#accidental metaphor

[cardboardboxy]

TRAILS OF APOLLO IS AN ACCIDENTAL DISABILITY ALLEGORY

Heres why :)

So apollo himself describes the transition from god to human as crippling, this is shown through the limitations of mortal memory, skill deterioration etc etc which are aspects of different disabilities, this is the more obvious stuff

But some other things are the inability to take on his desired form and the restriction of how many places he can be at one time, both of these can be very easily compared to reliance on mobilty aids, initially they are restricting to self expression and access to the world around you

BUT this isn't permanent (in most cases) apollo learns overtime to love his mortal from and while his feelings of restriction still stay (something that is also the case for a lot of disabled people!) he also comes to recognise the advantages of it and finds freedom in it, which is something mobility aid users also do

Apollo is cut of from the godly world in almost every way, and the few times he isnt (aside from artemis but we'll get to her) leads to him feeling inadequate and powerless against it. So he has to find community elsewhere among mortals a.k.a finding the disabled community

Throughout the course of the books apollo becomes deeply rooted in a mortal way of living, the way he takes care of himself and his friends changes as he comes to recognise mortals as equals, and that in many ways they're better then the gods

This is similar to the way that after finding the disabled community a lot of people learn to manage their disability better and unlearn a lot of internal biases they hold against disabled people

The emperors embody unchanging society, the people unwilling to alter anything in any way that helps people to their own detriment, if they weren't so hellbent on trying to 'get back to the good days' they couldve survived, the fact that they get stripped of their immortality is also relevant to the way most people eventually become disabled

Jason symbolises the victims of people not willing to change, a lot of disabled deaths are avoidable yet people still die, like jason still died because others (the gods) were unwilling to change. Apollos promise to remember what life was like as a mortal so he can change things is paralleled to people who are able to recover from their disabilities becoming advocates for accessibility and education

His relationship with artemis is reminiscent of the fact that disabled people often become more distant from able bodied people due to the lack of relatability, and while artemis cannot understand what he went through, she's not completely distanced from him and even helps him afterwards when he cannot bear to use his powers (its very common that disabled peoples family members will become their carers)

Apollo mourns his mortal life despite all the trauma it caused him, the same way recovering from disability isn't always a positive experience, to relean how to live a second time isn't easy. While he does interact with the gods, he goes right back to his mortal friends because they have more in common now after all he went through

This concludes my yap session 👍

[potentialcabinet]

love those metaphors that write themselves. i use a squishmallow as a second pillow when i need more support, and it's crushed flat by my dependency on it. why bother trying to write something original when my squishmallow is right here underneath me

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[3amsoda]

gallica

[saamaton]

formula 1 ft. guess

the sequel: formula 1 ft. talk talk

made by me, obviously inspired by the callengers guess edit by gal1tzine that i can't find anymore but was great!

[cobaltfluff]

started the metaphor refantazio demo and I cannot believe this is my experience (I love it)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Wardrobe Woes

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ryssbelle]

Does the flower from your first n2 post have any significance? Why isn't it blooming?

Yes the flower here does have significance!

It’s a memorial flower, the exact species of flower is one I made up, it’s one that has a strange growth period, there’s no real way to tell when it’s going to bloom but it does only bloom at night.

John Dory got the seeds while on one of his searches and gave it to Floyd since at the time Floyd was severely depressed and was spending all day everyday in his room in the bunker. JD had given Floyd a bunch of seeds for a garden but Floyd ended up only planting one which he’s been taking care of since he planted it.

He planted it on Clays birthday so they refer to it as Clay’s flower, but it’s a memorial for all their lost family members, so their parents, grandma, Clay, and Spruce/Bruce

Other than just maintaining it, Floyd also talks to it like the ones they lost can hear him through the flower, he visits it at least once everyday while the other brothers only visit on anniversaries and birthdays. (They also only bring the lights and photos out then as well, to keep the photos safe from damage)

It’s Floyd’s way of grieving :)

[thatscrooge]

Now, can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is? Foreshadowing is a dramatic device in which an important plot point is mentioned earlier in the story to return later in a more significant way.

[darklight-owl]

You will never understand the irreparable damage Yomiel Ghost Trick inflicted on my psyche you can never understand the irreparable damage Yomiel Ghost Trick inflicted on my psyche. Play Ghost Trick.

[secretwhumplair]

Gladiator whump but the gladiators aren't owned, they're compelled by their circumstances to particpate in dangerous arena fights for a pittance, or even just for a chance at prize money. Gladiators who, out of despair, will climb over each other to be chosen by the ringmasters for more fights where they might be injured or killed.

Loose, uneasy alliances are formed in the underbelly of the arena to watch each other's back while waiting for their fight, because no one's above sabotaging their rivals.

Deaths in the arena are rare--a simple honour systems means a killer can't expect to survive themself when bested--but always a looming possibility, whether by accident or malice. Sometimes the ringmaster will hire a mercenary without the same qualms to spice things up.

For some of them this violent world is all they have, with no one but themself to piece themself back together after a fight. Others struggle to balance it with caring for a family member, or their other two jobs.

