#who up berrying they carcass

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Two | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon being Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh isn’t great either tbh

Word Count: 1K

Author’s Note: So it's been a hot second (writer's block is a bitch), but I really love this idea and apparently a lot of you guys do too! Thanks for all the love on the first part, all the comments and reblogs have meant the world to me. I really cannot believe how well the first part of this fic was received lol. Let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

Daryl is, if anything, a man of his word. He agreed that he’d stay the hell away from Shane’s girl, so that’s exactly what he did. It wasn’t difficult; he is almost always on a hunting trip to keep the ragtag group of survivors fed and when he isn’t, Daryl can be found in his tent taking care of his crossbow and bolts. And since Merle hasn’t spoken a word to you since the little incident in camp, your path just hasn’t crossed his.

That is until his crossbow bolts go missing one morning. 

Daryl rips his tent apart in an attempt to find his missing arrows. A steady stream of expletives escape his mouth as he shuffles through Merle’s belongings, hoping that his older brother just so happened to take his bolts and stash them with his possessions -- it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Merle took something of his and claimed it as his own. 

After about thirty minutes, Daryl lets out a frustrated sigh. If his bolts aren’t in here, that means someone in camp took them and that could lead to some issues. After the incident with you and Merle, Daryl hasn’t just kept his distance from you -- Daryl has isolated himself further from everyone at the makeshift camp. 

He’s not an idiot and he picked up on everyone’s apprehension in respect to the Dixon brothers since the first few days in camp. That seems to have only gotten worse after Merle’s decision to make a scene in the middle of camp. It doesn’t seem to bother the older Dixon brother; however, Daryl cannot stand how many eyes seem to focus on him whenever he makes an appearance in camp nowadays. Because of this, Daryl has made his trips to camp scarce -- only making his way there to drop off more provisions and supplies. He keeps his head down, he doesn’t speak to anyone, and he doesn’t cause problems.

However, Daryl does take the time to observe the camp and its occupants whenever he’s there. He takes mental notes of who casts him concerned looks. Lori and Carol will stop scrubbing laundry and round up their children every time they see him make his way to the RV. He notices Dale’s eyes narrow every time he enters the RV and how he races to check all of their supplies as soon as he’s stepped foot out of the vehicle. As opposed to popular belief, Daryl has never taken anything from the RV; however, he has left his fair share of scavenged nuts and berries and a handful of animal carcasses in order to keep the camp fed. He’s painfully aware of Shane glaring at him from atop Dale’s RV. He tries to ignore it, but he can’t help the way that it makes his skin crawl. And, against his better judgment, he finds himself keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, but, as time has passed, he’s found his curiosity towards you shifting into what Daryl can only describe as protectiveness.

And that’s how Daryl finds himself awkwardly walking up to you as you scrub laundry against a washboard. You don’t seem to notice his presence as he approaches. He shifts on feet before clearing his throat, in an attempt to grab your attention. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen as they spot him standing in front of you. Daryl is prepared to turn heel and run in the other direction based on your reaction until a smile spreads across your face. You push your hair out of your eyes and drop the laundry in your hands into the basin in front of you before speaking. 

“Hey, Daryl. What’s up?”

“Ya know if Shane’s around?”

You move your head to look left, then right. Your eyes scan the camp before they land back on Daryl. You shrug your shoulders.

“Don’t know. I’m not his keeper.” 

Daryl releases a breath through his nose at your words. It’s the closest anyone in camp has come to making Daryl Dixon laugh as far as you know and it fills you with pride. You wipe your hands on your jeans and stand up from your position over the basin.

“I may not be Shane, but I might be able to help you.”

“Somebody took my crossbow bolts. Couldn’t find ‘em this mornin’.”

You immediately turn and start walking toward the RV. Shane had told you he was busy this morning with ‘inventory’ this morning. He already took your knife and pistol this morning, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you also found Daryl’s arrows. You explain this to Daryl as he walks behind you. If Merle was here, he’d be laughing at the younger Dixon brother. 

‘I leave you alone and you’re already following ‘er around like a lost puppy dog, little brother?’  

Daryl tries to shake off Merle’s voice echoing in his mind. He watches as you enter the RV and waits as he hears you rustling through the supplies. A few moments later you emerge with a handful of crossbow bolts. 

“I take it these are yours?”

