate you out, his tongue was everywhere; wide and juicy, he didn’t hold back with his noises of appreciation at the feel and taste of you. For you your precarious position gave another element of excitement, and as you scrambled for something to anchor yourself on one hand found his still shower damp curls, the other grasped at the metal trellis beside you, the pink bougainvillea flowers resting against your hand as your fingers curled around the metal framework holding it up. The rub of his nose against your clit and the days stubble on your softest of skin helped to bring on your orgasm, his tongue deep within you as you soaked his face with your essence, the pleasure surging through you as he held you tight before pulling away just a little to grin at you. Sliding his hand between your legs he gently pushed two fingers inside you, before pulling them out and lifting them to your mouth;

“Taste how sweet you are”

Holding his wrist you took those fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his digits as you sucked at them. Looking down you saw how his towel had parted where his thighs were wide apart, his fat cock standing hard and proud from between the pristine white of the towel. With his fingers still in your mouth he stood and wriggled his hips just slightly to let the towel fall to the floor. Towering over you he made you feel tiny as you sat on the balcony wall, pulling his fingers from your mouth;

“Good girl. Now turn around and bend over”

There was no arguing or disagreeing, you wanted to do it and followed Henry’s firm command, gasping as he kicked your legs further apart and you felt the blunt tip of his weeping cock slide through your folds before catching on your empty hole. With a grunt he thrust into you, growling as your walls hugged his flesh so tight at the thick insertion parting your insides. 

“Oh fuck” you muttered, breathless as your body struggled to get used to being so full. No matter how many times the two of you had sex, each time felt like the first all over again, your body struggling to take his girth before it finally yielded and you felt pleasure like you’d never felt before.

Henry was a force of nature when he fucked you, the raw power in his body meant you had three orgasm’s for every one of his, your mind as fucked as your pussy would be from the amount of serotonin in your bloodstream where you would end up lust drunk afterwards. As he ploughed into your body you struggled to stifle the sounds of ecstasy bubbling from your lips, before with a grunt he pulled you flush with his chest, one hand wrapped around your ribcage as the other covered your mouth;

“So fucking good, your cunt feels so tight as you cum…” his teeth bit into your neck as his hips worked quickly, the pleasure pain signals hitting your brain drawing another orgasm from you as Henry started to chase his own. His hips slammed into your behind, the sound of flesh upon flesh making it painfully obvious to anyone within earshot what was happening on the shrouded balcony above them as they walked along the footpath below. Screaming into his hand you came again, and with one final thrust Henry pushed deep and you felt him release his thick load deep inside you. 

For the longest moment he just held you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders whilst still nestled deep within you, before he softened and pulled out, turning you in his arms to just hold you tenderly;

“Still want to go out for dinner tonight? Or would you prefer room service”

“Just give me a moment to clean up then we can try that seafood bistro we passed this afternoon”

A few moments later you had emerged from the bathroom having cleaned up best you could, adding a touch of makeup before stepping into the room and grinning at Henry as you shimmied out of the ruined panties and tossed them in the wastebasket in the corner. Grabbing your purse you smiled at Henry and hooked your arm through his as he paused;

“You don’t want to put replacements on?”

“Nope” you grinned at him, knowing the thought of you going commando would drive him insane for the whole meal.

“You wicked woman. We’re gonna need to get a table with a cloth on it so people can’t see my dick getting hard at the thought of your cum soaked pussy bare for me”

With a grin you pulled him out of the door, knowing it would be a quick meal and you’d be back fucking in the room sooner than you expected.

[midseo]

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[eclipsenoir]

hey guys whats going on in h [sees the flayed corpse of god] ohhhh fuck. oh shit

In the winter time, when everything outside of arms-length proved itself much too far out of reach, the nearest McDonald’s in service squatted two and a half blocks away from campus base. When drunk, sleepless and freezing, it was a four block’s distance from starvation incited by alcohol instead. And naturally this wasn’t accounting for any sort of vehicle in the mix, or other hurdles such as roadside construction and forgotten phones on a nightstand that wasn’t his. Yet still, Taeil knew that the unforgiving journey could only be made on liquescent knees.

Twelve, on the dot. January first graced the masses like a gunshot fired blind. Not a bullet for the clouds, where birds and bees would scatter from it to where startled deities hid. But downward between the toes, bullet to a layer of ice of a lake top that’d frozen over. With his knee wedged between two soft thighs and his mouth dripping of kisses full of reluctance, Taeil inched across the surface on bare, burning feet--until it began to crack beyond repair and callused guitarist hands were pushing at his shoulders in second thought, a minute or two past twelve. Flames swept the sky outside. Let’s stop seeing each other for good, Taeil heard in a detached whisper, and knew that there was no turning back from this conclusion. Not this time.