Some gladiators become popular enough with the audience they get to fight multiple times in a day. The downside, of course, being that they get to fight multiple times in a day.

Evenly matched fights are the worst--drawn out and brutal, when neither opponent can easily end it. They're also the most fun and exciting to watch, so they're as common as the ringmasters can make them.

The ringmasters are wholly indifferent to the fate of any given gladiator. After all, there's more where this one came from.

[inoreuct]

thinking about mermaid sanji and sailor zoro,,,

the sky is cloudless, the sun’s glimmering off the calm water, the crew’s relaxing on the deck as they’re sailing through a clear patch of ocean; by all accounts, it’s a perfect day. luffy hasn’t gotten them into another shenanigan as of yet and zoro’s chilling up in the crow’s nest, half asleep and lethargic with the heat— and then he swears he hears laughter. and it isn’t coming from the ship.

he’s up on his feet immediately and squinting against the glaring light, wondering for a second if he’s seeing a mirage or a trick of the heat shimmer, because they’re sailing by a large, flat rock.

a rock with merfolk on it.

zoro’s shimmying down the mast in record time, ropes lashing around him as his boots hit the deck and he tries not to look like he’s running to the taffrail to catch a better look. (look, he’s curious, alright? merfolk aren’t a total myth, but they aren’t a common sight either.)

(that, and he feels oddly like someone has cast out a fish hook and it’s lodged behind his sternum, tugging him forward and forward until his hands are pressed palm-flat to the railing and he’s leaning over the edge.)

he hears that laugh again, rich and bright, wide eyes snapping to the mer who made it. golden waves shimmer over a leanly muscled shoulder, curling around a sharp jaw to reveal the mer’s pale, slender throat as they tip an oyster back into their mouth. leaning back on his hands — zoro is rather sure he is a he now, as a deep, smooth voice fills his ears, though he’s had enough tongue-lashings from nami to know not to assume — and tossing his hair back affords zoro a glimpse of a beautiful smile and bright blue eyes, blue as the goddamn sky. or maybe the sea. or perhaps the bioluminescent algae that had speckled the walls of this one cave that he’d been to ages ago—

he’s getting sidetracked. some sound must escape him, because suddenly a gaze so keen he feels his skin prickle is on him and he gulps involuntarily. and then for some reason, he opens his mouth. “are you a siren?”

the man’s curly brows narrow in irritation. “are you dead yet?” he snarks, casting zoro a flat stare and sighing in annoyance when zoro just stares back blankly. “no, I’m not a damn siren. lucky for you, we happen to be their… less bloodthirsty cousins.”

“less bloodthirsty meaning…?”

he shares a bored, bemused look with the woman on her elbows beside him, a mer with the richest purple colouring zoro’s seen in his life and a one-shoulder top made of shiny black kelp. “meaning we wouldn’t drag you down to the depths and feast on your carcass, but keep running your mouth and I might just change my mind.”

the mer’s tail is folded elegantly to the side as he lounges, fan-like tail fin trailing in the water, turning his body so that he can look at zoro properly as he tips back another oyster like it’s his god-given right. a tiny voice at the back of zoro’s mind whispers that this isn’t a good idea, whatever this is. it goes ignored. flaxen hair flutters in a slight breeze, sticking to the man’s milky skin in darker spirals where the tips are wet, and zoro’s breath catches as he watches the mer smile with teeth that are just erring on the side of too sharp.

the words register all at once and zoro lurches back, away from the railing, away from golden curls and blue eyes and pale skin. “what did you do,” he grits, resisting the urge to press the heel of his hand into his chest where it suddenly aches.

the mer shrugs. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“what’s the matter, sailor? feeling charmed?” that laugh, again, and zoro feels his heart throb. he watches the other man cock his head, studying another oyster in his hand, tilting the shell back and forth as he sucks on his teeth. “we can’t thrall,” he says finally, posture slackening with a sigh and a pout that seems to say what a shame as he picks up a knife and spins it deftly, shucking the shell open with a neat flick of his wrist. “only sirens can do that. whatever you’re feeling, whatever it may be, hasn’t been borne of any influence of mine.”

the oyster goes down and somehow, that sentence makes zoro feel even worse. it’s like he’s had the air punched out of him; he’s rooted, eyes wide, breathing hard as the mer makes a noise of pleasant surprise and pulls a pearl from his mouth, shimmering between his elegant fingers under the sun.

(zoro doesn’t know it yet, but he’s doomed. he was doomed from the start.)

*

back under the ocean, sanji has a crisis. he doesn’t see humans. he doesn’t meet humans. he and robin had just gone up to enjoy the sunshine and then this— this— brute swings by, with his stupid green hair and his three earrings and his obscenely grimy used-to-be-white shirt— sanji is fuming and he doesn’t know why. swimming laps back and forth across his cave isn’t helping either.

"might you possibly have something to get off your mind?" robin asks lightly, the pages of her book drifting in the water.

sanji does an about-turn and holds in a screech with all his might, forcing himself to relax with an exhale. "i'm just fine, my dear. peachy keen."

"you're making grooves in the floor."

