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pilesofpillows · 2 years ago

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Stars Abound || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 2 of 3

Summary: Okoye is having triplets… she is not amused.

Warnings: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Smut, Appropriation of Egyptian Dieties

Tags: @mickimomo @xblackreader @mamajankyy @theeblackmedusa @karimk2 @sphinx81 @dontruinmymorning (for the food HC 💕��🏾)

A/N: This is the follow up of my fic Stars Within… I recommend reading that first.

Word Count: 2.3k

Okoye wasn’t speaking to him.

She glared plenty. Muttered under her breath frequently. Crossed arms and narrowed eyes met his every move. She even hissed at him when he reached out to hold her after she finished vomiting up her midday snack.

Not a single word had passed her lips. Not ones meant for him anyway. Even now, she was singing to her angry land whale.

It had been hours.

From the moment the ah-men told them his beloved carried more than one life within her, Okoye had ceased speaking to him. As they rode the transport home, she looked at him as though she was contemplating throwing him off it. Once they’d entered the house, any attempts at conversation were met with hostility.

He tried asking about dinner and was met with a fierce glare and mumbles about “shark-fin soup and sashimi”.

He tried again an hour later as she cut up mangoes for a snack, and his K’iino’ plunged the knife so deeply into the cutting board it nearly split.

When she’d run to throw up those same mangoes a half hour later, Attuma attempted to come into the bathroom with her to provide comfort and sing a soothing melody as he had that morning. Instead, Okoye closed the door in his face, turned the lock, and muttered about “fucking Talokanil breeders”.

Now, Attuma watched as the Sun dipped low in the sky, and his K’iino’ stood outside feeding M20. He ducked down through her kitchen door, exiting the house.

“Okoye, K’iino’, do you know what you’d like for dinner?” He asked, hoping she had calmed from her earlier temper. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck nervously. “We have leftover chicken, or we can go out? Or I can cook? Perhaps some tamales?”

Okoye hadn’t looked up from M20 the entire time. She had a basket of sliced melons and oranges to feed him while she cooed sweetly. “You hear that? Ukrebe wam omnandi ovelisayo osisiphukuphuku [My sweet, stupidly fertile shark] wants to know what we’re having for dinner, sweet boy. He wants to know what he should feed the mother of his three children.”

It was clear she had not calmed from her temper. Attuma pouted at the insult; he hadn’t intended to impregnate her with three children. Still, it happened, and now there was an abundance of stars within his Sun. They should be celebrating.

The rhino snorted, and Okoye hummed and fed him another slice of melon. “No, you heard me correctly. Three. Three babies. All at once.”

“Okoye-“

“Three!” She repeated, talking over him. “What is your umama going to do, M20? Hm, what’s she going to do with three babies?” The rhinoceros didn’t respond but nudged her stomach gently with his massive head. “Mmhm, that’s where they’re growing. All. Three. Of. Them.”

“ K’iino’, please. Is it not a blessing to have such abundance? Chaac and Bast have looked upon our union and blessed us with a sea of stars!”

The speed at which she spun on him should’ve been impossible. Attuma was delighted and terrified all at once.

“Don’t you dare try and sweet talk me, Attuma of Talokan!”

She began yelling at him in Xhosa, gesturing wildly, words coming too fast for him or Princess Shuri’s AI to translate entirely. The bits and pieces he did understand caused him to flush violet. Words about his sexual prowess, how he’d distracted her with the size of his member, and how his “stupid Talokanil sperm” had broken her birth control made him feel a sense of pride that he fought to keep off his face, lest he further provoke her wrath.

“You are lucky that I don’t feed you to Tobeka,” she finished her rant with a huff. Attuma purpled further at the mention of the hippopotamus that tried to eat him each time he entered the river. Surely, his beloved wouldn’t-

Okoye kissed her teeth and glared at him. “ Unethamsanqa andikwazi kulala ngaphandle kwakho ngoku. [You are lucky I can’t sleep without you now.].”

Attuma took a few cautious steps toward her and opened his arms. She rolled her eyes but stepped into his embrace anyway, and his heart soared. “Sleep eludes me when I’m without you, too, in yakunaj.”

His beloved hummed, nuzzling into his chest. Attuma rubbed her back and bent to place a kiss on her head.

“You wouldn’t really feed me to the hippo, would you?” he murmured into her braided hair.

“Mm, no,” she said, leaning back to look into his eyes. She pouted her lips up for a kiss which he was more than happy to grant. Their lips parted, and Okoye smiled. “But I did consider commanding M20 to impale you.”

Attuma’s eyes widened, and the color drained from his face as the massive rhinoceros snorted and stomped on the ground.

“ Ko'olelo'!”

His beloved laughed and danced out of his reach, grabbing the now-empty basket of fruit and making her way back into the house. He followed after her, ducking back into the house and snatching her about the waist as she cackled.

“Ah! Attuma, put me down!” she shrieked between laughs as he spun them deftly around the kitchen and into the living room.

Attuma carried his laughing love over to the sofa where he’d first heard his children and collapsed onto it, settling Okoye on his lap. She reclined in his arms, her laughter fading as he kissed her neck.

“You will be a wonderful mother, in K’iino’. To all of our children, however many that may be,” Attuma said softly, rubbing a large hand over her still-flat stomach.

“All of them, eh? Just how many do you think we’ll be having, sithandwa?” Okoye asked, craning her neck to look at him.

“How many do you wish for?” he answered with his own question.

His beloved snorted. “I think I got more than I wished for this time.”

Attuma chuckled and grabbed her hand, folding his right fist on top of hers. “My mother told me this is how she and my father decided how many children they would have.” He raised their joined hands. “You will lift one finger for every child you wish to have, and so will I. The last number we agree on will be the last we plan for.”

Okoye hummed and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then looked at their hands. “Well, we’re already having three,” she said, raising their first, second, and third fingers. She sighed, “I think… if Bast says the same, I’d like one more,” and their fourth fingers were raised. Attuma stared down at her in admiration.

He didn’t think they would get past three.

“Any thoughts on how many pups you’d like to have, Indoda Kakrebe [Shark Man]?”

Attuma huffed and jostled her a bit, making his beloved giggle. “If you, and the gods, are amenable… I’d like one more ‘pup’,” he said, uncurling his thumb.

“Mm. Five, eh?”

Attuma watched as she seemed to curl her thumb further inward and scolded himself for the fleeting feeling of disappointment that filled him.

“You should know that I’m not getting up to help you after the fourth,” Okoye muttered, unfurling her thumb.

Attuma smiled wide and slotted their fingers together. He hugged her tighter, kissing the top of her head.

“In yaakunaj ta wo'olal mina'an u ts'o'okol. [My love for you has no end.].” Attuma whispered into her hair.

A loud bark of laughter left her, and she pinched the arm resting across her waist. “It better not! I’m carrying three of your children! I’m going to be as large as Tabai by the end of this.”

He chuckled at the mention of his beloved orca and brought their entwined hands back to her belly. “I cannot wait to see how you ripen and swell. Your beauty will only be magnified.”

“The only thing you’re excited to see swell are my breasts,” she teased.

Attuma purpled but could not deny it. It was true. Even now, her chest was a tempting sight in the low-cut tank top she wore. He wondered how they would look as she bounced-

A flick to his nose brought his attention back to the present, and he could see the bemused smirk on Okoye’s face.

“You were leering, wena krebe ungenantloni [you shameless shark],” she said by way of explanation.

He disentangled his fingers from hers and trailed a hand up her torso, palming her left breast lightly. “And why should I feel shame for staring at what is mine?” Attuma asked while nibbling on her ear.

“Yours, hm?” Okoye’s voice had taken on that breathless hitch, cluing him in to her arousal.

He squeezed. Just enough to draw a moan from her. “Always.”

Okoye wiggled against him, arching up into his hold. “We- ah!” she gasped as his hand made its way into her underwear, his fingers parting her folds.

He spread his legs, forcing hers apart, splaying her on his lap. Dipping his longest finger into her core, he drew out the wetness pooled there and dragged it up to circle her ak’. His beloved gasped, and her hips bucked into his hand.

“Attuma, we don’t have time.” Okoye let out a breathy moan as her hand gripped his wrist, trying to halt his movements.

He smirked and quickened his pace, pressing down harder on the sensitive bud. “Do you have somewhere else to be, K’iino’?” he mocked, sucking a mark onto her neck.

“Dinner-” she panted, trying to insist as her head fell back on his shoulder.

