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mysteria157 · 4 months

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Chapter Three

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Slight Angst (mentions of death), Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: ~5k

Summary:

Suffering from haunting dreams and a raging cold, you find solce in Toji's challenging yet comforting presence.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! It took me weeks to finally get out of my perfectionist mindset and just...write so everything flows together. This chapter is shorter than my usual, but to me little moments help with character development. And this is going to be a very, very slow burn lol.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

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Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

***You***

The cold air is deceptive; it nips at your skin, raising goosebumps despite the warm inviting appearance of your surroundings. Tall trees—oaks, hickories, and basswoods—clutter densely, forming a barrier that shields the land from the outside world and cages bittersweet memories of the past. You’ve followed your father through these woods before, navigating rocky hills and leaping over thick, ingrown branches to reach another unmarked spot for exploring.

Deep purple hues of the twilight sky cast elongated, eerie shadows over the forest, and they fold over the tall grass like dark, unnatural fingers. This definitely isn’t real. Everything around you right now brings painful memories—but they’re are not as sharp as what you feel in reality.

In reality, the ache is persistent, pulsing weakly in your veins, flaring up with every fleeting memory of your father—his infectious laugh, his hands putting you on his shoulders as you walked to football games, or the early mornings spent huddled together, his hand guiding your binoculars to focus on a bird in the distance.

This is definitely a dream.

You know it also from the feel of the grassy meadow beneath your toes, the blades soft and ticklish against your ankles, the usual worry of ticks far from your mind. Vivid wildflowers—yellows, pinks, and blues—sway in a nonexistent breeze. The dirt path that once led to your father’s house has vanished, taken over by the soil and grass, erasing years of footprints.

The house he dreamt of building, a two-story structure crafted by his own hands, now stands as nothing more than a decaying skeleton. There is no roof, only stretches of drywall reaching towards the twilight sky, as if trying to reach the heavens and falling short.

As you walk further across the foundation, the environment shifts around you, the air folding in on itself and twisting like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Your fingers trail along the phantom walls that spring up, and your feet glide over the conjured glossy finish of hardwood floors. This empty space is a blueprint nestled deep in your memory: bedrooms that will give privacy, a living room that will host family gatherings, a fireplace that is now roaring in orange and yellows.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, sending a jolt through your heart that tightens your chest as if you’re about to cough. As you turn the corner, reality morphs once again, unfolding into a meticulously designed kitchen with forest green cabinets adorned with brass knobs, a deep porcelain sink and shiny stainless-steel appliances. The surreal surroundings are dizzying, blurring and swirling in your vision. But the figure you know—his broad back turned to you, shoulders stretching and pulling as he wipes something in front of him—that grounds you, preventing you from drifting away.

“It finally came in, take a look.”

He radiates an intense warmth as you stand beside him. Even with your arms barely touching, the heat feels suffocating, instantly causing you to break into a sweat. Just being next to him makes your throat constrict, choked and searing, it’s nearly impossible to speak. But with each stroke of his hand on the new granite counter top, sweeping a fiberglass cloth, his love and comfort are palpable in the stiffing heat, settling on your skin to relax you.

“Looks good huh?” He’s proud, and even though you don’t have the strength to look up at his face, you know he’s beaming. “Once it all comes together, it’s gonna look beautiful.”

His words stir a deep-seated guilt within you, so fierce it makes you want to scratch at your own skin, as if to physically scrape away the emotional turmoil the festers beneath the layer of your dermis. You press your toes into the hardwood, cross your arms and dig your fingernails into your arms. It’s hotter now—god you’re burning up. Your body prickles with beads of moisture as you watch him tirelessly wipe over an already clean surface.

It’s incessant, and with each swipe the guilt rises further, urging you to flee from a conversation that will never happen. You don’t really know about an afterlife but if there is one, does he know what happened? Is he rooted in the present, watching you occasionally to see what you’ve failed to do? Is he disappointed in you?

Maybe if you focus on his steady motions, close your eyes, and just breathe, you might find yourself back in your room when you open them again. After all, none of this is real—it will never be real. This kitchen, these rooms, the wooden floorboards, and the beautiful roaring fireplace. The remnants of all of this are written on a blueprint somewhere, collecting dust for the last two decades.

He calls out to you again, his voice oddly distant though he stands right beside you. He sounds weary, as if he’s struggling to breathe, and when you glance at his hand moving across the counter, it’s no longer vibrant and almond-brown but ashen, marked by blown-out veins. Lifting your eyes, you meet not the father you remember, but his final, frail image—his sunken skin, his life slipping away too soon, anchored to the world only by the fragile thread of a nasal cannula.

“You okay, honey?” he croaks, concern etched in every syllable.

You open your mouth to speak, but fear grips your entire being, squeezing you like you’re a piece of fruit to be juiced. The terror is paralyzing, and you find yourself unable to face him any longer without crumbling into tears. A deep, ragged breath cuts through the silence, rasping painfully in your throat as you stammer, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“

Your eyes snap open, sticky and heavy with exhaustion, wincing against the harsh glare of sunlight that peaks through your maroon curtains. The embers of your dream fade into nothingness and unforgiving reality slides into place with ease. The heat of the dream is replaced by a chilling dampness; the sheets cling to your sweaty skin, and the fiery soreness in your throat reminds you of your still raging cold. When you swallow, it feels like sandpaper across raw flesh.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve dreamt of your father. It’s not that you don’t like to dream about him; actually, you cherish every memory, even the painful ones. But dreaming of him in the house—his house that has remained untouched since his death—it consumes you with regret for the role you’ve been unable to fulfill. You don’t have the time. You don’t have the money. All things that are out of your control but still hold you by the throat.

It’s too much for your mother, and you don’t blame her. The love she has for your father never really left. It lingered in her second marriage and came back full force in her divorce. So she stays away from all things related to him when she can.

Your eyes wander to the corner of your office desk where the old property deed lies, rolled up and bound by a simple rubber band. The edges are brown and dusty, much like the blueprints in your dream.

Why do you even keep it there?

Maybe it’s a reminder of him, just something physical you can glance at every day even if it hurts. Maybe it’s there to spur you to make that thousandth trip to city hall—the one that always ends in tears. Maybe, with these next few days off, you can try again. You’ll be stronger this time, more aggressive with the bald-headed piece of shit that always gives you trouble.

Or maybe not.

The flare of your throat is harsh enough to push away any other thoughts. There’s a frustration that always comes with getting sick, it makes simple things extreme when there is no need for it. Your body is too hot and also too cold, your throat burns with every swallow no matter how many throat drops you take, your lungs spasm with the tiniest breath to cough, your nose is so congested that it makes you regret taking breathing for granted. It’s overstimulating as hell.

You wince against the harsh sun again, turning your head further into your pillow before your eyes fall on your nightstand. There’s a tall glass of water and two pills. You don’t remember setting them there, but you sit up to throw them back anyway and down the water quickly. The coolness soothes your throat and with each swallow, the haze of last night lifts.

You know Toji brought you home because your car is out of commission and he refused to let you take the bus. He helped you out last night—literally carrying you up to your apartment because you were so achy and exhausted you could hardly stand. You remember him leaning casually against the brick wall of your complex, that insufferably charming smirk playing on his lips as he watched you go through every stage of defiance for help.

“I’m not getting any younger, princess.”

That name. You hate that name.

It was a taunt that made you eventually give up, too damn tired to snap at him. You gave in to the warmth of strong muscles and the scent of detergent, cologne, and something that’s just Toji. You remember the lack of strain in his neck, the ease in which he breathed as he took step after step like you weighed nothing, and the analytical gaze of jade irises beaming in the night as he took in his surroundings. It almost felt like he was assessing the area, checking every corner when he hit another flight of steps to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

As you think back, your hands automatically press against your cheeks, warmed by the flush of memory as your blood pumps faster in your veins from the rising shock. Toji had drawn you an Epsom salt bath to soak your muscles, rolling his eyes as you feverishly barked at him for privacy to undress. That gruff attentiveness continued as he watched you like a hawk as you slurped down the bowl of canned soup he warmed, and then gently nudging you to bed with a press to the small of your back. Even his firm grip on your arm as he wielded a syringe of cough syrup—which you tried to refuse—is clear in your mind.

“You’re burning up, stop fucking fighting me! What kind of doctor won’t take medicine?”

“This doctor. I would rather lick the floor than taste cough syrup. It’s just a cold. Go away,” you remember protesting, delirious with a stubbornness that has only gotten worse with age.

He had pressed the tip of the syringe to the side of your mouth, eyes narrowed and annoyed.��“Open your mouth and—OW, why are you biting people! Girl, what the hell?!”

“Fuck,” you groan now, your hands digging into your eye sockets as the memory plays like a broken record behind your eyelids. You bit him like a fucking maniac. Who does that?! You remember giving in because you felt bad but still…

As a kid, you were the same—so against the taste of medicine that your mother had to pin you down.

But now? At the ripe age of too damn grown? You’re mortified.

Your hands slide down your face as you sigh in the silence, which feels heavier than before. Did he leave last night? You can’t remember anything beyond smacking your lips to get rid of the cherry taste of cough medicine and rolling over to pass out.

Your body isn’t as achy as last night as you climb out of bed. You slip into dry clothes and throw off your bonnet, ruffling the curls loose before you snatch up your phone and leave the room in search of him. The air in your apartment, usually so familiar, now carries a subtle disturbance—a reminder of his increasing presence. Only the distant chirps of cardinals outside punctuate the silence. As you enter the living room, you notice Toji’s black jacket casually draped over a kitchen stool and his car keys abandoned on the counter.

Your fuzzy socks muffle your steps as you approach the counter, where a covered glass bowl sits alongside a small note. You hate the lurch of your heart skipping as you snatch it up, your movements fueled by a mix of dread and anticipation.

Make sure you eat it all.

You can practically hear his gruff voice through the words, rough and serious, a subtle layer of care that’s unique to him. The thought makes you snort softly, relief washing over you with the distant thought that…he didn’t leave. But that relief is a push and pull, it’s frustrating to you because you’re unsure of what you want, even though you want more and moreof it. More of him.

As you pop open the lid of the container, the steam hitting your nose, your phone rings, your eyes rolling on reflex as you look at the caller ID. It’s a work day for your cousin, you can tell by the sleek reading glasses she only wears to comb over legal documents. Her shiny kinky hair is pulled up into a neat bun with not a strand out of place, edges laid to perfection, dark lip liner with a clear gloss on full lips, and she looks professional and uniquely Rene. Dark brown eyes narrow at you, the corners pointed in a cat’s eye with fresh black eyeliner, her expression tightening. Your mind automatically conjures the phrase you know she’s about to say.

“What do I have to do—”

“—to make sure you’re not dead,” she finishes in real time, her voice a blend of concern and familiar exasperation. “I was texting you all night.”

This is a well-worn interaction between you both; you work for days on end and disappear from the world, Rene reels you back in with stern care that rivals your own mother.

Your fingernail idly traces Toji’s handwriting from his note. “It was a rough night. My car wouldn’t start, I had to catch the bus and it made me late, and then work was just a nightmare. I’m sick, everything hurts, and Toji had to pick me up—”

“Why don’t we back up a little bit,” she interjects, elegant eyebrows arching up in wicked surprise, your well-being entirely forgotten because your cousin is a nosy bitch. “Toji was there? Where is he?” You shoot her a glare, irritation flaring because you refuse to give in to her curiosity. She holds up her hands in defense, her full lips curving into a smile. “Damn, a bestie can’t ask a question these days? That’s tough.”

Your gaze holds firm, challenging her. She meets it in a well-known game you both play, her eyes widening comically and it’s enough to break you both, laughter filling the kitchen.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” you lie, coughing into your elbow. “We are just taking it slow. Nothing crazy. I didn’t need his help anyway. I could have taken the bus and taken care of myself. It’s just a cold.”

She laughs again at your bullshit and you sigh in defeat. There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat things with her. Nothing crazy, you say even though can’t even get your thoughts together when it comes to him. You could easily hang up the phone, but annoying or not, you haven’t talked to Rene in days. It’s nice to hear her voice again. Your mother is overseas often for work so calls aren’t as frequent. As for the rest of your family? You’re just…not as close to them.

Rene’s still running cackling keeps your mind from wandering again.

“Alright, it’s not funny anymore,” you snap as you grab a spoon from a kitchen drawer, turning back to Toji’s leftover food with a frown.

“I’m sorry! Really! But come on, it’s just classic you—the baddest bitch I know, but here you are, refusing any chance of help even though you want it so bad. Hard-headed as hell,” she chuckles, her voice warming with the years of friendship between you.

You pause, spoon in hand over the steaming bowl of soup, struck by the truth in her words. Stubbornness is your armor and you rarely let it slip, only few know what’s behind it. Even though she teases, it hurts. It hurts because it carries history—reminders of every instance you’ve pushed help away. It wraps around those jabs from your family, from the men you’ve been with.

Mean because you demand respect so you can weed out those who aren’t worth your time.

Defensive because you’ve been hurt too often.

Uncompromising and fierce, and that’s anyone who tries to get too close—never stays.

You clench your teeth together. “Rene, I’m not—” you start to protest, but the latch of the front door opening makes you raise the spoon in alarm.

It's Toji.

He walks into your home as if he owns the place, his presence so commanding it seems to fill every corner, snuffing the lights and sucking the air from the room. His gaze sweeps through the space, and when his emerald eyes finally settle on you, you feel the weight of his attention.

His shirt is stained with grease, and raven locks, messy from the July humidity, sticks to his forehead and sides of his neck.

“You won’t get far if you’re trying to stab me with that,” he teases, nodding towards the spoon in your hand. Though his tone is light, the underlying seriousness suggests he’s not entirely joking. He’s strong enough to disarm you and you wouldn’t mind a big man like him trying to—

The spoon clatters against the granite counter top as you slap it down and force your mind to shut the hell up.

He takes only two steps before he’s standing in front of you, analytical eyes scanning you in seconds—a look so intense that it feels like he’s trying to memorize you and understand hidden layers you’d rather keep concealed. Alarmingly thorough and you’re still trying to process him being this close, his proximity bringing an electricity you feel even before his lips press a soft, almost possessive kiss on your cheek, like he’s been waiting—itching for contact.

Rene’s startled cough cracks through the phone, mirroring your own internal shock. Toji is making your fever worse because it’s hot as hell now, the hairs rising on your neck as you gape like a fish.

“W-what are you doing…” you begin to ask, but the words die in your dry mouth when he pulls back. His eyes linger close to yours—too close and sliding across your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He still smells like cologne, but now there’s sweat and a muskiness of exertion and outdoors that makes your head swim with dread and desire.

“Where’s your toolbox?” he asks, putting a leash on your thoughts before they run away from you.

You clear your throat and step back, trying to reclaim your space, to fortify your defenses, do anything so you don’t fall apart. “Um, coat closet down the hall. Top shelf.” Your tone is steadier than you feel, pointing mechanically to your hallway.

You look down at your phone when he walks away, exhaling a breath you don’t realize you’re holding. Rene’s watching you with an amused, knowing look, eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. You can’t stand her because you want to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Girl,” Rene chimes, voice dripping with insinuation and not low enough because she doesn’t care who hears her. “I’m sure if you take him for a ride again, you’ll feel a little better.”

“When she’s not sick,” Toji calls from the hallway, your eyes widening at the implication of him listening in. “That kind of ride takes a little work.”

You gawk at the empty space of your hallway. Rene hollers and you hope to god she gets written up for being too loud.

“I know that’s right, Toj—”

You hang up and slam the phone down with more force than necessary.

Toji returns with the toolbox, smirking and completely unphased by his remark and just how unsettled you look by it. He motions with his head to the bowl of soup in front of you.

“Eat.”

It’s a command, gentle but firm, and you bristle not just at the directive, but at your own conflicting impulses—to bare your teeth and snap at his attempt of care or to melt under his attention.

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer, just studies you a moment longer, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, and disappears out the front door. The quiet buzz of the cardinals outside fills the silence he leaves behind.

You’re left standing there, a hand squeezing your phone on the counter like a vice, your mind struggling to remain upright in a storm of emotions that he stirs up within you. Unsettling and soothing, your chest fluttering like butterflies wings against your rib cage. Maybe it’s just a heart palpitation, this intensity—this feeling. Nanami can do an EKG when you return to work in a few days. And he better be there, because he’s the very reason why you had to pick up so many shifts in the first place.

Rene’s giggles still echo in your ears as you exhale a shaky breath and grip the metal spoon in your hand again.

***

“What are you doing?”

Your question cuts through the ambient city hum and the rustle of trees surrounding the parking lot of your complex. Toji is hunched over the hood of your car, hands deep in it’s guts, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The summer sun beats down on you both, yet you’re wrapped in Toji’s jacket to cover your exposed legs. It was the first thing you grabbed when you rushed out of the apartment but it’s too big, the hem brushes against your knees, the sleeves dangling past your hands. You push them up again, feeling simultaneously protected and vulnerable under his gaze as he turns to face you. The jacket feels like a shield, but also a reminder of how much space he’s beginning to occupy in your life.

“Your starter is bad,” he grunts, showing you a car part smeared with oil. It looks expensive, way more than an oil change, and panic flares in your belly briefly as the numbers fluctuate in your mind. If it’s too much, it’ll probably be weeks before you can take your car to the shop.

You’re a doctor, but doctors don’t start making good money for…awhile.

“How much do you think it will be for a new one?” You sigh, mentally calculating the number of zeros the mechanic is going to throw at you. At least Toji saved you some money for a diagnostics test.

“I already ordered the part.”

The admission hits you like a truck.

You gape at him, fumbling and overwhelmed. “You didn’t—I could have done all of this myself. I don’t need your help, Toji.”

The words taste bitter as they drip from your tongue, a defensive reflex from years of self-reliance. Of course you’re grateful, but the frustration that he’s seen a need you hadn’t voiced, that he’s filled it without asking, that’s what stirs the deep discomfort. It’s not just the help—it’s the intimacy of it, the presumption that he can anticipate your needs.

The weight of his jacket on your shoulders no longer feels comforting.

His reaction is immediate, a flash of annoyance flickering over his features, the scar on the side of his lips twisting as he frowns and snatches a rag from the hood of the car.

“So, what, you were going to trust some corner-shop mechanic to rip you off?”

His accusation is justified, and almost instantly, that phrase parrots in your mind.

Let me be nice to you. Let me be nice to you.