"i'm redecorating."

he rolls the pearl from earlier between his fingers, squeezing it tight until his hand aches. "are you a siren, he asks," he mutters mutinously, fins fluttering as he throws himself onto a seaweed bed with a scowl. "how could a human be so stupid? if we were sirens he'd have been a waterlogged ball of moss on the sea floor by that point— and that hair. he looks like— like—"

"algae?" robin supplies helpfully.

"algae! sentient plant life, that's what he is, a kelp bed. water lettuce. duckweed, even." oh, he's so mad. that marimo pisses him off. the whole lot of them had sailed away, good riddance, because sanji never wants to see any of them ever again. they probably all smelled horrid anyway.

*

the merman's been following them.

the crow's nest is zoro's territory for a reason; he's the crew's lookout, and he's damn good at his job. for the past few days he's been seeing flashes of a broad tail fin and twists of golden hair. (he very firmly tells himself that he's not just seeing what he wants to see, because one, he might have one remaining eye but his eyesight is still as sharp as he keeps his cutlass, thank you very much. and two, why the hell would he want to see that merman? he isn't about to win any awards for his own manners but that guy had been stuck up and prissy and just rude. he's only been allowed to tag along this far because he hasn't presented himself as an outright threat. zoro doesn't want to see him. nuh-uh.)

(zoro sees things in his dreams, too. ocean eyes and a sly smile. a pale torso, knife in hand and teeth too sharp. he reaches out to see if the other man's hair feels as soft as it looks and he always wakes before he finds out.)

rum doesn't help to loosen the tension that settles against his spine at night, like he's waiting for something. he doesn't know what. anticipation, maybe, would be a better word— but that has a slight positive connotation, and— no. this man might not be a siren, but zoro’s enough of a sailor to know that it sure as hell doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.

he can't afford to go off chasing pretty mermen when he has a crew to protect.

*

the ship docks for a few days at a barren island. sanji swims laps around the sandy coast and pretends that the thought of his the sailor being beyond his reach doesn't make an anxious itch ripple beneath his scales.

*

water splashes against the side of the boat, and zoro's at the railing in an instant whether he wants to be or not.

“hello, marimo.”

the merman treads water leisurely, golden hair swirling about his shoulders and gleaming in the faint lantern light. it's early enough after sunset that the stars aren't out yet and it's dark as hell. zoro squints.

a laugh echoes in his ears, light and melodious. already familiar. zoro tries to be mad about that. “a little more to your left, moron.”

“well, i can’t very well fuckin’ see, can i?” he scoffs, and bites back a gasp when the water starts glowing, what the fuck. his stupid heart stutters when he sees him, lit up with gentle blues and yellows from below, flickering with the push and pull of the tide and sweeps of that powerful tail. "hey."

"hello," the mer hums again, lashes long and wet enough that they catch the wavering light. "gonna tell me your name, sailor?"

zoro almost lets it slip. almost. but he bites his tongue as he feels a chill run up the back of his neck; sure enough, a glance over his shoulder confirms that nami is glaring at him. don't do anything stupid, her gaze says, and he turns away with a shudder. their navigator is a threat in her own right. "no."

"okay. marimo it is."

"you— that is insulting," he hisses, because it is. he is roronoa zoro. he came from nothing and made a life for himself out of it. he's one of the best swordsmen on the damn seas and he's part of the best crew he's ever known, and he's been reduced to, what? a floating ball of moss?

"it's accurate," the other man corrects with a smirk. "unless you tell me what else to call you."

zoro fumes, fingertips digging into the taffrail. he's sure his nails are gouging scratches in the wood. "no."

"marimo."

"shut up."

"mosshead."

"shut up!"

"algae-brained, kelp-haired, water cabbage-headed—"

"zoro!"

the mer finally stops, lashes fluttering as something passes over his face.

"my name," he ekes out, "is zoro." nami swears somewhere behind him.

the merman's lips part around the syllables of the word, before he draws in a breath and grins, smug. "okay, marimo."

"wh—?!" zoro throws his hands up in exasperation, scofffing. "you bastard!"

"i asked for your name. never said i would use it."

"you're a piece of shit, blondie."

"call me that again and i'll show you how hard i can bite," the mer sneers with all his teeth on show, blue eyes lit up furious, turning away as he prepares to dive and—

"wait!" zoro yells before he can stop himself, and he curses under his breath. ah, fuck it. already got one foot in it anyway. "what's your name?"

"...oh, darling," the mer sighs, half-amused and airy, his voice slipping away. "you're gonna have to work a little harder for that."

it feels like hours later when zoro steps back with a shaky sigh. the merman reminds him of a strong brandy he’d had what feels like lifetimes ago, burnt caramel and warm sugar and smoke with enough hidden bite to take you by surprise, to sink its teeth into you three shots down. enough to intoxicate if you weren’t careful.

he yelps when nami slaps him across the back of the head, faking a lunge at her with bared teeth even as he rubs a hand over his aching scalp with a huff. her nagging about being more careful barely registers. his hair's getting long; maybe he needs a trim.

(that little voice in the back of his head is wary. hesitant. but now it's asking what if.)