“-can wait. I’ll be quick,” Attuma promised, pushing his fingers inside her.

~~~

“You could’ve told me dinner was with your mother,” Attuma whispered, unable to meet Kioni’s disapproving gaze.

They were standing in the older woman’s subterranean kitchen, her dark eyes burning daggers into the side of Attuma’s head.

“I tried!” Okoye hissed back.

“I can hear the both of you,” Kioni whispered loudly, interrupting their bickering. “And while I’m happy that my daughter is in a healthy, loving relationship, I do not need the details of it aired out in my kitchen.”

Okoye ducked her head down, and Attuma purpled. “Yes, Umama.”

“Set the table, please,” she said, nodding towards the dining room, “I’ll be out with the stew in a minute.”

They settled around the table to eat, with easy conversation flowing between them. Attuma was sure that Okoye would fight the entirety of Talokan herself if anyone tried to get between her and her mother’s stew. He also enjoyed the surface woman’s food. More than his own mother’s, though he would never admit it aloud. It helped that Kioni always packed a week's worth of food for them to take home after dinner.

Okoye finished her second bowl of stew and reached for the ladle again. Kioni’s eyebrows nearly shot to her hairline.

“Oh! Did you forget to eat today, intombi?”

“No, Mama. Just hungrier than usual,” Okoye replied, attempting to sound casual. Attuma knew differently.

They hadn’t told Kioni about her grandchild (children, his mind corrected) yet, and Okoye was nervous. The older woman narrowed her eyes as his beloved devoured her third bowl of stew with the same fervor as the first two. She hummed but said nothing.

“So,” Kioni said, sitting back once they’d all finished eating, “are you two planning to get married before the baby arrives?”

Attuma froze momentarily but startled back into action as Okoye began choking on the sip of water she’d taken. He moved quickly, crouching by her chair, patting her back as she coughed violently.

“‘M fine, I’m fine,” she choked out as the coughs subsided. She wiped the tears from her watery eyes and waved him away. Attuma didn’t move from his position. Okoye took another slow sip of water, and he waited until she swallowed before answering Kioni’s question.

“We will be married when in K’iino’ is ready to have a husband again. No sooner. Our marriage bonds, or lack of them, will not change the fact that they will be our children.”

This time, it was Okoye’s mother who choked. “Children?!”

Okoye’s head had snapped to him when he’d spoken, and her eyes were locked on his face. He didn’t know if she registered her mother’s shock in the background. Attuma looked up at her and smiled gently.

“Tia'alo' yéetel le mía. [Yours and mine.],” he whispered, repeating the same assurance he had told her when he’d first heard his paalalo'ob.

“Eyakho neyam,” she repeated, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him sweetly.

Kioni cleared her throat, and they returned their attention to her. “Children?” She repeated. “Has the Blessing of Taweret rested upon our family again?”

Attuma’s eyes darted to his beloved quizzically, but she looked just as confused.

“The Blessing of Taweret?” Okoye asked.

“You said you are having two children, yes? That is the Blessing of the Fertile Mother. It has run in our family for generations. Surely, you remember that your malume olusiz [wretched uncle] and I shared a womb?”

Okoye said nothing, looking stunned. “I- I cannot say I’ve ever thought about it, umama. You said this runs in our family?”

Kioni nodded with a proud smile. “For thirteen generations, aside from myself and a few others. At least one set of twins. Your umakhulu was so very sad that your baba and I were not blessed. But I was grateful. Your father and I were War Dogs, and neither of us wanted to raise children outside of Wakanda. Having you was blessing enough for us.”

Attuma hummed and glanced at Okoye, watching her take the information in. It seemed he wasn’t wholly responsible for this predicament after all.

“We have been blessed by Taweret and Ix’Chel,” he said proudly. “Okoye is having three children.”

Kioni’s eyes widened while Okoye’s narrowed. “I can still feed you to Tobeka.”

A Sea of Stars:

Part I - Stars Within

Part III - Stars Aglow

#attoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma fanfiction #okoye x attuma #okoye is beyond done #attuma is a melodramatic drama Queen #kioni knows whats up #pilesofpillows #a sea of stars

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 10 months ago

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I slept so much Alhamdulilah

I only woke up now

I kept waking up around 8 thinking I needed to go to work and finally it clicked when I remembered, ah yes. On break.

So I let myself sleep til… 11 it seems.

I don’t know if it counts as bad dreams but I had some interesting dreams again. I was with my family, dealing with two of my uncles, one I used to love and one I deeply dislike, they hate each other, nodding along and listening to their stories of childhood trauma (from two different perspectives of course so that means never the same story) and attempting to hide my irritation at being around them. One mocks the other saying how he had a meltdown outside of the home, he’s so sensitive. I flinch internally because there’s plenty of reasons to hate the uncle I dislike, but calling him mad and mocking a broken mind isn’t one of them.

And it was also the end of the environmental world. In my eyes anyway, some evil force was hunting and taking away all the whales. Just hunting and taking them away, not killing them for food or to sell.

You know how dreams jump cut, it’s like that. I was in my uncle’s room listening to the one i dislike talk about going some place as a kid, we’re now in that place. A forest for some reason, and he’s… with us? That doesn’t sound right, he’s practically agoraphobic. He goes off on his own, to explore his memories I suppose and maybe find some way to heal.

I have visions of a whale, and we need to help her. I see it in my mind, she’s almost the last one. She’s hidden somehow in the seas around this… island?

I think I’m underwater now because I can see her, not as distinctly as some whales in my other dreams but I can see…. A fantasy

A white whale, pure white, a giant shimmering pearl found in the blue of the oceans, but the size of a blue whale, maybe even bigger. I see what happens if she and all the whales are taken, I see the sea levels drop and then, the sea start to lose life. The balance of an ecosystem is delicate and if you were to remove whales… so much would suffer. Life in the deep sea would be non existent, life in the other zones would be… irreversibly changed, a lack of krill and microscopic creatures and the seas would change colour. You know what we learnt in GCSE biology? The way an ecosystem is sustained and the loss of whales… is a loss to the earth, turning the oceans blue to grey and dull. And if nothing else, a loss of THEM, of whales and that is enough to lose, for their lives to mean something by their own merit of existence more than anything else.

I’m crying because I want to help her but unlike my other dreams I’m at a distance, she’s quite far off from me, casting a soft winter glow under the sea like a moon sunk below the waves, swimming at a distance just below the surface. I think I can’t come closer to her until I have a plan to help her and I promise I will.

I promise I will.

#star speaks #original writing #writerblr #writing #writers #star’s dream diary #it… spun into something #not sure how that happens.

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the-thieves-gambit · 3 months ago

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"Ah," a wide smile on her face. " The quiet technique. I recall that technique failing you last week when you decided to accompany me on my shopping trip. I think they have our picture back there from now on to keep us from being in there together now." Oh, a dare. An eyebrow quirked, glance shot his way, if it was a challenge he wanted, it was a challenge she'd be up to. Many ideas of how to make him let that cute little sound she liked to hear out of him so she won first. Well, by then they both would win but that was neither here nor there.

"Hmm." She agreed as she put her phone down in her lap, not letting go of his hand in her other one. Grabbing his phone, she did as he asked. Talking as she wrote a quick text back to his mom. "I don't think it's a nightmare." She knew what his mother's goal was with the events and she admired not just the action but the person that the actions were coming from. She had come to love his mother. His family. "I can help you with it if you like. However I can, I know you don't like doing them much." The fact that his mother had included her had slipped past her until he pointed it out. It made her sit up a little bit more straight, made her feel more cared about than she ever had before. "Me too," she said softly before putting his phone back down and picking hers back up.

She felt happy tears well up in her eyes at his statement and began to blink them away before nodding. He had been right, again. As long as it was him that she was sharing this adventure with it would be perfect. They could always come back another time to do anything they missed. "Yes," the excitement began to build up again. "A hotel in Reykjavík. We'll rest, and recharge for an hour or so." Thankfully they were traveling light so they wouldn't have to hassle with much. "Then we can see the city for a bit, grab something to eat, and do the whale-watching tour. It's about three hours long, there's also a whale museum we can visit after and where we can get plenty of souvenirs." With that, she put her phone back into her pocket and excitedly waited for him to park so they could begin their adventure. The excited energy began to feed into a nervous one as they got a step closer to her plan with every second. "Do you know that there are over twenty different species of whales in the waters? A lot of people call them the singers of the sea."

"Me?" Wally chuckled as he made a turn on the left lane. "We can't be banned if we operate on the quiet technique. Maybe bite a shirt or something. We're really good at stealth. As I recall you're the queen of stealth. You're just being a scaredy cat. Never thought I'd see the day," he murmured giving her a hard time. Honestly, he could come up with ways to lean into naughty ways without even getting up from their seats.

"Oh, sorry it must have been my other hazel eyed princess, Lila who had said that." Amusement danced in his voice as he shook his head. He squeezed back as he hadn't looked over at her. "I bet I could coax out my bratty babe to misbehave on the plane. Hmm," he pretended to think about it and smirked. He would never deny that whenever she let her bratty side out he enjoyed it.

He could feel her eyes on him but couldn't really turn to ask what was going on in that beautiful mind of hers. Keeping his focus on the road as they boarded the ramp to get to the next exit which was the airport. He heard the ding of his phone which Liz had on her side he took a quick glance over and read the first part from his mom. Winter ball and bring Ellie. She had taken to giving Liz her own nickname wanting to break apart from the pack and smiled as he shook his head. "Worst nightmare. Winter ball. Could you text her back and tell her we will talk later." He had forgotten about the end of year festivities since he wasn't in charge and usually Lu was. But this year she was not in the best state of mind so he was the next up. Meli was already handling behind the scenes that left him to be the face. Moments like this he actually thought about taking up more cases to keep from having to do this. "I love that she automatically includes you."

"No matter how much we get to do, as long as we get to do it together, I'll think this was the best trip ever. I promise you. It sounds perfect because it'll be with you. Also do you know where we're headed as soon as we land?"

#v. main | elizabeth #clubsmarties | wally & elizabeth #A BIRTH-A-WEEN OMG TOO CUTE! yes! a million times over. birthdays they go all out! omg their birthdays are this month!!#“he took it once and never stopped” !!!! excuse you i am on a puddle on the floor.#heheheeh i mean technically it is a cute romantic getaway

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sweetside · 1 year ago

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Ah, I suppose I am plenty thirsty and water is always a good choice to wet one's whistle

Moxxie grabs the counter to lift herself back up to standing height. Like a couple whales breaching before you.

Once you had gawked enough for her tastes, she'd offer you the glass of water.

#Muse:Moxxie #nonnie

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amorousadepti · 3 years ago

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❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while.

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation.

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place?

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion.

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!"

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.)

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?"

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns."

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—"

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon.

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something."

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this."

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes.

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday."

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!"

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield.

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip.

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!"

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile.

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you."

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?"

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?"

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone.

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand.

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him.

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow.

Except—

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before.

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier.

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place.

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar.

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!"

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick."

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade."

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is."

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed.

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?"

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier.

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot.

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine.

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!"

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place."

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please."

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker.

Hungrier.

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more."

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering.

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax."

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him.

You're glad to drown.

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #sfw #birthday fic

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diniidjarin · 3 years ago

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ok so listen idk if you've done this,, but dishonored control AU, like a cool mashup thing

something something about the board and the outsider or smth

Instead of the hiss it's the whale call, whales are SCPs

Corvo in Jesse's place or vice versa, or maybe Jessamine was the previous director. Jesse-mine? Hmmm

ohOHOho your brain is huge and wrinkled and made mine crease all night. ended up a few steps to the left of what you planted here but oh these roots are spreading faster than the sentient mold

---

Jessamine freezes in the middle of the sidewalk at the familiar nudge to her conscious. "Have we found it?" she whispers.

A flutter at the edge of her vision, a sensation like the brush of feathers at the back of her hand. She turns her head and notices the monumental building right in front of her, though not a second ago the street held absolutely nothing of note. The scant few pedestrians keep their eyes on the pavement as they pass her by. No cars stop in front of the Imperial Bureau of Control.

"Finally," she breathes, and takes the steps of black stone two at a time. "We're going to get some answers."

---

The air inside the Bureau smells wet and briny, and Jessamine doesn't think it's the fault of the man busy mopping the floor. He hums a work song she almost recognizes, though she's no closer to remembering it than she was a minute ago when the first faint notes echoed down the empty hallways and led her to him.

"Hello?"

He turns his grizzled face to her, unsurprised. "Ah, good. You're here about the job." He takes her in, pleased about something. "I'm Samuel, the janitor."

"Nice to meet you," Jessamine offers on reflex. "I'm sorry, the job?"

"Janitor's assistant!" Samuel smiles, almost conspiratorial. "You'll need to pass the interview first, but I'm sure they'll like you. Go down the hall, take the elevator. Tell them I sent you." With a decisive nod, he returns to his work.