“Yep, that was the plan,” you retort, your voice lacks conviction, weak and drowned out by the steady thump of your own heart as he walks closer. He drags the rag between his knuckles, collecting the dirt in the seams.

“You want me to let some old fuck tear your shit up? Even though I know what I’m doing? Not happening.”

His assurance should be overwhelming, but you find yourself irresistibly drawn to it. He moves closer, and instinctively, your muscles tense, your toes curling inside your fuzzy socks and blue Crocs. With every inch that disappears between you both, your mind fires with mixed signals: go back to the safety of your apartment or surrender to the magnetic pull of him. God, you’ve only been awake for two hours, but the emotional whiplash just might knock you back out.

“You told me to earn you, so I am. You need to let me.”

His directness, unyielding and raw, hits you harder than you expect. It’s not just his physical presence that’s imposing—it’s the sheer force of his will, loud and insisting that you realize he’s not leaving anytime soon.

Your reactions and reflexes are not completely intentional, but it isn’t easy to just change who you are. The defenses around you are lined with hard-learned lessons. Your armor and shields to keep yourself safe are all you know. Letting go is like disarming a trap designed to protect you—it requires careful, gentle hands. And you’re terrified that Toji’s large, scarred hands will be too rough.

But you recognize that you can’t tell him to try, and you not do the same. That’s not fair to him, or to whatever this dance is that you are both trying to learn the steps to.

As Toji wipes the sweat from his brow, he unwittingly smears a streak of grease across his forehead, drawing your attention. “If you really feel like you need to repay me, then I don’t know—spend a day with me.”

You lift an eyebrow, surprised at his suggestion. “A whole day?”

Toji nods. “When the part comes in and you’re feeling better. No long ass shifts. No PI cases. Just you and me.” He offers a half-smile, white teeth glimmering in the sun and the look is as disarming as it is dangerous.

Your interactions with Toji, even limited, have always been charged with an intensity you’ve avoided and craved. The meaning behind the car repairs and taking care of you, it’s not just surface level. There’s more to it…he’s trying. So now it’s your turn.

You sniff through a congested nose and clear your rough throat, grabbing the rag from his hands and standing on your toes to reach his forehead. You don’t get very far, but Toji leans down so his forehead is closer to you, holding back a snicker at the height difference. You wipe the grease away, locked on the task because you can feel his stare.

“An entire day with you sounds…ominous.”

“I’ll make sure to feed you,” Toji responds, a comforting rumble that unexpectedly makes you laugh. A small smile blooms across your face and the tension in your stomach eases. You feel a little better, still on a tightrope but you can see the other side. With the grease now gone, you sink back to your slightly achy heels, unable to look away now that you’re both eye-level. “I’ll throw in a thirty-minute lunch break.”

“Make it an hour. Don’t try to short change me,” you challenge, playfully. His eyes, emerald and sharp, scan your face with open curiosity, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to his intense focus. You press the rag into his white shirt, deliberately looking to the dirt on the fabric to ground your thoughts. “How’s your finger?”

His laughter vibrates through him, a melodic bark that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, and you watch his abdomen tighten under his shirt from the motion. Toji’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the rag from your hand, his touch making your heart jump. The scars on his knuckles catch the sunlight, and you’re struck again with the curiosity of how they got there.

“I’ve had worse.”

You can’t tell if that’s a joke…or if he’s serious, but you don’t have time to ask because his lips press against your cheek, stealing another unasked kiss that leaves you momentarily off-balance. You swat at him in reflex as if he’s a fly in your ears, swallowing a stuttering response that you’re glad doesn’t filter into the air.

“You’re burning up. Go lay down,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “I’ll finish up here and head out.”

You can stay.

It’s what you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue, pressing against the back of your teeth, but you curl the muscle back and purse your lips, offering a tight nod before you turn and walk away.

Your Crocs squeak against the concrete, your pace quickening because you can feel Toji’s eyes on your back, watching you. You’re burning up from the summer air and the jacket that’s around you. But there’s an underlying, electrifying warmth that pulls a small smile on your face, your hands rising to your cheeks to quell the heat flush that you know is not from your fever.

Thanks for reading!

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eyesteeth · 10 months

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imo every water metaphor people throw at faulkner gets better when you remember he can't swim. “stories are currents, and he plunges headlong into those rushing waters, time and time again" yeah and he can't swim. he's drowning in the narrative he's making for himself. "speak now of the man you will leave behind, the man you have been... drown him in the river’s depths" yeah he's been trying to. he kinda always is, a little bit, just by virtue of being there.

it just speaks to such a fundamental incompatibility in my eyes. he's still scared - he ran out of the hotel when he sainted the hotelier in season one and he runs away from the angel he summons in s3e6. it seems like he can only partake in violence through abstraction - it's just water and symbols until someone's dead or changed in front of him, and then it's real. the withermark is a holy triumph until he counts the houses and the people inside, and then it's something no one should ever have. sacrifice is foundational to all faith in this universe. this isn't something he can avoid, even if the upcoming schism lets him steer his part of the faith where he wants.

(and, to tangent, someone telling him that they finally killed her in some distant town isn't real because he didn't see her face when she hit the soil. if that happens then she's just someone who's not there anymore and he can keep on missing her like he's been doing. i am convinced this is why he gave the shoot on sight order.)

it’s mentioned that he's left alone in his room at the gulch for hours at a time, just like when his father would neglect him and his brothers and leave them to their own devices. he wants a real and genuine love like family, but instead gets worship and idolatry from one hand and schemes to kill him from the other. he keeps climbing the ranks, distancing himself from the potential of gaining the closeness he craves, all in the hope of getting closer to the god he's losing faith in. he's crawling towards the river and he can't swim.

he is trying to love something that wants to drag him under. even if there wasn't a god in the river, the water would greedily swallow him anyway. river currents do not care about your love. he is putting the sunk in sunk cost fallacy. he’s participating in reverse self-immolation. he is drowning in deep water and has only just learned how to keep his eyes open without goggles. he needs to reach the surface but he still can't fucking swim. he is going to die thrashing in the river he loves so much, trying to get out once he realized it wasn't ever going to love him back the way he wanted.

and if he can’t learn how to swim in time, he’s going to need the help of someone who can to pull him out.

#while i acknowledge that an approximate year has passed between s1 and s3 and he could have learned in that time. i don't think he did #one cause the beach script mentions him wearing an oversized lifejacket. and two because him not being able to swim is fun X]#for the reasons listed above. and others. stares directly into the camera #anyway thematically i think carpenter should teach him how to floa[is hit with a steel bat]#tsv #the silt verses #brother faulkner #meant to post this last week but i cringed myself out of it. I Am No Longer Cringing Now.

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vvxgs · 11 months

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°˖✧˚ WARNINGS: light angst. ˚✧˖°

"I'm calling you for the twentieth time!", Charles shouted as soon as he spotted his teammate. "Where have you been?"

"Doesn't matter. What happened?"

"Y/N was here about an hour ago."

"What?", the Spaniard inquired.

"I was surprised too. She seemed off, but left something for you. A letter."

That's when he realized that the fuse had been lit. Y/N was the spark leading to his ignition. Now it was a matter of whether the Spaniard could prevent the disaster from happening in time.

When his fingers touched the paper, he knew what he was about to read would irreversibly change his life. For a brief moment, he even had the urge to tear the envelope into pieces and deny himself the chance of knowing its contents.

Dear Carlos, Is this how I should start this letter? I have no idea. The last letter I wrote was about seven years ago. I addressed it to Santa Claus. But I figured you deserve more than two sentences, more than just a regular text or email.

My plane has probably already taken off, so stay where you are. Don't throw everything away trying to catch me. It's too late for that.

Maybe I'm acting selfish, giving only one of us a chance to explain, but I'm sure that whatever would come out of your mouth wouldn't change anything.

I'm learning not to dwell on our parting. I'm learning the way one learns to walk. I might stumble a few times, but then you won't even notice, and I'll cover that distance with a run.

We're too different. If I decided to stay and try, it wouldn't be healthy. This poison spreads too fast. It's unstoppable. And the antidote? It doesn't exist.

Someone once said that life is like a puzzle. The picture can be complete and perfect when all the pieces are in place. Why do we try to force a piece into a space when it doesn't fit? Don't look for me. Don't try to force me back into your life.

I understand you want to explain a lot to me, but keep it to yourself. It's the only way I won't start hating you.

Goodbye Carlos."

Carlos stood still. His muscles were relaxed, his head slightly lowered. The Spaniard was one of the indestructible. Of course, someone had chipped away at his fortress a few times, but never enough to make his castle crumble. The foundations were strong enough that despite many attacks, his body didn't resemble ruins. But that day, everything indicated that Carlos Sainz had given up.

He stood like that for a while. The letter and the white envelope slipped from his fingers, and he watched as the white sheets turned gray from the still-wet soil.

Finally, he twitched. He turned around and started walking toward the garage, not even glancing at his teammate standing there. But Charles observed him very closely.

His face was stone-like, hot and salty drops flowing down his face, leaving a trail of sorrow in their wake.

"Where are you going?", Charles finally managed to utter a question as Sainz was about to pass him.

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled something out, and moments later released pieces of paper from his hand, immediately snatched by the wind.

Sainz heard the sounds of engines. He looked up. Among the clouds, a plane soared, leaving behind a white trail.

"To hell,", Carlos exclaimed, still walking in the chosen direction, his pace quickening. "Because without her, there's no heaven."

#formula 1 #formula one #formula racing #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles #leclerc #carlos sainz #carlos #sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader

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obsessedwhim · 10 months

Text

Sweet Treat

Quick footsteps paced through an empty town late at night, arms tight around you as bitten lips rolled and split to take in deep uneven breaths.

Doing everything in your power to stop your mouth from falling into a painful arch. And with you out in the open like this, you were hopeful that it would strengthen you from having a terrifying breakdown.

So focused on the twister of emotions within, your vision blurred perfectly enough that it was hard to take notice of the oncoming bench.

And just like the fanny you believed yourself to be, you bent your knee so perfectly wrong that the hardwood of outdoor seating spliced through the gap of the right knee's patella and tibia.

An exemplary sweet spot for instant pain.

An entire torso's worth of muscles strained at the attack. Your throat clenching to smother a monster of a scream.

Your bones collapse as you attempt to breathe in only once, you just can't take it anymore. One hand slapped across dry lips as the other squeezed if only to bring you a short moment of peace. The throbbing knee. Both legs had been shaking from the awkward squat you found yourself in.

Tears finally fell and escaped their swollen barriers, easing you for a second before you realized what was happening.

"God... why" you sobbed, falling to the cold concrete below with the grace of a cardboard cutout and leaned into the scene of the crime. Wounded knee kept at a bend to not anger its soiled joint.

The other knee came up with a quiet creak and you bowed an aching scull, arms raising to his your pitiful cries from the world. Teeth grit to contain the machine flesh raging from within. Fuming at the unluckiness of it all.

You tried so hard to not let it all get to you, but the human body could only contain such powerful emotions for so long, and you had yet to fully cry at your current losses.

A Partner of Ten Years, ten whole fricken' Years! And you introduce him to one best friend who had just moved back into town and Boom! Like a bad joke none saw coming, he left you. Dust in the wind, off to be cradled in her romanticized touch.

As if you were never anything to him in the first place.

Good thing he left you without notice, lest you lose yourself and try to claw out his perfect eyes.

For a second, your shoulders slumped in your pile of pathetic clutches 'Why even care? Why should I be upset when I did nothing wrong?'

'BECASUE?? YOU LOVED HIM?? Gave him everything you had, even!'

Shoulders raised, fingernails dug into your one working leg, scratching away at the jean fabric covering your shin. Until your fingers grew heavy and you wanted your limbs to fall apart.

'I mean... sure yeah I- but it's not like-' Much like Jenga, you wished you were a bunch of blocks because board games dont have to deal with life-shattering realities.

'Shut up, shUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT. UP. STOP!'

Your strength came back in muscle-breaking waves, and you were sure you could break this bench if you tried hard enough 'Dont let some... M A N rot you from the inside because that's TO EASY, YOU DON'T DESERVE EASY!'

A black shadow peaked from a rooftop, watching as you constricted and loosened. 'That can't be healthy' the spectator thought, only noticing you after a strange squeal echoed from a nearby park and bounding over a handful of buildings, there he saw you curled before the unoticable criminal that halted your late-night walk.

'Are you really gonna let your foundations collapse just because of one bump in your timeline?'

You sniffled, using a damp sleeve to wipe away tears that refused to let up. This was the beginning of the end, you thought. It was hard to not allow any of your cracked sobs to pass through your clenched throat.

"Uh.. hey there"

You yelped, the loudest noise you had made all night. Your head turned with a tilt as your soiled vision rose past purple appendages. A green coat topped with strangely bright hair pulled you from the inner voices continuing on with their rants about current events and how you shouldn't let your horrible pathetic self fall apart.

Cold night air refreshed your tired lungs and you blinked a couple of times as the stranger moved to take a seat next to you, his bending legs missing the bench and sitting on the cold ground with an arm's length between the two of you.

"Yooou... okay?"

"Yeah, just... a rough day at the office y'know?" You snorted through a blocked nose, shrugging as sleeves wiped away at the water barriers between your eyes and the stranger's features.

"Don't you work in a sandwich shop?"

Taking in a stifling breath once more, you turned to meet the pinched features of a familiar ginger. "Oh, it's you. Hello Mr. Customer" You turned away quickly, why did such an attractive customer have to find you in such a state at so late of a time? You must look like such a weirdo.

Ichigo frowned, he wasn't used to seeing you in any other state than unbearing cheeryness. Even from a whole building away, Ichigo was able to recognize you.

He thought about how strange it was to see you out of your regular setting, how much smaller you looked despite baggy clothes hanging from you. Ichigo sighed with a saddened look in his eyes.

The next few minutes were filled with awkward conversation. It's not like Ichigo knows how to comfort someone he's barely talked to, and he doesn't even really know what's upset you in the first place.

You cackled at something he said, your dry laugh filling the empty street till your hand slapped over your smiling mouth. Voice lowering to a hushed giggle "Oh god, that was so loud"

Ichigo stifled his own laugh, but you pointed out how his face strained at the act. He breathed out the funny and did his best to keep his composure. You really were loud.

------------

Ichigo waited for you on a street corner, hazel eyes glancing over a shoulder at his reflection for only a short moment but the ginger huffed and fixed his shirt for the third time since he'd arrived. Fingers rinsing and raking through his orange hair to perk his spikes up just right. You mentioned how you liked his hair slightly messy one morning.

He took in a deep breath, and a grip around the sunflowers that he had brought grew sweaty. A great icebreaker and gift, Ichigo was sure you said sunflowers were a favored plant.

"Hey gorgeous"

The male spun on the spot, quickly turning to meet your raised vision and his face nearly exploded with blood.

God, you were cute, it was almost too much. Ichigo's heart clenched but he hadn't yet realized you took notice the flowers.

Your hand covering his circling grip and lips pressing against the corner of his jaw "How's the most wonderful man in the world doing today?"

Okay, now he was definitely about to explode. Stream rising and ears turning red. Lips wriggling as he did his best to welcome you.

---------------

Ichigo had been making his way through some paperwork he brought home, but it was way past noon and you knew he hadn't even attempted to head to the kitchen for some food.

It was too nice of a day to spend locked away in his office, not when you were out here.

You sighed from said kitchen. Leaning on the doorframe with a hand pinching at your chin.

What should you make your beloved for his lunch? You wondered with a hum and turned to head into the sun rays stretching from the front window.

Though Ichigo was deep in concentration, it was hard to miss a bowl of spicy karashi being set in the middle of the dinner table.

Ichigo eyes shone at the familiar bright yellow goo and glanced up at you with hope in his tired gaze "Are you... making Mentaiko?"

"Sure am" you glowed like some sort of beautiful food angel "I've cut the fish, just waiting on the rice now" and you walked away as if it were nothing, but secretly, deep within your heart lunged at Ichigo's adorable features.

You hoped he'd be okay with you joining him for lunch because there was simply nowhere you wanted to be more than with him, even if it was just for lunch.

-----------------

Though most of your morning was spent canoodling with a more cuddly than usual ginger, you stood before a till and kept yourself busy with customers, cleaning, and restocking.

It was a nice day of sunshine and music filling the small business from a random radio.

A coworker had come from the back kitchen and asked if you'd like to take a break, and you were never one to decline lunch.

You hummed and sparkled as you constructed the perfect sandwich and picked out a slice of strawberry and chocolate cheesecake. Your work pal snickered at your sudden shift to favoring strawberry desserts, and there wasn't one bone in your body that would disagree "I guess he really is the Love of My Life" You smiled down at the slice of berry garnishing your dish "I miss him!"

"Get over it already, the fanny's probably on his way to see you right now" They waved a dramatic hand "Shout on me if there's a customer would ya, I gotta get some stuff from the back"

"Sure thing!" You made your way to a favored booth, with enough room for two.

The door to the cafe rang and a wide body came through with a scanning stare.

Ichigo found his steps were quicker than usual. He got a little too caught up at work, and translating took a lot of concentration.

Thank goodness for his Hollow Hunting habits, keeping him fit and speedy. Though there were a few handful times of nearly running into some poor pedestrian but he was so close!

Just one more corner and Ichigo would make it to your place of work, of course, slowing to fix his clothes before stepping through the shiny glass door.

The bell rang and his ember gaze found you quickly, but you hadn't noticed him yet. You're attention taken away by a large being kneeling before you with a strong grip keeping you from retreating farther into your booth.

"Please Baby, I miss you so much. I always loved you y'know?" the stranger's voice was padded and sweet "It was always you" but his grip slid from your wrist to your forearm and there was no way Ichigo would let those grimy fingers gain another inch.

He was close to yanking the fiend away but said fiend screeched and cried and screamed for his dear hand where an unused fork splintered from his skin. Popping from the shallow wound and ringing against the hardwood floor "What The HELL?! You Crazy BITCH!"

"Don't Make Me Use My Knife!" you held up a rather threatening butter knife, meant for your sweet treat but some would say revenge may be even sweeter.

"You Shithead! You Better Leave Right Now!"

Ichigo knew about what this Ex had done, how he'd treated you, and stepped to the side as- you named him perfectly- Shithead stumbled and winced in his rush to leave the establishment.

"Ah! I'm so sorry everyone!" you apologized to local patrons with a deep bow and red face, but a few of them clapped at the experience "Dinner and a show, well done young lady," A customer told, others soon agreeing.

