𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬(𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑻).

@bardest·. 

you may not be looking at him, but you know. 

‘ I Can See You. ‘ there’s a silent stop at the end of the comment.

          KANAYA MARYAM IS A WOMAN THAT CRONUS IS WISE TO HEED.   she may be younger in years,   three whole sweeps his junior,   and yet the aura she exhibits makes her seem as if she was three sweeps his senior.

fingers twist and turn,   hands wringing together;   cronus tries to couple together a sentence that makes him seem like less of the person at fault,   like he didn’t just passively try to provoke the younger zahhak who is high - tailing it away now that the elder ampora’s attention has been diverted.

“     we were just havin’ a chat,   chief.     ”     if chatting means unsolicited flirting then sure,   it’s a chat,   and it’s a type of chatting that cronus is helpless against.     he sucks on the unlit cigarette in his mouth,   as if the action will make the tobacco get through the filter and cause him to choke and able to make a quick getaway.   that would be funny,   cronus thinks,   and almost inhales the entire stick when he holds back a laugh.

Terezi chuckles, giving a small shrug of her shoulder as lidded eyes ‘gaze’ up at the other. Did she take him for a ‘nervous’ type? Not entirely, no. He seemed like a very cocky type, absolutely. Might crack under the pressure, for sure. Certainly hiding something – but, weren’t they all ? That observation can be deemed as obvious and not worth even mentioning. He was certainly an interesting type, much more out going than their Ampora, but certainly still as dorky and funny as him, in Terezi’s opinion.

“Everyone gets nervous at something! Just merely grilling you,” she’d go on and admit with a widening grin in tease.

Ah. What a timely comment as well. Because at the mere mention of a Makara did Terezi feel her own nerves grow. Her smile being shot, straining to keep itself afloat as her body tensed and brows furrowed just slightly. 

Even if it didn’t happen in this timeline, it happened. And those memories of her alternate self stayed. And she knows what could have happened - what did happen. The ghost pains of it all still haunting her mind and body. She tries to smother that thought with a pillow.

A small uncomfortable shift in her weight.

A visible perk as he’d continue. She bites at that comment like an eager fish seeing a worm on a hook.

Her smile grows again, leaning forward on her cane toward the other as she looked up at him. The hangings absolutely can still happen – and technically still do in Scalemate populace. Best not to mention that, though. “That so? Dare I ask what you’d assume your charges would be?”

          CRONUS CLAMS UP.   he trips on his feet, shuffling and stuffing hands into pockets,   pulling them up again,   and then settles on having them rest on his hips.   he tries to offer her a grin,   a lilt of a single brow,   like a charmer trying to win over a snake.

“     and ruin the wavelength we’re on ?   doll,   let the past stay in the past,   yeah ?     ”

if he was like their resident zahhak he would be sweating bullets;   when she leans forth he leans back.   cronus suddenly misses the pure white of dead eyes   —   even though she can’t see the action he looks away from her,   feeling like she can see through him instead;   the mind’s eye is stronger than the visual aspect,   after all.

cronus speaks.   it wavers on the line of a half - truth.

“     just a bit of teasing,   you know.   nothing wrong with that.     ”     he swallows the nervousity that bubbles up in his throat and instead forces himself to move forth,   invading terezi’s personal space;   the smell of cheap cologne,   leather and sea - salt surrounds him like a protective barrier and he hopes that she’ll take it as a domineering sign;   back off.

“     but whatever,     ”     roll of eyes,   swallow of spittle   —   if he pretends hard enough even a white lie can sound like a truth,   and he’s awfully good at that,     “     s’not like i’m at fault for them not appreciating what i have to say.   all,   like ...     ”     he waves a hand in a nonsensical manner,   flicking wrist in a perfect circle,     “     like whatever i’ve got to say doesn’t even matter.   hits a guy right in his ‘pusher.     ”

cronus sighs,   hard and heavy and with a slight wet sound to it,   as if circling air through gills that doesn’t work on land,   walks closer and then attempts to sling an arm over terezi’s shoulders   —   touchy - feely ampora,   that’s who he is,   always eager to put his hands on what shouldn’t have hands on them.   her skin is warm beneath the pads of his fingers.   gross,   is his first thought.