He might be the first person Jess saw in the building, but it’s more than simple human familiarity that makes his voice a friendly one in her books, she thinks.

“There will be plenty more, and far less friendly, where you are going,” Samuel chimes in behind her.

An amused burr and a rustle of feathers brush her thoughts.

Jessamine smiles. “Yeah. We’ve had worse.”

As the elevator doors slide closed, a scrap of lyrics follows her in.

way, hey, and up she rises...

---

The executive offices are as empty as the lobby, except here the mournful song that has been vibrating in Jessamine’s bones becomes audible enough to notice. The notes are long, stretched too far to determine a melody, and pervasive. A displeased grumble bubbles up behind her sternum.

“You led me here,” Jessamine admonishes. “We are not backing out.”

A scoff. Of course. They are in this together.

Jess sets down the folder stamped with the black monolith logo of the Bureau that she’s picked up out of curiosity. Some description of procedure for subnautical retrievals inside, heavily blacked out, that told her little except that the Bureau loves its paperwork as much as every other institution Jess has ever had the displeasure of dealing with.

So much for running from the mundane, offers her protector. Jessamine smirks. Yes, the two of them have gone to some lengths to not deal with pencil-pushing in an office somewhere, haven’t they? A dead-end career in a cubicle with a poster in lieu of a window would be safe and simple. There is little that can threaten a cog deep in the machine.

The problem was knowing that there are things beyond the poster, the cubicle, the machine. Jess saw it once, as a child. Now her sister was missing and her friend was... somewhere. Between. A gossamer thread tangled in the clockwork of Jessamine’s heart and tugging, the barest hint of proof that she didn’t hallucinate everything that happened in Ordinary.

Now that thread is stronger. Nothing around her makes sense — not the blacked-out documents, not the whalesong in the air, not the building with no windows that she already knows is much bigger than the space it occupies on a perpetually foggy street nowhere in Dunwall City. Things are finally, finally falling into place.

Something thuds in the room she’s been pacing in front of.

We should go in.

Relying on certainty not her own, Jessamine steps into the Overseer’s office.

There is a body on the floor, a black hilt protruding from the chest.

An insistent flutter of wings. The knife.

You want me to pick it up? Jessamine questions. The murder weapon?

This day has only just started getting weirder.

Jess pulls the weapon — long as her forearm, with twin blades fragmenting and reconnecting like the form is not quite in this dimension — from the body, and then the body is hers and she holds the blade to her throat; and the world isn’t there and neither is the Bureau, a void where neither light nor darkness permeate the space around the great Monolith, and it speaks to her without a voice or language and the meaning sears itself into her mind.

[this is your choice and trial and self] [take back what is yours] [choose to be chosen] [be what you are. or not at all]

Jessamine casts about for the voice in her heart, but the din of the message drowns everything out.

The knife hangs in the air, within reach. Waiting.

The only way out is through, she thinks, and, to her surprise, feels elation when the weapon slots into her hand like it belongs there. It ripples as if in greeting, then snaps into the form of a rapier like a clear note hung in the air.

[congratulations. overseer] [we. the order. wield you wield the weapon]

“Well,” Jessamine says. “Now I have a knife.”

———

notes: that’s as far as i get today! not to say i don’t have Brainworms about which character fills in for who, but i got stuck on who of the dh cast is the best fit for Trench’s shoes. Campbell is a strong candidate, but so are Havelock and Burrows. (I think I like Burrows most. if only the vague semantic link between a trench and a burrow. something something put the whole man in the ground eh)

further thoughts: yes Delilah is Dylan and Corvo is Polaris. (Hiss is going to be Wail and i think it’s Granny Rags’ final form, why not. Realized kinda late that i stuck with the original Board, and then thought that the Outsider could be fun as the Former instead, so kept it.) I realize the way i have (not) formatted the segments where Corvo communicates with Jess is practically illegible but when i first played control i couldn’t figure out who the hell Jesse is speaking to & thought, hey i’m gonna replicate that experience as i write this, except how do i translate Polaris’s shimmer into something equally subtle in text? so here we are. godspeed gentle reader

Switched the setting from 2019 america to 2019 gristol with no plan nor rhyme nor reason. yes i wanted to reference pandyssia somehow but also retain some of that modern-retro feel of the bureau. ended up gently conflating it with the abbey of the everyman solely because the abbey’s mission statement (we protect the good people of the empire from all things weird and occult) loosely parallels the FBC’s and that’s about as far as i got rationalizing it aheh

down the line i imagined sokolov as darling, and the idea of billie lurk as emily pope pleases me greatly. piero would fit as langston, daud as marshall perhaps? think thonk

Thank you for the prompt! Much as my ideas are getting away from me here, i don’t think i have it in me to forge a full fic out of them, but the thoughts and snippets are so much fun >D

#goblin ebooks #...yeah let's go with that for the fills tag.#hope to god there isnt someone using this as a legit tag lmao. sorry if so!#control #dishonored #goblin noises.

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sunnysviolin · 3 years ago

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Choices (Rewrite)

Hey guys! I decided to do a rewrite of Choices because I felt like I could expand on it a bit more. You can also read it on ao3 here but because this fic was originally just on here, I thought I would also post it on here

Her son was still asleep.

The house was bright with the afternoon light, sun spilling in from all of the windows. It was one of the things she loved most about her home, how much light it was able to bring in. From the big wide windows in the piano room, to the tiny one overlooking the staircase. Even though it was small it filled the room with brightness. Even the sliding glass doors brought in the sunshine, although she almost never opened the curtains anymore. The light touched everything in the house, the empty stairwell, the miscolored walls, the dozens and dozens of cardboard boxes stacked precariously on top of one another.

Sometimes the memories floated up from where she had tampered them down, catching on a thought floating in her head and coming up to the surface. The light in the house made her think of the windows, and the windows made her think of the piano, the one piece of furniture she was leaving behind, and the piano made her think of the day they bought the house.

She had been pregnant by then, just beginning to show. They had told their respective parents earlier that month on the first trimester mark, and all four had been pleased. It felt good to earn Takashi’s parents approval, it may have only come from the child growing in her, but she was happy to have it. Anything would beat the icy stares and cold judgement that they had when he first brought her home for dinner.

The day they bought the house was also the day they found out they were having a girl. Cold gel on her belly and a monitor pressing against her, and there was a picture of their daughter. She still looked more like an alien than a baby, but she had little fingers and little toes, and her doctor said that the baby was a girl. She couldn’t have been more excited.

She had been hesitant about buying the house at first, scared of the possibilities. Could they afford the house with everything the baby might need? Was the house too big, was it safe enough for their child? Takashi had assured her that everything would be fine, but the doubts were still egging at her, even on this final day that they could possibly turn back. It was the piano that changed her mind. The piano, and her daughter.

As she stood in the doorway of the room that had the piano, she rested a hand on her stomach. Her mind was still reeling from the knowledge that there was in fact a little person in her, a little person that would grow into a little girl for her to love and cherish and raise.

She had never learned to play the piano, but this little girl would. She would sit at the piano with long black hair, straight like her fathers instead of wavy like her own. This little girl would have her eyes, and a perfect smile. She would grow up in this house, and her parents would be with her for every step of the way.

Takashi had come up behind her and she had turned herself into his arms, declaring there and then that this was their home now. They signed the papers only an hour later in their realtors office, and she had been in her final month of pregnancy when they finally had moved in. There had been some water damage, and Takashi hadn’t wanted to risk mold around her and the baby. She had been a whale by the time they finally got into the house, waddling around unpacking cardboard boxes so very similar to the ones adorning the house now.

It had felt right then, like the real beginning to her life. Everything had made sense. Now the brightness of the house was overwhelming, the sun hitting her eyes and leaving black blurs in her vision. She kept most of the curtains shut, and there was no one there who would open them back up for her.

Still, the light kept creeping in.

Stop thinking about that. Get back to what you have to do.

I left some food in the fridge for you downstairs. It's STEAK... your favorite! Love you, XOXO.

She circled that final O and peeled the sticky note off of the pack, placing it on the wall by the doorway next to the rest of her little messages to her son. Sunny did better when he had reminders of things, and the bright neon of the stickies tended to catch his eye long enough to engage his curiosity. She patted the note twice to ensure it was stuck on firmly, and then she started her mental checklist again.

Pack up the last of our things. Check.

Call the landlord to start setting up the apartment. Check.

Make sure the moving men knew to leave the piano. Check.

Leave Sunny a list of chores. Check.

Make sure Sunny has what he needs and knows how to get it. Check.

Everything was laid out exactly as it should be. Everything was taken care of. So why did she have a foreboding feeling? Why did she not want to leave? She had wanted to leave this house for the last four years, she had craved escaping the grief and pain that tainted the walls. Now she was finally at the precipice of getting exactly what she wanted, and fear was holding her in place.

On a whim she called out that she was leaving to the empty dead house. Sunny did not wake. Sunny’s door did not open. She hadn’t expected it to, but she hoped it would. He might have come downstairs and give her a hug goodbye, he might have given her some sign that he was aware she even existed at all.

Except he wouldn’t, and it was better to pretend that it was just because of the house. Once she got him out of this house it would all be okay again, and to get him out of the house, she needed to leave and set up their new home.

With that thought at the forefront of her mind, she picked up her handbag and walked to the door. It was heavy when it opened, it had always been heavy, but now it was a struggle to even get the knob to turn. But turn it did, and soon she was standing in her yard, the front door closing behind her with an ominous click. That sound always sent a shiver racing down her spine. It was the same noise as when the men closed Mari’s casket. A simple quiet snick, efficient in its brutality.

That’s the sound that happened when they finally took my baby away. That’s the sound that happened when they shut the world forever on her beautiful face. She never shut any of the doors in the house anymore in an effort to avoid that sound.

She hurried to the car and slammed the door shut, the vibration of it rolling up her arm and cancelling out the noise of the casket door closing. A shaky breath flew out of her mouth and she gripped the steering wheel, letting her head fall against it.

It’s all fine. Everything is fine. You’re overreacting to a little noise. It’s just an overreaction.

She grabbed her purse and began to dig through it, the jingly sound of her keys coming from its depths. Once she found them she jammed the key into the ignition, about to turn it when it happened again. A crackly voice in her head, speaking in slow gravely Japanese. The voice of her Baasan stuck in her mind, stalling her hand from turning the key.

You shouldn’t leave him alone.

It was a ridiculous thought. She had left Sunny home alone plenty of times. It wasn’t anything new or out of the ordinary. Sunny probably wouldn’t even get up, except to use the bathroom and eat. She would be back in three days, and then they would be able to move on with their lives. There was nothing to worry about. She turned the key, and Baasan spoke up again.

Three days? You told yourself one, then two at most. Now Three? What on earth could you possibly need to do that would keep you away from your son for three days. He’s fragile now, you know.

Plenty of things Baa-Baa She rationalized. She had to lay out the furniture, call an inspector, get food for the fridge, and make sure everything would be just the way it should be for Sunny’s arrival. There was lots to do, and she needed all of that time. It wasn’t like she had left Sunny in a ditch without shelter or care. He was in his home, the only home he had ever known, with food to eat and a warm bed.

Ah yes, a single steak. Certainly enough for three days. He’s going to starve while you are gone. Why do you want to starve your son?

She wasn’t starving him. She...she wasn’t. Sunny barely ate anymore anyway. Uncertainty wound itself around her shoulders. She had left him a steak in the fridge, and the microwave was right by it to warm it up. She had even sharpened the knife for him.

Leaving your only son with a sharp knife alone in the house. What a choice .

She shook her head, unable to shake the thoughts from her head. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she threw her body around, pulling out of the driveway and speeding down the road. Her Baasan’s voice screamed in her head

Turn Back. Turn Back, damn you. Go back, he needs you. You left out a knife, a knife you sharpened. You didn’t sharpen any of the others. Why did you leave that knife out? Do you want him to hurt himself?

“No!” She shouted into the empty air, startling herself. Her hands jerked, and the car jerked too, pulling into the other lane. An oncoming vehicle blared its horn, and she overcorrected, going half off the road. The man in the other car gave her the finger as he whizzed past, and she laughed, a strangely broken sound. Why would she want to hurt Sunny? He was her baby, her little one. The last little one she had, the only family she had. All she had now was her son, and she would never let anything hurt him.

“I’m doing this for him,” She said to herself, her voice placid and sweet, “It’s all for him. Once he’s out of that house things will be better. It’ll be all better,”

Why couldn’t she believe herself? She wasn’t lying, she wanted this for Sunny.

You want it for you. You want to be rid of that place, rid of the memories and everything you lost. Whatever it takes you’re leaving that all behind and it will be like none of it ever existed. That’s for you, not him.

But Sunny wasn’t one of the things she wanted to leave behind. Sunny was coming with her. But that didn’t explain why he wasn’t here sitting in the car with her. Baasan tried speaking up one last time.

Turn Back. You can take it back before he even wakes up. Throw that knife out into the backyard. Let it rest next to where your son hung his sister.

Where your baby hung herself. He needs you. He needs his mommy.

No. No, it was fine.

Sunny didn’t need her. What Sunny needed was a fresh start. Sunny needed to get out of that house, that horrible house filled with ghosts- alive and dead. Sunny needed her to be his mother, to make decisions when he couldn’t. Sunny needed his mother to help him, and she would. She would fill this new house with new furniture and new clothes, and she would become a new person. A kinder person, a better person, someone who could forgive his mistakes. Someone who could love him. Someone who could see him without hating him.

Sunny would be fine. Sunny would sleep all day and all night like he always did. He was a caterpillar in a cocoon, and she was going to help him finish his metamorphosis. Leaving this house, his chrysalis, would help him to transform. He would emerge as her beautiful boy again, her quiet darling, her Sunny. She put on her turn signal and started up the drive once more, this time with no hesitation at all.

All he had to do was survive a few more days in the fog. He could manage that. He’d lived this long in it, hadn’t he?

#omori #omori fic #omori sunny #omori sunnys mother #omori sunnys father #shes such an interestign character #and I decided to think about it a bit more #ayways #rewrite!#Do you like the original or this one better?

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curioussubjects · 4 years ago

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come be a season 12 truther with me; or what if dean and cas got together offscreen