You sprung from your bow, and tears inked at the side of your eyes. The regulars were very in the know-how about their servers.

A smile split through your hot cheeks, almost at a melting point as Ichigo came from behind with a curve in his brow and a gentle hand on your shoulder "Are you alright?"

You didn't know if you had any teeth left to bear. Leaning in with a hand covering his, you said "I am now, everything's just perfect"

#bleach headcanons #bleach ichigo #fanfic writing #fanfiction #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki x reader #fanfics #ichigo kurosaki x oc #bleach x reader #adult ichigo kurosaki x reader #fluff #fluff prompts

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on-a-lucky-tide · 11 months

Note

We most certainly need more Wyll/Halsin content. Can I suggest 'bearlock' (since Wyll is a warlock) as a ship name? Though 'hornbear' is funny as hell, I agree.

I agree.

Halsin combines two of his favourite things: honey and Wyll.

CW: erotic use of food, oral sex, domination.

"Come closer. I'll take your mind off your devil."

Looking back, perhaps Wyll could have done more to resist such a sultry promise, but the rumble of Halsin's voice had a way of cutting down to a man's core. As an earthquake shook the ground, so did Halsin's voice shake a man's foundations; deep inside, where all his baser instincts and desires lurked.

Wyll had sat on the edge of the camp, nursing his mead, as Shadowheart had joked with Tav about 'conquering Mount Halsin', and while Wyll never dared to dream he would be anyone's choice of lover, and certainly wouldn't begrudge anyone the warm comforts of a strong and kind hand, he had been somewhat relieved when Tav had snuck off into the shadows with the pale elf.

Halsin had appeared not half an hour later, politely declining the offer of mead, while he settled down at Wyll's side with a sheath knife and a chunk of wood he had salvaged from the logpile waiting for the campfire.

Their conversation had drifted good-naturedly at first, steering towards humour and stories, but finally onto the issue of Wyll's quest. Halsin appeared intrigued by Wyll's story, particularly how he had ended up at the Grove, helping the Tieflings. All the while Wyll watched Halsin's hands work, his lips form in broad smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle with mirth, his camp shirt barely laced at the front, teasing the firmness of his chest. Wyll wanted to trace every part of him; the red swirls of his tattoos, the edges and curves of his body. To have Halsin, to possess him, to be possessed by him.

Wyll had almost convinced himself that the fire in his belly and the tingling beneath his skin was part mead, part loneliness, part touch-starved and knowing no one would ever touch him again now that he bore the mark of a demon. His desires had to play second fiddle to his greater mission.

And then the offer had been made.

Wyll had looked up sharply, meeting those keenly intelligent eyes, edged with a golden light Wyll had come to associate with Halsin's fearsome Wildshape. Fierce, wild and staggeringly beautiful. He had swallowed, the words choked in his throat, and then Halsin's broad palm had brushed his cheek. Wyll hadn't pulled away. He couldn't. He was rooted as solidly to that moment as one of Halsin's great oaks was to the soil.

No, he had leaned in, desperate, needy.

Wyll didn't really recall how they had made it into Halsin's tent. A fevered fumbling of belts, buckles and cloth, overwhelmed by the sensation of hands and lips on his skin, his trepidation numbed a little by the warm buzz of mead in his blood and a desperate need to feel the full extent of Halsin's desire. Wyll gripped onto Halsin's shoulders as teeth and tongue roamed his throat and chest, his knees pressed to Halsin's hips, the wet, ruddy head of Halsin's thick cock brushing the inside of his thighs, his own desperate prick, whenever he leaned forward to taste more of Wyll's body.

And then Halsin drew away.

Wyll felt the absence of his warmth in a rush of fear. Had he done something wrong? Been too loud?

"I hope you can forgive me, but there is something I have desired for some time, and the way you wriggle with my tongue on your skin..."

"Anything."

Halsin smiled and dropped his eyes. He traced the inside of Wyll's knee in gentle circles, replacing his fingertips with his lips for a delicate kiss. "You must wait to hear the terms before you throw yourself in so readily, my heart."

Wyll swallowed. The term of endearment made something tighten at the base of his spine. "Then tell me."

Halsin leaned over, a hand braced at Wyll's side while the other sought something above his head. When Halsin moved back, it was to trace Wyll's lips with fingertips coated in sticky sweetness.

"Honey," Wyll said through a breathless laugh. He knew instantly he had stepped wrong, because the big druid retracted his hand and looked away, the glitter in his eyes dimming. Wyll recalled a conversation he had overheard, how Halsin's love of honey had been a subject of ridicule, and he reached out to take Halsin's hand, bringing it back to his lips for another gentle lick. "If you wish to spend the night kissing honey from my lips, then I will see it as a night well spent in excellent company."

Wyll watched the tips of Halsin's ears flush, and then that uncertain lilt of his mouth transformed into a truly devilish smirk. "When there is so much more of you I wish to taste?"

Wyll's prick twitched against his belly, still full and fat, and he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth with a soft groan. "You will be the ruin of me, druid."

Halsin hummed as he collected the deep bowl containing his precious store of liquid gold, and Wyll gasped as the first drops touched his skin. Halsin used honey to map his journey over Wyll's body. He started at Wyll's throat, leaving a trail down to the crest of his chest, and circled his nipples in lazy swirls before descending to the soft valleys of his stomach and the sharper angles of his hips. Halsin's path finished at the eager head of Wyll's cock, the slow spread of honey teasing the headier promise of Halsin's mouth.

When the bowl was empty, Halsin cast it aside with a feral urgency. His eyes had blown wide, his thick chest heaving, that golden hue ghosting over his skin, the beast barely contained in roiling muscle. Despite the threat of wild abandon, the first touch of Halsin's mouth was torturously slow. Halsin gripped Wyll's horns to pin his head back, and licked a long, indulgent stripe up the curve of Wyll's throat.

The bone deep groan Halsin let out rattled Wyll to the core, and he found himself clinging on to Halsin's wrists if only to bare himself fully to the druid's hunger. "Hals--yes, yes, please." He begged, and moaned, and gasped, body arching as Halsin's tongue circled over his chest and around his nipples, savouring every delicious drop of honey on Wyll's skin. "Please, please."

Wyll had expected to be supped like a pup cleaned by its mother; sweet, funny, playful. Not this. This slow, torturous devouring that held him at the aching brink, stripped him of his senses, left him as a shaking, whining mess beneath Halsin's mouth.

At some point, Halsin's hands had left Wyll's horns, but Wyll kept himself pinned back and spread, every muscle pulled taut and shuddering. The moment Halsin swallowed his prick, taking it to the base in one effortless swallow, Wyll almost spilled down his throat. The deep, guttural growls rising from Halsin's chest rippled up Wyll's spine, following the pulses of pleasure with each ripple of pressure from Halsin's mouth and throat.

All Wyll could do was cling on for dear life, his shaking fingers knotted in Halsin's braids, his thighs squeezing those elegant ears. He teetered on the edge, Halsin seemingly an expert in longing out his lover's pleasure until they were driven insane by it. But it was as Halsin pulled off, his tongue tracing the delicate seam of Wyll's sack to the intimate skin behind that the coil in Wyll's body released.

Wyll arched into Halsin with a wretched cry, light exploding behind his eyelids, his limbs flooded with warmth as he unspooled so completely.

In the soft afterglow, Wyll could barely keep his eyes open, but he did, if only to see Halsin's face. The effort was worth it; the druid's pupils were blown wide, his face a mess of honey and Wyll's pleasure, those large fingers tracing his own lips in search of every last morsel. He looked so thoroughly satisfied, that Wyll could almost have forgot about the straining erection arched up to Halsin's belly. So big, Wyll was surprised that Halsin had enough blood in his body to support it.

"Forgive me," Wyll rasped. "It's impossible to resist your ardour, give me a moment and I will attend to you before we retire."

There was that smirk again, and a renewed heat began to pool in Wyll's stomach. When Halsin spoke, it was with the lazy confidence of a predator with his prey trapped firmly beneath his paw. "The night's young, and it will take far more to sate my hunger for you. I shall be gentle," Halsin leaned over, knees easing Wyll's thighs apart once more, dark, hungry eyes tracing down Wyll's body, "well, I shall try."

#wyll ravengard #halsin #bearlock #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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hargrovel · 2 years

Text

Billy is no stranger to enduring halting, reality shifting moments. Those freeze frames where everything slows to a stop and once you hit ‘play’ there’s no going back, the rewind button is busted and before becomes a memory in an instant.

The first time Neil hit him.

His mom walking out the front door with a suitcase.

When Max stuck him with a needle and left him for dead.

Those moments where the ground falls out from under you and you’re left clinging to an edge, crawling towards the next bit of solid soil.

In Billy’s experience, the road only gets longer and more perilous once things start to move again. A ceaseless slew of hazards without warning signs, unpredictable.

Only then, Steve Harrington kisses him.

On a night in November when the fog hangs low, rolling off Lover’s Lake and wrapping them in a cool silver veil.

It’s been a year and change since their first meeting, since he took a plate to the guy’s head and uttered the first meaningful apology of his life.

They’re leaning against the Beamer, heat from the engine warming his thighs. Taking in the moonlight and relishing the ease they’ve managed to earn in each other’s company. They have come a long way since that October night.

When Steve just, meets his eyes. Shifts closer, let’s their fingertips mingle on the hood, before pressing them forward. Under and over Billy’s until their fingers are intertwined and his thumb is ghosting over a knuckle, soothing.

Eyebrows worry, Billy sucks in a breath as Steve shifts closer still. Draws his other hand towards Billy’s face, who doesn’t flinch away, lowers his lids to the touch.

Time slows, down to that syrupy speed and Steve leans in, tilting his head and pressing soft lips to Billy’s hitched breath.

And right there, it stops.

Only, the ground doesn’t crumble beneath them. It’s firm and dense, a tether running from head to toe cementing him where he stands.

And when the tape starts back up, the road blooms bright ahead. Winding but paved and welcoming, the kind of path that’s so clear you can take it at 90 to feel the wind in your hair and just fucking glide.

It’s a different sort of shift. Stable. Like maybe Steve has been laying foundation for a while, making dutifully sure the earth below could support their weight.

Billy intends to test the theory, with a deep sink into the kiss and an arm wrapping around Steve’s waist, pulling him flush - an answer that he’ll give every day until time stops for good, if Steve will let him.

#this is just v indulgent ✌🏻#v rambly ✌🏻✌🏻#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove

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voorice-corp · 7 months

Text

A Dinoverse Creation Myth

(in three parts)

before we start - I am highly aware that what I put below is largely irrelevant to the "present day" stories of the Dinoverse games. however, though most of it was pulled out of the ass, at its very foundation the following is based on one-off mentions of what is likely a mythos for the world that the games take place in, despite it otherwise being very much sci-fi with no fantasy to speak of... perhaps a relic of a bygone era of superstition?

and if you know me, I am an enthusiast when it comes to mythology, from both real cultures and fictional worlds - though tenuous, I did notice some parallels in the excerpts from the games and a certain creation myth from real life - uncannily matching in what is literally stated in the first part, and while not as literal with the third part has some corresponding themes about the nature of humanity and destiny. both of these are from Phantom Of The G4, the translation of which you can read HERE (specifically at the bottom of page 4, and the middle of page 10).

(note: one day I might attempt my own translation, as Chinese is my second language since childhood)

the second part, meanwhile, is directly explained in VTSOM's chapter 4... albeit referencing real life a little too much. now this is probably intentional if VTSOM is set in a future Earth, but I doubt it (I mean, I can't find anywhere the g-districts match up with geographically)... and besides, it takes away all the fun of making up new lore! anyways, HERE is a chapter 4 playthrough (spoilers naturally abounding) with the timestamp where this piece of lore is discussed.

anyway, enough rambling, let's get to the proper writing I did...

I In the beginning, there was simply a vast nothingness. From this nothingness were born the light and the dark, still diffuse; it took many aeons for the light and the dark to coalesce, and become encased in an egg. And it was from within this egg that the Great God awoke, with a honed blade in hand. He sliced a boundary between the light and the dark, to create the heavens and the earth, and stood in the gap between to fully separate them. But still the world was an empty one, and the Great God knew that the only way to fill it was to use his own body. And so, facing the light, with his back to the dark, he abandoned his body to become a spirit that moved across the heavens. The place upon which he died became the Mount Arrat, where others after him shall ascend the same way. His bones became the rocks, and his marrow, precious ore; his flesh, the soil, and his hair, the plants; his blood, the rivers and seas; his left eye the sun, and his right eye the moon, still and forever keeping watch upon the world in both the light and the dark.

II From his remains, the spirit of the Great God could will new life, populating the land, and the seas, and the air with living creatures of all shapes and sizes. Among them was the great sea-serpent Liveiataan, or Leviathan; and she had become powerful and fearsome, with teeth like swords and eyes like the dawn. Her power and her ferocity made the spirit of the Great God wary, for it was only meant to be him who could create, and bestow, and change, and remove, and destroy. And with her heart like unbreakable stone, and her mouth that could not be shut by any force, Liveiataan did not submit to his will. Thus, the spirit of Great God took his sword and slew Liveiataan, and from her dead-flesh also willed new life; from it came gods shaped like men, but with the tails of serpents. And the spirit of the Great God found it good that these were now under his control.

III Among the gods born from Liveiataan's remains was the Serpent Woman; while her brothers took to the heavens, she remained on the earth, and grew lonely. Thus the Serpent Woman pleaded with the spirit of the Great God for companionship, which he understood, and gave her permission to create new life. From clay and fertile earth she molded the first humans, and showed these to the spirit of the Great God, who found her creations worthy to rule the world. From the heavens he called down the Serpent Woman’s twin, the Bright One, who taught the humans to hunt, fish, and tame the other living creatures whose world they now lived in. Though the Serpent Woman wished to create even more humans, the way she had previously made them was far too difficult, too time-consuming, and drained her of her power. And so she found a simpler method, by dragging a cord through the mud; and while this produced many humans, their quality was mediocre compared to those she had molded with her hands. And neither the spirit of the Great God nor the Bright One favoured these humans, who had to be taught by their predecessors. Thus, the people born from the mud, of which there is a great abundance, are forever destined to be inadequate, unable to ascend Arrat and join the gods; and the people shaped by the Serpent Woman’s hand and taught by the Bright One destined to lead and illuminate the path to the future.

now, an explanation of the inspirations for this story - as well as some extra thoughts not included in the story itself, left out for others to figure out later.

this tale is largely based on Chinese mythology - elements of which seem to show up elsewhere in the Dinoverse, possibly because Dino themselves are Chinese, and that I will touch on another time because of how fascinating mythological motifs are to me.

the Great God is based on the creator deity Pangu, who just like the "god" mentioned in POTG4 created the world from various parts of his body, down to the sun and moon being his eyes. however, instead of an axe, his weapon of choice is a sword as per his description in VTSOM.

the Serpent Woman was more or less original on my part, and based on the goddess Nüwa, creator of humans using different methods for nobles and commoners (which parallels the "some souls forever destined to be inadequate" thing in POTG4); and the Bright One likewise, based on her brother Fuxi. (it seems that for many of these ancient Chinese gods, their mark of divinity was having a serpentine tail/lower body, hence the Serpent Woman's other, unnamed brothers, who may be significant in another story.)

and while Liveiataan bears some resemblance in role to the aforementioned twin deities' parent Huaxu, she is based more on the Near-Eastern Leviathan as well as its forerunners Lotan, Tamtum, and especially Tiamat, who some have noted similarities with both Pangu and Nüwa. the odd spelling of "Liveiataan" is intentional, by the way, to avoid confusion with the real-world Leviathan.

speaking of Liveiataan - in-universe she is described as "a symbol of power, and perfect government" fitting as she was the only creature powerful enough to pose a threat to the Great God. Myers was certainly onto something to have a poster of her in their basement, doubly-so one with the image of the Great God cropped out, as Vincent discusses how they wish to achieve godhood and create a new world order.

interestingly, they do this with their cyborgs, and to create such, they infuse the bodies of the worthy - the ones created by the Serpent Woman - with (presumably?) metal - the refined bone-marrow of the Great God, if we are going by the myth...

now again, this is all p much pulled out of the ass and written at around 3am of last night, so forgive me if it is all very unhinged. but I had fun writing and analysing, and would like to hear thoughts.

#voorice writing #voorice headcanon #vincent the secret of myers #vtsom #phantom of the g4 #potg4

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ase-trollplays · 29 days

Text

To the Sea (Part two)

Maeron casually stepped out of the bathroom, steam and moisture pouring out of the open door, and stopped short when she noticed her moirail, Cavler, waiting for her.

"Pardon my interruption, Miss, but you missed several calls while you were showering. I also wish to inform you dinner is almost done. I prepared chicken almondine," he informed her. She adjusted her towel slightly and gave him a soft hug.

"Thank you for letting me know. I won't be long," she said and continued onward to her bedroom. Rather than get dressed right away, she walked to the nightstand where her palmhusk was charging to check her missed calls. To her shock, there were eight of them, all from Sonja. With a groan and a roll of her eyes, she grudgingly hit the callback button. Only his Comedy side would be this annoyingly adamant even after she ended her friendship with him. The phone only rang once before he picked up.

"Listen here, I told you we are not friends. I don't entertain abusers and liars," she started with an annoyed hiss in her tone.

"Wrong one," came the voice on the other end sounding completely and utterly defeated. Maeron blinked in surprise as Sonja's Tragedy personality wasn't the type to spam call, not even in emergencies. "May I request your presence. I... I need someone."

"Well, I have plans tonight. Can't you call Sefalo? You sound terrible, and--" The sound of Sonja's breath hitching followed by a pained sob on the other end caused Maeron to stop dead in her tracks.

"Please."

"Messiahs... I'll be right there," Maeron answered, and with that he thanked her and hung up. She couldn't throw on her clothes and apply her face paint fast enough. She tied her still damp hair in a ponytail, grabbed her palmhusk, and started hurrying toward the front door.

"Miss, is everything all right?" Cavler asked from the kitchen after hearing her rushing through the hive.

"I'm sorry, Cavler, but I have to go right now. I don't know how long I'll be gone, so just eat without me and wrap up the leftovers."

******************************************************

Maeron impatiently knocked on the door of Sonja's hive and waited what felt like an eternity. In reality it was only about a minute, but to her anxious mind it might as well have been an hour. WHen he finally opened the door, Maeron gasped at the sight of him. His hair was completely unkempt, eyes puffy and wet with deep umber sclera, and trails of tears down his cheeks. His foundation was horribly smudged from wiping his eyes, and he stood slumped over in despondence.