Where he landed first was Hanjae’s beer soaked floor, joining cans dropped and spilled by their haphazard staggering towards the bed earlier. Then came the cracked leather stool of a pub down the street—Rouge, which was frequented by other students especially for the sensual ambience and cheap alcohol. 

Here he picked up his roommate, Kang Jisoo. Found the guy huddled up in one of four corners with some girl that acted more like a hostage than a date on his arm. Jisoo was a lightweight, and talked with a lawless sort of zeal. He was the type who savoured every word he could taste, no matter how viable. Taeil had spent enough–too much time with him to know that it got even less merciful when liquor was in control of his tongue, making him overwhelming as he were inviting, hence, that poor girl. What was her name again? But Taeil couldn’t judge, as he, himself was no better. They tag teamed her ears off.

One too many drinks and girls to count eventually, he finally found himself at Ronald’s doorstep with morning on his trail. Feet numbed by frosty needles and clutching both halves of his heart raw. A storm of hunger pangs and something like dread crowded his stomach from where he sank and anchored on the steps. But an hour still pillared between him and the morning’s special menu, so succumbing to bleeding out his guts on the pavement meanwhile, Taeil began to deeply regret forgoing socks for swag. And falling in love.

In the winter time, it seemed that heartbreak was but an accidental bullet wound.

The early morning draft pressed a sizeable yawn across him as their mutual first greeting of this year; an icy chance at a new beginning. Playing coy with how it tousled locks dyed light brown to and fro, and turned bronze flesh to gold. Reminding Taeil why he’d always liked this hour, since he were young. Of times when he’d wake before the rest of the world and had a spare hour to play in his father’s belongings. Finding traces of work, stray pens and notes in jackets that weighed his small body down on polished hardwood. A pseudo-embrace, before the real thing. They smelled like him, too.

He felt the forgiving lightness of a clean slate settle over the now-grown shoulders he squared and relaxed, and welcomed it kindly with a yawn of his own. A whispered wish to finally settle from the partying and what’d sent him in such a fit in the first place follows, breath smoking, then caught by steady winds. I want to eat.

He didn’t hear any approaching footfalls, or any approaching anything for that matter. Not until a familiar voice came announcing company, as it shivered through a passing draft on the landscape. “...Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drink so much next time. Yiiiikes.”

Jisoo was standing above him, seeming to be weighing out several options for what sort of arbitrary, made up and personally spoken for ailment to diagnose his friend with. For a curious interval, something charged stirred in the air between them. A telepathic understanding only the two of them could translate. Then in wake of this, the bastard adopted a pearly white grin, knowing very well what plagued his roommate at such an holy hour. 

Taeil stood, suddenly defensive. If it weren’t for his vision pole dance spinning with the effort for stability, he would’ve kicked the other. “No, fuck you, I’m fine. Don’t you dare mention anything else or I swear– What took you so long? I’m fuckin’ dying here.”

“What?! Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Jisoo waved him off. “I was just trying to figure out the address so I don’t take any wrong turns! This place is kind of obscure y’know...”

“Yah, dumbass. It’s literally right in front of the bus stop, not even three blocks away from campus. You could’ve even taken the bus.”

“Ah, whatever. Whatever, crazy guy. That’s behind us now, don’t dwell on the past so much. Let’s go in, I’m thirsty.” Jisoo said, while seeking purchase of Taeil’s arm to hang off of, like a schoolgirl. Something he’d been doing often lately. “Come on.”

Taeil shoved him off, casual cruelty in his gesture. “It’s not opened yet. Get off me–”

“It’s not?!” Jisoo scurried to the front door and pressed his forehead against the glass, a peek inside revealing a barren silence of ghosts and seats. It brushed his grin off into a pout, cheek replacing his forehead. “Shit, I came so early for nothing... I’m starving.”

“You were supposed to leave that girl to come for me, you ass. Not the damn burgers!”

“Oh, I was? Oops, heh.”

“Yah-”

Then came the hour of verity; a breakfast fit only for kings, and Ronald. Over-excitement and lackluster rationality had prompted Taeil to forget the breakfast menu even existed, thus post wrestling Jisoo from his fair earned honour of being their first customer of the year, he’d demanded a double cheese burger in the place of fresh hotcakes. All before he could realize again where he were. An hour full of blood, sweat and sweet, salty tears had lead to this colloquial disaster. To commemorate such honourable chivalries, as Taeil masked it out to be instead, they found a comfortable blind spot in the back corner of the restaurant to officially start their campaign, free of interruptions.