*

the ship docks again. this island is teeming with life, thriving, lush with rich green foliage and thick forestation— and beautiful women who all seem to find zoro the height of masculine appeal, apparently. sanji curls himself into a nook in the coral reef and lets his fins trail in the water, the corner of his mouth ticking up a little when a baby clownfish comes to nibble curiously at his fingertip. he's not sulking. he's not. that would be fucking embarrassing for so many reasons and he refuses to think about even one of them.

it's the first time that he starts to feel a little stupid. it had been all fun and games, in the beginning when he'd upped and left on a whim; curiosity and intrigue and the good old urge to stick his fingers in all the cracks this human had until sanji understood every part of him, laid out in the sand like the skeleton of a great sea beast.

but now he's so far away from home, aimlessly following a ship— no, not even a ship. following one person on a ship for no real reason at all.

the clownfish ducks beneath his hand, and sanji cups it carefully in his palm. "you're lucky you don't have to deal with romance yet," he tells it sagely before gently shooing it out of his hiding spot. the water above ripples. it's dark again; the crew must have returned to their boat for the night. sanji sighs and unfurls his tail.

it honestly seems like blind optimism at this point, but he really hopes he's not being played for a fool.

zoro's there when he surfaces, peering over the railing and backlit by the lanterns. sanji focuses and brings out his bioluminescence until the little cove they're in is filled with coloured light. "marimo."

"swirly brow," zoro greets in return.

sanji raises one said swirly eyebrow. "that's new."

"i've got more. blondie, of course. curly head. fishboy—"

"fishboy?!" he squawks, enraged. "fuck you!"

"you wish."

"more like the ladies did," sanji scoffs, and immediately wants to try drowning himself.

zoro frowns. "the hell you talking 'bout, curls?"

the burst of bitterness at the back of his throat is just enough to take him by surprise and loosen his tongue. "they were hanging off your arm like—" mm. nope. he's not gonna go there.

the swordsman's eyes widen like he's just realised something, and sanji does not like that at all. "you're jealous."

"no."

"you are!"

"fuck you," he spits, gills flaring. "i am not." he has no reason to be jealous. they are nothing. this— there is nothing between them.

zoro just grins. "catch."

a white thing drops downwards and sanji darts forward on instinct to let it fall into his cupped palms. "what, s'this supposed to be a present for me, marimo?"

"it's— yeah."

he opens his mouth to reply, before he realises what exactly it is he's holding.

the water lotus fills his hands, its soft white petals edged in pale pink, velvety against his fingertips. something catches in his throat and he dips beneath the water to submerge his gills, carefully holding the flower aloft. his heart squeezes.

the waves lap at the bridge of his nose, hiding half his face as he watches zoro rub at the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. zoro isn't shy. sanji knows this much. he is loud and unabashed and unashamed with everything, with how he lives, with how he talks, with how he loves his crew and everything they entail.

but he looks almost— he's blushing, just a little, red across the tips of his ears as his gaze darts away, looking very much like he's mad at himself. "nami said it means strength and resilience, or something." the breath he huffs is harsh as he scratches at his nape. "i don't know, it's stupid, curly, i just—"

"sanji."

"what?"

"sanji. my name."

sanji doesn't want to know what he looks like as he rises out of the water to cup the flower to his collar. dumb, probably. rightfully so, because all of this is a very dumb decision and it's probably going to end in shambles with his heart broken into pieces in the silt but zoro— he looks up, floating on his back, and zoro's already looking at him with something that could be wonder, if sanji dared to name it.

"where did you get this?" he murmurs, tail fin creating large ripples as he swims a circle, holding the lotus like it's fragile.

"there was a pond full of them on the island. thought you'd like it."

"you don't know what i like." it comes out breathy. his hair melts against his shoulders as he tries to push himself closer, closer, across the space between them, like a fool. "you don't even know me."

and yet, he startles back when zoro jumps the railing, splashing feet-first into the water boots and all and shaking his head like a dog when he resurfaces. sanji shrieks and shields the lotus with his body, everything else momentarily forgotten as he whacks zoro with his tail just hard enough to send the sailor back underwater with a sputtered laugh. "you fucking brute!"

"i want to."

"that made no sense—"

"i don't know you, but i want to." zoro treads closer, and sanji's light ripples off his skin. his eyes are grey. warm granite and the inside of an oyster shell. "will you let me?"

sanji wants. there is nothing between them, but he wants there to be. he wants so hard it hurts. it feels like he's holding his heart in his hands and not a flower. it's the only way to explain how he's suddenly aching, hollow, in the face of something that isn't even a goddamn confession but feels too much like one. there is a flower in his hands and he wants.

“why?”

“dunno.” he gets a shrug, blunt and earnest as ever even as zoro’s mouth twists up at the edge. “maybe i’m charmed.”

he swallows hard, his mouth dry, and he doesn't want to say it but he has to. "if this is some sick thing about me being a mer—"

"wh—? no!" zoro blurts, and he looks so fucking horrified at that moment that it settles something in sanji's stomach instantly. "god, fuck, no. no. it's not like that. i swear on my life."

there are reasons why merfolk don't interact with humans. sanji grew up with the stories. he's seen the skeletons on the sea floor, mangled with the hunting tools of man, incomplete remains of his kin tossed away to their deaths, unable to swim or save themselves— still a better fate than the ones who never returned. the ocean is gentle after the burn of her salt; her waves are familiar, and her children are raised in their push and pull. captivity, at the hands of men for whatever reason, is never so kind.

he inhales sharply as callused hands cup his.