She immediately grabbed him and pulled him forward into a tight hug, and he was quick to wrap his arms around her as racked sobs forced their way out of him. After several moments embracing, Maeron lifted him into a princess carry and walked inside the hive closing the door behind her with her foot.

The inside of the hive was just as messy as Sonja looked. Books, magazines, and small plants were strewn about the living space as though a tornado went through it. Maeron could only hazard a guess as what must have happened for Sonja to be so emotional. She took a seat on the couch with him in her lap as he cried.

"Sonja, what happened?" she asked in a sweet but concerned tone. She took out a makeup wipe from her sylladex and handed it to him, and he gingerly wiped off his messy foundation revealing a face full of freckles. She took the soiled wipe from him and tucked it down the front of her shirt to throw away later.

"Sefalo's gone. That... That thing taking over her mind took her away, and I couldn't do anything. I just let it happen," he said with his voice wavering and cracking. Maeron vaguely remembered him saying something ages ago about a horrorterror infiltrating her mind and threatening to take Sefalo.

"Oh, Sonja, I'm so sorry," Maeron said in sympathy and pulled him close. His body shuddered as he cried once more, and she slowly rocked him and hummed much like she would for Cavler when something triggered him and caused a breakdown. She could feel her own eyes start watering.

"I couldn't do anything. I just-- just let her get taken away! I couldn't even mercy kill her so she wouldn't spend the rest of her sweeps enslaved to that monster! I'm a failure of a moirail," he lamented between sobs.

"You're not a failure. There's nothing you or anyone could have done to save her. It's not your fault," Maeron said and ran a hand through his ponytail. He didn't respond and only covered his face with one hand while he continues crying.

"You're gonna be okay, Sonja. Just let everything out. I'll be right here."

#things to read #Maeron Schiek #Sonja Tuniq #short and sweet #now a ship tag I haven't used in forever #Love Me Dead

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talldarkandroguesome · 4 months

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19th of Second Seed, Sundas

No sooner had I returned from my trip with Sildras, than I was informed that the Council had a mountain of tasks for me to complete.

And as if that were not enough, as soon as I am nearly done with one of those tasks, I get a hurried missive about a supposedly more pressing issue for my consideration that requires an answer or response by the end of the day or first thing in the morn.

Even this morning, the one day I am usually free of obligations from the Council, I was asked to work on another project. All as if I had not been given one to complete near on midnight and had to stay up to work on.

I have a nice bottle of brandy to fortify me this evening. I am a bit sore after I threw myself into the renovations we are underway in the garden. Even after having tried digging out all of the toxic materials and salting that Urtisa did to our garden and crop lands. WE had thought everything was out, but with all the rain, things that must have been buried deeper than we had thought imaginable. For much of the land has started to sprout strange weeds and many of our plans seem struck with diseases that we have not encountered ever before.

I helped the grounds keeping crew with ripping out all the awful, bizarre weeds. We dug down to a point where we needed ladders to get in and out with the buckets of soil.

Three days we have been toiling away. Finally we have either gotten it all out, or have come close to. Any further digging and it risks the foundations of the manor. Urtisa would fetching love knowing that. The foul alit deserves worse than she--no.

On second thought, Nabine gave her something that even I was unable to stomach. I cannot even be sure that anyone deserved that sort of death. I mean, of course she was an evil woman. Look at how months and months after her death we are still working to repair all the damage she left in her wake.

Yet, there is a part of me that finds it hard to feel wholly satisfied with her end. Perhaps it was just too close to my own fears. Or too close to the way the Thalmor treated me when they wanted to get information from me.

May both. I could not say. I do not dare think too much on it.

I miss when things were simpler. Those days on the run in Skyrim suddenly do not feel so bad. I sing and fuck for room and board. I kill when I need to. I was mortal, but my responsibilities were only to keep myself alive. I could pursue those beautiful moments of connection with people as I went and leave when I fell under suspicion. Then I could return when I wished to continue that relationship I had.

Now I know too much to go back to that. My heart is torn and so tangled int he brambles of my various relationships. Despite my fear and frustration and sadness, my feelings for Nabine remain as strong as ever. And despite how great the distance, my heart still yearns to return to Qau-dar.

And though I have fantasies of pulling away from the House and going back on the road, I cannot abandon my son. Sildras deserves better. And I love him too much for that. And with the House he will have everything he needs for a good life. Further, I still get to see my daughters.

When did everything become so troublesome?

How I wish that Leythen were still alive. I could just pull out a stone and get his advice. I miss when I did not have to be responsible for everyone and everything. When I just could take orders and do my mission and return for my accolades. Damn Nocturnal for her plots. And damn the betrayal of her champion.

You know, it has been a while since I spoke with Naryu. I wonder how she is holding up. I shall have to write to her. Hopefully the city's economy falling has not made it harder for the Morag Tong. They will likely have just moved to other areas.

Still... I wonder if she could put me in touch with someone. Someone willing to train in basics of assassination. My future death weavers could certainly use a dedicated teacher. I fear that for now I am not the correct person.

Once I have my finances back in order, I should look for more opportunities to work on this.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #elder scrolls online #the elder scrolls

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o-craven-canto · 1 year

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Extracts from Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, 2007. The book considers the material aspects of human civilization and how long they would last, unattended. If humans were to vanish from Earth, if all maintainance and repairing work ceased, what would happen to what we leave behind?

(The book went on to inspire two speculative documentaries, Life After People by History Channel and Aftermath: Population Zero by National Geographic, emphasizing different aspects of it. They were neat.)

Chapter 2: Unbuilding Our Home

No matter how hermetically you’ve sealed your temperature-tuned interior from the weather, invisible spores penetrate anyway, exploding in sudden outbursts of mold—awful when you see it, worse when you don’t, because it’s hidden behind a painted wall, munching paper sandwiches of gypsum board, rotting studs and floor joists. Or you’ve been colonized by termites, carpenter ants, roaches, hornets, even small mammals.

Most of all, though, you are beset by what in other contexts is the veritable stuff of life: water... moisture enters around the nails. Soon they’re rusting, and their grip begins to loosen... As gravity increases tension on the trusses, the ¼-inch pins securing their now-rusting connector plates pull free from the wet wood, which now sports a fuzzy coating of greenish mold... When the heat went off, pipes burst if you lived where it freezes, and rain is blowing in where windows have cracked from bird collisions and the stress of sagging walls. Even where the glass is still intact, rain and snow mysteriously, inexorably work their way under sills. As the wood continues to rot, trusses start to collapse against each other. Eventually the walls lean to one side, and finally the roof falls in...

While all that disaster was unfolding, squirrels, raccoons, and lizards have been inside, chewing nest holes in the drywall, even as woodpeckers rammed their way through from the other direction... Fallen vinyl siding, whose color began to fade early, is now brittle and cracking as its plasticizers degenerate. The aluminum is in better shape, but salts in water pooling on its surface slowly eat little pits that leave a grainy white coating... Unprotected thin sheet steel disintegrates in a few years. Long before that, the water-soluble gypsum in the sheetrock has washed back into the earth. That leaves the chimney, where all the trouble began. After a century, it’s still standing, but its bricks have begun to drop and break as, little by little, its lime mortar, exposed to temperature swings, crumbles and powders.

If you owned a swimming pool, it’s now a planter box... If the house’s foundation involved a basement, it too is filling with soil and plant life. Brambles and wild grapevines are snaking around steel gas pipes, which will rust away before another century goes by. White plastic PVC plumbing has yellowed and thinned on the side exposed to the light, where its chloride is weathering to hydrochloric acid, dissolving itself and its polyvinyl partners. Only the bathroom tile, the chemical properties of its fired ceramic not unlike those of fossils, is relatively unchanged, although it now lies in a pile mixed with leaf litter.

After 500 years, what is left depends on where in the world you lived. If the climate was temperate, a forest stands in place of a suburb; minus a few hills, it’s begun to resemble what it was before developers, or the farmers they expropriated, first saw it. Amid the trees, half-concealed by a spreading understory, lie aluminum dishwasher parts and stainless steel cookware, their plastic handles splitting but still solid... The chromium alloys that give stainless steel its resilience... will probably continue to do so for millennia, especially if the pots, pans, and carbon-tempered cutlery are buried out of the reach of atmospheric oxygen. One hundred thousand years hence, the intellectual development of whatever creature digs them up might be kicked abruptly to a higher evolutionary plane by the discovery of ready-made tools...

If you were a desert dweller, the plastic components of modern life flake and peel away faster, as polymer chains crack under an ultraviolet barrage of daily sunshine. With less moisture, wood lasts longer there, though any metal in contact with salty desert soils will corrode more quickly. Still, from Roman ruins we can guess that thick cast iron will be around well into the future’s archaeological record, so the odd prospect of fire hydrants sprouting amidst cacti may someday be among the few clues that humanity was here...

In a warmer world... drier, hotter desert climates will be complemented by wetter, stormier mountain weather systems that will send floods roaring downstream, overwhelming dams, spreading over their former alluvial plains, and entombing whatever was built there in annual layers of silt. Within them, fire hydrants, truck tires, shattered plate glass, condominia, and office buildings may remain indefinitely, but as far from sight as the Carboniferous Formation once was.

No memorial will mark their burial, though the roots of cottonwoods, willows, and palms may occasionally make note of their presence. Only eons later, when old mountains have worn away and new ones risen, will young streams cutting fresh canyons through sediments reveal what once, briefly, went on here.

***

Chapter 3: The City Without Us

Under New York, groundwater is always rising… Whenever it rains hard, sewers clog with storm debris… With subway pumps stilled… water would start sluicing away soil under the pavement. Before long, streets start to crater. With no one unclogging sewers, some new watercourses form on the surface… Within 20 years, the water-soaked steel columns that support the street above the East Side’s 4, 5, and 6 trains corrode and buckle. As Lexington Avenue caves in, it becomes a river.

Whenever it is, the repeated freezing and thawing make asphalt and cement split. When snow thaws, water seeps into these fresh cracks. When it freezes, the water expands, and cracks widen… As pavement separates, weeds like mustard, shamrock, and goosegrass blow in from Central Park and work their way down the new cracks, which widen further… The weeds are followed by the city’s most prolific exotic species, the Chinese ailanthus tree… As soil long trapped beneath pavement gets exposed to sun and rain, other species jump in, and soon leaf litter adds to the rising piles of debris clogging the sewer grates.

The early pioneer plants won’t even have to wait for the pavement to fall apart. Starting from the mulch collecting in gutters, a layer of soil will start forming atop New York’s sterile hard shell, and seedlings will sprout…

In the first few years with no heat, pipes burst all over town, the freeze-thaw cycle moves indoors, and things start to seriously deteriorate. Buildings groan as their innards expand and contract; joints between walls and rooflines separate. Where they do, rain leaks in, bolts rust, and facing pops off, exposing insulation. If the city hasn’t burned yet, it will now… with no firemen to answer the call, a dry lightning strike that ignites a decade of dead branches and leaves piling up in Central Park will spread flames through the streets. Within two decades, lightning rods have begun to rust and snap, and roof fires leap among buildings, entering paneled offices filled with paper fuel. Gas lines ignite with a rush of flames that blows out windows. Rain and snow blow in, and soon even poured concrete floors are freezing, thawing, and starting to buckle. Burnt insulation and charred wood add nutrients to Manhattan’s growing soil cap. Native Virginia creeper and poison ivy claw at walls covered with lichens, which thrive in the absence of air pollution. Red-tailed hawks and peregrine falcons nest in increasingly skeletal high-rise structures.

Within two centuries… colonizing trees will have substantially replaced pioneer weeds. Gutters buried under tons of leaf litter provide new, fertile ground for native oaks and maples from city parks. Arriving black locust and autumn olive shrubs fix nitrogen, allowing sunflowers, bluestem, and white snakeroot to move in along with apple trees, their seeds expelled by proliferating birds… as buildings tumble and smash into each other, and lime from crushed concrete raises soil pH, inviting in trees, such as buckthorn and birch, that need less-acidic environments…

In a future that portends stronger and more-frequent hurricanes striking North America’s Atlantic coast, ferocious winds will pummel tall, unsteady structures. Some will topple, knocking down others. Like a gap in the forest when a giant tree falls, new growth will rush in. Gradually, the asphalt jungle will give way to a real one.

***

Chapter 7: What Falls Apart

(context: this chapter describes Varosha, a city in Cyprus evacuated in 1974 after the Turkish invasion, and left abandoned until 2019)

[Two years after abandonment] Asphalt and pavement had cracked… Australian wattles, a fast-growing acacia species used by hotels for landscaping, were popping out midstreet, some nearly three feet high. Creepers from ornamental succulents snaked out of hotel gardens, crossing roads and climbing tree trunks… Concussions from Turkish air force bombs, Cavinder saw, had exploded plate-glass store windows. Boutique mannequins were half-clothed, their imported fabrics flapping in tattered strips…

Pigeon droppings coated everything. Carob rats nested in hotel rooms, living off Yaffa oranges and lemons from former citrus groves… The bell towers of Greek churches were spattered with the blood and feces of hanging bats.

Sheets of sand blew across avenues and covered floors… Now, no bands, just the incessant kneading of the seathat no longer soothed. The wind sighing through open windows became a whine. The cooing of pigeons grew deafening.

Varosha, merely 60 miles from Syria and Lebanon, is too balmy for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its pavement was tossed asunder anyway. The wrecking crews weren’t just trees, Münir marveled, but also flowers. Tiny seeds of wild Cyprus cyclamen had wedged into cracks, germinated, and heaved aside entire slabs of cement…

Two more decades passed… Its encircling fence and barbed wire are now uniformly rusted, but there is nothing left to protect but ghosts. An occasional Coca Cola sign and broadsides posting nightclubs’ cover charges hang on doorways… Fallen limestone facing lies in pieces. Hunks of wall have dropped from buildings to reveal empty rooms… brick-shaped gaps show where mortar has already dissolved. Other than the back-and-forth of pigeons, all that moves is the creaky rotor of one last functioning windmill.

In the meantime, nature continues its reclamation project. Feral geraniums and philodendrons emerge from missing roofs and pour down exterior walls. Flame trees, chinaberries, and thickets of hibiscus, oleander, and passion lilac sprout from nooks where indoors and outdoors now blend. Houses disappear under magenta mounds of bougainvillaea. Lizards and whip snakes skitter through stands of wild asparagus, prickly pear, and six-foot grasses. A spreading ground cover of lemon grass sweetens the air. At night, the darkened beachfront, free of moonlight bathers, crawls with nesting loggerhead and green sea turtles.

***

Chapter 10: The Petro Patch

If, in the immediate aftermath of Homo sapiens petrolerus, the tanks and towers of the Texas petrochemical patch all detonated together in one spectacular roar, after the oily smoke cleared, there would remain melted roads, twisted pipe, crumpled sheathing, and crumbled concrete. White-hot incandescence would have jump-started the corrosion of scrap metals in the salt air, and the polymer chains in hydrocarbon residues would likewise have cracked into smaller, more digestible lengths, hastening biodegradation. Despite the expelled toxins, the soils would also be enriched with burnt carbon, and after a year of rains switchgrass would be growing. A few hardy wildflowers would appear. Gradually, life would resume.

Or, if the faith of Valero Energy’s Fred Newhouse in system safeguards proves warranted—or if the departing oilmen’s last loyal act is to depressurize towers and bank the fires—the disappearance of Texas’s world champion petroleum infrastructure will proceed more slowly. During the first few years, the paint that slows corrosion will go. Over the next two decades, all the storage tanks will exceed their life spans. Soil moisture, rain, salt, and Texas wind will loosen their grip until they leak. Any heavy crude will have hardened by then; weather will crack it, and bugs will eventually eat it.

What liquid fuels that haven’t already evaporated will soak into the ground. When they hit the water table, they’ll float on top because oil is lighter than water. Microbes will find them, realize that they were once only plant life, too, and gradually adapt to eat them. Armadillos will return to burrow in the cleansed soil, among the rotting remains of buried pipe.

Unattended oil drums, pumps, pipes, towers, valves, and bolts will deteriorate at the weakest points, their joints… Until they go, collapsing the metal walls, pigeons that already love to nest atop refinery towers will speed the corruption of carbon steel with their guano, and rattlesnakes will nest in the vacant structures below. As beavers dam the streams that trickle into Galveston Bay, some areas will flood. Houston is generally too warm for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its deltaic clay soils undergo formidable swell-shrink bouts as rains come and go. With no more foundation repairmen to shore up the cracks, in less than a century downtown buildings will start leaning.

… When oil, gas, or groundwater is pumped from beneath the surface, land settles into the space it occupied… Lower the land, raise the seas, add hurricanes far stronger than midsize, Category 3 Alicia, and even before its dams go, the Brazos gets to do again what it did for 80,000 years: like its sister to the east, the Mississippi, it will flood its entire delta… flare towers, catalytic crackers, and fractionating columns, like downtown Houston buildings, will poke out of brackish floodwaters, their foundations rotting while they wait for the waters to recede.

… Below the surface, the oxidizing metal parts of chemical alley will provide a place for Galveston oysters to attach. Silt and oyster shells will slowly bury them, and will then be buried themselves. Within a few million years, enough layers will amass to compress shells into limestone, which will bear an odd, intermittent rusty streak flecked with sparkling traces of nickel, molybdenum, niobium, and chromium. Millions of years after that, someone or something might have the knowledge and tools to recognize the signal of stainless steel. Nothing, however, will remain to suggest that its original form once stood tall over a place called Texas, and breathed fire into the sky.

I cannot really describe the feeling I get from reading these portions in particular, only that it’s the strongest I ever got from any book. It’s certainly not one of joy: I don’t want humans to disappear -- in fact, there are a lot of humans among my family and friends -- and I don’t want human civilization to vanish, after the unspeakable effort it took to put together, with all the promise that, despite everything, it shows. It’s not one of sadness or fear, either. I suppose it’s just one of awe, of terrible grandeur, similar in kind to what I feel when considering the alien horror and beauty of evolved life, its sheer multi-layered complexity, or the unthinkable vastness of geological time.