Daryl nods and mumbles a quick thank you as he takes the arrows from you. He quickly counts them, ensuring that he’s gotten all of his property back.

“Do you make them yourself?”

He nods his head again, eyes still focused on the bolts in his hands.

“Could you show me sometime?”

Daryl looks up at you, his head cocked to the side slightly. He’s a little dumbfounded. He wasn’t expecting you to take an interest in his craftsmanship. Hell, he wasn’t expecting you to continue speaking to him after you found his arrows. Thrown off by your actions, Daryl simply says that first thing that crosses his mind as you look at him with an expectant expression.

“Sure.”

Taglist: @darylsl0ver @minervadashwood @hotgirlsshareaccounts @taterbbbug @dreamtofus @youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer @marina-isabella @lissanovak @elissanatok @1tsk1tty @moejoeflow @ceoofdisappointment @jewellthebooknerd

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| My fellow Colonel

Y’all asked for it and here it is. Whew, I wrote all of it today so here’s to hoping it is tolerably alright. Also, as an aside, I am just shy of 1k followers and that’s astounding to me. I had to rebuild this blog from scratch in December after two previous deactivations where I lost a similar amount collected over a far longer time. I’m truly so grateful for each of you who take an interest in sharing this little corner of the internet with me. Thank you, thank you!

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ with additional chapter warnings for gore and violent character death, brief mention of racial discrimination and a very dark headspace for Ida at times including brief yet crassly recollected sexual assault

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

“Bitte.” Ida kept her hands placating, outstretched and harmless by her side, the most open expression on her face that she could summon as she stared the woman down, “Bitte nicht!”

For eleven days she and Smith and Cleven had managed to scrounge their way westward, evading recapture or altercation. But eating from the dead horses on the side of the road was out of the question, agricultural fields were churned to sludge by Amtrak’s and the small amount of wheat berries they found in one abandoned supply truck had long since ceased to fuel their weakening bodies.

They had passed by a camp, one that they observed from the shelter of the woods to be abandoned or liquidated, once used for civilian labor, judging by the signs. After a careful reconnaissance it was agreed that Ida should go and act on her hope that the commandant's empty dwelling may not have been completely ransacked. That there might be some leftover provisions either there, or in the homes of the other personnel. She had had no luck at the commandant’s, it had been empty, no luck in the next idyllic little shack either, only the eerie knickknacks of some bygone person whose vocation it was to deal in pure evil.

In the third house she had found jars of spoiled milk, tubers of some sort gone to sprouts but she did not care, she grabbed a ratty towel lying on the floor and made a sling for them. She was in the process of prying a loose floorboard up, anticipating some root cellar below when the whining creak of a sneaking step sounded behind her in the still place.

She whirled around in a crouch, half expecting either one of her companions or else one of the many starving children they encountered on the road. Instead, silhouetted inside the bright doorway there was a woman, in the uniform of a guard and with a Lugar poised at the ready. Ida felt a cold spike of fear at the flashing recollection of her last encounter with such a female, at the horrid misery that was Ravensbruck, the complete and entire lack of respect shown to her or her girls by these indoctrinated tools.

Ida’s grasp of German had been sufficient enough to keep herself and her companions away from suspicion in their occasional interactions with passersby. While she wore the heavy overcoat of a military man, it had no markings, and it was just as likely for some freezing civilian to steal it off a carcass as it was for an American female officer to be on the loose. Ida knew this and she tried to play at being dumb, pointing to the food, explaining in unstudied desperation that she was starving.

The female guard observed her coldly, her impassive face showing a certain lack of curiosity or even remote interest in Ida’s narrative that made her heart quicken with a presentment of a swift and sudden execution. She has seen these guards lift a gun, squeeze the trigger, and move on boredly all in the matter of a second. What about her own features or story were so compelling to prevent it?

“Bitte nicht!” She repeated again, choosing to take a step forward, eyeing the woman’s grip and posture, professional, soldierly, the woman left little opening for Ida to capitalize on, but she would rather get a bullet in the gut while fighting than be shot hunkering over stolen potatoes.

There was a darkening in the doorway, it caught Ida’s eye right before she timed her launch. It was Cleven. His appearance made her hesitate a moment too long. He had his arm barred around the guard’s throat in an instant but the pistol was out of his reach and one stride too far away from Ida’s grasp. Unlike the hapless children in the forest that had attacked them days ago, this officer had bullets. Ida felt the searing tear of its bite smart her shoulder, blurring her vision in pain before she rushed in, clasping her own hands around the pale wrist.