Originally, I wrote this post to celebrate “Galaxy Brain” airing as Berens & Glynn gave us “The Future.” It’s been a while since that episode aired, and some things have changed about this meta. As such, there are multiple versions of this post floating around, so make sure to go back to the source for the most up to date version. For all intents and purposes, this post functions as a meta manifesto not unlike shipping manifestos from days of LJ past. In keeping with that tradition, this post is a close reading of Dabb Era Destiel in which I argue that by using narrative gaps, queer coding, and romance tropes, Dean and Cas are shown to be in an established relationship. Although beyond the scope of this post, it’s worth pointing out that keeping Destiel mostly off screen was a way for the creatives to bypass network censorship while still remaining true to the characters.

This post is divided into three sections. Section I focuses on giving an overview of why earlier seasons of Supernatural aren’t as compelling as season 12 as a turning point for Dean and Cas’s relationship. That said, special consideration is given to 09.06 “Heaven Can’t Wait” as a potential rest stop in our journey due to it’s significantly placed narrative gap as well as themes in the episode. However, this post isn’t going to examine season 9 trutherism in depth, though it does coexist with and allow for it. Section II analyses season 12 and proposes a timeline and justification for the shifting Destiel dynamic. Finally, Section III will offer an analysis of how Dean and Cas’s relationship has changed dramatically from previous seasons in a way that is most like the shift from a “will they or won’t they” pairing to an established one.

Before I move to Section I, I’d like to note something this post takes for granted: Dean and Cas are the main romantic subplot of Supernatural, and, in fact, their relationship is elevated to main plot for both characters in season 15. This post won’t argue about the canonicity of Dean and Cas’s feelings for each other, therefore, and so won’t spend time looking at many Destiel defining moments. I’d also like to make clear that this post also takes for granted that Destiel is being intentionally developed by the writers starting with Carver’s Era, and more so in Dabb’s.

I. Why Seasons 4 through 11 May Not be It

The tl;dr. here is that while there are many moments throughout these seasons that Dean and Cas could potentially get together, none of those moments are ideal for a bunch of reasons that can be summed up as really bad timing. I also think the narrative is actively pushing them towards a moment that works. We get plenty of stepping stones, especially once we hit seasons 8 through 11 (and 11 most of all).

Seasons 4 & 5:

I know there’s been a lot of get together fics over the years set in this time period, but I just don’t see it. Do I see them being intrigued and drawn to each other? Yes. Do I think either Cas or Dean would act on it? Nope. I’m not arguing anything re: Dean’s feelings, but with everything going at the time I find it hard to believe he’d pursue anything with his angel friend. Most importantly here, though, is that during this time Cas was still very alien and other. There was too much angel in him, and while he obviously came to care about Dean (and Sam) very much, I just can’t see him navigating the realm of human relationships. That said, seeing human!Cas in “The End” is the first we see of potential developments for how Cas could behave without his angelness interfering. Being human changes Cas a lot, beyond even his experience existing among humans, though that of course matters too. This development will be important later /wink.

Seasons 6 & 7:

Before anything else let me just recognize that if we could see some sexual tension in seasons 4 & 5, these two seasons come with our first taste of romantic tension. The pining! Also note the difference between season 4 Cas and season 6 Cas in terms of behaviour. He is much less the angel we saw in that barn in “Lazarus Rising.” In season 6, we have a Cas making misguided decisions guided entirely by his emotions – namely, not wanting to involve Dean with the war in heaven – which is peak human, honestly. Put a pin on how sad Dean is in both seasons with Cas’s absence. Finally, put a pin on this being our first moment of Cas doing things on his own to spare Dean and it not ending well (soulless!Sam, Cas “dying” after Leviathan) because this is *the* hurdle in their relationship (along with Dean’s lashing out and self-worth issues). With all this said, the marked distance between Dean and Cas in these seasons negates the possibility of them entering into any kind of relationship. Much like seasons 4 and 5, there’s too much going on.

Season 8:

Ah, yes, the summer of purgatory. If you thought we had pining before…! I think we’re all very clear on season 8 being a turning point for the show, not only because new showrunner, but we also get the bunker. TFW now has an HQ, which pretty soon becomes home. Yes, Baby will always be home, but the bunker becomes the *unmovable* safe haven that Baby couldn’t be. The bunker is a place to coalesce, and for all the amazing things Baby is, she is not that. The acquisition of the bunker marks a shift in the psychology of the show: with the stable home space we can start to imagine domesticity, a place to come home to, the stuff of ordinary living. Most of all, the bunker is emblematic of security, of safety –keep this in mind, as we go forward.

This season also continues to see Cas go down the path of independently solving his problems instead of asking for help from Sam and Dean (his family in a way heaven never was) – note that the better together issue is at play in different ways with Sam and Dean also, but I digress. I also want to point out disastrous instance #2 of Cas’s insistence on figuring it out on his own: he loses his grace, and the angels fall. As for Dean, season 8’s focus for him has much to do with Sam, and them coming face to face with their issues with codependency, which hit catastrophic levels with the gates of hell and Gadreel plots.

So despite all the deliciously angsty get together purgatory fics and spec, there’s too much distance between Dean and Cas on Cas’s part due to his guilt over betraying the Winchesters in s6 plus slaughtering angels plus unleashing Leviathan. We do see Dean being more emotionally open with Cas and continue to voicing his wish that Cas would just stay with him and Sam, and let them help. It’s clear as day how much Dean cares. The timing is still bad, though.

Before moving on to next season, let’s take a moment to appreciate that this is the season Dean admits being kinda done with one night stands because “always with the adios.” Remember the bunker as a sign of stability? Yeah. I wouldn’t say Dean is craving a relationship, exactly, but I think we can see that he does want something more (ahem also I’m nodding to Cas refusing to stay put just cause).

Seasons 9 & 10:

The most important thing to happen between this two seasons is Cas’s stint as a human for an extended period of time. There’s been plenty of spec and meta written over the years about the effects of being human on Cas’s grace (a proto-soul now maybe?). What we can say for sure, regardless, is that Cas is much more humanized once he becomes an angel again. The understanding he gets from being human doesn’t go away once he regains his angel powers. You’ll notice that while we still see some of season 4’s characterization, Cas is not the same as he was – he is alien to angels now and is more intelligible to humans. Additionally, in an interesting reversal from previous seasons, we now get to see the depth of Cas’s feelings for Dean (thanks, Metatron) as well as seeing him be more open emotionally, while Dean does most of the pushing away (first because of Gadreel, then because of the Mark of Cain). In short, the timing is still bad as Dean and Cas are largely kept apart both physically and emotionally.

9.06 Heaven Can’t Wait

This episode is my white whale, friends. While I’ve come to fully subscribe to the idea that something did happen between Dean and Cas during the fanfic gap, I don’t actually think it’s feasible that it marked the start of a relationship -- be it sexual or romantic. My reasoning here is quite simple: the timing is bad. Were it not for external events (Cas regaining his Grace and Dean taking on the MoC), the course would have likely differed. Furthermore, Dean’s guilt over making Cas leave the bunker as well as Cas’s own hurt and self-loathing pose a significant and as yet insurmountable obstacle, which is easily seen with how Dean and Cas’s character trajectories go separate ways.

YMMV on what exactly happened between them in that Motel, but something definitely did. Perhaps one day I’ll have a proper s9 trutherism post to link to here for more details (likely won’t be written by me, though).

10.16 Paint It Black

From the point Dean gets the MoC until the end of season 10, anything between him and Cas is quite impossible due to distancing, to say the least. Again, yes, the fic is really good, but alas. One of the reasons I’m bringing up this episode in particular is because of the confession scene. One, it’s a rare bit of explicit emotional honesty from Dean, and two, it tells me that while he and Cas may be well aware of the Thing™ between them, it’s still uncharted waters. It’s scary, and murky, and they’re unsure how to navigated it or if they should even try. Makes sense, too, there’s been A LOT going on since s6. Anyway, he’s the full confession:

You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it. […] Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time. […] Yeah, I’m just starting to think that… maybe there’s more to it all than I thought.

Can I just say, first, that this confession keeps me up at night because we never actually see anything done with it explicitly? I mean, obviously, I think we do in fact see the effects of this confession in the show, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this behemoth, but still, like. Damn. Ok, so, remember when I brought up that thing in season 7 about Dean being kinda done with hook-ups? Here’s where that led us. We’re seeing a Dean here who wants more than what he has convinced himself he gets to have. He wants more than dying bloody. And when he talks about wanting to experience people and feelings differently, well, that says a lot not just on the queer coding front or the romantic front. I mean, jfc, Dean is accepting the idea that he can have more in life than just hunt until he drops, and he’s specifically talking about experiences at the interpersonal level.

Do you ever see a character having an epiphany and find yourself wanting to cry because this is it right here. Dean is just blatantly admitting he wants more and maybe he can make himself be open to that (!!!), which all culminates in season 11, so…

Season 11:

The pining is still here, but it’s worse now since it’s the whole plot? It’s been *checks calendar* 5 years of this. How are any of us still kicking I don’t know. Your slow burns could never. Cool worth noting points: Cas says yes to Lucifer (bad decision #2.5, lots of mitigating effects_I don’t actually hold it against him that much but Dean is another story & not entirely rational at this point); for the first time since the early days, Dean and Cas are on equal grounds: they’ve both fucked up a lot and have hurt each other. The issues this season are outside their dynamic. Amara and Lucifer here serve as externalizing forces for Dean and Cas’s problems: Cas checks out with Lucifer because he thinks it’s the only way he can help, Dean is caught up in the turmoil of Amara, the emblem of absence and avoidance of struggle. We do get something like an affirmation from the two of them to each other via Dean calling Cas his brother (and I want y’all to consider the historical queering of that statement, and Cas’s “I could go with you.” It feels like we’re headed to them being on the same page. By the end of the season, though, it feels like we’re getting a clean slate: Mary is back, nobody died, no end-of-the-world in sight, no interpersonal crisis. We’re also getting a new showrunner, so. No wonder. We’re gearing up for something, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What this season does that is super important is that it sets up the stage for the possibility of an actual relationship between Dean and Cas, something that has, up until this point, been pretty much impossible.

11.04 Baby

Y’all know what I’m about to quote here, right? That conversation between Dean and Sam about having something with someone who understands the life. Here we still have Dean reverting to the idea that it’s impossible, which is a direct contrast to the openness in 10.16. It’s understandable, though, considering there’s been little reason to think anything like that would be possible (see all the mess and poor timing from seasons past). The quote in question, though, marks a continuing development regarding the issues Dean is struggling with this season:

DEAN: Piper? That’s awesome. Heather. One-night wonders, man. Shoot, we’re lucky we still get that at all. SAM: Really? You don’t … Ever want something more? DEAN: I’m sorry, have you met us? We’re batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don’t ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But … Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?

We wouldn’t be talking about this stuff all these years after Sam and Dean had a serious relationship if it wasn’t important, right? Also who else do we meet this season? That’s right! Eileen! And doesn’t that hit different with season 15 hindsight? And who does Dean have that understands the life? Whose stories have been intricately connected to his? Right now, this is all conjecture. A pipe dream Sam is revisiting, and Dean is skeptical about. Except, well. Look at what we get in “Into the Mystic” and “The Chitters.”

11.11 Into The Mystic

I’m bringing up this episode as a cross reference to “Paint It Black” as well as to complement the talk from “Baby,” and to show, again, that, for all the closeness between Dean and Cas, there’s still a marked distance they haven’t yet bridged. There’s still truths they haven’t told each other. Thanks Mildred for the delicious exposition:

Darlin’…If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the road, it’s when somebody’s pining for somebody else. […] Oh, don’t try and hide it now. Follow your heart. Remember?

11.19 The Chitters

And here we see some validation to Sam’s imagining of a possible future with someone else. We actually see hunters who not only are married, but they both make it out alive. Jesse and Cesar get their happy ending. They make the dream come true. And the reality of it important not just for Dean to see, but Sam too.

Dean: [with realization] Oh, so … [points back and forth to Jesse and Cesar] Cesar: Yeah. Dean: Okay, that’s… Cesar puts his beer bottle on the table and looks at Dean, while Jesse is being silent. Dean: What’s it like, settling down with a hunter? Cesar: Smelly, dirty. [turns to Jesse] Twice the worrying about getting ganked.

I’d like to point out, too, that the fear of getting ganked is thematic when it comes to the tension between Dean and Cas. More on this when we hit s13.

Alright, now, having said that, let’s take a look at season 12. Bear in mind, this is the official start of Dabb’s era, even if he kinda began taking over in season 11, and the change in vibes is obvious. In fact, 12 jumped out at me as a turning point, in hindsight, after getting smacked by the domesticity of seasons 13 and 14.

II. Why Season 12

[Out of date section. Update coming soon when spoons. After significant debate, I’ve altered the definitive start of Dean and Cas’s friend-with-benefits-with-mutual-pining relationship to between 12.02 and 12.03. I briefly explained why here, and yes it’s a shitpost--still true tho.]

Finally, the promise land, y’all. Getting right to it: what s11 was for Dean in terms of setting up the relationship stage, s12 was for Cas. In its initial beats, any way. That is, until the Kelly debacle, this was the longest Cas has been around the bunker and with the exception of seasons 13 and 14, it’s one of the first times we get to see how Cas might actually fit into the bunker-as-home. Things seem remarkably chill. Of course, we’ll notice that there’s still a lot of baggage hanging around because despite Dean and Cas being in a more stable place, they haven’t actually dealt with their interpersonal problems. I didn’t single out directly this episode, but do keep in mind Cas’s declaration in 12.09 First Blood as far as how much the Winchesters matter to Cas & how we also see Dean and Cas be particularly singled out with them seating together in the backseat of the Impala. What we also see this season is Cas trying to prove he is worthy of this family, his family. He’s not fighting for heaven or to right some grievous wrong (a la s8). No, this season he’s fighting to spare the Winchester, to bring them a win. To bring Dean a win. The major disconnect is that Dean (and Sam & Mary) already sees Cas that way, he doesn’t think Cas has anything to prove. And just maybe, Cas starts believing that too – or, at least, believing it enough.

12.10 Lily Sunders Has Some Regrets

This episode, oh my god, the goodness. In the wake of 12.09 we have Dean and Cas in a tiff because Cas mistake #3 (killing Billie and “cosmic consequences”), this is a pattern. Twice the worry of getting ganked, etc etc. But where this episode really shines is through the contrast between Ishim’s obsession with Lily and Cas & Dean’s mutual affection for each other. Ishim sees no difference here and, to him, Cas’s feelings for Dean are a human weakness. Returning to my point about human!Cas, this episode underscores that Cas’s increasing humanity is what puts him in the place where he can want what Dean wants instead of either being too alien to get it (see s4 & 5) or unable to experience it properly (Ishim).

12.12 Stuck in the Middle (With You)