"i'm sorry," zoro says softly, rushed and maybe a little desperate, throat bobbing as his eyes dart across sanji's face. "i'm sorry. i didn't think of that at all."

"good," he finds himself replying as he looks down. "that means it didn't cross your mind."

a muscle ticks in zoro's jaw. "that's fucking sick, curls."

"i know." sanji's tone is matter-of-fact. "but it's what we have to deal with, sometimes." he deflates with a soft huff at the expression on the other man's face, looking away. "if you start saying shit like i'll protect you or whatever, i'm gonna smack you. i can handle myself."

zoro sighs through his nose, slowly, and his hands tighten around sanji's. "i know you can. i've watched you hunt. doesn't mean i can't be mad about it."

his eyebrows go up. "you saw me hunting?"

"mhm," the swordsman hums. "you're strong. fast. resourceful, too."

sanji preens. he knows he is, knows he’s one of, if not the best, but hearing it from zoro is another thing entirely.

"...also, my captain's been begging me to get you to fish for us because we're all crap at it."

that startles a laugh out of him, and he smiles so wide so quick that his cheeks ache. "that can be negotiated."

up this close, it's easy to see that zoro's hair is shorter than it was before, shorn short at the back and blunt enough that it just had to be freshly cut. the possibility of it being for him does something funny to his chest. the dark green strands are spiky, sticking up everywhere now that they're wet, and sanji wants so badly to touch.

he looks down at the flower in their hands, and he doesn't.

"this can't survive in saltwater," he murmurs instead, carefully putting his lotus into zoro's scarred palms. "take care of it for me."

he watches zoro trudge back to shore, one hand with the flower held above his head. he yells, "it better still be alive the next time i come check, marimo!" and he doesn't bother waiting for an answer. he knows zoro heard him.

sanji's gonna play this slow. he's gonna play this smart. and if zoro fucks up, well— he’s on friendly terms with a particular shiver of great whites.

*

zoro does not, in fact, fuck up. but now he’s constantly being given shit about his pretty merman boyfriend and as much as he pretends he hates it, he really doesn’t. luffy takes one look and declares that sanji’s crew now, zoro, you can’t hog him! dinners are now seafood more often then not, mussels and clams and all sorts of fish, even lobster when sanji finds out it’s nami’s birthday, and franky engineers some sort of transportable bathtub to get him on board.

(sanji brings robin around and franky falls all over himself making transportable bathtub 2.0, but that’s not the point.)

*

“bioluminescence, right? am i saying that right?” zoro asks, spinning this way and that as he tries to get a good look at sanji’s glowing tail under the water, eyes wide.

“mhm.” the mer lifts his tail fin out of the water, pulling himself closer so zoro can hold both of them up seeing as the pool they’re in is shallow enough to stand in. zoro’s hands twitch around nervously until sanji reaches out and grabs his wrist, pressing his palm flat to wet scales, and his chest aches at the look on zoro’s face.

the cave they’re in is small enough for every little sound to echo. sanji’s tail drips rhythmically, punctuated by the staggered breath zoro sucks in as he hauls sanji closer with an arm low over his stomach. careful fingers trace over the glowing patterns on his tail, fading upwards into his torso, and zoro slides a palm flat against sanji’s spine to lift him up as he presses their foreheads together.

“beautiful,” he breathes, reverent. the reflections from the water dance off his wet skin, and his eyes are mother-of-pearl.

sanji wants to touch, and so he does. he winds his fingers into zoro’s hair and pulls him down and kisses him, tastes salt and rum and the promise of blood when his teeth catch and zoro doesn’t shy from the bite. for the first time in a long time he is safe enough to let himself drift; his tail drapes itself over zoro’s side like a elaborate feather fan, and he giggles at the mental comparison.

he feels zoro smile at his laughter. feels calluses and gentle hands as zoro carries him back out to sea. tastes love when zoro pulls him in for one last kiss before saying goodbye for the night.

*

it starts with more flowers. then jewellery, intricate metalwork that would be hard to come by under the sea, fishnet cords and crystal pendants and pretty trinket rings, then daggers, silver hairpins with edges sharp enough to slice bone and a particularly beautiful watered-steel knife in a sheath of butter-soft leather. sanji cannot help but feel like he’s being courted, which makes no sense, because zoro knows nothing about merfolk courting traditions.

and then they talk as zoro braids shells into his hair the way perona taught him to (“you didn’t tell me you had a sister?!” “she just never came up!” “what do you mean she just never came up, marimo, what the fuck! this is important?!”) and sanji finds out zoro talked to robin about it, the sneaky bastard.

a tail doesn’t stop him from tackling zoro to the sand to kiss the crap out of him, braids unfinished and hair wound through zoro’s fingers. his heart feels fit to burst when zoro turns to ensure he takes the brunt of the fall because they both know how much sanji hates getting sand stuck in his scales.