Cleven had the woman’s eyes rolling back with his grip, her grapple at his forearm growing feeble as her oxygen ran low. Another shot rang out, a bullet embedding in the ceiling rafters as Ida managed to wrench it away at last. She turned it on the woman and fired, only to find her luck run out again, as well as the chamber.

There was a knife in the guard's boot, both women seemed to think of it at the same instant as the guard became possessed with a final animated struggle to reach for it, desperate to break out of Cleven’s strangle. But Ida wasn’t about to watch another friend die, or miss her chance to go home, to bear witness to what her girls, her men, her brother were yet enduring, not to spare herself a fleeting moment of misplaced mercy. She dove for the boot, wrenched the knife free from its sheath and drove the blade in under the sternum, carving it upwards as she herself rose to her feet. Her wrist was fully in the chest cavity, arm covered with warm still living blood, by the time she saw the guard’s head loll impassively against Cleven’s chest, the soul finally gone dim behind the eyes.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back from the corpse, letting go. Ida felt the weight of the body in her wrist as her grip on the knife was all that kept it standing. She tore the weapon free with another sickly gush, and blearily observed it crumple to the floor.

“There are spuds.” she told Cleven as she braced her hands on her knees, nodding to her abandoned sack of potatoes. The edges of her vision were blurring from the exertion, her coat sleeve was soaked to the elbow, but she had a weapon now and a dead Nazi at her feet. Both sat well with her.

The potatoes bought them another days walk, with Smith using the ratty towel to wrap Ida’s shoulder, it was only a flesh wound. That evening they had another run in, but this time it was with the friendly faces of gum chewing yanks who were welcoming with their smokes and their K rations. Poor infantry boys, they were bamboozled by the existence of a female officer, the experiment of integration having only added to the flyboys somewhat derisive glamor. But it was mostly awe, and a healthy amount of respect, that they showed for the blood smeared lady Colonel.

“That make you one of Brady’s Banshees?” one bright corporal made conversation with Ida as he allowed her a seat beside himself on the hood of a tank, it was a hitched ride into Belgium.

“She is Brady.” Smith drawled for her, enjoying far more than Ida how gobsmacked the man was to be in the presence of feminine greatness.

They were welcomed warmly everywhere by their fellow allies, ferried like heroes on any conveyance possible. Smith was their cheery intercessor, knowing her superiors were of so torn a spirit and conflicted of conscience as to be half inclined to go back to where they came from. In truth, Ida could hardly bring herself to board the last plane -an unbelievable courtesy taking them from Paris straight to Thorpe- as all she could think on were what repercussions might have been exacted on the others for their escape. And what cruelties she had left her brother to endure without her.

Cleven was not much better; Egan, Maureen, all of them still left behind. As they took their seats on the benches, felt the old nostalgic rumble of the engines, not of a Fort but of a Gooneybird, what should have been a lightening of spirits as they soared over the channel was instead a dismal camaraderie of guilt.

That fateful night when they had all agreed to escape before crossing the Danube, the organization had been infuriatingly chaotic yet the groups were chosen with emphatic pragmatism. The guards were used to watching certain persons in company with their favorite fellows. The Bradys, the Buckys, Smith and Murph, each had some comrade the Germans expected to be their partner in any subversive endeavor. With this in mind, their agreed-upon groups were intentionally fractured to confuse their captors, each hoping to meet up somewhere on the road or in the forest.

Cleven and Ida had waited only a few hundred yards in the tree line for over an hour, hoping to be joined by their fellows. In the end only Smith came, with the word that the gig was up, Egan had been detained, John Brady never even began to saunter off before they closed the perimeter. No more were coming. It took all of Smith’s vicious logic to keep the officers from going back, she had to lean on reminders of reprisals and certain death, how they could in no way alleviate the suffering of the others by rejoining them.

What they could do was carry through, escape, go back to England, spread the word, liberate.

Despite this inner turmoil, Ida felt like kissing the ground when her feet landed on East Anglian soil. Or, rather, the cement of the old familiar runway. Instead she settled for Crosby‘s cheeks, the beaming fellow being so utterly honest in his welcome that some tiny part of her melted in momentary relief at having actually made it. That hadn’t really sunk in, not until there was an English mist pelting her face and Harry’s crinkled cheeks between her hands.

