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dethoratsTitle: Kaido
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen but Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 625
Surprised? No, not one bit. Just...resigned and hoping against hope that he hasn’t waited too long but afraid that perhaps he has. Several times in the past he has considered it, expanding his crew beyond the confines of the Red Force and accepting under his wing those who have offered their allegiance. Each time he has refused and never once regretted it. He doesn’t regret it now, not really, but it would have made things easier. Kaido cannot rival Whitebeard and that fact has always galled the other Emperor. He cannot reach Raftel either, for Shanks and the Grand Line itself guards that last stretch of ocean and Kaido has never been able to best man nor sea. But to give the man dubious credit, he doesn’t hesitate to strike while the fire’s hot and now is perhaps the best chance he’ll ever get to take the old man down. Shanks is ready for him, his lone ship against Kaido’s fleet. Whitebeard has enough trouble on his hands; he doesn’t need more arriving at his back.
They have fought before, though never under such imposed time constraints, and this is the biggest fleet the Red-Hair Pirates have fought in years. Thankfully his lone ship is sturdy and quick, not without her tricks. And he knows Kaido’s style, knows how ruthless the man can be and yet how calculating with his losses. Technically they don’t even have to win, just winnow away enough ships to make striking against Whitebeard be against Kaido’s better judgment. Still, he likes to win, they all do, and word on the marine channels puts one of their own smack in the center of things. Luffy is many things, but he’s still young and has yet to test his mettle in the New World. They intend to make sure he can.
Modified cannons roar; spray shot instead of the usual heavy iron ball and take down some of the men on Kaido’s side. Shanks isn’t proud of the next missive; it’s a cruel thing to do but they’re vastly outnumbered and in a hurry. He doesn’t have time to send his men to board the different ships, bring down the crews and worry about prisoners until Kaido has had enough. It’s dangerous stuff to keep on board but his crew knows to be careful. He lets Beckman choose the targets - the man is better at picking out the vulnerable ships, the most strategic path to get them through the battle, at this distance – but gives the order to fire himself. The canisters fall away beneath the air pressure and the explosive force that has launched them, exposing the chemicals inside to oxygen. Balls of fire land on sails, on rigging, on flesh and deck alike, on – in a memorable fury of noise and charred wood – a store of gun powder.
The flagship is out of range, more’s the pity, but they have space to maneuver now, to move forward unmolested. The Red Force sails through burning wreckage, tossing a few life rings over whenever a member of the crew spots a struggling body. Shanks waits at the helm, watching to see whether Kaido will move or if they’ve done enough. The man’s got enough brains to know that the old man’s odds are only about 50/50, that marines could be as battle-hungry as pirates when their blood was up. Several shots land off starboard, salt spray flying far enough for Shanks to have to wipe it from his face. But none of the ships move to follow as they continue onward. Shanks faces forward, guides his ship towards Marineford, and when the moment comes, gives himself a minute to pretend that the news carried over the den den mushi isn’t true.
Title: Whitebeard
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen/Shanks+Ben-ish
Word Count: 659
‘Stubborn old man,’ he had thought, days ago when he’d brought his warning, already too late though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Stubborn and as full of life, of love for his crew, as ever. Roger would have approved that strength but Shanks had had years to take his path in a different direction, to form conclusions of his own. Whitebeard had as well and Shanks had to believe his visit had only reinforced a conclusion already drawn, a decision already made. Pride wasn’t everything and, when it came to his sons, Whitebeard knew that better than everyone. His arm had tingled for days from the force of their confrontation, had ached when the headline landed on his deck. It wouldn’t be pride that walked into the trap but love and against that sort of obstinate determination he was no barrier. He couldn’t be one when he was tempted to go after Portgas himself, for Luffy’s sake and the lad’s own.