A particularly intense game of footsie started below as wrappers scrunched and rustled like bushes, suspended at the underbelly of their table, though by the third round, begrudged interruptions began to plague Taeil’s copious kingdom. He was near sweating and hanging on a blunt verge of winning his first round when Jisoo’s phone hiccupped a text from Byeol, asking for them to come by later to plan something for Jisoo’s birthday the next day. A gentle tug of the leash.

They obliged with no choice but. Stumbled to Byeol’s parents’ apartment together with nothing but their wallets and impending hangovers. Taeil could barely mourn the loss of his ankles.

/

“You two’re still doing that?” Hansol addressed the two hyungs shortly after their arrival, having soon noticed the crossed arms they held behind their backs like crossed swords. Specifically, he were referring to how Taeil and Jisoo kept their palms pocketed in the other’s pants whenever they were drunk together. It’d started as a joke in sophomore year after being teased for getting along so well, so soon, though since then, it was chucked to tradition.

Their thing, which they took and ran with—as a means of not losing each other, they tirelessly explained to their friends, time and time again, including this one.

“...Right.” Hansol snorted, incredulous but choosing against an argument.

“Did you guys start without us?” Observed Taeil, eyes noting the phones sitting unlocked on the floor where their friends were all gathered. He avoided eye contact with Hanjae like a lifeline, though. You shouldn’t even be here. Thankfully, no one noticed or dared mentioning the awkwardly yawning distance they kept from each other, all of a sudden–as opposed to how intimate they usually were.

“Yeah, kind of.” Byeol chimed in offer. “You took toooo long.” 

“We. were. eating!” Jisoo explained again from Taeil’s left, or at least tried. Exasperation made his already soft tone jump octaves to a funny little squeak, and even more so in the end in response to Taeil abruptly giving his ass a final squeeze. Then he pushed Jisoo off, so he could join the rest.

“Traitors. Catch us up then.”

“Before we do that go get some water, then shower after.” Hanjae interrupted with cross insistence as Taeil settled far across from him. “Both of you.” He was the only one on the couch, which gave him some semblance of authority over the others who were sprawled across the floor, including Taeil himself. He even pulled a pillow in his lap, as though donning armor and waging for war.

Seojun, the second oldest, Hanjae’s roommate and the most responsible of all of them, followed up in agreement, practically flanking the other hyung. “Yeah, both of you. How long did you two even stay out for?”

“Thanks.” Taeil frowned around his response, defending himself with nonchalance. He purposely dodged the last question as well and rolled over to get up, eager to escape those eyes he’d been drowning in some hours before. In spite of that, he refused to unveil a single layer of his vulnerability while still adjacent to the cause of them. There wasn’t much he could recall anyway. 

“Will do.”

The blond guitarist just rolls his eyes, up and away. And those were the last words they’d uttered in the other’s direction for the rest of the week. 

Later that night, the six of them went out to a local lounge bar in Gangnam which was widely known for its generosity towards customers in celebration. The plan–however flawed, given how horrible they all were at agreeing to just one thing without someone ending up on fire, was to get Jisoo free drinks and somehow strike a bargain with the manager for a couple more, for the rest of them. A scam, basically. But life, as it always did, had other plans. 

Somehow, the night had started with them in the lounge bar and ended them in McDonalds again, sharing three cheeseburgers and two milkshakes that Taeil had to pay for. Six god-awful rounds of blood, sweat and sweet, salty tears playing rock, paper, scissors had lead to such poetically disastrous circumstances. Though for this one he’d spared no praise. Only such ghastly  dread that had him feeling stripped of good fortune in particular, because the one he’d lost to in the end was none other than Hanjae himself.

“Deja vu.”

“That’s not how it works.”

[southeastasianists]

The artefacts had lain in the sea near an isolated rock outcrop, undisturbed for centuries.

Then in 2015, commercial and salvage diver Ahmad Qamarulhazman was scanning for debris underwater near Pedra Branca when he saw what looked like a stack of plates.

But they were covered with so much marine growth - algae, molluscs and other organisms - that he thought it may have been a ship’s radiator. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like it belonged there - wedged between rocks at about 8m underwater.

When Mr Ahmad surfaced, he told his supervisor Ramdzan Salim.

That chance sighting led to the discovery of the first ancient shipwreck in Singapore waters, with the largest haul of blue-and-white porcelain from any documented shipwreck in the world.