“     which is why i’m so - ooo happy that we’re talkin’ ‘bout these things,   py - babe.   connecting !   i already feel like we’re much closer,   closer than ‘tula and i,   swappin’ hobbies as we are ...   like wigglers.     ”

he bumps the side of his hip against hers.

kankri would tell him breathe. kankri would tell him biting rarely results in anything other than blood and pain and an excuse to dismis anything of meaning. kankri would tell him a lot of things before mituna lost his mind, and he can’t help but remember them now, as he shakes with a fury he can no longer hold. it hurts, to be this far removed from who he used to be, to be steadily losing hope that he will ever be anything more than a toy with bright buttons to push.

the cigarette catches his attention as it falls, and mituna closes his eyes against visions of it igniting and being crushed underfoot. it’s no use. the future is just as unclear to him as the present, now, which is a feeling he refuses to ever satisfy himself with. “YOU WI5H YOU 5LEAZE.” words still fall out of his mouth too fast. it all feels like that, lately; as he grits his teeth against the buzzing in his head, he thinks of a rushing current, something pulling him downwards that he frequently loses the strength to fight against. he wasn’t built to breathe underwater.

but cronus was, is, will be, and there’s the tripwire; whatever they must navigate, they do not do so on equal footing. mituna struggles and thrashes against his own misfortune whilst everyone else remains afloat. they all make it look so easy – but they had not suffered like he had. once, he would have felt guilty for implying that he got the raw deal, but not now. not when cronus is smiling like something slippery and each and every one of his muscles is constricting to the point of agony. “I5 TTHI5 FUN FOR YOU?? FUCKING WEIRD MAN NO ONE I5 INTTERE5TTED.” least of all him. a kismesistude is built on respect despite its nature, after all.

          DUALITY IS OFTEN A TWO - EDGED SWORD,   DEFLECT ONE SIDE AND GET HARMED BY THE OTHER.   a coin flips and decides chosen fate,   twice given scar rewards a promising destiny,   and bi - colored sight is snuffed out,   brought forth by the unpredictability of the two   ‘ o ’d   doom.

when trapped in a room of metaphorical water,   rising with every breath taken,   it suddenly feels more like duty to breathe than a natural task.   cronus is well acquainted with the vast abyss of two - or - more tons of water pressure,   pushing and pulling and warping his perception until all he can see is polluted tides,   gills burning as oil and flaws pushes through the fickle filament,   and then seeking deeper to avoid everything until up is down and down is up.

mituna does not boast that ability.   the water is up to his neck by now and cronus is cruising,   a daunting fin flaunted before he goes in for the kill.   he stomps on the cigarette,   grinding it into paper and ash and useless tobacco.   it leaves a dirty spot where it spills out,   a streak of brown like a drop of blood smeared over cheek and lip.

“     oh,   wow !   you really thought i was trying to get it on black with ya’ ?     ”     it’s less of a question than it is an accusation,   piling as much mock into his words as he possibly can.   he scoffs,   rolls his shoulders,   and spits a wad of violet saliva to the ground in a display that is nothing short of awful.     “     i’m flattered,     ”     cronus presses a palm to chest,   brows furrowing and grin turning into sheer,   unpleasant pity,     “     but uh,   ya’ ain’t my type.   i prefer them a little more refined ‘round the edges.   it’s human hate,   nosebleed,   ya’ know,   platonic ?   god,   you’re so pathetic.   to think i’d ever stoop that low.     ”

The homonym adjacents of his name followed by the correct version of his name, grab his attention enough to bestow upon the speaker. He wasn’t actively ignoring anyone when the guy started talking nor was he doing so now. Dirk had simply been going about his own business, not really worrying about anyone else. It isn’t his fault he is a huge star in the world. He did help create the place, after all, in as much as any of his friends did. The fact someone is being bitter about it in his direction is a bit surprising. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it’s not something he thinks much about when he is just trying to go about his daily life.