Cas’s trajectory culminates here with the whole I love you (@ Dean), I love all of you (@ Winchesters). Let’s note too that Cas is dying here, in a way that is much more human than going up in light. This declaration of different types of love is entirely human. It’s also a definitive step wrt to Cas and Dean’s relationship because of what happens in 12.19. This. is. it. Oh, and, of course, let’s not forget to point to Dean’s face when Cas says that “I love you,” and how terrified he is that Cas is dying. Might make one rethink some things, hm?

12.19 The Future

This episode is simply hella suspicious, and all the kudos to Berens and Glynn for writing it. It’ll haunt me forever. Consider watching it again and just questioning everything. So. Weird things:

1. Dean’s reaction to Cas no getting in touch as opposed to Sam’s. Dean is pissed, which is Dean-speak for worried out of his mind. Sam is very worried, too, and puzzled, but he’s mostly expressing his relief that Cas is back. But Cas has gone awol before, but this time Dean is much more worked up about it; Sam takes note of this, too. Now, let’s imagine that maybe the events of 12.12 led to something happening between Dean and Cas. Then Cas decided to leave to find a lead on Kelly, but eventually Cas decides to work with Heaven and goes radio silent. For days. Having taken a chance, and something having happened between them, how would Dean react to Cas just going poof and not contacting him – despite Dean having called Cas multiple times.

2. Cas knows about the Colt. Ok, nothing off there. But when he goes to Dean’s room to talk, right after Dean leaves we see Cas looking around briefly. Like he know Dean would keep it in there. Maybe Cas had looked other places already. Who knows. What we do know is that eventually he does find the Colt not only in Dean’s room, but under Dean’s pillow. Sam didn’t even know the Colt wasn’t in the safe. So how did Cas know?

3.“He came into my room and he played me.” So, this quote right there, makes it seem like some seduction for personal gain, right? But can you see Cas actually doing that if they hadn’t gone there previously? For Dean not to suspect anything and go with it? There’s plenty of plausible deniability here, but the gaps in time in the narrative make me question what is there in those spaces. The scene where Cas tried to give Dean the mixtape back doesn’t read like “playing,” so it’s about a different interaction. Hm. Hmmm.

4. Dean and Cas’s brief conversation in Dean’s room is clearly Dean just wanting Cas to stay, so they can work (and be) together – because they’re better that way. Which, yeah, truth, but also ow.

5.And most importantly: When did Dean give Cas that mixtape??? How did that happen?

Sequence of events: Cas tells Dean he loves him – Dean is clearly shook by it – Dean gives Cas a mixtape (romantic gesture, often a declaration of feelings; in true Dean speak too lolsobs) – Cas goes awol - Dean acts like he got ghosted by his new bf -?????- Cas somehow knows the Colt is under Dean’s pillow – "He went into my room and he played me."

What am I supposed to do with that, hm? Like. Y’all realize they probably had some emotionally constipated getting together moment, right? Something that Dean clearly initially thought meant things were gonna change, now. Something that Cas couldn’t allow to happen until he could give Dean a win. Y’all are seeing this, yeah? I’m not saying they slept together and were full of feelings, except that’s kind of what I’m saying. But YMMV, there are other possibilities beyond sex. The full of feelings isn’t up for debate, though, even if the whole thing is informed by ridiculous amounts of miscommunication.

III. Seasons 13 through 15 As Established Relationship

Regardless of what happened in season 12, exactly, I can’t shake the feeling that something did happen, and something did change. My reasoning here is actually really simple: in comparison to previous seasons, Dean and Cas’s dynamic shifts significantly come season 13. I know some folks have been disappointed with some of season 13 and then season 14 for having dialed back on the destiel side of things. And, hey, maybe there’s truth to that in terms of backstage stuff, but I also want to point out that...well, the dialing back isn’t quite dialing back is it? Let’s look at 13 a little more closely:

Season 13:

So I said the deancas dynamic changed, right? I also think that change caught us unaware because the pivotal turning point that would cue us in never happened on screen as well as being subsumed by Cas’s death and Jack’s birth. But if I ask you about deancas in season 13 what would come to mind? Grief arc? Brokebacknatural? How domestic Dean and Cas are? There’s just something easy about their relationship after Cas returns from the Empty. The tension we’d grown so familiar with over the years is gone. Actually, it feels like we skipped the getting together bit of their relationship and went straight to established relationship and parenting. Some of the most peak married deancas moments we see circulating? Season 13, (and 12.10). It’s a lot, and it’s different, and it’s amazing.

13.01-13.05

Dean’s grief mini-arc. He was acting like a widower. Here’s me vaguely gesturing towards the mapping of Jonh, Mary, Dean, and Sam onto Dean, Cas, Sam, and Jack. And the reunion? I can’t help but be giddy at the song choice: “it’s never too late to start all over again.” To. Start. All. Over. Again. I’m just saying.

13.06 Tombstone & 13.16 Scoobynatural

I’m not going at length about these episodes, I just want to point out that they reveal that Dean and Cas have a whole thing going on off screen: they watch movies together, Cas knows about Dean being an angry sleeper, Cas seems to have been aware of the Dean-cave before Sam was. It’s little things like this that are examples of the narrative gaps surrounding Dean and Cas that have cropped up over the years. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to wonder what else could be hiding there. And when did the movie nights alluded in “Tombstone” happen? Maybe in season 12 when Cas in hanging around the bunker? The same period when Dean and Cas seem to be coalescing into something safer and more stable? Something that we never see come to a head because plot happens and Cas dies? Something that is immediately taken back up once Cas is alive again?

Season 14:

Overall, this season is more of what we got during 13, but it had two high notes I wanted to single out before ending this already too long post.

14.15 Peace of Mind

Look me in the eye and tell me Dean and Cas talking in the kitchen about Jack doesn’t read like husbands talking about their child. Look me in the eye and tell me Cas just texting Dean to gossip about Sam isn’t couple-y as hell.

14.18-14.20

Ah, yes, the divorce arc. Awful. Terrible. The culmination of Dean’s problem in all this: he lashes out, he pushes Cas away, his anger is alienating. Cue all of us suffering. But while Dean is clearly in the wrong in how the deals with his feelings, let’s not pretend some of his anger doesn’t come from a long established, and unaddressed, rift between him and Cas, which had its last traumatic turn when Cas died in s12. Dean isn’t being rational here: he saw Cas doing something on his own, and he saw that his mother is dead. What else could happen? Why won’t Cas just trust they can work as a team? What if Cas died again? And why should Cas put up with Dean’s behavior without knowing the cause? How can any relationship work this way? But notice how caught in the middle Sam was during all this. Notice how Jack is running off and acting out. The whole family is falling apart. Divorce arc, indeed.

Season 15:

But what about what we’re building up in 15? That seems like it could be a getting together plot, too, right? Well, yeah. It could very well be. But I’d argue the tension we’re seeing isn’t a will-they-or-won’t-they because they already have. We’re are watching a getting back together plot! The tension is, instead, will-they-or -won’t-they use their words to talk about the baggage that has kept them from truly being confident about their relationship. That’s the crucial step in their togetherness that they’re still missing, which is also the bedrock of the divorce arc that spanned twelve fucking episodes -- y’all, that’s half a season.

And technically? We’re not even done with yet because Cas never let Dean finish his prayer/confession in purgatory. What’s more, Cas hasn’t grappled with his role in the breakdown of their relationship, either: that he keeps going off on his own and getting hurt (and getting other people hurt), and Dean has to deal with the fallout. The deep emotional understanding, the truly being on the same page is what we’re on the edge of our seats for. We’re waiting to see what else Dean had to say, and what will happen when Cas’s deal with the Empty comes to light.

Finally, could we still have this plot without Dean and Cas having gotten together off screen? Sure, but I think the stakes are higher if they already did have something between them. If they actually have an established romantic relationship going on. Something real and tangible and as of yet much too fragile.

"...you asked what about all this is real. We are."

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #spn #spn meta #this thing is gargantuan yikes #anyway enjoy? let's chat #my writing #this thing is half meta half my adhd unleashed

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songofnoheart · 11 months ago

Text

"I see..." Brook liked watching how expressive Mr 3 could get. The hand gestures, the wide smile. It was all so sincere and the skeleton found it incredibly endearing. Despite whatever serious mask the sculptor put on, he was... Perhaps just a little bit silly deep inside. Of course, the old pirate would never say that out loud.

"My, a word forger as well! You truly know what to say to make a person's story feel important." The musician smiled. He wasn't joking, the subtle comparison of his backstory to beri felt nice, it seemed to touch something deep down inside of him.

"Galdino, eh? What an elegant name... I suppose it makes sense that only the chosen ones can utter it." Brook winked, seemingly already entering his slow, deep, but gentle voice of a storyteller. His long fingers gripped the bow tightly and played the first notes of a familiar melody.

youtube

"It all begins more than half a century ago, way back when there was no One Piece, when the Pirate king was simply a rookie whose name nobody even heard of, when the words "Great Pirate Era" sounded simply absurd. The times were quiet, the wind was ever so salty and West Blue gave birth to one very unusual crew of pirates. They called themselves Rumbar Pirates. Their whole life was music, their instruments were only idle when they were asleep or in battle. Such strange pirates took pride in being a crew that could bring a smile to even a crying child's face. And they lived by that motto. Under the flag of crossed bones and skull, they traveled from island to island, bringing party and song wherever they went. Their captain's name was Yorkie, the bravest of them all. His heart was noble and eyes always so clear. A man, who never looked back, he gathered his crew out of those only, who he deemed kind enough, fun loving and thirsty for adventure. They were a wonderful family indeed."

"One day the Rumbar Pirates grew tired of the confines of one sea. They wanted to see the world... They wanted to go completely around it! To see if it was truly as circular as the books say, yoho! And so they set sail towards the infamous Grand Line. On their way they met the newest and last member of the crew: a sweet little baby whale, that lost his mother. The child was drawn in by their music and the Rumbar pirates took him in, noticing a kindred spirit. They protected the little guy and the whale helped them out of hot water plenty o' times...

But then the moment came to say goodbye... The Rumbar pirates finally reached the red line. A dangerous cross that could prove fatal to an innocent child. Ah, what a torturous endeavor it was. The crew tried their best to make the little Laboon leave: they stopped playing music and pretended that they were no longer on the ship. With tears in their eyes they listened to his cries as he searched for them for days... Until they could hear him no more.

With heavy hearts and the hope that he found a new family already, Rumbar pirates climbed up and tore down the waterfall, their ship sustaining minor damage as they did. But they were successful! On the other side they were met by a surprise however! None other but their darling whale Laboon followed them through the horrible overpass. All covered with scrapes, bruises and wounds, he was alive and happy to see them again. Truly, an important valuable member of the crew, he was finally accepted as an official member.

But the road ahead was promising to be even more treacherous. Grand Line was famous for breaking many a brave sailor. So after a hardy celebration Yorkie said to Laboon: "My dear young friend, you are a brave soul and we all love you so. However we cannot let you go with us, for the Grand Line is a deadly horrible place for a child. And so we promise you, we will be back! Did you know? The world is round! We will circle it and then come back again through this same overpass to pick you up! Until then grow well, don't forget us and stay brave, Laboon. We will return for you and play you your favorite song again."

Laboon listened and stayed, letting the Rumbar Pirates leave peacefully, despite many tears of sorrow.

And so began the big Grand Line adventure of the Rumbar Pirates! They played, they fought, they struggled and strifed, they even found treasure at times! They were starting to get a name for themselves."

Pausing his melody, the skeleton reached for the inner pocket of his jacket again and pulled out a different poster with a face of a smiling pirate in a big cowboy hat over the disheveled blod hair and bright eyes, completely lost in the frey of the battle.

"But Grand Line is not a kind place... And Rumbar Pirates were never the luckiest of men. Their hard times began when their captain Yorkie among a few other members fell ill with an incurable disease. It was contagious and very much lethal. With heavy heart the Rumbar Pirates had to disembark and send their old ship adrift with the sick ones on board all alone waiting for their end."

Brook's voice shuddered. For a second it was like he could smell it again: the heavy air of the closed off room where Yorkie said his very last words to him. Yet his hand didn't flinch for a second, it continued playing with firm conviction as the skeleton continued.

"Still in mourning, the Rumbar Pirates set sail again. Even if they were smaller in numbers, they had to come back! They had to keep their promise to Laboon. For Captain Yorkie's sake as well! Their new captain became the former second in command, Brook. Despite having to be in charge he never changed his silly approach, though the responsibility laid heavy on his shoulders. They carried on again. From island to island, bringing smiles wherever they went, despite feeling the dull heavy pain of loss every time they realized their orchestra lacked an alt or a soprano here and there.

Months passed and one day during yet another fight, the noble singing pirates met with the cruelty of the world again.

It happened... Within the thick fog of Florian Triangle where they escaped after a fight. The opposing crew was crafty in the way they fought. Their weapons were covered with lethal poison. And everyone was injured one way or another, unable to reach the next island as their helm was broken with no chance for repair."

The memory of that day felt so sickeningly cold, yet it was something the musician cherished within. Sometimes it felt like the only thing that kept him human.

"My friends, lend me your ear..." - The captain said, braking the silence. "I have no regrets, as a pirate must always be ready to go. However, if we all die here, who will fulfill our last promise to Laboon? You all know I ate a Devil Fruit, so there is a chance I might come back to life. Thus... Let me record ourselves play one last time. Those who can still stand, pick up your instruments and give it your all. It is our duty to let Laboon know that in our last moments we were happy. Happy and singing like Rumbar Pirates should be!"

And so they played and sung their last song like it was just another day. Even as they dropped down dead one after another, they let their voices sore into the unforgiving dark fog. One after another they fell until the piano was the only one left. The Captain last to leave the ship that now smelled of death."

Brook pulled the bow away from the violin again, making another pause, this time much longer and heavier. He had to take a few deep breaths before he continued.

"The captain came to life indeed. Though his soul got lost in the fog and only returned to the body when it became nothing but bones. Bones and an afro, one that little Laboon liked so much... Yorkie used to say it was because the afro looked like a top of a whale's head.

And so, the captain was trapped on his ship, on the moving graveyard floating with no direction and no way to steer it, within the Florian Triangle, so dark and alone.

50 years. 50 years the only thought that kept him from ending it all was the smiling face of their youngest comrad. He wouldn't even dare think that Laboon was no longer waiting for them, he dared not question his loyalty when they betrayed his trust. For 50 years the captain only lived for the sake of a slim chance that he had someone to return to...