#quotes #books #longpost #deep time #aesthetic

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foundationsolution · 2 months

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whatgaviiformes · 2 years

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Fic: Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm - Epilogue

Summary: Alternate Universe. Gordon is a farmer. And he seems to have nothing to do with International Rescue. Now on AO3! Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family. *Warnings for previous chapters: phobias and panic attacks*

Prologue here

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Ao3

Chapter 2: Part 4 | Part 5 | AO3

Chapter 3: Part 6 | Part 7 | Ao3

Chapter 4: Part 8 | Part 9 | Ao3

Chapter 5: Part 10 | Part 11 | Ao3

Chapter 6 Part 12 | Ao3

Chapter 7: Part 13 | Ao3

Chapter 8: Part 14 | Ao3

Chapter 9: Part 15 | Ao3

Chapter 10: Part 16 | Part 17 | Ao3

Epilogue: You are Here | Ao3

Tracy Seaside -the playlist here

A/N: Do me a favor and make sure you are caught up, as I did a lot of writing the past few days. I will admit, finishing this one is a special sadness.

*****

Epilogue

As with the cadence of the tide, time ticked on, the seasons changed, and fall became winter on one side of the world while spring became summer on the other. Christmas came, went, and the folks at Tracy Seaside started their year growing anew, planting tiny seedlings into moist soil at high humidity in the greenhouses to get them started before transplanting them into the ground.

His brothers were there through all of it, if not directly during their planned visits, at least in spirit as they continued to bridge the gaps that the years had created. With Gordon and Virgil’s reconciliation, the tenuous bonds he and his siblings had been scrambling to keep from fraying over time were reforged, rebound and continued to grow strong. As strong as the grappling cables of Thunderbird 2 with Virgil’s voice added among their chorus.

In February, Everett and Scraps planned the surprise birthday of the century, and the speculator world went wild, imagining where Earth’s four most heroic and eligible bachelors could possibly be on Valentine’s Day, and more importantly - who with? Gordon was, of course, none the wiser, as Scraps knew her way around keeping him occupied and away from news articles that would let the cat out of the bag. It was an easy sell when Grandma had already promised to visit and had expressed the desire to make him a three tier birthday cake. Well, he didn’t leave his kitchen for the need to “supervise” his grandmother, and by the time the two made it across the estate to Scraps’ home where the rest of the Tracy’s were waiting, he was still wearing his baking apron and covered from head to foot in flour, but with one edible birthday cake.

Come spring, they added two new hens to their flock and broke ground on a new enclosure and fenced-in pasture for their future plan to bring in goats and sheep.

There were many exciting changes around the corner, and Gordon looked forward to the longer days, the additional sun in his heart, the flutter of new life and new beginnings, this time with the tether to his brothers stronger than it had ever been.

Yet one thing remained looming over him. The SOS.

He was among the first to know about the possibility that their father was still alive, still out there somewhere, after Scott (in an iR submersible pod) retrieved first Brains’ old robot and then never-before-seen footage of the explosion from the Hood’s escape capsule. It was both a thrilling and terrifying truth.

Foundation shifting.

It colored everything, knowing that for all the home-growing he did, his father likely was somewhere out there, maybe managing to make food to sustain himself. For all the times he felt distant and disconnected from his family, his father was further. What were miles in comparison to lightyears?

He watched his brothers fret, obsess, and make plans.

It was a pleasant day in April when Scott pulled himself away from the technology on the Island to sit down with him and explain what searching for their father would involve: all of the Thunderbirds, and all of his brothers to pilot them.

He knew terror, he knew fear, and they were palpable in his ears as he processed Scott's words. But there was no greater dread than the heart-dropping realization that this mission would be risking the lives of his whole family, that in a moment, they could all leave the atmosphere and he may never hear from them again and would never know what happened if that were the case.

But if… if on a chance they succeeded, they could have Dad back.

He wasn’t sure he had the strength to lose his family again. For a chance.

Gordon talked to Grandma for a long time that night. About her memories of her son, about his brothers, about what it meant to be the ones left behind, and what- what they would do if the worst were to happen. Neither of them closed the call feeling better, per se, but after airing their fears, it helped to know they were not alone in their grief.

But there was also hope.

And Tmtrust in Brain’s workmanship to protect his family like he'd always done, confidence in his brothers’ abilities, and belief in that stubborn Tracy tenacity to never give up.

They promised to return, and so it was with faith in that promise that Gordon waited for news.

~*~

On the day of launch, minutes before countdown, Virgil sat on the floor and against the wall of the Zero-XL to callup Gordon. There was barely a second for a breath before Gordon accepted the call, and it was apparent he was wide awake despite the dark on his side of the world.

“Hey,” Virgil whispered, wearing his iR blues.

"Hey " The quiet sound of Gordon's voice came through with with a low, content murmuring in the background. It was the voice he used when speaking to his animals, words disguised as a coo.

“Are you in the coop?” Virgil's lips curled into a light smile Despite the weight of their task sitting heavily on his shoulders, the coop was a place of calm. “Is my girl there?”

Gordon’s smile twitched, but it was as if it hurt to muster. “Sue me”

He recognized now that Gordon was sitting against the back wall of the coop, and wearing a long sleeve flannel. Some of the chickens must have been resting in his lap. As he shifted to pick up Ginger to show her to Virgil, Mocha gave a small squawk of displeasure at the movement and jumped up to his shoulder.

“Gordon” - brown eyes met brown - “we’re going to bring him home.”

For a moment Gordon considered him, continuing to pet the soft feathers on Ginger’s back while his face broke into a number of expressions before he schooled it back into calm.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’ve promised my girls to swing by when you get back.”

“True. But, Gordon.” He waited until Gordon looked back up at him, eyes prickling. “I’m promising you. We’ll all come home.”

~*~

There was a moment, deep in the Oort cloud, after Alan returned and they suddenly lost communications with Scott, that Virgil truly thought he’d have to tell his family that they’d failed. He’d have to break his grandmother’s heart at the loss of her son… again. And Scott… his own heart was thundering in his chest at his worry for their eldest brother, wondering how he could possibly tell Gordon. Wondering if Gordon would ever forgive him for losing their brother in the cold void of space. Eyes wide with terror, he found himself looking to John for answers.

And then they found lifesigns. Two of them.

There was business to be done after that. The med bay to ready, the Zero-XL to reassemble. Home to get to. In the deep vastness of space, they reunited with their father, and the back of Virgil’s head tingled where his father’s hand had found stability within their embrace.

It caught up to him much later, what it would have meant if the Hood had managed to leave them stranded in deep space. So quickly they had to act to halt the T-drive and to stop him, that Virgil didn’t have the time to think about just how close they were to never making it home and what that would’ve done to his brother and their grandmother.

He secured their father’s straps for the return journey home, trying hard to find the balance between keeping him secure and taking extra care not to pull too tightly around the tender areas of his body.

His father leaned towards him to garner his attention.

“Virgil?” His voice croaked with lack of use. “I need to know. Where’s your brother?” The grey in his father’s eyes swirled with the storm of the unknown. “Where’s Gordon?”

“He’s safe,” Virgil assured him, knowing how their number might have looked to their father. It was a long story to tell and not Virgil's to do so. “Funny you should ask though. I know a rather good healing retreat that would love to have you.”

“Son, I’m going to be ok.”

“I know, Dad.” He smiled at him warmly. “We all are."

The End 🐓

#Gavii Scribit #Fic: TSOF #Farming Estate AU #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Chicken Dad

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 9 months

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Heart’s Choice - Chapter 27 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Later that morning, after the sun is full and safely up and the night of the ritual has passed, Ian Foley drives me home to the garage.

Gravel crunches beneath his truck's tires as he pulls into the work yard and parks.

"You don't have to come with me," I say, pulling my backpack from the back seat of the cab.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will. But two sets of eyes are better than one and you've only got one good arm. I'll just have a sniff around. Make sure nobody's been here while you were gone."

"Thanks, Ian," I say, suddenly realizing how grateful I am for the gesture.

"You're a good friend."

He takes my backpack from me and slings it over his own shoulder, ruffling my hair.

"Yeah, yeah. And you're a pain in the ass but we love ya anyway."

Thankfully, everything is as I left it and Ian detects nothing unusual.

His senses are less keen in his human form than they are as a bear but his human form is less apt to draw attention.

Bears aren't unusual in Spring Lakes but Ian's resembles a grizzly, a species which has been extinct in this state for nearly a century.

I don't want to have to explain why one might be wandering around outside my shop.

"Place seems secure," he says, inspection complete.

"You sure you wanna stay here, though? I mean, you're still renting from a lady who might want to kill you, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten. But the less Lucille suspects I know, the better. Besides, she's like eighty years old. What's she gonna do? Beat me with her cane?"

Ian sighs.

"Carlos, be real. You're from a family of demon hunters, you're friends with an encyclopedia's worth of supernaturals and there's a vampire after your ass, if not your heart. You should know things aren't always what they seem. Besides, from what you described, what happened to Kyle took some effort. If the old lady has anything to do with it, she's either stronger than she looks or she had help."

"I'll be fine," I say. "The next ritual's not for another two weeks, assuming the Feast of Blood was even performed. I'm safe until then, at least."

"If you say so."

He casts a last look around the garage and scuffs his boot over a crack in the concrete floor.

"Oughta get that fixed 'fore it spreads," he says, clearly reluctant to leave me on my own.

"Yeah," I agree.

"Unfortunately, one condition of the lease is that I can't make any changes to the place without Lucille's permission, including repairs."

"Have you asked about this? A crack like this means you got a weak foundation. Could be a pocket of soft soil, could be erosion. Either way, if it spreads, it could compromise the whole structure. Then you're in big shit. County could condemn the whole thing, 'specially since it's zoned as commercial. It's worth having someone come an' take a look, anyway."

Being in the construction business, Ian should know what he's talking about and I eye the crack with renewed suspicion.

"You know, it does look bigger than it did before. I guess I could..."

A whole rack of socket wrenches drops from the wall, landing with a clatter that has me jumping out of my skin and practically into Ian's arms, like a character in an old cartoon.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Yeah."

I catch my breath and step away from him.

"Guess you're right, though. Kyle seems to agree with you, anyway."

"Kyle? Is he here now?" Ian asks, glancing around nervously.

I look askance at the corner where, as long as I don't look directly at him, I can see Kyle watching us.

"Yeah. I'm not alone after all, see?"

To my surprise, Ian seems a little creeped out by the idea and leaves pretty quickly after that.

I follow him out and wave as he drives off, feeling a stab of loneliness as his truck vanishes from sight.

For a while I just stand there, feeling the mid morning sun on my face and the breeze in my hair and letting thought swirl around my brain like a flock of restless birds.

My cell-phone buzzes and I pull it out to check.

I've got two notifications.

One is from a random app, offering me a special bonus deal because... Fuck.

What a depressing way to remember a birthday.

Especially my own.

The second is a text from John.

My heart leaps a little, despite myself but the message is unsentimental, short and to-the-point.

John: No deaths reported last night. All public areas in town are clear. Need your expertise. Please advise if ritual must take place outdoors.

I hesitate, both a little happy that he asked,and a little unsure what to make of the businesslike tone.

I decide to match it, colleague to colleague and ignore everything else for now as I type my reply.

Carlos: Yes. The same place as the first would be best. Otherwise, nearby in a significant location.

I hit send and wait.

After a moment, the three dots appear, telling me John is typing.

Then they stop.

Then they start again, then disappear.

Finally, I accept he's not going to reply, pocket my cell-phone and blow out a breath as I run a hand through my hair.

I did ask him for space.

On the one hand, it looks like the Feasts might be a dead end and between Kyle's ex-girlfriend and Lucille, we've got plenty of leads.

On the other hand, my aunt is missing and my love life is on the rocks.

I shake my head at myself.

"Tonto. (Fool.) You're so desperate for someone to love you, to have what Ian and Sam have and when it comes along, you freak out and push it away."

I sigh and watch as a trio of crows fly overhead and disappear among the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I head back inside to clean out the ten-day-old trash and the rotten food in the fridge, which Ian was too polite to mention smelled like absolute fucking shit.

Happy birthday to me.

2 notes · View notes

springfallendeer · 1 year

Text

At the Mercy of the Sea (Eclipse x F!Reader)

Who wants a 14k slow-burn of a story featuring Eclipse as a stranded pirate captain (and a fallen God) and the reader as an Escaped Slave determined not to die?

Got this lovely commission done last night. Hope Y'all enjoy :3

The sea.

A cold and unforgiving force of nature. Chaotic to the point of being terrifying; but balanced to the point of being vital for the survival of the world. Equally as likely to provide for its subjects as it is to take from them.

You can only hope that today it will be kind. Or at least more generous that it was the day before.

Any resources that it can provide, you will accept with gratitude. Be it a stray plank of driftwood, or the carcass of some dead fish. Anything. You will take it.

Please…

The wind is wild today. It carries the coming storm straight to your island prison.

Dark clouds stir overhead.

There is not yet thunder or lightning. Not yet sleet or rain. But you know that soon; very, very soon; the next storm will be here.

The storm will soon be here and you have nothing. No food. No shelter. No fire. No means of easing away the suffering of this harsh, unforgiving environment.

A chill runs through you as the wind suddenly turns cold.

All that you can do is try to prepare.

You gather up the remains of your previous shelter. Scraps of driftwood and flimsy branches. Strips of soiled cloth and pitiful strands of rope.

There’s less for you to gather this time than there was the last. What few resources you’ve amassed have been picked over by the sea. Some of your best supplies are gone; washed away by the previous storm and taken away from you forever.

The wind tries to strip you of what you have left. It pulls branches and cloth from your hand.

The island is the closest that you have to a friend, despite it being your prison. It catches your supplies with outstretched wooden fingers, giving you the chance to salvage what little you have at your disposal.

Grateful as you are for this small act of protection, you cannot help but long for more…

The island provides you solid ground. It shelters you from the cold, unforgiving sea. But it provides you nothing more.

What few “edible” plants you’ve found have proven to be toxic to your human body. After multiple bouts of sickness and fever, you’ve learned to ignore the fruits and berries that you happen across. There are trees, but you cannot salvage them for wood without tools. There are rocks, but you lack the resources needed to break them down into something that might be of use.

You are in a purgatory. The raw resources that could make survival possible are here! Every last one of them. But they exist in a state that makes them useless to you, if not flat out detrimental to you.

As the first flash of lightning illuminates your dim landscape, you struggle to secure the foundation of your meager, flimsy shelter.

It will not protect you from the rain. Nor will it protect you from the cold. But it might protect you from the wind…

Or the wind might take the opportunity to completely strip you of what little you have left.

You can only hope that you’ll make it to tomorrow without additional losses.

Your reluctant companion returns with the tide; indifferent to your suffering as the wind and the sea.

He drags his haul behind him. The remains of some unfortunate boat. Useless as a means of escape due to having already been sunk; but a genuine bounty nonetheless.

From where you sit in your laughably poor shelter, you can see all that he’s found. There are fish and clumps of seaweed in the bed of the boat. He’s gathered stones and shells. Lengths of rope and scraps of cloth.

He has brought with him a bounty of vital resources. But that bounty is his to keep.

Not a single word is uttered to you as he passes by.

You’re surprised he’s even bothered to return.

Unlike you, he is not trapped here. He can come and go as he pleases, as a child of the sea.

He merely returns out of spite. Possibly out of the desire to see you cold and suffering on this island you’ve been stranded on.

He’s a cruel God. Just like any other to roam the mortal plane. His mere presence here mocks your desperate attempts at survival. While you remain trapped and at the mercy of the sea; he ventures into it to gather more than you could hope to find.

You’re denied access to those resources out of spite; because you refuse to be made into his slave.

But perhaps being a slave might have been the better option…

Perhaps you might have been better off not lighting those barrels of gunpowder. Or maybe you should have stayed within the range of the blast when it went off.

A fast death would be preferable to this prolonged suffering. Drowning out at sea would be preferable to being trapped on a small, secluded island with a fallen deity who torments you out of principle.

Gods are selfish in nature. They are not kind.

He will afford you no luxuries unless you first agree to be made into his servant. He asks this of you knowing that all that you have left in the world is your freedom.

You refuse him out of principle just as he refuses you in turn…

If you are to die, then you would rather die free. Regardless of how much suffering your choices will bring you.

The rain begins at the most opportune time. The mercy that it brings is the ability to mask your tears of frustration and agony as you curl up beneath your haphazard shelter.

The rain terrorizes you. But it provides for you. It hides your anguish and it quenches your thirst.

You greedily gulp the skywater from cupped hands while the God establishes yet another temporary shelter.

He makes his from the sand; and somehow it always proves viable.

He sculpts the sand like clay and it remains where he leaves it. He establishes walls and a roof to protect himself from the downpour.

While you sit in a small shelter that affords you virtually now protection, he splays his naked body out in his to relax and rest.

You sob as he sleeps. The rain washes away your tears as it saturates your unprotected body. The wind drowns out your voice as it attempts to rip your useless shelter away from you.

Your night is spent cold, exhausted, and hungry.

The sea has not afforded a meal to you in days.

At this rate, you won’t survive. You might last through the night, yes. But each moment you spend being ravaged by the elements, you feel yourself growing weaker. The more you fight to keep what supplies you have, the harder it gets for you to hold on.

The wind howls. The rain saturates you. It attempts in earnest to drown you. But you endure…

You endure because you must.

You struggle through the day and well into the night, succumbing to sleep only when you run out of energy. How you manage to sleep through the final hours of the storm is beyond you. But exhaustion has a power that simply cannot be explained.

When you inevitably collapse from exhaustion, your body is left completely at the mercy of the storm.

By the time the storm fades and you weakly drag yourself back to consciousness, the harsh reality has already set in.

Your struggles have been in vain; and your struggles will continue to be in vain.

What few resources you had have either been carried away by the storm or scattered across the landscape. If you can be bothered to find the energy to get up and gather them once more, you know you’ll simply lose everything all over again once the next storm hits.

You are tired.

Your body is cold. You ache from hunger, from sickness, and from being battered by the elements.

Tears well in your eyes as you stare up at the last straggling clouds that drift overhead.

The beauty of the sunrise is completely lost to you. All that you see is another day that must be spent struggling. Another day that must be spent suffering.

When the God steps into your line of sight, you cannot even be bothered to try and hide your suffering from his bitter gaze.

Every breath you take is agony. Your tears burn your eyes. Your body aches. Your stomach is in knots.

You just want it to stop…

“You lost your shelter.” The God states.

Anger rises in you in response. His voice is as cold and bitter as ever. You can hear the annoyance in his tone and the mockery in his words.

He mocks you for your inability to survive this hell you’ve dragged yourself into.