*

the first time sanji gets hurt, zoro goes rather frantic.

it’s barely a scratch, just a slice near the base of his tail courtesy of a rock he hadn’t been able to avoid while hunting, but zoro bodily hauls him back to the ship between bouts of very concerned yelling and yanks off the black bandana always on his arm, scrubs it clean in hot water for good measure before wrapping up his wound, all while making sure no parts of sanji were drying out in the tub.

“marimo, i am fine,” sanji stresses for the twentieth time, shifting up to cup zoro’s face and sighing in resignation as zoro just shakes his head again.

“i don’t care,” the swordsman announces, throwing his hands up like deal with it. “i don’t care. no more hunting until this is completely healed.”

“it is a scratch. a scratch.”

“i don’t give a shit. you’re staying with me for the next few days.”

sanji groans and grumbles and bitches about it, and when zoro bickers right back it just riles him up even more.

(he stays put. he lets zoro scoop him into his lap with unnecessary care. he leans into the kisses zoro presses to his temple and he feels like crying because he is grateful. always.)

*

slavers attack the ship. sanji may not be a siren, but that does not mean he isn’t dangerous. he has his tail, and his knives, and his love for his crew. this is his crew.

he drags those slavers into the ocean and drowns them one by one.

*

now, sanji’s friend ivankov is a literal sea witch— so when they toss sanji an amulet and a wink on his birthday, sanji already knows it’s gonna be good.

the amulet gives him fucking legs.

only while he wears it, of course, but when he stumbles out of the surf like a newborn fawn zoro nearly chokes in shock. they spend the day falling over each other laughing as sanji tries to walk. he eats shit more times than he can counts and gets enough sand in his mouth for a lifetime.

later, there is a blanket beneath them and the moon above them and the endless ocean, shimmering under the light as zoro gathers his hair out of his face and kisses him so softly it hurts.

“beautiful,” zoro breathes. he preaches it like the truth. swears it like a promise.

their hands fit, calluses against calluses as zoro thumbs over the tiny patch of scales on sanji’s wrist, iridescent yellow-blue. their fingers lace in a motion they’ve done hundreds of times and still it never feels different than the first.

sanji lays back, and all he sees are stars.

[hellinhawkins]

thinking again about the byler slides and what flo said to nancy.

“only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart, and that damn stupid.”

and how “and that damn stupid” and el is repeatedly said not to be stupid (“not stupid” said by herself and “el’s not stupid” said by mike) as opposed to will calling himself stupid numerous times when he wrecked down castle byers

[fluentisonus]

it's because you're always thinking about that damn starfish parasite

[zhouxiangs]

it is day six of losing my mind over the peteway hand-holding, what came before, what came after, and what may or may not come later, and today i am thinking about the importance of touch.

or most importantly, of touch as a gesture.

because there's the touch itself, which as two enigmas with touch-based powers that are probably touch-starved for genuine consensual purposeful touch (thank you @marinacourage, i am never recovering from reading those words strung together in that order) is... already a lot. we can infer from what we've been shown/how deliberately they focus on it every time that both their powers work by touching people with their hands, which i imagine must be incredibly alienating for both of them, albeit for different reasons, but specially so for pete who (unlike way who also has to verbally issue a command) seems to need only to touch someone to invade the privacy of their mind even if he doesn't want to.

so, the act of touch alone is incredibly intimate for both of them.

once everything is out in the open, when they both know the other is an enigma and what his powers are, and way knows that pete has been using his power every time he touches him to read his mind, pete could just stop touching him. which is what he does at first.

but then there's my favourite part: both the intent and the manner of the touch. because pete withdraws, but not because he doesn't need or want to keep touching way; he does it because he was using his power surreptitiously, and now he doesn't need to.

pete reaches towards way again, and not only touches him: he slides his own hand in between way's and touches their palms together. pete is touching way, but he makes sure that way is touching him, too. and just like when he bared his neck earlier, pete is putting himself in way's hands, at way's mercy; he can read way's mind, but way can control him if he wants, either to make him back off or anything else. and way doesn't, nor does he draw back even if he looks at pete in surprise.

because pete is showing way he believes in him. he's telling him as much, saying "don't let obligation or fear make you not dare to decide to do the right thing. you are worth more than daddy says". saying "you always have a choice. you still have the right to choose, way".

but he's also telling him with his touch, with the palms of their hands resting together. "i see you", "you are not alone", "i'm here, and i believe in you", "your past sins will not drive me away. wounded hearts can still be cared for".

and also, because of how pete looks at way and because of how emotionally charged this moment is, i cannot help but think about the metaphor of "and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss" in act 1, scene 5 of shakespeare's romeo and juliet; juliet's evocation of a palmer touching the hand of a saint's statue as an almost holy and transformative experience. a kiss with hands.

[fandoms-in-law]

Trees Bend

Summary: Steve figures out he's bisexual and starts using a metaphor to counter people when they call him the straightest.

Author's note: I was in a Christian puppet group as a teen and in one of the sketches I had to practise puppetry to, the tree metaphor was used for a guy who wouldn't go to church if his pew was taken. After reading all the fics where spaghetti is used as a metaphor I thought the tree one fitted here too so I wrote it.