He notices the tension and the general displeasure of the troll speaking to him. He actually has a vague idea of who the guy is, an Ampora who looks like he stepped out of the movie Grease, up to and including the whole cigarette motif because humans gave no fucks about what they did back then. Dirk holds very little opinion of him, other than having heard his reputation for being a bit smarmier than is ideal.

“Sounds like some sour grapes bullshit, if I ever heard it. I’m not stealing anyone’s spotlight. It’s right there if someone wants to hop to it. I’ve always been more of a shadow guy myself, hanging out in the background, contributing to the mass and directing the path of the universe more than being the brightest star in the sky. Sounds like you got yourself a personal problem here, Cronus, and you might want to take a look at it if you’re unhappy with your lot in life.” That sounded a bit harsh, perhaps. Although Dirk believes it to be true. Despite that, he tacks on an afterthought to in an attempt to soften it a bit. “Unless there’s something you think I might be of assistance with, in which case, hit me with it.”

          THERE’S NO DRUG STRONGER THAN THAT OF DOUBT.   there are no concrete answers,   solid opinions formed on the fly,   nothing to cling to and hope that everything turns out alright.   half - baked morality is just as frail as the weakest of spines,   always able to bend one way or the other,   and snapping it over a knee feels like breaking a wishbone.

unhappy with his lot in life ?   oh,   definitely,   didn’t he just tell dirk so ?   cronus frowns even harder,   chewing a little on the cigarette;   the paper is beginning to feel wet and clammy and no amount of wish - thinking will make it magically better and dry.   that stuff belongs in the world of dreams,   and he has so left that life behind in favor of this delightfully rotten existence.

“     well,   sea,     ”     the pun slips out before he catches it and it’s only a testament to the growing annoyance he is graced with while in the presence of dirk strider.   he plucks the cigarette from between his lips and holds it between index and thumb,   resting his weight on the vast majority of his right leg,     “     would love your help.   really,   it’d make my day.   but the problem is a little more difficult than that.     ”

and it is.   it’s not a problem that is as easily solved as just speaking the words into existence.   dragged out and spun like silk,   cronus takes the time to swirl the cigarette between his fingers before he puts it back between his lips,   steepling fingers together and pointedly gesturing to everything so heartily prince - like in front of him.

“     take it down a notch.   that ...   dazzling horseshit,   and we’ll talk.   be less,     ”     he struggles for the word,   fingers snapping in eureka when he comes across it,   a way to be a little less cruel about everything,   and when he opens his mouth it sounds like he never even wanted to be kind,     “     be less you.   you could assist me with that.     ”

@resistinct​ began trolling casanovasAnchor [CA]:    “     your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this friendship apart.     ”     latula OSIHGXHJASKCIJJK

            sentence starters:   random text posts.

          IT’S JUST NOT FAIR HOW LATULA PYROPE IS SO COOL.   it never really has been,   her popularity having been a constant through sweep upon sweep.   it’s not fair,   and cronus doesn’t understand,   but what he doesn’t understand is how,   despite latula being the epitome of quirky and charming ans so dastardly cool,   she clings and peppers in   (   love ?   no,   it’s coddling;   culling and culling and—   )   love,   all given to the people who are ...   not.

“     aw,   come now,   ‘tula,   give a guy a chance !   let’s start again.   you’re just doing ‘em too fast.     ”

he looks at her moving fists,   flipping through various signs and fist bumps that could surely have looked like a spoken language,   and again he only manages to catch the first five.   too fast,   too quick,   and cronus is beginning to lose part of the cool that latula somehow has endless ounces of.

one - two - three,   pointer curl towards palm followed by every other greyed - out digit,   bump of knuckles against hers,   quickly draw back in an explosion,   attempt to catch the supposed falling stars of a galactic explosion   —   the list goes on and on and cronus is soon lost again,   motions growing insecure until he releases a loud groan,   throws his head back,   and complains.