Then however his luck suddenly turned. The skeleton captain happened to meet a young pirate with an incredible conviction. His wonderful little crew, who happened to meet Laboon just months before, gave the captain a new reason to live. They gave him hope and a place. They pulled him out of the fog. They even built a wonderful grave for his beloved lost crewmates. And so Rumbar Pirates are still alive with him and Laboon, wherever they are, despite still being apart. One day they will meet again, after the skeleton musician finally finishes his venture around the world and helps his new captain become the king of the pirates.

The end."

The music came to a finish and Brook placed his hands down slowly as if he himself was shocked how much he said. "That's... The end. I hope it wasn't too heavy on you, my dear friend."

Mr 3 drying his eyes was a gesture that surprised the skeleton. Even more however was... The fact that he called them friends. Obviously, Brook considered them friends regardless, but he didn't expect it to be this mutual... And especially didn't expect Mr 3 to admit it so passionately. He sat on the bed and listened carefully to what the wax artist had to say. It was his first time expressing any solid opinion about their companionship, so Brook was seemingly taking it very seriously.

"Right, halfway..." Seeing Galdino hug his knees in such a vulnerable pose, the old pirate felt his fingers tingle. It was the same sensation that would come to him with a new song. An inspiration from a random place. A muse...

"U-uh, yes, I guessed? I never asked, because I just assumed you hated your original name." The musician snapped out of it, locking his itching fingers together. He still chuckled: giving away whole chests of treasure like it's nothing is something his crew would do... Despite Nami's protests. Good to know that he didn't lose that patented Strawhat spirit.

"It didn't make me uncomfortable, as much as it... Surprised me. I never cared for my outer appearance, other than the hair that is, and yet you complimented me on things nobody ever noticed. It was a little overwhelming, yohoho!" The skeleton laughed awkwardly, with a small blush coloring his cheekbones.

"Oh, that... Are you sure?" The request brought concern to Brook's expression. "It's not a pleasant story to listen to, Three-san. Quite a sad one, in fact. If I am to tell it to you..." He paused. Would Mr 3 get offended if Brook just assumed that he couldn't handle it? Plus, the musician himself felt a subtle want to share the story of his brave comrads.

"By your own logic, how about you will let me hear your real name in exchange? As long as you are comfortable with it, of course." The skeleton tilted his head cheekily as his hand grabbed the riff of his violin.

#put most of it under the cap cause its MASSIVE #i would like you to know that this is my magnum opus #○the smile of a wax statue○ ~ waxgentleman ; mr 3.#○hear the chilling voice○ ~ ic.#Youtube

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doomstypewriter · 4 years ago

Text

The submersion | Intrulogical Mermaid AU

Future intrulogical.

Follow up on this animatic. | AO3

Words: 1728.

Summary: Remus has fun in his submarine. A giant barracuda disagrees.

CW: Dark humour, skeletal remains of a rat, drowning, deep ocean (if there's anything else do tell), death, sexual innuendo.

The submersion

It was cloudy.

And cold.

But that was to be expected when one’s in the middle of the Atlantic.

“Remus Prince, you dunce, how are you dressed like that?”

Remus turned around to see Ella Da Villa, the captain of the ship he was on, and an old friend. Her short afro was stuffed inside of a beanie, she held onto her sides through her huge puffer coat.

“I know you’d just rather I take it all off, but, honey, I need to at least wear something”.

She laughed.

“What you need is to make sure you don’t get drenched or--”

“First of all, I look amazing all wet. But if that’s what you’re so worried about, hey, I took care of that” he answered pointing at his green rain boots.

The crew looked at them in amusement as they moved the equipment, preparing everything for the submersion.

Ella took off one of her gloves and smacked Remus’ head with it.

“Ow! I thought you were against violence!”

“I never said that. But I am against animal abuse, that’s why I didn’t hit you hard. Now go and put on a coat, you dumbass”.

“Sure thing mommy, you know how to be commanding” he winked.

“It’s captain for you, now go!”

His boots squeaked against the flooring of the deck as he ran to get into the guts of the ship. He managed to hear Ella swearing under her breath.

“How did he even graduate? Going out in short sleeves…”

Ella was a funny one, Remus thought. It was easy to get under her skin, she also liked to play along which made it even better.

One of the people going up the metal stairs almost tripped against him, there wasn’t that much room, after all. Remus jumped over the railing and fell onto the lower level without a scratch.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” said someone.

A younger guy with spectacular hair held onto his forearm to check on him. Oh, this was the newbie.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any lungs”.

“Wha…” he looked half perplexed and half horrified.

“You know, we all get it done since we’re going to end up sleeping with the fish anyway”.

He stood up quickly and mutely apologised. Remus enjoyed the view of his ass going upstairs as fast as possible. New meat was always hilarious.

When he entered the room his cupboard was already open. He liked to leave the sliding doors that way so he could see what was inside, otherwise, he’d forget about it. In a ship, that meant ending up with all of one’s clothes on the floor, but as long as Remus could see where they were he wouldn’t misplace anything. Object permanence was a bitch.

Messy floors did have an advantage, the coat on top of the pile was good enough to satisfy Ella and easy enough to grab quickly.

The backswing of the glove against his shoulder caught him off-guard.

“Ow! What did I do now?! This coat is fine!”

“The coat is fine, yes, but the new guy is shaking like a leaf. What did you tell him? He keeps saying stuff about drowning”.

“Hey, I’d never mention drowning when I’m about to get into a submarine”.

“Yes, that’d be very poor taste, sadly, you have it worse so you must have said something terrible. I expect you to fix this, or we’ll have to arrange you drowning”.

“You know I love choking on wet things”.

“Then your last moments will be pleasant. Consider me the best friend one could have”.

The new guy was holding onto the railing of the ship, staring at the water in concentration. Probably about to throw up or something.

“Hey!”

“Ah!” he screamed.

“Do you have a name?”

“Uh… yes… um…”

“Great! I have one too, it’s Remus” he introduced himself with half a bow.

“I’m Nathan… sorry… I’m just anxious… it’s the first time I go on one of those” he gestured at the submersible held by the crane of the ship.

“First times are always awkward, don’t worry”.

Finally, Nathan let out a laugh, it was a nervous one but it would suffice.

“You know what I said earlier was a joke, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it just caught me by surprise. You’re the head biologist here, right?”

“Yup. Guess you could say I’m the dom of this study”.

“Darn it, here I was expecting to be more active”.

Remus smiled in surprise. It was always nice when people had similar humour to his.

“Oh, you’ll have to be. I expect it”.

“You wouldn’t expect we could go for some coffee after we get into…” the date proposition vanished into a look of fear at the submersible.

Remus put a hand over his shoulders. The drowning jokes would have to wait until they were emerging.

“Don’t worry, my thicc ass has been there tons of times! It’s just a lot of water”.

“While it’s true he’s been there more than you, he’s overplaying his own ass. It’s kind of droopy” a heavily accented voice said

“Who are you calling droopy?”

They turned to see a tall blond woman smiling smugly. Erika Engström, oceanographer and the operator of the submersible.

“You, obviously, do you have water in your ears?”

“Not yet, but we’ll see if…”

Nathan held his breath.

“Nah, I don’t”.

“He either thinks you’re cute or he’s afraid the captain will throw him off-board if he keeps bullying you”, Erika told Nathan.

“I wasn’t bullying anyone”.

“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re always bullying people, you don’t know how else to flirt”.

“Then I would be flirting with everyone”.

“Aren’t you?”

“Okay, yeah”.

“Come on, I have to set up things. Give me a hand, rat skull”.

“At least give me a knife or something”.

“You can chew it through”.

One last look at Nathan before following her.

“Well, I’ll leave you to stress out, if I don’t help her we’ll dro…” oh right, no drowning jokes. “We’ll…”

“Flirt with me when we’re back at the surface”.

Remus smiled.

“Will do!”

-----

The light was beginning to fade out. The flickering of the few rays coming through a swirl of silvery fish would be their last glimpses at natural lighting for a while.

It was wonderful.

How the underwater landscape changed, morphing into something out of a nightmare. Never ceases to amaze him. People would say it was all just blue getting darker and darker, and it was! But it was also a thick fog from which anything could come out. He always looked forward to seeing the weirdest fish appear.

There wasn’t much room behind the giant acrylic viewport. Despite being stuck so closely together, Remus could feel a chill as the air within got cooled by the deep water. His coat lay forgotten at the back of his chair still.

Once the lights of the submersible switched on, a delicate dance of white dust shined just like it would on a sunny day. This was no room dust. But there was just as much beauty in seeing the marine snow surrounding them. Teensy tiny pieces of dead fish falling all around, making the nicest shapes.

“It’s so quiet” Nathan observed.

“Wait until you hear a whale. The first time I did I thought my skull would pop”.

“Which one?” Erika kept her eyes on the water, but he could see the reflection of a smile curving onto the surface of the acrylic.

“Well, the small one. I know you’d hate to have to scrape my brains off your console”.

“If you had any I would”.

“There would still be plenty of blood”.

The ship carried on with the descend, soon, they’d be at twenty thousand feet. Nathan leaned in.

“Hey, what did she mean by which one?” he said in a hushed voice.

“Oh! Right”

He pulled on the string of his necklace to get it from under his shirt. Remus held it in front of Nathan’s face.

It turned, revealing the empty sockets and the front of what used to be a snout.

“I have this rat skull as a necklace! Erika teases me because that’s how she copes with the fact that she hates it!”

“Anyone would hate it. You wear that thing everywhere. It’s creepy” Erika pointed out.

“Where did you get it?” Nathan asked.

In the dim light, Remus’s smile cast shadows, giving him a grim vibe.

“I used to have a pet rat. When it died it sucked, my brother and I buried it in the backyard. It was there until three years later when we got a heavy storm. The bones peeked through the mud. So I just yanked a bit on the spine and got it. The skull was already defleshed anyway, so, aside from cleaning it a bit, I didn’t have to do any of the work. I really like this necklace. I got into marine biology because I began looking at fish skulls and I wanted to see more”.

“That’s…” Nathan began to say.

Suddenly, the submersible turned violently.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t take a good look”, said Erika.

Her frown told Remus something was seriously wrong.

“Guys, we’re picking up really weird signals from here. Are you all okay?” the sound of Ella’s voice through the radio distracted him from his train of thought.

“It’s all under control, but I am going to begin ascending” Erika replied.

“We haven’t taken all the samples”, Nathan said.

“We’ll have another chance. Right now I’m worried that---”

Erika did not have time to finish talking.

Its needle-like teeth loomed over the viewport. This creature was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Part of him felt excited at how terrifying it all was. Sadly, he had the feeling they were all about to die. This fish looked like a giant barracuda and an angry one.

The creature snapped its jaw closed, cracking the viewport.

Seemingly, it didn’t find it tasty enough and it swam away even moodier than before. The very least it could have done was eat them.

If you’re going to kill them might as well finish the job.

Remus’ body floated into the dark abyss as he struggled to breathe. Covering his ears tightly, he screamed in pain. The pressure was unlike anything.

Well, it had been fun.

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The continuation will feature Logan and another animatic!

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nikkywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Fool, King of Sea (Ocean's Heart Side Story)

Summary: Amphitrite has never seen a divine fool enough face constant rejection for a domain they do not seem to like. Poseidon is, though, the greatest fool she's ever met. And Calypso is a great friend, when she's not being irritating.

*****

One thing that is of short supply in the ocean is good fun.

It can be made, of course, games built around redirecting ships to wrong ports, seeing who can sneak unaided by divinity into captain's quarters, who can race from Crete to Corinth the quickest. Games that are not made for one.

Calypso is good fun when she wants to play, is a challenge Amphitrite loves to play with. They toss their wins back and forth, banter in barbs they only laugh at. Calypso is a great companion, when she is around.

But there are times when she is not.

Alone, Amphitrite gets bored all too quickly, aimlessly searching through the water. She'll rest with her creatures some days, care for them like the pets they all are, but some days she wants excitement and no one is around to deliver.

Then comes something rarer than excitement -- a divine looking to be king.

It is obvious at a glance that this man does not belong. He is tall with thin hips and too much rage boiling in his bones. He must be some sort of new, thinking he can demand ocean to let him rule. It chooses who it will.

Watching this godling try to force himself upon her home is amusing. It remains cold, rejecting and rejecting him. What a fool, to keep trying.

He slinks away eventually, face pinched and muscles coiled tight. There's a rage boiling in his blood, rage the water rejected without hesitation. Amphitrite laughs at his retreat. It is little wonder her domain does not want him. He is entirely too hot for the cold waters. He will boil her home to steam or it will shatter him.

Ah. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Divines did not handle rejection. He would not face the humiliation again, however amusing it would have been to watch. She feels Calypso's call below, from the deep that is more home to her than Amphitrite, the deep that even she finds too chilling. She watches the point of shore the young god had been standing on and turns to go find Calypso. The call is purposefully untraced and it is a call to find her before she rises to air.

The young god's defilement of her home slips from her mind.

-----

Calypso can look awfully disappointed when she wishes to, can arrange her features in a way that niggles even at her. There is something about the arch of her brow and the curve of her frown and the angle of her eyes that stabs at Amphitrite in a way it shouldn't. It is a look of too much divinity towards something that cannot bear it, but Amphitrite can bear Calypso's divinity just fine. It is a trick.

"What?" she asks eventually, a bite to her words that would make a mortal faint.

Calypso turns her gaze elsewhere, to the seaweed curled up beside them, curled above in a little bubble as the water outside churns them away somewhere else. She stares at the weaving. "Nothing," she says in a too-friendly, too-simple tone.

Amphitrite narrows her eyes. Calypso has her ways of haggling for everything she wishes, from whoever she wishes it from. She recalls the moment she'd learned how Calypso had earned her tentacle-swarmed form. Calypso has never hungered for something she did not get and that nettles at her.

It was not fair.

"Don't play your games with me," Amphitrite warns. "I do not hold patience for them today."

Calypso lifts a cool shoulder. The move is infuriating. "Alright."

The silence burns.

Nothing should be burning under the water, in the deep cold of the sea. There is not allowed any warmth. Certainly not heat.

Amphitrite's glare burns hotter. "You are playing," she says.

Calypso's gaze slides over. Her body language is all relaxation and distance. She is at ease but there is something in her expression, something churning in her mind. "How so?"

That was the question. Then, the answer comes.

"You are trying to nettle me," she says, feeling the answer is right but not knowing why. What reason could there be for Calypso to want her angry?

"Maybe you shouldn't be so easily nettled, then."

Amphitrite's lip curls at the accusation. "What ill is in you today?" she asks. "You're being sour."

Calypso seems to consider the words, rubbing her lips together, She shrugs. "I am not sure." Her eyes flick over nothing. "A passing mood, I think. I want to stir trouble but it's too dreary a day for mortals to be out."

She snorts delicately. "Right. Warning, next time. I warn you."

Calypso's smile looks empty. There is nothing wrong with its shape but it looks false. "Sure. Apologies for wounding your ego."

"As if."

The smile shifts, looks more real, more like a smile that belongs on Calypso's face. "You may barb me back," she says, "if that would ease the sting of your pride."

Remaining bits of Amphitrite's anger fall away. She laughs and Calypso joins in.

"Shall we travel for a mortal?" Amphitrite offers. She is all too aware of these moods of Calypso's, times where she is reaching for something that does not quite exist. She had murmured the word chaos once, describing it.