/\/\

It started with Robin, except it really didn't. Steve knew that she would listen, understand and believe him about the thoughts and feelings going through his brain. That was exactly what happened when he shared that he was fairly sure he had a crush on Eddie, that he'd probably had crushes he'd suppressed in the past.

She'd hugged him and asked if he wanted help working through it, or to just ramble about his crush. Between them they started to try and find out if there was a label for being attracted to both men and women. The discovery of bisexuality as a term took a long time to find for the pair of them, but a welcome find.

…

The actual start of it all was Dustin. The brat was somehow still convinced that Steve and Eddie didn't get along and needed to spend time around each other to do so.

Steve wasn't against the idea, actually he was going along with almost all of the kids ideas to get them talking and spending time together. He'd agreed to have Hellfire move to his house so Eddie could remain part of it and the rest of them could hang out at the same time even.

“I just don't get why you don't like Eddie.” Dustin began almost as soon as he was in the car for a lift to the arcade this time. “You and Robin have said you're trauma bonded often enough so why isn't that working here.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I do like Eddie, probably more than you want, and the fact you refuse to see that is getting annoying now.”

“Is it because he's gay? Is that why you don't like him?” Of course Dustin didn't listen to his words, but that wasn't why Steve abruptly pulled over.

After parking he twisted in his seat expression serious, “Did Eddie tell you that and did he give you permission to tell me that?”

“Why would he need to-” It was clear Dustin was floundering with his response.

“Is Eddie meeting you at the arcade?” Steve carried on, leaving explaining for a moment.

Dusting nodded slowly, and Steve turned to start the car again. “You are shutting up now. When we get there, you, Eddie and I are going to find somewhere quiet, or possibly just get straight back in the car and discuss just how badly you talking like that could go.”

For a few moments it looked like Dustin was going to argue but couldn't find the words, then he settled to staring at Steve and then back at him. It would have been a peaceful drive if he wasn't imagining a hundred reactions Eddie could have to being outed by Dustin and hoping he wouldn't be too upset by it.

Eddie was already outside the arcade when Steve got there, waiting with the other kids and clearly looking for them. The grin he had when coming to greet them dropped quickly at Steve's stern expression and Dustin's confused one. “Hey guys, took you a while.”

“Tell the other boys to go start playing. Dustin needs to apologise to you or have it explained to him why he needs to before we're going in.” Steve smiled but it was still tense, and he nodded towards the other kids, one hand going to Dustin's wrist when he tried to head out.

The words got Eddie yelling over his shoulder still trying to figure out what was happening and deciding to climb in the back of the Beamer when he realised how ready Dustin was to run off with his friends away from whatever had happened. “So that sounds ominous. What's up?”

“This shithead is still set that we don't like each other and was rambling trying to figure out why on the drive.” Steve gestured when Dustin remained silent for once.

“And he's gone insane. All I asked was if he doesn't like you because you're gay.” Dustin chose that point to exclaim, getting two frowns directed at him.

Steve nodded though. “That. That is not your place to share with anyone. Eddie has not told me that himself, and given you had no clue why I'd ask if he gave you permission to share it, he hasn't. You Do Not share anyone's sexuality with anybody else, unless they have given explicit permission to. I don't care that I'm safe. I don't care if you think you can tell who's safe and who's trustworthy. You do not share that information for other people.” He lectured, arms crossed to stop from pointing or getting in Dustin's face to emphasis.

“Geez Kid, I told that to Hellfire because Wheeler was being a shithead about some NPC's. For a bunch of little genius's if you're gonna out me for no reason I'll go hang with Jason to see how long I survive.” Eddie groaned. “Everything Steve just said. Don't out me to anyone, don't out anybody to anyone else unless they've told you to.”

“Another secret to keep? Why the fuck does everything need to be a secret?” Dustin tried to argue. “I want to talk with my friends about them sometimes.”

Steve levelled a glare at him. “And that should not include information that could easily get them killed. It's easy to not mention someone's sexuality. We do it every fucking day. You need to apologise for it and never do it again.”

“Sorry, I guess. I just thought it was why you two don't get along cause You suspected and are like the straightest of the straights.” Dustin grumbled, barely even turning to look at Eddie when he wanted to keep arguing the point.

Steve huffed a little but decided against openly saying anything about it. “Definitely not the non-existent reason Eddie and I don't get along. I like Eddie. He's my friend just like you are and deserves a better apology than that.”

“And seeing Mom Steve defensive for me does not qualify as that apology. It's just very flattering and I'm so grateful this was your response to Mr Thoughtless's words.” Eddie grinned, softening Steve's expression with how relaxed he was being over it.

Dustin looked between them, frowning before letting out a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry alright. I didn't realise it was such a big thing to do. I won't do it again.”

Steve looked back at Eddie, waiting until he nodded, accepting the apology with a “Your PC will die if you do it again.”

“Let's go see Max destroy you all at video games then.” he agreed, unsurprised when Dustin was immediately out of the car and racing into the arcade.

“Thanks for doing that, Steve. I really wasn't sure if you'd accept me coming out.” Eddie lingered, speaking quietly so people passing didn't hear.