“Stubborn old man,” he had muttered as the reports came over the interceptor den den mushi, had shaken his head in disbelief at every announced strike and blow, at the fury of the waves even miles out as he was. Kaido was defeated behind him, the Red Force was closing fast, and Whitebeard had been holding his own until it had happened. The news rocked him, the price of failure, of being too late, a blow to his heart. He could hear the old man’s bellows, the colossal, earth-shattering, deafening roar of his power, even through the poor connection, could feel the vibrations work their way up his frame. This, Shanks knew, would be an end, and he had to hurry if it wasn’t to be in vain.
“Stubborn old man,” he had whispered once his declaration and challenge had been made, accepted without any takers for the fight a part of him was aching to have. The body, decimated as it was, still stood, rock-solid and steady to the end. He watched, shielded with the cold fury he always felt over the pointless loss of life, as Marco and some of the division captains gently brought the body down and hid it away beneath the shroud of their flag. It took all of them to carry Whitebeard from the field and he couldn’t look anymore when they scooped up Portgas and laid him out on the broad chest, bore them back together to the remains of their fleet.
“Stubborn old man,” he had murmured, one last farewell as his ship made for more familiar haunts in the New World. His voice was thick as he said it, a true end of an era, and he missed him, missed Roger too, and his old crewmates and the days when piracy had not been the complicated chess match it was now. The few tears on his cheeks lingered and he didn’t scrub them away. It was okay for a man to cry. Familiar footsteps sounded behind him but he didn’t turn, not yet ready to look away. Beckman leaned on the rail next to him, the expression on his face the one Shanks didn’t want to talk about, the one Ben probably didn’t either. His first mate had watched Marco the whole time and there was a pinched quality around his eyes that Shanks didn’t have the words to make disappear. He waited, patiently silent, until Shanks finally tore his gaze away and met his eyes.
Fingers reached up, touched the drying trails but didn’t wipe them away. Shanks finally let himself be pulled forward; it was over and he could take a moment to gather his strength. He found himself crushed in arms taking as much comfort as they were giving, leaned into the support that had been offered but gone unaccepted until now. As for the words nuzzled into the top of his head, the mouthed ‘stupid stubborn Shanks,’ he had nothing right to say.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen but Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 625
Surprised? No, not one bit. Just...resigned and hoping against hope that he hasn’t waited too long but afraid that perhaps he has. Several times in the past he has considered it, expanding his crew beyond the confines of the Red Force and accepting under his wing those who have offered their allegiance. Each time he has refused and never once regretted it. He doesn’t regret it now, not really, but it would have made things easier. Kaido cannot rival Whitebeard and that fact has always galled the other Emperor. He cannot reach Raftel either, for Shanks and the Grand Line itself guards that last stretch of ocean and Kaido has never been able to best man nor sea. But to give the man dubious credit, he doesn’t hesitate to strike while the fire’s hot and now is perhaps the best chance he’ll ever get to take the old man down. Shanks is ready for him, his lone ship against Kaido’s fleet. Whitebeard has enough trouble on his hands; he doesn’t need more arriving at his back.
They have fought before, though never under such imposed time constraints, and this is the biggest fleet the Red-Hair Pirates have fought in years. Thankfully his lone ship is sturdy and quick, not without her tricks. And he knows Kaido’s style, knows how ruthless the man can be and yet how calculating with his losses. Technically they don’t even have to win, just winnow away enough ships to make striking against Whitebeard be against Kaido’s better judgment. Still, he likes to win, they all do, and word on the marine channels puts one of their own smack in the center of things. Luffy is many things, but he’s still young and has yet to test his mettle in the New World. They intend to make sure he can.
Modified cannons roar; spray shot instead of the usual heavy iron ball and take down some of the men on Kaido’s side. Shanks isn’t proud of the next missive; it’s a cruel thing to do but they’re vastly outnumbered and in a hurry. He doesn’t have time to send his men to board the different ships, bring down the crews and worry about prisoners until Kaido has had enough. It’s dangerous stuff to keep on board but his crew knows to be careful. He lets Beckman choose the targets - the man is better at picking out the vulnerable ships, the most strategic path to get them through the battle, at this distance – but gives the order to fire himself. The canisters fall away beneath the air pressure and the explosive force that has launched them, exposing the chemicals inside to oxygen. Balls of fire land on sails, on rigging, on flesh and deck alike, on – in a memorable fury of noise and charred wood – a store of gun powder.