With all the things she represents, all she is and the price of it -- Amphitrite does not think it worth it. There is an emptiness to Calypso sometimes, like the bottomless abyss that leads to the Underworld, that only knows to soundlessly call. That wrongness. It must be her price, for being the face of too many things.

In her rare moments of softness, Amphitrite worries over how it will cause her trouble one day.

"No, this is fine."

Fine. Because nothing can please her now.

It's her curse. The burden of being all the ocean is.

Amphitrite is grateful that the burden is not hers. The deep is enough for her, the cold and the creatures. She could not imagine more.

The seaweed begins to part. They both gain a sense of being in a different section of ocean, placed anew by a combination of both their powers ordered to drift them away.

Amphitrite looks over at Calypso. Her eyes are terrifying, sometimes. They look as if they can see through all. Laying secrets to the sun.

"You should take a mortal," she suggests. "I know how highly you think of them, but having one is quite fun."

Calypso's eyes churn. She gazes out at the water. "Mortals bear much misfortune by our hands," she says. "I see no reason one needs to bear the misfortune of me."

Amphitrite sighs. "Ready, then?" One day, she would convince Calypso to get a mortal. She didn't understand Calypso's protection over them. She spoke for them when opportunity drifted by, but when she wears her other shape, she swallows them like a fish. No remorse. No guilt. No regret. How can she advocate for them so and have their blood dripping in her soul?

It was not right. Many things weren't with her. It was why she was so fun.

"Am I ever not?"

Amphitrite grins. "Go, then."

They race, power folded under their skin, to find the place they had started at.

-----

The god fool returns.

Amphitrite does not seek his appearance, but the backsplash of his untethered divinity beating against the water reaches her. She comes not from the boredom, this time, but the fun she knows will be there.

The god -- Poseidon, the ocean hisses at her as she travels, one of Cronus' rebelling children -- is just as entertaining as she remembers.

He thrusts his sad excuse of divinity over top the water, steps his foot into the splash of shore, growls his place like it is something he can demand. "I am Poseidon," he says, putting too much force in each syllable, "god of the sea."

Amphitrite's laugh is a soft thing her domain swallows. How foolish.

"I will," he speaks with bared teeth like a roaring beast, "be king of you."

Her laugh bursts. The waves splash with it.

Poseidon -- the fool king -- pulls his head back like he's insulted and a tantruming child. "I am son of Cronus and Rhea," he tells her, unknowing she is there. "You will obey my will."

Amphitrite rises. "I think it will not," she informs him, lips pulled in an effortless grin. To him, it probably appears smug and demeaning. It's not her fault he's made it so easy to humiliate him. "The ocean listens not to those it does not care to. You're best finding a domain somewhere else, little god."

He glares at her. It should be some degree of terrifying, since he aided in the capture and downfall of the Titans, of Cronus, but he is unclaimed and she is in her home.

His glare is about as scary as a baby jellyfish.

"I will be king of the sea," he says.

She sighs. "We have many monarchs already. What need is there for you to be another?" Her eyes rake over him, judging. "This is not where you belong. Go tie yourself somewhere you fit."

His lips lift into a sneer. "I will take this for my domain whatever I must do."

Amphitrite lifts her brows and starts to sink under. "Your lost time, little god." She goes back to her depths. What impudence in that one. The world would not bend to his wiles just because he ended an era of tyranny. He would have to come across a place to store his divinity somewhere else. The ocean would not bend to him. Others have tried.

None succeeded. Becoming patron of the sea is as easy as being accepted by it. If you are not, you will never be.

Simple as that.

-----

"Fool," she scoffs at a whale, running her hand over its flesh. "Why must all new gods think themselves kings of things already claimed? There are plenty of other things they could tie their divinity to."

The whale echoes a call. Amphitrite rubs it soothingly.

"I know." She flicks her gaze to where the fool had been. "Impudence. May the Primordials never let his name be known."

Her hand flexes.

"It is undeserved."

-----

Poseidon is apparently stubborn, alongside his foolishness. Perhaps when this doesn't pan out, he will be god of screeching fools. It suits him much better than the sea and was unclaimed, waiting for him.

He's also screaming for her.

She crests with impatience, shooting him a look packed with all the cold of her domain. He has the sense (not a complete fool then) to fumble some of his confidence. "I told you the ocean would not be yours," she says, "and yet you returned."

"It must be mine," he replies. His eyes dart to the sky, something uneasy flashing across his face. "There is no choice."

She scoffs. "Hardly. There are a thousand unclaimed things you can leer your power over with hardly any struggle at all."

"I will take the sea or have nothing."

Amphitrite tips her chin up. "Enjoy the emptiness then, little god. Try not to let chaos swallow you. She loves the unclaimed."

"I am not unclaimed," he frowns at her. "I choose the ocean."

"Yet it has not chosen you. Take the rejection and find something else."

His lips part. His teeth are flat and unsuited for the blood of ocean living. "I will be patron of the sea no matter what it takes."

"Find a way for it to take you, then. Be a fool. It's amusing."

He strikes at her with divinity her ocean diverts for her. It has little patience for this imposter and his greed, is fed up with his demands. "I am no fool."

"You're demanding gifts like a petulant child." She looks down her nose at him, haughtily lifts her chin to look elsewhere. "I thought you fought in the war."

His chin flies up, features hardening. "I did."

Her lips curve up. "So where is your power? Tell me, great one, what domain is yours?"

His face flushes. She thinks that if she was on land, he'd tackle her. He's apparently not fool enough to dive in the water for her. Unfortunate. It would have been a fun sight. "What is your domain?" he redirects.

"I am Amphitrite," she tells him. Defeat causes his eyes to darken. He recognizes the name. "I am goddess of the deep and the creatures that dwell there."

"A sea patron," he clarifies, lip thrusted out.

One corner of her lip rises without consent. "Yes."

He wrinkles his nose at her reply, staring petulantly at the sand under his bare feet. He drags the ball of his foot against the sand. "So you mock me," he grumbles. "I am just searching for what you have."

Amphitrite laughs. "I belong to the sea," she says, waves lapping against the deep gills slashed on her throat, curling over her collarbones. She looks like her creatures, like a thing of the ocean. It is of no question that she belongs. It is of every question that he does. "You do not. It is as simple as that."

"That will change."

"And I will enjoy your attempt," she promises.

-----

Calypso frowns at her. "You are encouraging him," she accuses.

"What?" Amphitrite lifts her brows and doesn't let her movement to sit beside Calypso lag with the shock. She settles on the sea floor easily, a jellyfish coming to drift by her shoulder. She wraps one of its stinging tendrils around her finger. "I am doing no such thing."

"You are toying with him like a mortal." Calypso continues on unfettered. Little is capable of doing that, if anything is. Amphitrite has not seen anything that is. "Like you're planning on taking him."

Amphitrite shoots a cold look at the other goddess. What accusations. "It is harmless fun."

"He is a god with power yet unknown. It is not wise to taunt what may yet be stronger than you."

"He is a fool," Amphitrite waves her hand. It will not matter. He is determined to take the sea and he will not. He does not fit and does not have the making to force himself to. He seems bound to be a sea god and she thinks he is foolish enough to try until time's end. He may be a strong god, but unclaimed, she will always be more powerful. Such is how divinity works.

Calypso expels a short breath out her nose. "As are you."

"When are you ever wise?" she bites out, cutting the words into blades with her teeth. "You lurk in parts of the sea not yours. You claim to love the sailors you eat. What wisdom is that?"

"Lack of wisdom does not make me a fool," she replies, unbothered by Amphitrite's harshness. "And I am sea patron just as you are. There is no place not fitting me."

"I am queen of the deep." It is hers by her divinity.

Calypso flicks her gaze over. Her face is composed, unflushed, and she looks bored by the conversation. “You never go that deep. No one does. It borders the land of the dead. Do not try to lay your claim over things you do not want.” Her eyes slide away and her mouth purses with a slight twist. Anger? Disgust? Annoyance? “And where I dwell goes deeper than the deep. It is the abyss and you are not goddess of that.”

“It’s the principle of it.”

Calypso laughs. “As if you care for principle. We are both gods of something already claimed. Let details flutter where they must. They are not worth bickering for.”

Amphitrite clicks her tongue. Her sharp fingers dig into her flesh. “Yet bicker you do.”

“You are the one trying to claim what is not yours.”

Amphitrite’s face pinches. “You are irritating, today.” She pushes up, gliding away. “I do not wish to be in your presence.”

She feels Calypso lay back. “As you wish,” she says. “Do think before you flirt with the god. He is trouble.”

Amphitrite snorts as she calls a stream to carry her away. She was not flirting with the fool. She was toying with him. Laughing at his idiocy. In what domain was that flirting?

She was not looking for a husband. She was content with how things were. And even if she wasn’t — she doesn’t wish to wed a fool.

That would be foolish of her.

-----

“Amphitrite,” he calls her by name. She has felt his presence at shore for hours, but did not rise to tease him. Calypso’s words turn in her mind.

She was not looking to court this god. But did it appear that way? Despite the accusation, Calypso was clever. She had sharp eyes.

She would not speak untruths like that, but her honesty can grate. Who was she, to tell Amphitrite what her claim was? Did their domain blessing her with a second form fill her head over capacity? Amphitrite could make her own choices. She did not need a goddess, friend or not, telling her what her intentions were.

She did not need others telling her what she was.

She crests over the waves with her blood pounding hot in her veins. It makes her heart glow, a ruddy red that pierces through her translucent skin, pulsing with the beat of her heart. “Fool,” she spits out.

Poseidon lifts his brows. Something like concern passes over his face. It vanishes just as fast. “I require assistance,” he says. It looks like the words are difficult to say. They should be.

She barks a laugh. He flinches at the sound, like she’d flung a spear of divinity at his head. She throws her head back. She pulls in a breath with a grin that stretches her cheeks. “How does your pride taste?” she asks.

She’s being cruel, she knows, but Calypso thinks she was flirting. She thinks that there was enjoyment here. She wants to control Amphitrite? To tell her the reason she is doing things?

Let her see that she’s wrong. Let her see how her pride tastes when she takes it in her teeth and swallows it whole. Let her realize that sharp eyes and a clever head did not make her all-knowing.

The fool widens his stance, squares his shoulders in a vain attempt to look powerful. His divinity is but a babe in his chest, young and fluttering. “What?”

“You’re eating your pride.” She tilts her head. “Not all of it, apparently, but some. I asked how it tasted.”

“You—” he stabs a finger at her face. “You are rude.”

She chuckles, subdued. “And? What reason is there to be kind?” She rises to her feet and steps closer to the god, the ocean still thinly under her feet, tugging at her ankles. She tilts her head and looks up at him. “You are not anything to fear, little god. Not as you are now.” She steps closer.

The water bids her return. She ignores it. She is not flirting. She is not making an enemy, she is making a point.

Let Calypso see this.

“Anyways, you called me here. It is a blessing that I answered. Are you willing to let rudeness send me back without getting what you were hoping for, whatever it is?”

“No.” His hand makes to reach for her but freezes. His fingers twitch. He lowers his arm. “I— forgive me,” he grits, jaw tight with tension. Is he angry with her? Good.

She hums, not denying or accepting the apology. “What did you call me for?”

“Assistance.”

Amphitrite scoffs. “Of course. You have already said. What assistance do you seek?”

“I,” he takes a breath, “I wish to know how I could become a god of the sea.”

She stares at him, waiting for the joke, the laugh.

It does not come. Right. He is not like Calypso with her sharp humor that is often not humorous at all. He is being serious.

Truly, how did he expect to be a god worth fearing if he has to ask how to gain power?

She sighs, pressing the tips of cold nails to her cheek. “I’ve already told you.” She bends her fingers and presses the bend of them to her cheek. “The ocean must take you in turn. It is not a decision yours alone.”

“How do I… get it to take me, then?”

She considers his question.

“Please it or find a patron to take you instead. It will work as well as the domain taking you itself.”

His eyes spark and his hand lifts again.

“No.” She steps back in the surf. The water rushes in around her. “It takes much strength to take another god and farm their divinity. I have no reason to take that burden for you. Find another.”

“You are the only one I have met,” he explains, an undercurrent chopping his words too close together.

One corner of her lip pulls to the side. “Meet another, then. I will not do your dirty work for you.”

His eyes flash up at the sky as a boom rattles through the air. “I do not have time for that,” he tells her gently, eyes flicking between gray clouds and rust-green eyes.

She looks at the sky and shrugs. A storm. Why does that make him flinch? “That is not my bother.”

She turns on her heel. The ocean welcomes her back, tugging her close. It splashes Poseidon’s feet when he takes two strides after her. His fingers brush her shoulder. “What price would it take?”

Amphitrite rolls her shoulder out of his reach. “Pardon?”

“For you to take me.” She turns to look at him. “What price would you accept?”

She purses her lips. “We would have to wed,” she warns. “We would bound unlike any other.”

His breath shakes. The set of his brow stiffens. “What would it take?” he repeats.

Amphitrite taps her fingers against her mouth. He is desperate enough for this? To bind himself to her for the rest of eternity? “It will not be able to be undone,” she says. “And I do not see you with anything worth paying that price.”

He looks at her, beseeching. “There is no time.”

“So you have said.” What a broken record he was. No time, he must be a sea patron. On and on. Why did she think him entertaining?

Because he humiliated himself and seemed blind to it? It was amusing to watch, at first, before he dredged her in, trying to make a prisoner of a settled goddess. For her to take him in a way that gives him hold over the sea, her own weakens. She loses while he gains.

What could he have to make that trade — that loss — worth it? She did not like him as a god or a man. She liked her domain and her creatures.

It was not worth it, to humor him and his fear.

He drops to his knees. The damp sand caves under the blow. He lowers his head to her. “Please,” he asks. “I will do whatever you require. Anything you ask. I need to be made king of the sea.”

Amphitrite settles, folding her legs beneath her. The water surges and recedes around her collarbone. She takes in a considering breath. He was a son of Cronus, a brother of Zeus. There were tales that they were building a place for gods and something like that would surely be quite powerful. If she aids in his endeavor to be the sea’s face there, perhaps she will be face, too. It could not hurt to have an ally among a leader god, a— what did Calypso tell her that one time? A throned god? There were to be twelve, she thinks and they were to be honored by mortals as no god has before. “Convince me.” She tilts her head and weighs his every twitch in her mind.

Desperate gods are not all that different from desperate mortals. Not if the god is a fool, which this one has proven to be.

He will sacrifice more than he is comfortable to pay if she makes him squirm enough. He will offer enough that the deal goes in her favor.

Amphitrite has always been good at making others uncomfortable.

-----

Calypso’s divinity is an easy thing to bear, when they are in the deep, where Amphitrite is most powerful. When they are closer to shore, it twinges something in her. It makes itself a burden difficult to shake.

Calypso’s fury is a tame thing. Her acts of wrath are not sunken ships and slain sailors. Those are calculated, are not done on whim, is not something she does out of anger.

The only thing her anger does is temper her words into silver blades. She is most eloquent when she is furious.

“You are a fool to be told,” she says, dismissing greeting. The cold bite in her voice sinks into Amphitrite’s chest. Her eyes — do not look furious. She does not look angry at all. Not like Amphitrite expected when she settled her deal with the Olympian and took back to her water.