"IT'S MIND-BOGGLING"

Pedra Branca, located near the eastern entrance of the Strait of Singapore, is off-limits to most people. The subject of a territorial dispute between Singapore and Malaysia since 1979, the Hague determined in 2008 that it belonged to Singapore.

What prompted divers to head down was a maritime accident on Dec 30, 2014.  

A Singapore-registered barge, POE Giant 12, had run aground at Pedra Branca due to bad weather. The barge was carrying two bulk loader cranes and they were in danger of toppling on Pedra Branca’s historic Horsburgh Lighthouse.

As part of the salvage operation, the cranes were blown up and the divers were there to clear the debris from the explosions.

On that salvage operation in 2015, Mr Ahmad had been on his last dive and they were making sure scraps of metal from the demolished cranes were cleared.

Instead, he found celadon plates lost in the sea since the 14th century.

Back then, his supervisor Mr Ramdzam was sceptical when he was told about the items Mr Ahmad saw.

The waters around Pedra Branca were rough. How could ceramic or porcelain plates survive such conditions, as well as the construction of the lighthouse in 1851 and the explosions that had just gone off?

“It’s mind-boggling, isn't it?” Mr Ramdzam told CNA in an interview at his home on Wednesday (Jul 7).

“To us, especially, (who were) on the job - we were dealing with explosives … And on the very last day when Ahmad did the post-removal survey, we find fragile stuff still intact - literally like an elephant stepping on an egg!”

“Maybe it's fate - that these things wanted us to find them,” he added.

CLUES FROM EMPRESS PLACE EXCAVATION

When their work was done, a small group of divers went out in a dinghy and retrieved a few marine growth-encrusted plates from the seabed - but it was a mystery what they were and how they ended up there.

Mr Ramdzan, 49, recounted how at a team dinner later, someone alerted him to television news footage of excavation findings at Empress Place.

He caught only a glimpse of the news broadcast, but when he read the newspapers the next day, he saw a plate that looked exactly like one of those he had retrieved from Pedra Branca.

Archaeologists had discovered Chinese imperial grade ceramics among other artefacts at Empress Place. Lead archaeologist Lim Chen Sian said then that the artefacts could reveal details about life in Singapore before the early colonial days.

Archaeological digs since then have found artefacts dating back to the 13th century, substantiating the belief that Singapore was a trade hub before colonial times.

It took a while for Mr Ramdzan to reach the right person at the National Heritage Board (NHB). At the same time, he had also contacted an auction house. But when someone at NHB got back to him, he turned down an offer from the auction house to evaluate the items.

Mr Ramdzam recalled that they rode to a meeting at the ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute with the plates in a box perched on his motorcycle.

“We put them out on the meeting table ... and we can see their amazement ... we'd got some good pieces,” he said.

NERVOUS, UNSURE

Nine months later, Mr Ramdzan and Mr Ahmad, 33, were back at Pedra Branca with a small team from NHB and ISEAS, including Dr Michael Flecker, a visiting fellow at the archaeology unit at ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute.

The divers were initially nervous as they were unsure what exactly they had found.

“Could it be that those pieces we first found were the only ones there?” Mr Ramdzan said. “And then we mobilised the whole team ... only to find an empty seabed.”

But Dr Flecker came up from his first dive with a Chinese seal, said Mr Ramdzan, confirming that there was a wreck there. It was later said to be about 100m to the northwest of Pedra Branca.

During future expeditions, the treasures that were recovered included Longquan dishes and bowls, as well as blue-and-white porcelain pieces, either whole or in shards. But there were nearly no traces of the vessel that had carried them.

At a press conference revealing the haul on Jun 16, Dr Flecker, who has more than 30 years of experience in marine archaeology, said: “Remarkably, the first ancient shipwreck found in Singapore waters seems to be contemporary with 14th century Temasek.

“Apart from a large cargo of Longquan green-ware and other ceramics, she carried more Yuan dynasty blue-and-white porcelain than any other documented shipwreck in the world. Many of the pieces are rare, and one is believed to be unique.”

That piece was a blue-and-white bottle with a flanged straight neck that was still intact.

IT TAKES A TRAINED EYE

Juggling work and other commitments, Mr Ramdzan went on six other trips to Pedra Branca with the team over the next five years. But Mr Ahmad could not join any of the expeditions due to his work.

Mr Ramdzan said each trip began at the break of dawn. They would take more than three hours to sail from Singapore to the islet, then do two dives before heading back, reaching the mainland at about 8pm.