“F—uck off!” You spit back in turn, your voice spilling from your lips like a potent venom. When he mains stationed in your line of sight, you fight against the pain so that you can roll onto your side to face away from him.

“Ju-st leave me to d-ie!...” You rasp.

You’re done. You don’t have the energy or the strength of will to endure another day of survival.

Soon the elements will beat the remnants of your pointless, pitiful life out of you and you will be reclaimed by the sea. You would rather not spend your last moments of awareness being scrutinized by this cold, apathetic God.

Your chest painfully heaves as you lay there. The simple act of rolling over has been enough to leave you winded.

You close your eyes to rest, but not to gather your strength.

Surely Death will take you soon… You can feel his hands grasping at your soul in hopes of dragging it from your struggling flesh.

You do not fight him. His embrace, painful as it is, is a welcomed mercy.

The bitter sting of the wind disappears as your body grows numb. The world grows dark behind your closed eyes, signaling that you’ve finally been extracted from the mortal realm.

The distant sound of the waves remains to lull you gently into your eternal slumber, disappearing only when you fade away completely into the world beyond…

When your eyes next flutter open, you find yourself confused.

Your body still aches. Hunger still gnaws at you. You can hear the sea continuing to roll across the sand, though the sound is more muffled than before.

Death never came for you. That was just the aimless ramblings of a fading mind as it relented to the call of slumber.

As you struggle to move, you find yourself aimlessly taking in your surroundings.

You’re no longer out in the open. For the first time in weeks, your body is properly sheltered from the bite of wind and the heat of the sun. But you have no memory of having been moved.

Or… You do, but your perception of that moment has been muddled by false assumptions.

The sandy shelter that surrounds you is the one established by the God. He must have moved you as you began to fade.

You’re not sure if he did so as an act of mercy, or out of spite.

In your own bitter and confused state, you assume spite. Of course he would do the opposite of allowing you to die when you admit being ready to succumb to the acts of fate.

Divine intervention. Cruel as always. Timed specifically to prevent you from dying when you had finally come to terms and embraced the call of Death.

You would be of sound mind to drag yourself back out into the open to let the elements take you; because waking now only means that you will suffer further while you wait for starvation to finish the job.

But you’re tired. The sand inside the shelter is surprisingly warm and pleasant… You cannot find the strength or the motivation to leave.

This is the most comfortable you’ve felt in… A very long time. The warmth of the sand is a welcome reprieve after all that you’ve been through. It's softer and more pleasant than the cold planks of your former prison.

If not for the anguish of your empty stomach, it would have been tempting to call this a pleasant place to rest. You might even be able to relax. But of course you can’t relax, because you’re in a fair amount of pain.

Your stomach gurgles and groans in need as you lay there and attempt to recover your strength.

You need to eat.

You need to get up and look for food. Something; anything; will usher away the pain, even if just for a short while. But as you try to urge yourself to rise, you inevitably fall.

You just don’t have the energy. You don’t have the drive. Years of stress and struggle have built up to burden you. Now that you’ve been thrust into an even more dire situation, you just can’t find it in you to fight against the burden.

After years of struggling; years of abuse and defiance; you’ve finally been broken. Broken by a battle that has raged on and on relentlessly without any inkling of a reprieve.

Something as simple as a basic act of kindness has not been afforded to you in years… Admittedly, something as simple and basic as that might be all that it takes to usher you back into good spirits.

Imagine your surprise and confusion when something edible is haphazardly tossed onto your sickly, tired body.

A quiet groan escapes you as you struggle to roll over to observe what has just struck you. Some peculiar bundle of wilted seaweed…

Your eyes inevitably move to stare at the one that’s delivered this food to you. None other than the forsaken God.

“Eat.” He simply commands. His voice is as stoic as ever. His expression is cold, if not mildly annoyed.

You give him a dirty look in turn. Even if you are grateful for the opportunity to eat something, you can still dislike the manner in which the food was given. Having it thrown at you like you were some sort of animal is far from appealing.

On some level, it hurt. Because you were tired and sore.

So sore in fact that… You couldn’t find the strength to properly eat. You can barely lift the seaweed bundle with your tired arms. The weight of it either means that there’s something inside of it, or that you’re especially weak after having gone so long without food. Either way, you can’t quite unwrap it to get to the part that hasn’t been covered in sand. Nor can you sit up.

You still try, of course. Just like you try to break into the package that the deity has so callously thrown at you. Your fingers fumble and manage to snap a few of the thick stems that keep the seaweed bundle intact. You tense your legs and abdomen time and time again in hopes of getting yourself to sit up so that you can eat.

Ultimately, you only exhaust and frustrate yourself. Tears of frustration well in your eyes once more. When the first of those tears finally escapes and rolls down your cheek, you accept defeat and succumb to the inevitable.

Thoroughly worn out and starving, you stop fighting to eat and just lay down. You don’t have the energy, and it frustrates you, because you desperately want to be able to eat. You just can’t. Your body is so far gone from lack of sustenance that it simply cannot cooperate when you tell it to do something.

In your frustrated state, you can’t even be bothered to feel self-conscious. You openly lay there and cry while the cold and callous God stares at you.

Something about seeing you cry must have made him feel uneasy. Perhaps it ultimately comes down to the fact that he is a man and you are a woman. A man's job is to look after the women under his care.

Like it or not, you are technically under his care. His Divine status is irrelevant in this argument… Or it solidifies the inevitable, making him more bound to the laws of nature that humans could otherwise get away with breaking.

He is the man. The hunter and the provider. Bitterness and spite have managed to overshadow his apparent instinct to fulfill his responsibilities. Weeks of watching you suffer and waste away have worn him down in turn.

He submits to the part of himself that he must have been resisting.

You jolt in surprise as he kneels next to you.

At this close proximity, you become all the more aware of the fact that he is naked; despite him having been for the past week or so.

He abandoned his clothes as his trips into the water became more frequent. Then he just stopped bothering to put them back on, if he still had access to them at all…

You stare up at him, uncertain of his intention as he takes the food away from you.

For a moment, you assume he’ll eat it himself. Kick you while you're down, seeing as you’re unable to do so much as offer a bitter quip in response to anything he might do to irk you.

You watch as he easily peels away the layers of seaweed to reveal what lays hidden inside; a fish and the innards of some mollusks.

You don’t know what surprises you more. The fact that there’s fresh food inside of the seaweed; as opposed to some half eaten carcass delivered by the sea; or that he takes to feeding you this buffet by hand.

He’s as awkward about feeding you as you are about being fed.

In fact, you’re actually more awkward than he is, because he has to lift you up to lay your head in his bare lap.

Though he’s got nothing dangling between his legs to prod you with, it's still an all around uncomfortable situation. You’re not even certain if he’s actually a man or if he’s suffering from some extreme shrinkage due to the bitter cold of the water and wind.

He presents as a rather masculine male either way. So it's only natural for a woman of your condition to be a wee bit unsettled by the concept of having to lay your head in his naked lap.

You try to focus on the food instead of the awkwardness of the situation.

The fish is warm. As in it has been cooked. Not grilled, but steamed through some means. The Deity must have found the means of building a fire.

The fish is tender and moist. The mollusks are chewy. Both are briney from the seaweed that was wrapped around them… In other words, these are some of the best things you’ve had the opportunity to eat in recent years.

You do ultimately struggle to eat even with the help. You just… Don’t have the energy to chew. You barely have the energy to swallow. But still, you do manage to eat every scrap of meat that is pressed against your lips.

Once you’ve finished eating, you breathe a sigh of relief.

The unholy noises emanating from your gut have finally stopped. You’re full. Odds are that you wouldn’t have been able to eat more than what had been so kindly provided to you.

Now that the food is gone… The awkwardness sets back in.

The God hasn’t said a word since first telling you to eat. His expression hasn’t changed either. His features are as cold and bitter as ever, which makes it hard for you to read him.

Why did he help you? Why now?

You’ve been stranded for weeks. He’s had dozens, if not hundreds of opportunities to stop being such a dick and lend you a hand when you were clearly struggling. There had been multiple incidents where he returned from the sea with food and callously sat within your line of sight to devour his catch. Disgusting as it had been to watch him chow down on raw fish like a bear, it had still been a cruel choice on his part to eat while you went hungry.

Time and time again he did things equally as cruel. He slept nightly in a shelter while you struggled through the cold. He allowed you to eat poisonous plants and showed you no sympathy when you fell ill as a result.

What’s more, he flat out refused to help you whenever you stooped so low as to request it of him!

He turned your struggle into an opportunity to force you to become one of his followers, stating that you would have no help from him unless you submitted to his rule.

Why the change of heart? Had he given up? Or was he one of the Gods could swoop in and claim ownership of someone’s soul as it began to leave their body?

Had he made you his slave while you lay dying? Or had he simply recalled that he was meant to have a heart?

Had he just… Y’know what? It doesn’t matter. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You should just accept the help while he’s willing to give it. Who knows if he’ll up and change his mind again and cast you back into the harsh reality of solitary survival.

You remain as you are for an unexpected amount of time; with your head on his lap as he stares at you.

Though, he admittedly seems to be staring through you. His eyes are on you but he doesn’t really seem to be paying much attention to you. If he’s paying any attention to you at all.

Until suddenly he seems to become fully aware of you. At which point he rather abruptly pushes you off of his lap so that he can stand up. Not to leave; or at least he doesn’t leave; but just to put some distance between the two of you.

Thankfully he doesn’t actually hurt you in his haste. But being effectively thrown onto the ground is never pleasant.

You bitterly huff to yourself as you settle back down in the sand. The warmth of it is a pleasant distraction from the discomfort of your situation.

“... You should rest.” The Deity unexpectedly mutters as he stares down at you.

His words prove as confusing as his recent behavior. Why the sudden concern about your wellbeing? Where was this concern the past few weeks?

Whatever. No point bothering to try and ask.

You huff again as you struggle to roll into a more comfortable position. It really sucks not having the energy to perform basic tasks…

You tense up instinctively when the God suddenly approaches you again, but you don’t utter a single word. Not even when he takes to tugging on your arm so that he can encourage you to roll over onto your side.

He doesn’t say another word to you as he does this. He just helps you roll over before briskly stepping back.

Then he just leaves. Like an asshole. And suddenly you’re all alone in the shelter with nothing but your confused thoughts to keep you company.

So much is on your mind. So many questions and so few answers… No answers, really. Only theories.

You sigh to yourself as you close your eyes and try to focus on the warmth of the sand beneath your skin. It sure is soft. Almost like a blanket. The Deity must have done something to make the sand feel more comfortable. It doesn’t even stick to your skin like it normally would.

Your questions can wait.

Your struggles can wait.

You’ve finally got food in your stomach and something of a roof over your head. You can rest. You can gather your strength and mentally prepare yourself for the upcoming hardships.

Sleep takes you with incredible ease. You don’t even fight it. Surrounded by warmth and protected from the chill of the wind, it's easy to drift off into slumber.

============================================

A lot has changed since your near death experience.

The Deity has been… Kinder. Attentive, but in a distant sort of way. He often seems uncertain or confused. But he ultimately figures out how to be of proper help. He has ensured that you are fed. He has ensured that you have shelter. He regularly ventures into the sea in search of supplies, and so your once meager pile of resources has grown rapidly. You’ve even been able to start building a small boat from the chunks of wood that he’s dragged from the depths of the sea.

Your situation has improved.

Gone are the days of spite where he focused on getting under your skin or making you miserable. Gone are the days where you responded to his spite with vitriol of your own.

You both still have your sarcastic, snarky moments. But these moments are more akin to friendly bickering than to any sort of genuine malice.

He still asks you to become his follower. You still refuse. But nothing ever comes of these brief conversations. He’s seemingly resigned to the fact that you cannot be argued with and bullied into submission on the matter. So his only options now are to just ask again to see if you’ve happened to change your mind.

You have not. Though you are starting to wonder exactly why he’s so persistent on the matter.

There’s uncomfortable thoughts gnawing at the back of your mind, as of late. Thoughts in relation to his behavior and his shift in attitude. Thoughts that only began to creep their way into your head after you began to notice things of concern.

He regularly ventures into the sea for one reason or another. As an Oceanic God, he is quite at home in the water. The waves bend to his whims whenever he’s near.

But as of late, it's obvious that he’s been struggling to swim. He’s been struggling to venture out of the water.

Weeks ago, it was easy for him to drag massive chunks of food from the depths. But as time has passed, you’ve noticed him bringing back less when he returns. He brings smaller, lighter items. Yet he struggles to traverse with his findings more and more. It's as if he’s been slowly growing weaker as time goes on.

And… That weakness has become something that made you notice physical changes to his body.

He’s never looked nearly as strong as he clearly is. His muscle mass, while always present, has never been incredibly defined. This is pretty routine among taller men, as their muscles have further to stretch to cover longer bones. But his one more prominent muscles have faded over time, making him appear more lanky than before.

At some point, his ribs began to show. But his diet has remained consistent. He eats the same amount of food each day; consisting of various sea animals and the few plants that can withstand the brine of the sea.

You’ve been gaining weight on that same diet. Yet despite his seemingly reduced workload and his maintained calorie intake, he has been losing it.

Now that you’ve noticed all of these changes, you can’t help but be concerned.

Can Gods fall ill? His darker complexion has grown more ashen. The fiery hue to the markings on his flesh have grown dim. He certainly appears to have grown sickly. But you have no means of understanding the cause of this supposed sickness, if it is even a sickness at all and not some typical cycle of his physical form. There are Gods who go through a cycle of Death and Rebirth… Is he perhaps one of them?

Or does his current condition somehow relate to why he’s been continuing to try and coerce you into becoming one of his servants? Does the request have more importance to it than the simple desire to bind a human to his rule so that he can maintain authority over them?

Even now, watching him tear into his food, you can see that something is wrong. Despite his obvious loss in weight, he seems… Almost disinterested in his food. Each bite that he takes of the fish, you can tell that he’s doing it out of need as opposed to hunger.

He’s put off from his food. Which is generally a sign that the food he’s eating doesn’t have something that his body needs in order to maintain itself. He’s only eating it because of an understanding that he needs food. And that is concerning in its own right.

He even struggles to rend the tender flesh from the thin bones that it clings too, despite being obviously built to perform these tasks. His sharp teeth ought to tear through the meat with ease. Yet he pulls and struggles as though his teeth have suddenly grown blunt.

He isn’t so much cutting the meat with his teeth as he is tearing it. You can even hear the sickening sound of fish being torn with each small yank of his head.

It's just so… Concerning. You have no idea what has gone wrong, or if anything is wrong at all.

You can’t help it. You need to just ask. Just to see if he’ll tell you what is going on.

“Are you alright?” You abruptly ask. Your words are meant to just get to the root of the current issues, though you fail to realize how unintentionally vague your inquiry actually is.

“... No.” The Deity simply replies in turn. There’s not a hint of distress or bitterness in his voice. Just the usual cold and calm. He utters this single word so matter of factly that it's almost sarcastic; as if it should be obvious to you that he is not, in fact, alright.

You feel a familiar annoyance bubble up inside of you in response to his blunt reply, but you fight it back down. Now isn’t the time to start squabbling with him.

“Look. I’m just… Concerned, is all.” You sigh, opting to try and take a more gentle approach in the conversation. Hopefully you’ll be able to coax a more reasonable response from him. One that is honest but not quite as… Annoying? He’s being a bit of a smartass, that much you know.

“You just… Look, Eclipse. You seem tired, as of late. And you’re getting thin. I just wanted to check in. See what was going on, y’know?” You mutter, explaining your reasoning to the Deity.

The Deity responds in turn with silence. At least at first. He simply focuses on tearing another chunk out of his raw fish so that he can continue to force it down his reluctant gullet.

You watch him eat. Particularly, you watch as he clearly struggles to swallow the chunk of meat that he’s just eaten.

He doesn’t even bother to chew. He just rips off a bite and swallows it, with effort.

“Is that right?” Eclipse comments in turn. You almost hear a note of humor in his voice. Though it is incredibly dry. Dry and almost bitter. He then puts his half eaten fish down on the rock next to the fire. He takes a moment to lick a few stray droplets of fish blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Well. In that case, I’ll be blunt with you. I’m dying.” He states.

Needless to say, that caught you off guard. So much so that you drop the food that you have been picking at.

“You… Wh-what?...” You aimlessly murmur, genuinely caught off guard by the God’s blunt reply. He said it so casually. So matter of factly. He sounded as if he wasn’t even bothered by what he was saying. He wasn’t even concerned. He was just accepting of his state.

Eclipse remains silent for a long moment as he proceeds to retrieve and tear another bite of food from his half eaten fish. It's almost as if he’s ignoring you. Or at least intentionally keeping quiet to forcibly give you the opportunity to let his words sink in.

Again, he licks the corner of his mouth once he finishes with his bite.

“I have no followers. No mortals to draw power and vitality from.” He calmly states. You watch him lazily peel back the thick skin of the fish to make it easier to eat the flesh beneath.

“Alone, I could probably survive. I need no followers to care for myself.” He hums, before taking another bite of his fish. This one smaller. Focused more on the small bits of flesh that remain tightly clung to the long rib bones of the fish.

He doesn’t need to say anything else for you to realize the implications of his words. As he’s said, if he was focused only on his survival, he would do fine. Up until a few weeks ago, he was doing perfectly fine. In fact, he was thriving on this small island.

Then he started to look after you. He began to help you… And he started to waste away.

Suddenly his persistence in requesting that you become his follower makes sense. Everything from his passive inquiries to his callous demands that bordered on blackmail.

His earliest actions were meant to force you to make the pledge, yes. Yes, he was cruel. But he was ultimately doing what he felt he needed to do in order to survive.

Your near death experience… Well. It must have been some sort of a wakeup call. He must have realized that he couldn’t get you to cooperate through making you suffer. So he had turned to a more gentle approach in hopes of earning your cooperation that way.

Yet you had continued to refuse. Which in turn became a spiral of his own assured self-destruction.

Eclipse abruptly puts down his food once more while you’re lost in your own thoughts. In doing so, he startles you. You jump slightly and stare at him as he stands.

“I’m going to bed.” He calmly states, having concluded that he doesn’t need to explain anything further. He doesn’t need to explain why he’s going to bed and he doesn’t need to explain why he’s in such a poor state. Your expression makes it obvious to him that you’ve figured it out.

You can’t find it in you to convince him to stay. You know that he’s exhausted. Just eating had been a struggle for him. So much so that he couldn’t even finish his meal…

You remain silent as the God walks away from you. You watch as he makes the short trip to the sand shelter. How he keeps it from crumbling, you have no idea.