“A major?!” she repeated his rank and felt prouder than his mother in that moment while Harry blushed scarlet under the affirmation.

“A-and a father.” tumbled out of his mouth as a deflection except, that subject made a great hullabaloo too, with even Cleven growing exuberant in his congratulatory shoulder slapping. “What am I doing makin’ you stand out here, get in the jeep sirs, I’ll take you to a hut, or-or the club? Or the doctor?”

Both Ida and Cleven stiffened in their swing into the jeep at the last suggestion, a brittle defensiveness tightening their smiles, “Bed and board are all we need, thanks Crosby.” Gale gave him one of those devastatingly final little nods of his.

They kept him occupied and rambling on the ride, updates on new crews, new buildings, Jeffreys, Meatball, the improvement of rations, tales of bombing Berlin, the prospect of victory within reach. By the time he’d parked outside Cleven’s old barracks, Harry knew next to nothing about their own experiences, and he felt that somehow to have been quite calculated.

“There’s still a ladies sector, Colonel,” Harry assured Ida, much to her confusion as to why there wouldn’t be, “I’ll take you and Smith there.”

The old hut was as she remembered it, same as all the others, curved metal amplifying the patter of rain and the monotonous comfort of Air Force regulated bunking. It hit then, no more wooden combines or roadside shelters. She was really back.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Smith asked, the place eerily quiet, even for midday.

“There at- there at work.” Crosby offered haltingly.

Suspecting something dreadful, or as Bucky liked to say of her instincts -sniffing out bullshit- Ida slowly turned to Crosby and gave him a stare, one she recalled having once effectively shrank the man by a few literal inches. Perhaps because it was remarkably similar to her brother’s. Harry bore up under it better now, oak leaf cluster on his breast or a hard three years adding some spine to him, she didn’t know, but still his expression wavered guiltily.

“At work?” she repeated his phrasing, “That what the kids call war these days?”

“A few, a couple, -some,” he settled on, “are on missions. We’ve been uh, we’ve been running a lot of missions. Picking up prisoners -like you guys.”

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

“Uh, well, various posts, you know how it is-“

“-grounded?” She supplied.

“Well, yeah. Just like Douglass and me and-“

“They badly hurt? Who’re we talking about?”

“Colonel,” Harry begged her, looking mildly close to drowning on dry land and sending a wet eyed sos at Smith, “dozens of them are posted here. Grounded yes, but, in good positions, required positions-“

“Did they get corresponding promotions?” Ida hit back, “Were they grounded because they were too valuable or were they hurt? Or did they just get squirreled away in some cupboard with a typewriter?”

“Look, uh, sir,” Harry chuckled nervously, “a lot of them are on missions, some of them are at their jobs -where I should be right now. But, it’s true, uh, the brass thought that, well they weren’t sure, Ida, when we got word you’d escaped we wanted to welcome you back right and uh, we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve had a lot of reports. Some reassuring and a lot…not. Not reassuring at all. And uh, we didn’t know what to expect, they didn’t know and uh, depending on how you were, it could affect the morale. So they thought, clear the place out a little, yeah? Make sure you were -you were…”

“Didn’t wanna scare the kids.” Ida supplied, tone softened, suspecting she probably did look half witch from all her trials.

“We didn’t know what to expect.” Harry repeated, a significant amount of relief bleeding into his voice, like he was going to get choked up on her mere continued existence.

“Well I need a change of clothes, and I need a shower.” Ida smiled at him until he gave her a fastidious look while glancing at her blood stained coat and she sent him a sour glare in return, “And a nap. And then I dare say nothing about me will be cause for alarm, not even for general LeMay.”

Harry was back to chuckling nervously as he walked his way backwards out the hut. “Of course, yeah, uh, we tried to supply uniforms, laid them out -best we could scrounge, for now.”

“Thanks Croz.” Smith offered, trying to soften the ending of this interaction.

“Before you go,” Ida stalled him, “tell me a little about the new ones? Who should I know? What should I know? Hate to wake up in here and have to start making acquaintances from scratch.”

“Colonel,” Harry answered her in the most mournful voice, “there aren’t any new ones.”