Excavation of the shipwreck’s contents went on until 2019, but the team continued work on another shipwreck that was found from detection surveys conducted by ISEAS in the area.

The second shipwreck is likely to be the Shah Munchah, a merchant vessel built in India, which sank while voyaging from China back to India in 1796.

Artefacts recovered from this wreck include Chinese ceramics and copper-alloy, glass and agate objects, as well as anchors and cannons of the ship.

How did delicate porcelain plates and ceramic artefacts lay under the waves for 700 years undiscovered?

Many were hidden in rocks or buried in the seabed, said Mr Ramdzan. For the first shipwreck, the items that were exposed were covered in marine growth or coral and it took a trained eye to recognise the treasures that lay barely 100m from Pedra Branca.  

What will go on display at the museum has been thoroughly cleaned and scrapped to reveal the original designs and carvings that lie beneath.

"INDIANA JONES"

A commercial diver since the age of 17, Mr Ramdzan had been on four wreck expeditions, the most memorable being the Tek Sing in 1999. Then, he helped retrieve more than 350,000 pieces of porcelain from the 19th-century Chinese junk, which sank to the bottom of the South China Sea in 1822 off the island of Bangka in Indonesia.

Wreck salvaging is rarer for Mr Ahmad, who in 2015 also joined Dr Flecker in searching for artefacts on the Empress of Asia, which was sunk by the Japanese in 1942. Such jobs are “rare”, he said.

Often, they would be called upon when ships are on fire, had run aground or when there is an oil spill or the threat of one.

“We respond to disasters globally worldwide pretty much like the fire service,” said Mr Ramdzan.

“Especially in the salvage industry, it's a dirty job ... You'll be diving in oil, you'll be diving in less than ideal conditions, in cargo holds or inside engine rooms,” he said.

“It is very rare that you actually dive in blue or clear waters.”

For them, salvaging wrecks is a “good break” from their daily jobs, said Mr Ramdzan.

And it was clear from Mr Ramdzan’s flat in the west of Singapore that he has a soft spot for things lost underwater. The living room was like a maritime museum, filled with artefacts he has reclaimed from the ocean.

“Someone labelled me as an ‘Indiana Jones’ because most of the things that I collect are novelty items from jobs,” he said.

“Most of the things that I put on display tell a story in their own way and some of them I wouldn't trade for all the riches in the world because I know there's only like one of them.”

[reyescarlos]

51 with Tarlos please and thank you. AND I’m glad my yelling at you meant I could send in this request. Please expect more yelling, always.

you are my biggest bully but also my greatest motivator. thank you for your service, ma’am. 

#51 “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

Carlos wakes up, his shirt sticking to his back, his face covered in a light sheen of sweat. He struggles to catch his breath as he sits up, a hand flying to his chest over his quickly beating heart. This sensation is nothing new and yet it still floors Carlos each time he wakes up like this.

After these last two weeks he should be used to it.

He looks to the left in bed but of course the space is empty. TK is at his own house, in his own bed, undoubtedly fast asleep like any rational person would be at this hour.

Carlos settles his back against the headboard, his stomach twisted into knots. He tries in vain to get his heart to stop racing, to settle himself and find some semblance of calm. It’s not an easy task and as the seconds tick by, Carlos realizes that this may not be a job he can handle on his own. He hesitates before reaching over to his nightstand and disconnecting his phone from the charger. His eyes adjust to the bright screen before him boldly stating that it’s 2:17 in the morning.

He knows he shouldn’t call. It’s the middle of the night, a time when a phone call could make a person jump to horrible conclusions. This is hardly an emergency; he isn’t in any danger but TK is something of an anchor for him, his voice alone enough to settle him on even his worst days. It’s selfish, he thinks, to trouble his boyfriend now but if he could speak to him for even a few seconds, Carlos thinks it will lull him back to what hopes will be a peaceful sleep. Before he can put too much thought to it, Carlos presses TK’s name in his contacts and puts the phone to his ear.

Four rings chime and Carlos contemplates hanging up just then before there’s a break.

“Carlos?” TK asks, his voice heavy with sleep. Carlos mentally kicks himself.

“You were sleeping. Of course you were. I’m so sorry. Go back to bed.”

TK clears his throat on the line before speaking. “Not a chance. Are you hurt? What’s going on? Talk to me. Is everything okay?”

Carlos licks his chapped lips and sniffs, shaking his head even though TK cannot see him. Concern is so heavy in TK’s voice. He can just picture the troubled look his boyfriend must be sporting now to go with it.

“I’m alright, really. I’m at home and I’m okay. I shouldn’t have worried you. Goodnight,” he quickly says before hanging up.