But you do have an idea of what awaits you should anything happen to him.

By now, it's obvious that you need him if you wish to survive. You just lack the means of keeping yourself alive. You cannot reliably gather food. You cannot build a reasonable shelter. Nor can you venture into the sea to gather other vital resources.

If Eclipse dies, you will surely die as well. And like him, your death will be drawn out. You’ll ultimately die from a mixture of exposure and starvation.

You need him. You need him just as much as he needs you.

Despite knowing this, it's still hard. You have always had the mindset that you would rather die free than live as a slave. If you continue as is, you will get exactly that. You will die, but you will die free.

And yet something about the idea of a literal God dying as a result of helping you doesn’t sit well with you…

You intentionally wait for a while before getting up to follow Eclipse to the shelter. You go about the usual nighttime tasks as you wait.

The fire must be settled; not snuffed. The Deity has kept it going by burning all manner of otherwise useless debris from the sea. You’ve provided in your own way by finding equally useless island debris. Dry leaves, fell branches, even chunks of old bone. All of these things make for wonderful fuel!

It's the thick chunks of driftwood that make for the best overnight fuel. Especially when the embers have settled. You arrange the heavy chunks around the center cooking stone to assure that the fire will remain active but restrained throughout the night.

After that, you dispose of the half eaten food. Wasteful as it might seem to not force down what hasn’t been eaten, there is ultimately no such thing as waste in nature. Especially not in the sea. Something will make use of these fish scraps; and you might even attract more fish to the area by tossing them extra food.

With the nighttime chores done, you make your way back to the shelter.

Eclipse should be asleep by now.

You confirm as much upon sneaking into the shelter to settle upon the sand across from him.

Thanks to the darkness, you can’t quite see him. Not very well, at least. All that you can really see is the silhouette of his body.

He’s curled up on his side. Not quite in the fetal position, but close.

He’s very still, and you can hear him breathing… You can hear him struggling to breathe.

His breathing is labored and thick. There’s an unpleasant sound resonating from his chest. Wet and rumbly, like Pneumonia.

He really must be sick…

Listening to him makes you uneasy. It makes you feel guilty, in a way. If his current state really is a byproduct of helping you, then him being sick is technically your fault.

Not really. But you did technically kill his previous followers when you blew up the slave ship. So… Yeah. Him being sick was more or less your fault, because you stripped him of what he needed to survive; albeit unintentionally.

That guilt continues to eat at you the longer that you listen to his strained breathing.

Tentatively, you reach out for him. He’s well within arms reach. Fast asleep.

You aren’t even sure what you mean to do, but just sitting here doing nothing reminds you of how utterly helpless you are in the grand scheme of things.

So you gently lay your hand on his back.

He doesn’t respond. Not even slightly. He doesn’t twitch or groan or anything. He just remains deep in sleep.

Gently, you begin to run your hand along his back.

His skin feels damp and oily. That could be another symptom of his sickness, or it could be normal. He is a God of the sea. He takes on some very fishy traits when wet. Fish tend to be a bit greasy.

Doesn’t matter though. You continue with what you’ve chosen to do.

Up and down. Up and down. You gently run your hand along his back, mindful not to shove him unintentionally with your movements.

You don’t know why this is what came to mind when you tried to think of a way to ease his suffering. But you’re glad that this is the path you chose.

His breathing eventually softens. He wheezes less. He takes deeper, easier breaths. And eventually you can hardly hear the unpleasant realities of his illness.

You succeed in comforting him.

Once his breathing is mostly silent, you let yourself settle down for sleep in turn.

You’ll discuss what needs to be discussed with him in the morning. Until then, you need to rest.

============================================

Come morning, you wake well before Eclipse; and for obvious reasons.

You don’t wake because of the sun. Not even from the early morning chills.

What rouses you is an unpleasant wetness. The sand beneath your face is damp and sticky, as though you’ve drooled a literal puddle overnight.

When you open your eyes, you quickly realize that it's not drool.

Eclipse is bleeding.

Blood has trickled from his inflamed gills and saturated the sand around him. Plenty of that blood had managed to pool around your head as a result of your close proximity to his body.

You jolt upright as soon as your brain processes the horror of your situation.

Eclipse isn’t breathing. He’s silent and completely motionless. His torso is covered in blood.

Your first impulse is to violently shake him. Just to see if there’s any chance of him somehow being alive.

To your surprise, he is. You hear him suck in a heavy breath the instant that you jostle his body. Then he jerks dramatically. His eyes snap open and his attention snaps to you.

He meets your bewildered expression with one of his own.

For a few seconds, it's obvious that he has no idea how badly hurt he is. He probably thinks that the blood on your face has come from you.

Then the pain registers.

You watch him flinch slightly and you hear him wheeze, and you stare on in horror as fresh blood trickles from his swollen, inflamed gills.

Eclipse struggles to maintain his balance as he runs his trembling fingers down his side.

His blood is thick and sticky. Half coagulated and half fresh, it coats his fingers with a viscous film of sickness.

“... Won’t be long now…” He calmly mutters as he lifts his hand to study his bloodstained fingers.

He then flops back down upon the sand, seemingly going into shock now that his body has reached such a horrific state.

Where he seems calm and resigned to his fate, you cannot help but panic. You thought you’d have more time to discuss things with him before taking action; but his health seems to have plummeted overnight. Now you have to rush to fix things and hope for the best.

“What do I do?!” You worriedly ask as you move to crouch next to the dying Deity. You quickly roll him onto his back, hoping that that will somehow make it easier for him to breathe. You can hear him wheeze with every breath. He’s obviously struggling.

“Eclipse! What do I do?! How do I make a pact?!” You ask, reaching up to grasp his shoulders so that you can shake him.

He seems to be drifting already. His eyes are unfocused and he doesn’t seem to be fully aware of what is happening. Which only prompts you to shake him with more intensity in hopes of catching his attention.

Thankfully, it works.

“You need-” Eclipse starts to speak, though he clearly struggles to do so ��to make an offering.” He manages to utter. A long pause breaks his sentence as he attempts to catch his breath, making it all the more clear that he is dangerously close to passing on.

“Give me something-” He rasps “something only you can give. Personal to you, as a show of loyalty.” He specifies, doing his best to make it clear what is expected of you.

But his words only make your stomach twist in knots. Because you have nothing; absolutely nothing that you could possibly give to him.

Your home is gone. You have no land; no personal belongings that you might be able to give to him. These things have long since been taken from you by the horrible men that stole you in the night to make you into a slave.

Your only physical possessions are the clothes on your back. And these clothes are so worn that they hardly qualify as clothing, yet alone something as important as an offering to a God.

Your only real possession is yourself. That is the only thing that the slavers failed to strip from your possession; and the sheer act of making an oath to a God would strip you of that. That was why you had been so stubborn about maintaining your freedom in the first place.

“... I… I have nothing…” You murmur, feeling tears well in your eyes as reality sets in.

You have nothing that you can give to Eclipse. So he is surely going to die. Probably within the hour. And you are going to die right along with him.

In your anguished state, you fail to see him move. So the unexpected feel of his hand pressing against your face startles you greatly.

You flinch and whimper in response to the unanticipated physical contact, and you stare down at him as you feel those first few tears roll down your cheeks.

“You’re wrong…” Eclipse rasps, his voice gurgling out of him in a sickening fashion. He genuinely sounds as though he’s drowning in his own blood.

More tears roll down your face as you reflexively curl into a ball at his side. You lay your bloodstained cheek on his chest, feeling a sob force its way out of you as the fear and the anguish gets the better of you.

“I-I don’t-” You struggle to speak through your distraught cry “I don’t understand! What could I possibly give you?!” You wail.

For a moment, all that you hear is the sickening gurgle emanating from the Deity’s chest; and the distant call of the waves rolling across the beach.

“Your heart.” He rasps.

Your heart seems to stop the instant the words leave his lips.

What a morbid thing for him to say on the cusp of death. You know that he can take your heart from you without it actually being fatal; plenty of other Deities are known to do the same with their followers to assure loyalty.

It is a means of assuring control over their servants. Anyone who acts out can swiftly and easily be dealt with by destroying the heart that has been taken from them.

You shouldn’t be surprised that Eclipse is just another God willing to do such a horrible thing. After all; he is a fallen God who has largely lost his power. Making sure that he cannot be betrayed by his followers would be the smart course of action.

It just… Hurts. It hurts that he would request such a thing of you, after all that you’ve been through.

The fact that he would even make such a request feels predatory. Even as he lays dying in front of you, he knows that you’re desperate to survive. He’s honed in on that desperation, and has opted to take something from you that would guarantee your subjugation.

Ultimately, though, you have no choice. You will die without him. And your death will not be fast.

Miserable as you will be, you want to live. You thought that you would be alright dying so long as you died free, but… You are not. And in a way, it kills you to acknowledge this.

“... Okay.” You pathetically murmur, pushing yourself off of Eclipse with trembling hands.

“I-I’ll do it. I’ll pledge my heart to you…” You state.

The Deity responds in turn with a thick cough. You can hear the blood and mucous being dislodged from his throat. It is a horrible, horrible sound.

“Make the pledge.” Eclipse wheezes after choking down the wad of gunk that he had managed to expel from his lungs.

“I-” You attempt to speak, only for your voice to be abruptly cut off by an unexpected hiccup.

It hurts.

You don’t want to do this. But you have no choice.

Your weeping only increases in intensity as Eclipse proceeds to hold your face… Or at least he tries. His hands are shaky and unsteady; proof of his own fleeting strength. But he’s trying his best to ground you so that you can do what must be done.

You hear him rasp your name in a pained voice. He means to walk you through the pledge.

“I - pledge my heart to thee” He groans, choking back another disgusting cough as he feels the last of his strength quickly fading from his body “to keep and to hold. For as long as it may please you, as my first act of loyalty.” He pauses, giving you the opportunity to repeat the pledge as he has said it.

You clench your eyes shut, fighting back the tears as you prepare to give away your freedom.

“I - pledge my heart to thee… To keep and to hold. For as long as it may please you, as my first act of loyalty.” You repeat, your voice escaping you as little more than a broken whimper.

You feel the Deity’s trembling hands hold onto your face tighter as he struggles to find the strength to say what comes next.

“I do this of my own volition and accept the consequences this may bring.” He continues, pulling his shaky hands from your face so that he can dig his nails into the palm of one of his many hands.

“With this oath, signed in blood, I beseech thee. Take my heart as my pledge of loyalty, and bestow upon me your Divine gifts, which I may call upon whenever the need might arise.” He rasps, holding out his bleeding hand for you to accept.

You take a moment to steel yourself, well aware of what comes next. Then you offer the God your hand.

“I do this of my own volition and accept the consequences this may bring.” You repeat Eclipse’s words, your voice escaping you as a soft whimper as you feel his claws dig into your flesh. His claws cut just deep enough to draw the blood that you will use to sign your oath.

“With this oath, signed in blood, I beseech thee. Take my heart as my pledge of loyalty, and bestow upon me your Divine gifts, which I may call upon whenever the need might arise.” You continue, tightly wrapping your hand around Eclipse’s so that you can seal your fate.

You feel an intense burning sensation as the Deity’s blood mixes with yours. A bright, nearly blinding light shines from the space between your palms; further establishing what you have just done.

When Eclipse releases your hand, neither of you are bleeding. Your wound has been sealed closed by the searing heat that had been created by the mixing of your blood. In place of the injury, a holy scar now remains. This is the proof of your divine pact.

“The deed is done.” Eclipse then groans, before he rolls over onto his side.

You watch as he proceeds to cough up globs of blood and mucous. Honestly, it feels like what you’ve just done has amounted to nothing. Because it looks as though he hasn’t gotten better at all.

But once he’s hacked up what looks like half his body weight in rotten bodily fluids, his breathing settles.

The wheeze is gone and he sounds normal again. Which is probably as good a sign as any that your efforts were not in vain.

Awkwardly, you sit and wait for him to recover. Surely he’ll be ripping your heart out of your chest once he’s got his strength back.

But Eclipse makes no move to do so. He simply shoves sand over his pile of expelled bodily fluids to bury it. Then he rolls over onto his other side and curls up to make himself more comfortable.

A reluctant sigh of relief escapes you as you let yourself slump against the counter.

It will be a while yet before Eclipse is strong enough to do what he means to do. He needs time to recover from what he’s been through.

In the meantime, you can enjoy your remaining moments as a complete person with a beating heart.

At least now, you know that your survival is assured. What a shame it is that you’ve had to give up so much in order to assure it…

============================================

Eclipse appears to be making a steady recovery.

Over the course of these last couple of weeks, his strength had returned; and heightened. No longer did he need to roam the ocean floor in search of sunken debris. He now had the fortitude to fell trees and crush rocks using nothing but his hands.

He could craft rope from bark and leaves. With a hint of magic, he could convert wooden logs into fresh planks.

The surrounding waves bent to his will.

With something as simple as a whistle, he could call forth strange aquatic creatures to perform menial tasks for him.

Only after witnessing his return to power did you come to understand just how weak he had been previously. Not just while he was sick, but before then. Back when you were struggling to survive while he watched on and maintained himself.

He really had lacked the strength to do more than tend to his own needs. He may very well have been as trapped on this island as you were.

But not anymore.

A ship is underway. Eclipse has called forth a legion of weird little fish people to man the vessel when the time comes. They’re largely in charge of building the actual ship in the meantime.

You have an ax now. And a hammer. The Deity encourages you to chop trees and smash rocks whenever he ventures into the water to search for things that cannot be found on the island.

You think that he’s having you do it so you’ll get stronger. Likely so that you won’t suffer as much when he finally gets around to ripping out your heart.

He still hasn’t done it yet… And the waiting is maddening. Knowing that at any moment he might decide that the time has come and then you’ll be less of a person than you’ve ever been. Reduced to the status of an absolute servant to a Deity that has been forced off of their throne.

You consented to this. This was your choice, at the end of the day. But that didn’t mean that you were happy about it.

Nor were you happy with the waiting. The anxiety inducing, uncomfortable, waiting.

You would rather it just be over and done with. That’s why you’re waiting for Eclipse now.

As soon as he emerges from the water, you’ll bring the issue up to him. Maybe there’s a reason that he’s been waiting. Maybe he needs to get stronger first so he won’t accidentally kill you. Or maybe you’re the one who needs to get stronger. You don’t know. You can only anxiously ponder the many possible explanations as you stare out into the water…

Eventually, Eclipse emerges. His head breaches the surface of the sea and the remainder of his body follows after as he calmly makes his way ashore.

He brings with him the bounty of the sea. Fish, crustaceans, and underwater plants; all held secure by a net that he managed to craft from bark rope.

You’ll both eat well tonight. So at least you have that thought to comfort you as you prepare to ask the dreaded question.

You watch as he passes the bundle of food off to his fishmen to be prepared for supper.

He’s really putting these strange creatures to work; they obey immediately and without question.

You feel your heart pounding in your chest; possibly for the last time; as you lock eyes with Eclipse.

His expressions have softened these past couple of weeks. No longer is his gaze cold and stoic.

You still struggle to read him; but at least now you can get a general idea of his mood. Anger shows on his face better. He’s even smiled and laughed off and on, generally when making a joke. It's amazing how much he’s changed in such a short amount of time.

Which makes knowing what he’s going to eventually do to you so much harder to stomach…

“... Eclipse?” You meekly call the Deity’s name before he can walk away from you.

The Deity responds in turn by pausing and turning back to you. He offers a curious hum and a raise of the eyebrow as he does, letting you know that you have his attention.

The problem is you aren’t really sure how to bring up the issue. How do you ask a God why they haven’t ripped your beating heart out of your chest? How do you work up the nerve to ask such a thing?

“I-I” You murmur, feeling your voice break from the hesitation “about my heart…”

Why was this so difficult? It's just a question… A very uncomfortable question, but still. There’s no reason that you should be struggling this much to bring the matter up with the Deity.

You feel your stomach twist in knots as Eclipse lets out a sigh. He turns to properly face you as he crosses his arms. One set in front, the other behind his back.

“I thought to wait until you were ready.” He calmly states, letting you know why it is that he hasn’t yet taken the actions needed to strip you of your heart.

His words only make your stomach twist more.

He understood what he would be taking from you. He understood the implications that came with stripping you of your freedom. Specifically, how it would affect you emotionally.

He was trying to be kind… But that kindness was only hurting you more.

You take a shaky breath as you prepare to give him your response.

“I’d-” You feel your voice crack as you begin to speak “I’d rather it just be over with.” You reply.

Painful as these words are, they are the truth. You’d rather the ordeal be over and done with so that you could move on to the next phase in your life.

You listen as the Deity lets out another sigh.

“Very well then.” Eclipse mutters. He turns his back to you and raises one of his hands to motion for you to follow.

“Come.” He commands as he begins to walk away.

You follow after him without argument or question.

This is for the best. You’re better off not having this hanging over your head until who knows when.

Eclipse leads you towards the center of the island. A spot so far from the beach that you can no longer hear the waves.

A shallow pool of water sits in the center of the island. It's so shallow in fact that the water wouldn’t even reach your ankles if you were to step into it. The water might not even come up high enough to cover the top of your feet.

The water itself is also a beautiful color. Sky blue. It's perfectly still. There’s no sign of any animals in it, though plenty of plants are growing around the edges of the little pond.

“We’ll do it here.” The Deity states. You offer a submissive nod in turn.

It will be a beautiful place to die.

You might not be dying in the traditional sense, but you can confidently say that you won’t consider yourself living by the time your heart is gone.

You stand silently and wait for Eclipse to do what needs to be done.

He turns to face you. For the first time since you’ve encountered him, he actually looks nervous.

You watch as he proceeds to step backwards into the shallow water.

You were right. The water doesn’t even cover his feet. It's so shallow that fish probably couldn’t even survive in it.

“Come here.” Eclipse commands, offering a hand to you as he speaks.

You extend your hand in turn to accept his. The same hand that was used to sign your pact only a short while ago.

He easily pulls you towards him. One quick yank, and suddenly you’re in his arms.

You aren’t sure why he does it, but he wraps his arms around you. He hugs you, and he gently shushes you.

He really shouldn’t bother. The kindness that he portrays now only makes this more painful.

The hug changes as his hands begin to move. You feel one pair move lower down while the other trails up to take hold of your head.

You honestly have no idea how this works. The stories have never actually detailed how a God goes about the process of stealing the hearts of their followers.