“     i dunno why you insist on these handshakes.   why can’t we just slap each other on the back or greet eachother with a hug or somefin’ ?   it’s like you’re just makin’ them too hard on purpose.     ”

foot taps repeatedly against ground in a staccato rhythm,   fast and without end,   and when cronus crosses his arms over his chest,   hands finding purchase and safely tucked into the crook granted by the bend of elbows,   he allows his fins to flick down;   sadly,   pitifully.

“     like,   i just think it’s a bit excessive,   y’know ?     ”     he says and makes a wishy - washy motion with a hand,   pulling shoulders up in a shrug afterwards,     “     like alright,   they’re cool n’ all,   but i’ve got better things to do than come up with some   ‘ rad handshakes ’   that takes 5 minutes to get through.   doesn’t really razz these berries,   ya’ dig ?     ”

he’s being a little childish,   complaining like it’s a game that isn’t turning in his favor,   but then again isn’t that close to the truth ?   cronus has always been a bad player,   the one to howl the loudest when a game turns sour,   the one to lament and whine and put the blame on everyone else.   so of course as soon as he can’t pick up on latula’s cool motions he’s one to demand that things become easier for him.   it’s always him,   isn’t it ?

cronus shuffles a bit in his spot before he huffs through his gills,   violet filament fluttering and quivering,   and then allows one of his hands to once again hang in the air.

“     slowly this time,   kitten.   you know what they say about those who move too fast.     ”

given that their boies are built like a land dweller,   besides the obvious mutations   (   fins and gills   ),   what makes them anatomically different ?

perhaps denser bones,   a skeleton to protect them well ?   the sheer amount of pressure water puts on the body the lower you dive would be too much for regular bones.   perhaps wider,   more strong bones ?   with more cartilage between open spaces in,   say,   the ribs,   so that their lungs will not cave in due to outside pressure ?   this could also add to as to why sea dwellers are harder to kill than land dwellers.

instead of regular fat i can see them having blubber,   something to insulate and avoid their blood from chilling to temperatures that is low even for highbloods.   a thin layer on the outside,   like a regular fat layer,   and then probably a thicker layer around their organs and muscles to keep them safe,   and to make sure that they don’t get ruined when they dive into deep waters.  

this would also help them with not just sinking in the water as they will undoubtedly have more muscle   (   likely denser too,   and with the weight of the stronger bones   ),   because fat and blubber is lighter than the consistency of water.

cronus has always been prone to feeling green.   jealousy and envy course through his veins as easily as shallow love does,   as easy as it is for him to open his maw and spew vile flirtations at anyone willing to lend an ear.

the grass beneaths his boots is green,   yes,   and he doesn’t doubt that should he rip it out from the soil it would appear again should he will it.  

so he does.  

he crouches down,   grey hands clutching lucky clovers and morning wet blades,   and he tears.   he’s pitiful,   oh,   he knows,   but not in the way that he wants   —   he sees more than he lets on,   the upturned noses and the shrewd looks.   he knows.   he knows,   and he doesn’t care   /   he cares too much,   and destroying the grass in only satisfying for so long before he rips it out a final time with a half - baked wail,   attempting to pitch it away like one would with a baseball.

but grass is grass,   not a ball,   and so it floats to the ground not even a meter away from him.

“     shut up.   don’t talk.     ”     someone has watched him throw a tantrum like a wiggler and he doesn’t want to know who.   instead cronus huffs,   plants his rear on the now destroyed patch of dream - bubble grass,   and draws his knees up to his chest.

“     fuck—     ”     he lifts a hand   (   it’s shaking   )   and runs it through greased back hair,   releasing a glub from parted gills   (   and for once he doesn’t feel embarrassed by it   ).   he flicks his fins,   a habit more so than an actual need,   to spread the moisture his gills provide.   cronus finds the lack of something to chew on a bother but he knows he doesn’t have the will to summon forth a pack at the moment,     “     why are you even here ?   to watch big ol’ ampora throw a fuckin’ fit ?     ”

a humorless laugh.   he presses the butts of his palms into his eyes,   groaning,   wishing to disappear.   it doesn’t happen,   of course.   the dream - bubbles hates him like that.

“     well,   tough luck,   chief.   missed your chance !     ”