She looks sad.

The cold thing Calypso placed in her chest pulses. “What do you mean?” She lifts her chin, trying to look unaffected. She does not want to have this conversation so close to the surface, where Calypso’s divinity slips in through her gills as easily as water.

It is too distracting. Too— too easy to succumb to, especially if it with sadness that Calypso confronts her and not anger.

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.” Her eyes drift lower, focused on the joint of her collarbone, the little divot where Calypso’s divinity always rests. “It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Amphitrite waves off the words with a scoff. “However do you mean? I know how to bargain things in my favor.”

Calypso purses her lips out. Her eyes lift. They are sadder, now, and Amphitrite glares to keep them from pulling her in. Calypso’s reasoning was always wise but not always wisest. There were other perspectives that occasionally offered wiser things. This was one of those times. Calypso did not know the deal she struck. How could she? Amphitrite shielded both of their words from sinking in the water and Calypso was not near enough to wriggle around it. “Do you.”

She does not say it like a question.

“Yes,” she affirms anyways, her eyes reshaping into a frosty glare.

Calypso’s brow lifts. “Right.” Her eyes sink towards the ocean floor.

Amphitrite propels herself back. She speaks with a lifted lip. “Do not patronize me,” she warns. “I know what I’ve done.”

Their eyes reconnect. Calypso’s gaze is like an anchor, dragging her down. “I doubt that,” she whispers. “I really do.”

“You don’t know,” Amphitrite says, a steep edge to her words. She doesn’t know. She can’t. But that gaze, that sadness — she clearly thinks she knows something. But what?

“For your sake, I hope I don’t.” She bows her head and does nothing as Amphitrite pushes herself forwards and sinks back to her domain. The water pulses with Calypso’s sorrow. It coats Amphitrite’s teeth until the cold of the deep freezes it out and even then, it lingers.

-----

“You are a fool to be told.”

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.”

“It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Calypso’s words have bad habit of festering in Amphitrite’s mind. She tries to brush them off, to leave them to float at the surface, but they sink right alongside her, anchored with steel to her throat. It is a chained collar of worry.

“Do you.”

“I doubt that.”

Patronization that is actually worry. Amphitrite has never known Calypso to needlessly worry.

The words she speaks are always anchored with truth. Weight. Her words never float because there is reason behind each syllable.

Her nails dig into her palms, seeping the water in divinity that will only be hers alone for precious little time. Was Calypso right to be concerned?

An eel skims over her shoulder, curling around to brush against her arm. Amphitrite strokes it with the hand not bloodied in divinity. “What do you think?” she asks. She lifts her other palm and stares at the dull gold. “Was it a mistake?”

The eel swims away.

Amphitrite’s ankle twitches. “What help,” she says. She closes her fingers over her palms, shoulder jolting with the pressure.

What help indeed. What mistake did Calypso see in the deal she made? What flaw was she being blind to?

The dark curls around her. The deep embraces her in its chill and its emptiness. No matter how poor a deal she made, it will still be here whenever she needs it. Her domain will not disappear because she’s abandoning it. It will not abandon her in equal turn.

That is not what it wishes to do.

It chose Amphitrite as a queen and it has little choice but to respect her decisions. If she wishes to deal herself to an Olympian, to bend herself in the way that bends her domain — then it has little option but to obey. Their queen has commanded.

It may be her last order.

-----

"Little king," Amphitrite greets, tilting her chin.

Poseidon’s eyes glint. He looks pleased in a way that worries her, now. Before, she had thought it was just satisfaction at getting what he had spent sun-turns cajoling for.

Had he played her? Had she stepped into his trap? Was he wise enough to set one?

Was she foolish enough to fall for it?

The concern must be showing on her face, because Poseidon’s mouth twists into a grin. Easy and proud, like a king’s.

She was making him king.

He was getting everything he’d asked for. What was he sacrificing to her, to even the field? A few promises a wise man could eventually wriggle his way out from? Some words that could be torn apart?

Words unsworn on the Styx?

Her chin dips as she swallows. Her eyes do not leave her future spouse. The companion she’s going to swear her future and her divinity to.

Calypso had her reason to worry, did she not?

No. Yes.

Poseidon may not be the fool she thought. That much is becoming true. But she is no less wise. The deal may be skewed, but it is not one-sided. It is not unfair.

Amphitrite would never swear herself to anything that could be turned upon her. She does not make a habit of underestimating an enemy enough that she bares her belly to them, that she leaves herself entirely at their mercy.

Poseidon thought her a fool, and struck his bargain on that option. Amphitrite thought him a fool, and struck a deal that could work even if he turned out to be wise.

She does not nest all of her creatures in the same section of sea.

-----

It is not painful.

It feels like it should be. Ripping one’s divinity from their blood should be an excruciating thing. But it is painless.

Her divinity slips from her body like her blood had earlier, when she cut her palm in her heightened emotional state.

It is simple, in other words. So very simple.

Her creatures lurk around them both in the ceremony, netted above them like an elaborate trap. As if either of them could decide to switch their mind now.

Deals have been made. Divinity should not turn back on their blatant word.

“Careful with your words, little god,” she warns, tilting her head as she examines him. He is nice looking, she supposes, though she doesn’t think him nice enough to warrant wedding him. But there are worse looking things she could tie herself to.

As if that was consolation, but it was nice. Her heirs, at least, would have chances to become more.

He lifts his chin at her before tucking it back into place. He is taller, technically, though Amphitrite keeps her feet off the floor so their eyes are level. The sea feels far more frigid than usual.

Is it her domain, mourning what she used to be? Is it mourning her choice to make this god it so obviously rejected its king?

Is it her almost-wedded, already controlling what is all around him?

No. Her domain would not grant him his gifts until it was due.

The vows, too, feel as if they should stick in her throat or come out bubbling in electrified acid. But they, too, are easy. They slip out like the fine silk donning them both, silks dyed matching shades of blue.

The color suits her well. It offsets her hair. It does not suit him. It is not ill-suiting, but it does not suit him as well as the color of the domain he’s to control should. The color should, when worn, appear as if it is the only color that would do him justice. It should be the only thing that fits the divinity humming under his skin.

On him, it is just a color.

A nice color and nothing more.

It was not what it should be. He was a false king. His divinity was not made to churn the tides and her domain was not made to crash under his order. She was not made to be bound like this and he was not made to be bound to her.

After, when her divinity is raw in her chest, glowing heart pulsing weakly behind glass ribs, she takes his hand. “I hope you find this worth it,” she says, looking at him through her lashes.

He squeezes her hand and pulls his back. “Of course it was,” he replies.

She wonders if he can feel the strings wrapped around his joints. If he can feel the pull over him she has knotted in his chest. He made her swear to him the rights of her divinity, the capability of making ocean obey his command.

She made him swear his devotion to her will.

Can he feel that? Does he know the depth of that vow? That they were more than words and that as her divinity is bound to him, his is bound to her similarly?

It was, as Calypso said, an unfair deal. But it was unfair for them both. Painful like stabs and broken bone. Like horse and cow. Weak comparability.

They were both losers. That was unquestionable.

It was silly of Calypso, though, to think that Amphitrite did not know what she was doing.

She was no stranger to making deals.

-----

“So it is done.” Calypso is lying on the floor, observing the sharp points of nails she isn’t bothering to blunt. She doesn’t like to bother with shedding all the features of the predator she is, especially right after she’s taken a ship to sate her appetite.

Amphitrite never bothers to look mortal. It is not the form that is natural, like it is (more or less) for most of the divine. She is queen of the sea and she looks the part. She is of the sea and one could tell at a glance. “Yes,” she replies, digging up sand with her fingers.

Hers are sharper, technically, as Calypso’s aren’t really nails. They’re more akin to the suckers that line her arms when she is Kraken, just lengthened and enlarged to fit the rough anatomy of human fingers. If she gets them in something, there is no getting them out.

They are dangerous in a different way.

“Have the effects settled yet?” Calypso lifts her chin and the movement allows Amphitrite to see the thick bob of a swallow. As if she was uncertain. Concerned.

Amphitrite thought they were done with that. The deal is done. Calypso does not know better.

“What effects?” she asks, though her bones throb with the fragility of her lessened divinity. She’s been weak, since she wed the fool king, but it is strengthening slowly. She will be back to normal. It may take some decades to be back completely, but that is nothing to her.

Calypso’s breath bubbles up. “Of gifting away your divinity.” She tilts her head and slides her gaze over. “How fares your hold on your domain?”

“It is fine,” Amphitrite defends instantly. She pauses. Is it? Usually, she is approached and surrounded by the wildlife she rules over but that has been absent. It is an effect of her weak divinity. When that is back, so will they.

The sailor goddess hums, noncommittal. “I would be wary of each irregularity.”

“There has been none.”

Calypso’s eyes roam the empty water around them. It looks casual enough, but this is Calypso. She is making a show of looking, turning her head when there is no need. “Right,” she says. “Still. Do not say I did not try to warn you of the danger you enrolled for.”

“It was not dangerous.”

That, Calypso does not answer.

-----

Poseidon is building them a castle. He is insisting upon it. “What kind of rulers would we be,” he says, his hands clasped around her arms too tightly, “if we did not have a throne?”

Amphitrite pries her way out of his grip. “No rulers at all,” she replies. She looks at the construction, at the rising architecture of gems and coral. It is a beautiful thing, already, not even half built, but she is beginning to be aware of the dangers Calypso spoke of.

Her divinity is tied to her husband and he is, in turn, binding it to this castle. To the throne that will be hers. He has not admitted as such, but her divinity hums in the desire, the attempt. She would point it out, would fight, but there is little point to. She cannot undo what is done. She will have to live with her vow and attempt to find some other way out.

“It is beautiful,” she tells him, because he wants to hear it and it will do no harm to be on his good side.

He beams, watching the construction with pride. “Is it not?”

No, her domain whispers in her ear, monotone and sad at once. It does not have emotion like the living, but she can feel its mourning all the same. When it had accepted her as a patron, it was not for this. It is not.

Her domain sympathizes, in the only way it can. It does not offer help. It could, she believes, shatter their deal if it wished, but. The ocean takes after its namesake. Oceanus does not care for what happens in his home and body and neither does the ocean. They are, in fact, one in the same.

Amphitrite holds her eyes shut a moment. “You can go to Olympus,” she tells him.

His head whips over, a fight brimming on his tongue.

“That construction is more important for you to oversee. I can handle this.”

He squints.

She laughs, tilting her head mischievously. “Do you not trust me, husband dear?”

His mouth parts and he bites the words back with a click. “No,” he says. But, all the same, he turns to join his brothers in the making of a place for gods.

She smiles at his retreat. It looks like silver.

The new husband is so hungry for recognition, he’ll want to spend his days on the throne that matters. There was no glory in being a sea king, if you were searching for masses of mortal worship. The ocean would not provide that.

So she had the mercy of knowing he would not be a constant fixture at her side. She could pretend everything was sparkling, in his absence. That her throne was hers alone.

Despite the horror it took to get it — she’s liking the idea of a palace. Of a throne. Of the comfort of knowing her place in mortal’s mind is secure. She can lounge, now, and still be remembered just the same.

Tension leaks from her shoulders.

She thinks she could learn to like this. She did, after all, gain more than she gave.

What was a little divinity, in the end, for a palace and memory steadfast?

-----

Calypso is… displeased is the kind way to put it but neither of them are kind. She is appalled in a wrathful, furious way. That still feels too kind. Calypso feels more Kraken than goddess.

“Pardon?” she asks, sharp teeth snapping around the word.

“You heard me,” Amphitrite says, leaning back against a wall of her new palace, rubies studded around her in a bloody halo. “Do not feign deafness.”

Calypso laughs. There’s a wildness in the gesture, a feral sort of energy to it that raises Amphitrite’s guard. “I must be going so,” she says. “Because surely I did not hear you right.”

“You did,” Amphitrite confirms.

Calypso looks at her like. Like she’d just admitted to relinquish her divinity for a mortal child. Like the very idea is too wild even for them. “What ill poisoned your mind?” she asks. Her arms gesture around to the glimmering castle. “This was not worth the price. It is a thing. You could have done this yourself if you wished.”

Amphitrite watches the outburst languidly. She has never seen Calypso so active. Even when they are racing and she is enjoying herself, there is a relaxed sort of grace to her movements, a backing of calm that permeates through anything else. Even when she is worked up, there is still sense about her. Amphitrite cannot find any now. “You wouldn’t understand. Not with your mind pried shut.”

“He fooled you.”

“He did no such thing. I am aware of the deal I made.”

Calypso scoffs. “Then you are the foolish one. You may not understand the gravity yet, but this choice will grow to haunt you.”

“Sure it will.” Amphitrite looks down her nose. “I fail, though, for the record, to see how this,” she wiggles her fingers outward, gesturing to the palace, “could ever be something I’d regret.”

Calypso’s mouth parts. She bites her words back with a tense jaw. “I suppose we will just see then,” she says, voice back to its typical distanced tone.

Amphitrite nods. “We will.”

Calypso nods back. She does not look pleased, still and that is not entirely a surprise. She is so rarely pleased, when things do not go the way she thinks is best. But she is not entirely displeased, either, which is an accomplishment alone, even if a miniscule one. She eyes the walls of coral and gems, mouth twisting down as she takes in the opulence of it.

It is about the reaction Amphitrite expected. Calypso’s tastes are simple and this is anything except. But that was fine. The palace was not for Calypso nor would she reside there. So it did not matter if she liked it. It was to Amphitrite’s taste and it was to be home.

A place easy to pin. There were perks to having a place to settle and Amphitrite fully intends to take advantage of them. Having mortals on hand was one. She’d always wanted to keep one long term. Her chance for that had come.

Calypso’s eyes drift back to Amphitrite. There is something in her gaze that tries to tug at Amphitrite’s divinity. It has weight that Amphitrite has never felt, not when she is this deep, in the heart of her domain. She swallows it down.

“So we will,” Calypso repeats.

Amphitrite knows she is right. This castle is to be a kind of prison for them both, her and her new husband. There was no worry in that. Calypso did not know details and she was assuming the worst. It was a sweet thought. Her fault for not believing in Amphitrite’s cruelness, however. She knew how to deal herself sweetness from a bitter fool.

Still, to be a good sport, she nods.

Time will prove one of them wrong.

*****

This is still all drippingmoon's fault. Hope you liked what I created.

Tags: @caffeinewitchcraft @super-writer-gal @drippingmoon @blindthewind @notwritinganyflufftoday @mel-writes-with-her-dragons

#writeblr #writblr #creative writing #writing #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #amphitrite #poseidon #calypso #nikkywritesstories #my writing #wip ocean's heart #wip oceans heart #this is such a bare bones way to tell the story and i am undecided on if thats a good or bad thing #i could totally go into this more though #so if you want more. send asks? ill rant happily #i think its the tone i find off though. its a little different from how i usually write. probably why i have mixed feelings on this #or i hope thats why at least

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