TK calls back but Carlos doesn’t pick up, feeling foolish for calling his boyfriend in the dead of night just because he had a bad dream. It makes him feel like he’s a kid again, racing straight to his parents room and wedging himself between them when he got spooked during a storm or couldn’t rest.

He’s an adult now—and a cop no less. Feeling brave should be common practice for him. Roping TK into this mess was a grave oversight on his part. He feels guilty for not answering but embarrassment flares throughout him, burning in the pit of his stomach.

Carlos does his best to fall back asleep on his own and shake the images that flitted through his mind earlier but the task is far easier said than done. It’s all too easy to recall that call from two weeks ago.

He’s curled onto his side, still wide awake when he hears the chime of the doorbell.

Padding across his room and down the hall to the front door, Carlos flips on the switch for the front step and peers through the peephole.

TK stands there with his hands burrowed into the front pocket of his hoodie, shivering a bit. Carlos hurries to unlock the door, to welcome him in every sense of the word.

“TK, you didn’t have to come over,” he says, moving back to let TK enter.

“You called me at two in the morning. You needed me so I’m here,” he says plainly.

TK steps closer to him, cupping his face. “Maybe now you can tell me what’s keeping you up?” he asks gently.

Carlos sighs and closes back the door, flicking the lock. TK keeps his eyes fixed on him, clearly not willing to let up on getting to the bottom of this. Carlos appreciates the concern but it only makes him feel more foolish for reaching out in the first place.

“It’s so embarrassing,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself.

Even just saying that much aloud makes him feel ridiculous but from the way TK’s brows furrow, he can tell his boyfriend views things differently.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

There’s nothing accusatory or judgemental in his tone at all and it makes Carlos love TK all the more. Finding the words to admit to what led to him calling felt insurmountable. But of course TK would be able to fill in the blanks.

For two weeks since his unit was called to an active shooter scene, Carlos has been haunted by the things he witnessed that afternoon. He’s done his best to shake it off and some nights are truly easier than others to endure. But TK has borne witness to Carlos’ fitful rests, been there right beside him when Carlos wakes up shakily from dreaming.

Carlos shudders in spite of his best efforts to control it but the memory of the shootout is so vivid. His dream recounted it all in stunning clarity to the point where it felt as if Carlos had somehow gone back in time and was sincerely living that horrific day over.

He’s only able to nod, his body feeling cold.

TK sighs in understanding, wrapping his arms around Carlos and rubbing his back soothingly.

“That was a horrible day. It makes perfect sense why it’s still affecting you. You went through something extremely traumatic.”

Carlos groans and breaks away from the hug, walking over to the living room. TK is right on his heels, eyeing him carefully as they sit on the couch.

“I’m a police officer. I should be able to move on and I swear, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“You’re human. It’s only natural that you’d react to something like that. But pretending like it didn’t happen? Not talking about it? That’s not helpful. Trust me,” TK says, that final sentence piercing through.

TK knows about hardships and personal demons. He’s been so candid about his past and it never fails to make Carlos’ heart swell with pride seeing how far TK has come in all the months that they’ve known each other.

“Maybe I could take some time off, just for a little while,” he suggests.

“I think that’s a great starting point, definitely.”

“Guess it also couldn’t hurt to talk to someone about it either.”

TK smiles widely at this and nods, kissing Carlos’ cheek. “I like the sound of that.”

[gumnut-logic]

Minerva (Bit 3)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

Finally I have some writing to share. I might be getting my head back on straight, yay!

Buckets of Science!Gordon in this one. yes, I’ve let my inner geek out, sorry :D

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the read through and reassurance when I get wibbly :D

I hope you enjoy this pile of marine fluff :D Approx. 2000 words worth :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon grinned and clapped his hands together. “So, what shall we do next? A little Minerva 101? A walk on the reef? Or a swim?” Those hands were rubbed together eagerly.

“You’ve just eaten, Gordon.”

“So?”

Andre stood up. “It is my recommendation that we wait before attempting swimming.”

“Aw, Annie.”

The glare Andre shot his husband almost melted the stern of the boat.

Cecil grinned and winked at his husband.

Virgil bit his tongue. “You think you can lug me onto that reef?” In the distance, the open ocean crashed against the outer reef rim. It was hard to see if there was even any dry land from this distance.

Gordon’s grin turned fond. “Wouldn’t go without you, bro. Told you, I brought the water chair.”