The flagship is out of range, more’s the pity, but they have space to maneuver now, to move forward unmolested. The Red Force sails through burning wreckage, tossing a few life rings over whenever a member of the crew spots a struggling body. Shanks waits at the helm, watching to see whether Kaido will move or if they’ve done enough. The man’s got enough brains to know that the old man’s odds are only about 50/50, that marines could be as battle-hungry as pirates when their blood was up. Several shots land off starboard, salt spray flying far enough for Shanks to have to wipe it from his face. But none of the ships move to follow as they continue onward. Shanks faces forward, guides his ship towards Marineford, and when the moment comes, gives himself a minute to pretend that the news carried over the den den mushi isn’t true.
Title: Whitebeard
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen/Shanks+Ben-ish
Word Count: 659
‘Stubborn old man,’ he had thought, days ago when he’d brought his warning, already too late though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Stubborn and as full of life, of love for his crew, as ever. Roger would have approved that strength but Shanks had had years to take his path in a different direction, to form conclusions of his own. Whitebeard had as well and Shanks had to believe his visit had only reinforced a conclusion already drawn, a decision already made. Pride wasn’t everything and, when it came to his sons, Whitebeard knew that better than everyone. His arm had tingled for days from the force of their confrontation, had ached when the headline landed on his deck. It wouldn’t be pride that walked into the trap but love and against that sort of obstinate determination he was no barrier. He couldn’t be one when he was tempted to go after Portgas himself, for Luffy’s sake and the lad’s own.
“Stubborn old man,” he had muttered as the reports came over the interceptor den den mushi, had shaken his head in disbelief at every announced strike and blow, at the fury of the waves even miles out as he was. Kaido was defeated behind him, the Red Force was closing fast, and Whitebeard had been holding his own until it had happened. The news rocked him, the price of failure, of being too late, a blow to his heart. He could hear the old man’s bellows, the colossal, earth-shattering, deafening roar of his power, even through the poor connection, could feel the vibrations work their way up his frame. This, Shanks knew, would be an end, and he had to hurry if it wasn’t to be in vain.
“Stubborn old man,” he had whispered once his declaration and challenge had been made, accepted without any takers for the fight a part of him was aching to have. The body, decimated as it was, still stood, rock-solid and steady to the end. He watched, shielded with the cold fury he always felt over the pointless loss of life, as Marco and some of the division captains gently brought the body down and hid it away beneath the shroud of their flag. It took all of them to carry Whitebeard from the field and he couldn’t look anymore when they scooped up Portgas and laid him out on the broad chest, bore them back together to the remains of their fleet.
“Stubborn old man,” he had murmured, one last farewell as his ship made for more familiar haunts in the New World. His voice was thick as he said it, a true end of an era, and he missed him, missed Roger too, and his old crewmates and the days when piracy had not been the complicated chess match it was now. The few tears on his cheeks lingered and he didn’t scrub them away. It was okay for a man to cry. Familiar footsteps sounded behind him but he didn’t turn, not yet ready to look away. Beckman leaned on the rail next to him, the expression on his face the one Shanks didn’t want to talk about, the one Ben probably didn’t either. His first mate had watched Marco the whole time and there was a pinched quality around his eyes that Shanks didn’t have the words to make disappear. He waited, patiently silent, until Shanks finally tore his gaze away and met his eyes.
Fingers reached up, touched the drying trails but didn’t wipe them away. Shanks finally let himself be pulled forward; it was over and he could take a moment to gather his strength. He found himself crushed in arms taking as much comfort as they were giving, leaned into the support that had been offered but gone unaccepted until now. As for the words nuzzled into the top of his head, the mouthed ‘stupid stubborn Shanks,’ he had nothing right to say.