Steve just shrugged, locking his car and heading into the arcade, “Course man, I'd hate it if that happened to me.”

“Wait what?”

He smirked over his shoulder, glancing over the trees that lined the street. “I've decided to take a few lessons from the trees. I bet that one bends and waves when storms come in.” He stated before disappearing through the doors. It had been one of the things that he and Robin had tried using to describe who he's attracted to and he liked it more than spaghetti. Trees are strong and stood tall, even a toddler could break uncooked spaghetti into pieces.

…

It happened again during a Hellfire night a few weeks later and honestly Steve wasn't annoyed by it.

He'd been absently listening to the game, treating it like a story with actors except he could hear the thoughts of the people writing it. At the point they'd reached there had been a discussion going on about how to get information from a guard they'd yet to annoy and Gareth had suggested flirting with him.

“No, man, no. I get that you think you'll be able to get all the information that way but just look at him – he's... Actually Eddie other than in the kingdom's armour what does this guy look like?” Jeff had protested, making a few of them grin at his argument against Gareth's plan being interrupted to ask for description.

Eddie smirked, but sat up to begin narrating, “Currently the guard is watching you huddle away from him in bemusement, an eyebrow arched in curiosity over what you're doing. His hair is carefully styled away from his face with his helmet held under one arm. He's got piercing brown eyes and a clear tan on his face and hands.”

“You're making our strategising take time in the game, dude.” Mike groaned, “No fair.”

“Besides that makes my point. This guard sounds like if Harrington was a guard and couldn't have his fluffy hair. He's not going to go for your flirting Gareth.” Jeff insisted, turning along with most of the table when Steve snickered.

Steve just gestured out the window. “I'm like a tree out there. Pretty bendable if necessary and I choose what's necessary.”

“That makes no sense!” A few of the kids exclaimed but Gareth and Eddie both had considering looks on their faces.

A moment later Gareth's decision was made as he reached out for a die. “I want to flirt with the guard to ask if he knows whether the treasure we want is owned by the kingdom.”

“Roll charisma.” Eddie agreed, over the top of Jeff's repeated protests.

…

The final time Steve confused everyone with his tree metaphor was a film night and he didn't need to say it to be the one confusing them all.

He'd made a comment about Luke's boots and started a conversation or rather a debate among the kids over whether you could assume someone's sexuality based on what they wear. It was quite amusing to see, especially when Eddie decided to try fanning the flames with contradictory comments the kids could have known which were meant and which weren't if they'd only watched his expression. Some he grinned as he said them, others were said through a smirk one twitch away from becoming a grimace but all of them had someone arguing with them.

Nancy was the one to eventually get annoyed with the debate after it was around twenty minutes long. “Come on guys, you're slowly deciding that any guy wearing fancy clothes or who puts time into his looks must be gay and that entirely ignores the evidence that is Steve sitting right there, straighter than anyone.”

Robin, Steve and Eddie all snickered at that, even more so when Dustin piped up, “Can't say that Nancy. He'll compare himself to a tree again and refuse to explain more.”

“Now now, Dusty-bun, tree metaphors can be very enlightening if you only pay attention to how they're described.” Eddie leaned over putting on a voice as if he were disclosing sage advice.

“He just stays the trees are straight too but bendable in the weather. It's nonsense.” Mike protested.

Steve shrugged when Nancy and Jonathan turned to look at him. “So you are bendable? What are you subtly trying to say you are?” Jonathan asked, eyes narrowed as if already anticipating the answer.

“That I'm not as straight as you all keep insisting I am? I'm bisexual, attracted to both, and kind of getting bored of everyone calling me the straightest of the straights.” He explained easily, leaning back between Eddie and Robin on the sofa.

Most of them nodded then, before Dustin exclaimed, “But why trees? Seriously? So many other things could be used for that but you keep going on about trees? Are you a gardener without telling us?”

“One, why would I tell you about gardening if that was my hobby? You only ever want to talk about your game and I've had you try to give me a character type enough time that I don't need new ones considering any hobbies I might not have shared with you? Two, Trees are strong. They're so strong that we make houses, furniture, a whole host of things from them, and while everyone thinks they're completely still they move a heck of a lot, not just with the wind but in growth and with the seasons. Course I want to be a tree, I'm like the strength of the group trying to fight the battles head on so you guys can do something smart to actually defeat the monsters while they're distracted. It fits.” Steve rambled now, enjoying giving in more to the way he found easiest to identify as if uncertain how accepting people would be.

“Plus I really want to climb you like a tree. So it even works there.” Eddie quipped, getting groans from the kids but a curious smile from Steve.

Before Steve could reply Robin's hand was over his mouth. “Thanks for that image, Eddie, how about you put a pin in that to talk about when you and Steve are alone and not in front of the kids or me.”

Eddie grinned then, nodding, “Sounds good to me. When are we sneaking off together, Stevie?”

“We could now.” Steve offered, shifting to stand before Robin pulled him back down.

“After the film is over and we're heading home.” Nancy stated to pouts from both men.

When they disappeared under the guise of getting more snacks and drinks 10 minutes later she just sighed.