Virgil felt the simple emotion behind that statement and his heart warmed. The water chair was something he himself had put together for Gordon all those years ago after the hydrofoil accident. His brother hadn’t been able to swim and the hoverchair could not operate under or over water. So, borrowing a little Thunderbird technology, Virgil had built one that could. With some feedback and suggestions from its over-the-moon recipient, Virgil had tweaked the design to the point that it could literally operate as a diver assist with minimal effect on its immediate environment while still enabling the operator to ‘walk on water’.

Tracy Industries now produced a trimmed down economical version for world-wide distribution. Gordon was the poster boy for the program and loved seeing people experience water in ways that had been denied them in the past.

But the original, the prototype, was kept on Tracy Island with Gordon. Virgil serviced it every couple of years and it had even been used a few times since.

But never by Virgil.

After stripping into their own water wear, it took some manoeuvring and both nurses to get into Virgil into some wet gear. It was awkward and frustrating, but both Andre and Cecil were gentle and understanding. Gordon stood ready to assist, his eyes warm, his hand briefly brushing Virgil’s hair.

Virgil was grateful, but hated every second.

The casts on his legs were specifically printed for him, a high-tech honeycomb of support, providing strength without the weight and bulk of traditional plaster. And they were water friendly, allowing both air flow and ultimately water flow around his injured limbs.

It took all three men to get Virgil safely into the inflatable.

“Virg, you’ve been stealing far too many of Scott’s apple pies.”

“Speak for yourself.” Virgil grit his teeth as they lowered him into the smaller boat. “Are you sure about this?” So much work to get one person onto a reef.

“Not going without you, bro. Apple pie butt or no.” The determined expression on his little brother’s face put an end to that argument.

The water chair was tucked behind a seat along with snorkelling equipment and a stash of Gordon’s scientific gear and within minutes they were motoring across relatively shallow waters spotted with tropical reef. Virgil peered over the side watching the ever so clear azure pass beneath them. The colours were amazing.

The atoll was obviously the remains of yet another undersea volcano. Living on Tracy Island, which was a volcano itself, gave him some familiarity with the symptoms. But unlike the islands in the Kermadec arc, this volcano hadn’t quite made it above the waterline. It had, however gotten close enough to bring its rim into the sunlit zone of the ocean, enabling coral to gain a foothold and build the reef that had accomplished the task.

As the rim grew closer, the water grew shallower, to the point where Gordon had to slow the inflatable or risk impaling it on submerged living limestone.

The roar of open ocean grew closer. The crash of massive waves that the coral rim was protecting them from. Virgil closed his eyes and soaked in the saltwater air, the breeze and the soundscape.

I was invigorating and relaxing at the same time.

At some point he became aware of eyes on him and he opened his own only to encounter Gordon smiling softly.

Ever so quiet. “That’s more like it.”

Virgil was caught between fondness and embarrassment. But Gordon didn’t say anything else and turned back to steering the boat. Neither Andre or Cecil appeared to have noticed, possibly through courtesy.

Virgil let one hand trail in the cool, clear water and closed his eyes again.

He might have just drifted off right there and then but for the sudden cease of the outboard which had been chugging along relatively slowly in any case. The inflatable drifted as Gordon deployed an anchor and Andre pulled out the water chair, unfolding the leg supports.

“Okay, Virg, let’s get your apple pie butt into the chair.”

Virgil growled at his brother, but Gordon only grinned, climbing behind him and, with Cecil’s help, lifting him enough for Andre to slide the contraption under said butt.

The chair’s gel morphed to his shape, fitting snuggly and supporting his back as Gordon strapped him in. Andre secured the leg braces, connecting them to his casts.

Andre jumped over the side and landed in waist deep water.

Gordon curled his hand around Virgil’s arm. “Okay, bro, let’s see how much fish you have in you.” Another teethy grin as he and Cecil lifted Virgil over the edge of the inflatable and lowered him with Andre’s guidance into the water.

Virgil palmed the seat’s control, which previously he had only used to test the contraption, and micro-thrusters fired up stabilising him as he slipped into the water.

A moment of wobble and the seat settled at waist depth in the water, its quiet hum barely audible over the ripples lapping against the boat.

“Well, it seems those apple pies aren’t going to sink you today.”

“Gordon!”

His brother only laughed as he joined him in the water with a splash…which landed mostly on Virgil.

He wanted to both throttle and hug Gordon to death.

Cecil joined them, smoothly sliding off the inflatable, and all four of them made their way towards the massive reef sticking a good foot above the low tide.

“Watch where you step. Virg has the advantage here. Lots of sharp nasties if you’re not careful.”