You certainly didn’t expect that the process would involve a kiss, or these intimate touches.

His lips meet yours as his hands slip under the bottom of your ragged shirt.

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as soon as he kisses you.

This was… Unexpected, to say the least. But you don’t make a move to question him.

Whatever he’s doing, it must be part of the process. Strange as that process is.

His tongue invades your mouth as his hands push up your shirt. He exposes your skin to the chilled evening air in one slow, drawn out movement.

The kiss ends when the time comes to pull your shirt off completely.

Alright. This makes sense. Sort of. The process of removing your heart is probably messy. He doesn’t want to ruin your only set of clothes. The pool is probably freshwater, so it won’t sting as much when you wash the gaping wound he’ll leave in your chest.

Goosebumps form on your skin as his mouth moves to your neck. You feel him suckle on your throat as his hands proceed to make their way down your bare back. Down to the waist of your pants, where they sneak beneath the cloth to begin the process of pushing them down.

Oh, of course. If you wind up bleeding a lot, the blood would only get on your pants as well. Those need to be removed.

The kissing and the touching… Why in the world?... Oh! He must need to get your heartbeat up! Maybe it's easier to remove your heart if it's erratically pumping! Or maybe he needs it beating fast so that he can use it to keep you alive once he’s ripped it from your chest!

If you’re coming to the right conclusion, then he’s certainly doing a good job at getting your heart pumping.

You feel your knees tremble as he begins to push your pants down your legs.

His mouth moves down your body as he kneels so that he can finish stripping you. Eclipse licks, sucks, and even bites as he moves from your neck down to your abdomen. He leaves marks in the process.

It takes everything in your power to keep your voice in check.

You’ve never been touched this intimately before. You might not be a stranger to sexual contact; and this is blatantly sexual contact; but there’s a difference between that and what’s happening now.

There’s something tender about the way Eclipse is touching you.

Is he-

Is he trying to make you feel good, before he hurts you? Is he trying to make sure that he can dull the inevitable pain so that the experience hurts you less?

Honestly, you don’t know. None of what he’s doing makes sense with the context of the situation.

But that doesn’t mean that you want him to stop.

You find yourself putting your hands on his shoulders to brace himself as his tongue drags against your navel.

It feels good. His tongue feels good; his hands feel good. He’s just making you feel good.

Fuck. You had no idea how much you needed something like this. Nerve wracking as it is to know what will eventually come, that doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy this while it lasts.

Eclipse lifts your legs one at a time to carefully work your pants off of you without getting them wet.

You don’t really care about your pants, though. Something else is getting wet, and you’re much more distracted by that.

You have to bite your lip to keep from whining as Eclipse’s mouth moves lower. He drags his tongue down along your lower abdomen.

Then his mouth moves even lower.

He has to press his hands against your buttocks to keep you from falling back as your knees begin to buckle.

His tongue is so warm!

Without meaning to, you put your hand on the back of his head. You press him closer on impulse as your back curls forward, resulting in you hunching over him.

This does nothing to discourage his antics. Eclipse takes your reflexive movements in stride and continues with his task.

His tongue drags between your lower lips, before sneaking into your eagerly awaiting body.

He doesn’t reach all that deep, but he doesn’t need to. His breath tickles your clitoris as his tongue works you open.

His hands squeeze your buttocks to further spread you out to make room for his mouth. He coaxes your legs open and presses his face fully between them.

You can’t -

You can’t stand it!

It's too much! Too much for you to endure!

Your legs completely buckle as you crumple forward.

Eclipse falls backwards to catch you before you can faceplant in the shallow water.

There’s a splash, then momentary confusion as you struggle to wrap your head around what suddenly happened.

Then you realize that you’re knelt over Eclipse’s face. Your ass is on his chest and his face is between your legs.

Your first impulse is to scramble off of him. But when your eyes lock with his, your legs turn to jelly.

Oh.

Oh, he doesn’t mind this at all.

You can’t see his mouth, but his eyes give away that devious smile.

The cheeky fucker is proud of himself for making you lose composure.

If he hadn’t started licking you again, you might have been able to find the energy to bicker with him.

What the fuck is he even doing?! Outside of the obvious. Like… How does this have anything to do with taking your heart???

Your back curls again as his tongue hones in on your clitoris, prompting you to press your hands into the shallow water to keep from falling face first into it.

God, this feels so good. You don’t know what the fuck he’s up too, but you know that you don’t want him to stop.

Eclipse encourages you to rock back and forth on his tongue. He wraps his hands around your legs and gently tugs you back. Then he lets go just as quickly, before he tugs you back again. Rinse and repeat.

You shamelessly ride his face out in the middle of the pool. The water splashes gently with every motion, creating pleasant sounds that mask the wet slapping noises created by his tongue against your sopping flesh.

Try as you might, you can’t stifle your voice. The closer that he brings you to orgasm, the louder you get against your will.

He keeps at it until you properly moan for him; and by that point, you finally reach your peak.

He sucks his tongue back into his mouth once he’s gotten you off.

You’re allowed a few moments to recover from the mind numbing pleasure while he watches you.

That was intense. Intense and confusing.

You genuinely have no idea why he’s doing this. All that you can do is try to think up possible excuses for his behavior, and they all point back to him trying to reduce the pain to come by masking it with pleasure.

Your shiver as you peer down at him.

He smirks up at you in turn.

“Ready for what comes next~?” Eclipse playfully asks.

Lord, he’s started to actively tease you now. Which makes it all the more embarrassing when he pushes himself out from under you so that you can straddle his waist properly.

The water sloshes around him as he moves. He glides through it with the ease of a fish. The rough stone buried just beneath the surface of the water doesn’t even seem to bother him as he drags his back along it.

You shudder as something presses against your backside.

Ultimately, you can’t help it. You can’t help but turn back to look and see what exactly Eclipse has between his legs. Especially now that you’ve confirmed that he’s actually got something.

After weeks of only ever seeing him smooth, you finally get to see just what sort of equipment this Deity has.

He’s like a shark. Two long, vaguely phallic appendages have emerged from some sort of slit between his legs. They don’t quite look like what a human male would sport; there’s no distinct head or glans or anything. You might be tempted to compare them more to the tentacles of an octopus, if they had been stripped of their suction cups.

Honestly, the color is what catches your attention most. They’re darker at the base, but more fiery at the tip. They honestly remind you of iron pokers that have been heated to the point of glowing.

They’re… A little intimidating, to say the least.

Wait, is that how he’s going to rip out your heart?! Does he somehow suck it out of you with those?!

No… No, that’s stupid.

Right?...

“Nervous?” Eclipse murmurs as he puts his hands on your hips to guide you back towards his equipment.

You swallow the lump in your throat on impulse.

“A little…” You admit, your voice leaving you as little more than a whisper as you glance down at him.

You’re trying not to focus on the fact that those things are about to be put inside you.

You’re trying not to focus on what comes after that.

At some point you’re going to lose your heart. Either in the midst of things or after.

Not knowing how it works honestly makes you more nervous.

“We’ll take it slow. I don’t want to hurt you.” Eclipse replies, guiding you further back as he does.

You jolt somewhat as you feel them touch you. Just the faintest nudge against your slick vulva.

But he stops there, which admittedly startles you.

“Help me get inside~” He hums.

Ah. He’s letting you set the pace.

Tentatively, you reach back to wrap your hand around one of his twin shafts.

It's really warm. Warm and slippery. You have no doubt that it will slide right in without much of a struggle once you’ve got it lined up.

You allow the heated length of flesh to glide along your hand as you attempt to position it.

Eclipse lets out the faintest of moans in response to the stimulation.

You can’t help but pause in response.

You don’t know why, but you want to play with him a little. Like he played with you.

It's only fair. He made sure to get you off once already.

You just want to return the favor.

“Getting-” Eclipse starts to speak, only for his voice to be cut off with a moan as you run your thumb over the tip of his phallus “getting bold, I see~” He chuckles.

You respond in turn by gently running your thumb over the tip of his shaft again. He seems to like it. You can feel his abdomen clench every time you do it. Like he wants to buck up into your hand but is able to restrain himself.

Some part of you wants to see if you can break his resolve; even if the other parts of you fear what might happen if you do.

There’s just something strangely satisfying about holding any level of power over a God. Having Eclipse moaning under his breath as you fondle him brings a peculiar boost of confidence.

The fact that he hasn’t tried to stop you admittedly helps. He could definitely put a stop to this if he didn’t like it, and you both knew that.

You work his shaft in long, fluid strokes. Up and down. Up and down. Every so often you pause to focus on the sensitive tip of his tentacle.

As you work the one in your hand, the other seems to move on its own in search of attention. You feel it brush against the back of your hand multiple times before it eventually wraps around your wrist.

The pleading contact prompts you to give Eclipse what he seems to be silently begging for.

When you next move your hand down to the base, near the opening of his slit, you open your hand to wrap your fingers around the neglected shaft.

From there, you keep one finger between the two phalluses as you continue to stroke him.

He gets quite vocal as a response, much to your delight.

You can feel him throbbing in your hand. He’s clenching his abdomen really hard to try and keep himself still; but his resolve breaks.

The instant that he crosses that final threshold to reach his orgasm, he gives in to his repressed urges. He arches his back and tenses his legs, forcing his lower half off of the watery bed of the shallow pool.

Whatever satisfaction you might have gotten from successfully breaking his composure is replaced with surprise as your body is easily hoisted up into the air by the power of his thrust.

Holy shit, he’s strong! He’s bouncing you around with his pelvis like you weigh nothing! God. If this is how he gets just from a handjob, what will he do when he actually fucks you?!

Terrifying as that idea is, it excites you.

Or maybe riding his stomach as he ruts into your hand is what’s turning you on. You’re literally being bounced on his abdomen as he bucks into your hand. Every time he comes back down, you come back down on top of him, and your bits wind up rubbing against his muscles.

By the time he settles back down, you’re left stunned.

Stunned and messy. He came all over your back. But that is the least of your worries right now.

Eclipse purrs as he smirks up at you.

There’s something dangerous about that expression. It’s as mischievous as it is lustful.

You shudder as his hands set out to restrain you. He takes hold of your hips and your knees, making sure that you’ll remain right where he wants you from here on out.

All it takes is a flick of the wrist on his part, and you’re positioned just enough for him to line up with your entrance.

Your hand seems to respond on its own accord.

You slide your hand back up his lengths as you guide him to his final destination.

He purrs again and you bite your lip as he nudges his way into you in preparation for total penetration.

What the fuck does any of this have to do with him taking your heart?

An embarrassingly loud noise escapes you as Eclipse guides you down onto his cock.

Er… Cocks?

He feels really fucking big. You don’t know if you feel as full as you do because it's been a while, or because he’s actually gone and double stuffed you.

All you need to do is reach back to feel for yourself as he gives you a few moments to adjust to these intense new sensations. You use your fingers to haphazardly feel out both of his tentacles where they emerge from his slit. Then you move your hand higher to map out what exactly he’s done with these monstrous one-eyed eels.

You can feel that they’re tightly wound around each other.

A stifled moan escapes you as reality sets in.

The kinky bastard really went and stuffed you with both of his tentacles. He tangled them around each other and thrust them into the same hole.

You’d probably be mad if it didn’t feel so unbearably good. So you’ll let it slide for now.

You lose control of your voice when Eclipse gets too impatient to continue holding still. That first proper thrust sends you reeling from the unexpected pleasure. You wind up falling forward. If not for your hands reflexively pressing against the first solid surface available to you, you would have wound up collapsing on top of him entirely.

The chill of the water against your hands is a stark contrast to the heat being emitted from your body.

You tremble. Not just because you’re cold, but because Eclipse shows you no mercy. He thrusts up into you quickly and roughly.

Your stomach bulges each time he invades your body; his twin shafts fill you near to bursting. Or at least that’s how it feels whenever he slips back inside.

He doesn’t even completely fit. A good few inches of him simply cannot be forced into your quivering vaginal cavern, and he thankfully respects that fact.

That doesn’t prevent him from ruining you, though.

What little strength you have quickly fades as he ravishes your body. With each thrust, you feel your arms getting weaker. It gets harder and harder to prevent yourself from completely falling on top of him; and his devious little smile makes it clear that he fully intends on making you collapse.

No amount of spite or mental fortitude on your part could prevent him from getting what he wants. Not in this situation.

Your orgasm breaks you with ease. The intense sexual euphoria hits you like the tide; rolling over your body and ravaging you without the slightest hint of mercy.

Your arms buckle and your upper half falls down entirely, making it easy for Eclipse to swiftly move a set of his arms up to wrap them around your body.

Your knees are released but he keeps hold of your hips. He continues to hold your hips until he’s done with you; which comes only when he’s made a complete mess of your insides.

In the meantime, he occupies himself through other means. Namely through capturing your lips in a demanding kiss as he continues to ride you through your orgasm.

The fact that you can experience consecutive orgasms is taken full advantage of. He refuses to hold still. Your body is thoroughly fucked and intentionally overstimulated for the sake of driving you to climax after climax. To the point that inevitably starts to feel closer to torture than it does to sex.

Thankfully, he finishes with you before his persistent rutting can actually start to hurt you.

You know that he’s close when you start to feel him throbbing inside of you. Given that both are wrapped up nice and snug in your slippery flesh, you can really feel how intensely his phalluses twitch as he’s brought right to the brink of euphoria.

Thanks to his higher body temperature, you also feel it when he properly pushes past the final stretch.

You whine into his lips as he floods your insides with his Divine seed.

So much is pumped into you that you feel the excess immediately spill out. His pelvis is given a thorough splatter of his own ejaculate, not that he seems to care. He just continues to slowly rock into you while your body milks him dry.

He gives you every drop.

You struggle to breathe as his tongue coils around yours; not that you care.

Your head is in a fog.

Nothing matters but the pleasure.

All that you can focus on is him.

His lips.

His tongue.

His hands.

His cocks.

His body, and all of the delight that this physical contact brings you.

You gasp for breath when he finally breaks the kiss; but by then, your vision has already gotten spotty.

Too intense.

This was too intense.

You’re exhausted.

Unable to really fight to stay awake, the darkness rapidly creeps over you. You succumb to the call of slumber without resisting; your final memories of the event being the image of his eyes affectionately gazing down at you.

=============================================

You’re really sore when you wake up. Particularly around your lower half. Specifically around your abdominal and pelvic region.

Eclipse really did a number on you by stuffing you so full of himself.

Based upon the sticky feeling between your legs, he hasn’t bothered to really clean you up. Not that you can be bothered to complain.

You’re more bewildered.

Not just by what happened, but by what didn’t happen.

The familiar thumping in your chest makes it clear that the Deity still hasn’t taken your heart from you, even though you told him that you’d rather it be over and done with.

A faint groan escapes you as you attempt to push yourself up off of the sandy ground. Your groan quickly turns into a startled squeak as you feel a set of strong arms pull you backwards until you’re pressed flush against someone’s body.

Well, Eclipse’s body. There’s not exactly anyone else around that it could possibly be.

“Sleep well~?” Eclipse asks. He sounds rather groggy; as though he’s been sound asleep up until he felt you try to pull away from him.

For a moment, you contemplate rolling over to confront him. But you honestly don’t have the energy to be bothered.

The bastard damn near fucked the life out of you.

All that you can do is sigh and reluctantly settle into the warmth of his embrace.

“... You forgot to take it…” You murmur, lazily scolding him for failing to fulfill his obligations.

The Deity responds in turn by pressing his face into the back of your neck as he quietly laughs.

“No I didn’t.” He replies.

Confusing, cryptic bastard.

“Yes you did!...” You snap back, admittedly a bit annoyed with him. He should know better than to mess with you right now. It was a real asshole move to fuck you like an animal only to turn around and make light of the distressing situation that you’re in.

You feel him nuzzle the back of your neck.

“No, I did not.” He repeats. His voice sounds a wee bit stern this time.

You groan.

“I can still feel my heartbeat!” You snap back at him.

He hasn’t taken your heart! You can still feel it! Nothing has changed about your body. All that he’s done is saturate your womb with his seed.

You may very well be pregnant but that’s a whole other can of worms that you have no intention of dealing with at the moment.

The God sighs as he shifts so that he can sit up and kneel over you.

He rolls you onto your back to hold you down by your wrists as he does.

“You’re a foolish woman, you know that?” Eclipse mutters. He almost seems to be pouting. Which just confuses and irritates you further.

You open your mouth to snap at him again, but he silences you by pressing a finger against your lips.

“I asked for your heart, and I have begun the process of taking it.” He sternly states, slowly tracing his finger around your lips as he stares down into your eyes.

“But at no point did I say that you would lose your heart. You came to that conclusion on your own without asking me.” He adds, before he leans down to give you a short kiss.

Just a quick peck on the lips. Then he flops back down into the sand next to you so that he can tug you back against his chest.

You’re left staring out into space as you attempt to process what he’s said. But you ultimately fail at doing so.

“You… What???” You ask, struggling to wrap your mind around what he could mean.

How could he take your heart without taking it from you??? He wasn’t making sense.

Eclipse just chuckles as he presses his face back into the back of your neck.

“You’re a smart girl. Think on it overnight.” He murmurs, yawning against your skin.

“If you haven’t figured it out by morning, I’ll spell it out for you. Nice and slow~ Using whatever I have at my disposal.” He chuckles, obviously teasing you.

“What-” You attempt to protest by asking him what he means, but he quickly silences you with a shush.

“In the morning.” He huffs, giving you a tight squeeze; one that actually forces the air out of your lungs. He relaxes his arms just as quickly.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning. Go back to sleep.” He mutters, making it clear that he has no intention of talking about the matter further. Mostly because it's already dark and he wants to sleep.

“... I’m not tired.” You mutter in response, reluctantly dropping the previous topic while continuing to argue with him in your own way.

You feel him tiredly laugh in response. He doesn’t really make a sound as he does so.

“Just close your eyes. Sleep will come.” He whispers, already on the brink of falling asleep himself.

You huff as you comply. Though you only do so because you have no alternate course of action.

You expect this topic to linger in your thoughts all night as you struggle to drift off.

But it doesn’t. You actually fall asleep rather quickly. Not that you’ll admit it come morning when the time comes to discuss whatever cryptic meaning lies hidden in his words.

#Pirate Eclipse #Sea God Eclipse #reader insert #commission #not osha approve #slavery mention #starvation #choking (not kinky)#blood mention (not kinky)#pirate #slow burn #long post

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