Virgil was too busy enjoying the water. The chair automatically adjusted to the surface and he was able to raise or lower it at will. As they neared the inner edge of the reef, he engaged the secondary thruster array and pushed himself above the waterline. The breeze caressed his skin.

The reef ledge was quite a step up. A purple-brown, the limestone sported a continual waterfall of seawater pushed by the swell from the open ocean on the other side.

Gordon slipped in behind him and gave the chair a nudge to get it high enough to engage with the raised surface. Virgil fiddled with the controls until the seat stabilised, hovering just a few inches above the rock and all the rockpools it held.

And there were a lot of rock pools.

Virgil had a sudden flashback to a young Gordon dashing from one rock pool to the next, yelling out his discoveries of this fish, that shell, the occasional ticked off crab…

The incident with the blue-ringed octopus particularly came to mind.

But his little brother had been six then. Theoretically, he was an adult now, one of advanced marine experience.

“Virg! Come and have a look at this!”

Then again...

Sure enough, it was a rock pool and it had some kind of eel trapped in it. Gordon started babbling Latin at him before Virgil had even made it close enough to see the thing clearly.

There was a camera, several shots, some holofilm and lots and lots of incomprehensible marine science-ese.

Virgil had to bite his lip not to grin like a loon.

Cecil appeared to be a disciple of Gordon, his knowledge obviously not up there with the aquanaut’s, but ever so interested and eager to learn. Gordon revelled in the opportunity and Virgil got to sit back and watch his little brother disappear into his element.

Andre hovered about his patient, on duty at all times. “You can relax, Andre. I’m good. Have a bit of fun.”

The quiet man smiled. “I am.” His eyes were on Cecil as his husband darted after Gordon from rock pool to rock pool chattering excitedly with the aquanaut.

Virgil pulled out his phone and took some photos of his brother and his student. “You may never get him back.”

Andre snorted. “I have my ways, don’t worry.”

An arched eyebrow found the nurse smiling again.

With Gordon off in science land, Virgil took the opportunity to do a little exploring of his own. He lowered the chair enough so he could reach down and touch the rock beneath the water. It was sharp, rough and covered in life. The rock pools were truly fascinating. Corals lived in niches, sea urchins huddled in all their spikiness, but it was the giant clams that caught his eye the most.

They had some brilliant colours and they reacted to his presence, closing up abruptly if he startled them. They were quite a distance down and he found himself poking into deeper pools as he scooted along the inner edge of the reef.

They came in a number of shades, but the most brilliant was a vivid blue. His eyes were attracted to the subtle patterns and his fingers itched to record them. His phone filled with shots at the thought of future paintings.

“Thought you might like those.”

Virgil nearly dropped his phone. That, of course, only produced a grin on Gordon’s behalf.

Virgil was hovering over a particularly deep rock pool and at the very bottom, wedged in a crevice, sat a beautiful blue example. It was still mostly open, displaying its variegated mantle. Due to a sudden lack of breeze and the clarity of the water, it was very visible, and Virgil had already taken several holoshots, a composition combining sea urchins, several of the bright red fish and the clam, already in mind.

Behind him Cecil was bouncing on his feet a few metres away gesticulating in excitement as he raved at Andre. Andre had that smile on his face again, the one where love and amusement met and each tried to take dominance.

“I think you’ve started something over there.” Virgil grinned at his brother.

A snort. “Cess has always had an interest. I’m just fanning the flames.”

“Luring him to cook for us forever?”

“Mmmmaybe.”

Virgil chuckled and earned himself a pair of sparkling amber eyes.

“Mel wants a clam count.”

A blink. “What?”

“She’s worried there might be poaching happening here. This place gets a lot of traffic. I had John check for yachts before we came and the fact there are none other than us here is a rarity.”

“People steal the clams?” Virgil stared down at the beautiful creature below.

Gordon sighed. “Is there anything people won’t do? Mel wants a count so we can do a population snapshot. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve adapted one of our lifesign locators for their particular form. Not sure it’s going to work, but I was hoping that between us, we could rig it.”

Virgil stared up at his brother. Gordon had planned this, but he had planned it well. Virgil couldn’t resist the challenge, and much like his aquanaut brother, certain stains on humanity really got his back up.

“Sure.”

Gordon’s smile was an honest one. “But no pushing it, Virg, or Scott will have my hide.”

As if summoned by his name, a roar swelled in the distance and out of nowhere Thunderbird One shot into the air space above them, VTOL flaring as she came to a sudden halt.

Their comms spat into life. “Thunderbird One to A Little Lightning, whatcha doing down there?”

-o-o-o-

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