That old whiff of cold dread was back. “Crosby.”

“They uh, after you went down, colonel they, they scrapped the program.”

“You cannot be-“ Ida rubbed at her throat, trying to get it to open up, wondering what the hell it must be like to be Gale Cleven and get to come back to Thorpe Abotts and nothing be different, get to be home and get to find everything where it should be because your own higher ups aren’t fighting against you right along with the bastards with the flak and the barbed wire and the endless taunts about women being made for breeding. “Crosby what do you mean scrapped? They shut it down?” she wished she sounded angry, but she knew it was a cry, and to his credit he looked ready to cry for her.

“Colonel I’m so sorry, the reports were so alarming and the-“ he shook his head, “-they grounded all female servicemen right after. Cut the program, if it wasn’t for Kidd they might’ve sent them all back, discharged or moved to the WASPS. Well, they stayed, but, it’s not- it’s not what it was, colonel.”

Ida bit her lip, that old throbbing pain from the old injury of her cheek bloomed again, it felt like arriving at the stalag in one too many ways. “Y-you said something about, you said some were up on missions.” She wracked her brain for it and found it, that one bit of hope and she clung to it like a woman drowning.

“Yeah!” Crosby was over eager to soothe the pain with the modicum of good news he had, “They are! Rosenthal he uh, he’s over the squadrons now and uh, he’s seen to it they are allowed up. Mostly uh, mercy runs or behind allied lines, they don’t want anyone captured but, they’re up. They’re getting their thirty missions. They’ve uh, they’ve changed the number, since you were here.”

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

Harry’s footsteps had long ago receded along the gravel outside by the time Ida allowed herself enough movement to sink atop the pristinely made bed in her filthy clothes and just stare at the opposite bunk of equally pristine sheets and all of it so pristine and so rigorous and so proud and so pristine and so-

The echo of her own scream startled her, banging off the tin walls and circling back to her. Ida felt more than saw the implacable Tallulah Smith jump in fright beside her, but that level headed woman knew better than to soothe her officer. Not after what they’d just learned. She bit her tongue and busied herself sorting amongst the clothes and provisions for towels, combs, soap, toothbrushes. Ida watched this rich display of care on the part of their fellows with a snarl bending her lip, she could taste salt and knew she was also crying and all that she could hear amongst the cacophony in her head was a desperate wail -she didn’t want combs and towels, she wanted her squadron back.

Some aspect of this heartbroken petulance must’ve shown on her face as Smith extended both a comb and towel to her with forceful kindness, “LeMay didn’t lay these out.” was all she commented. “Think of it as Harry’s hospitality. You look a mess, and won’t get any respect for it.”

Smith had some vantage point from which to speak, Ida knew. Native American with bronzed skin just shy of being segregated twice over, getting screwed over was something Smith had made into an art form of cat and mouse. Ida had long admiringly observed it; she never thought she’d need to adopt a similar posture to this degree. Not when she felt like grabbing at the knife still in her trench coat pocket and making a charming scene and all it would get her was confirmation of the reports.

Whatever those were. Alarming reports, apparently. It was so very upper brass of them all to find the enemy’s methods unfortunate and so shoot themselves in the foot like it evened things out.

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Ida insisted to Smith from her bunk, refusing more than the towel and comb.

They’d all been through hell for daring to be combatants. But Ida, at this news of her loss, was beginning to recall particular parts of her own hell she had not dwelt on since they occurred.

Colonel -the way each had called her that, sneering at the mere concept of a colonel with a cunt, an officer so easily breached, a leader made by her Creator to be bent over and taken. She’d had a squadron then, and no amount of scorn or cruelty could take that from her; no, only her friends could take that away.

And they had.

Robert Rosenthal was giving himself a little pump up speech as he stalled outside with his hand on the door knob, knowing he needed to knock first and that knocking would buy him a little more time to ready himself, and so he really should go ahead and knock. The pattering drizzle on his hat brim should have been human incentive enough to get inside already, if duty and honor and admiration weren’t quite cutting it today. But he stalled, even went so far as to cast an indefensibly juvenile and furtive glance over his shoulder at the shrinking form of the accommodating lady who’d passed him on his march here. A Lieutenant Smith, who had told him she was glad to be back and that her famed superior was still inside-

“Angry as God after catching the Israelites worshiping cows at Mount Carmel.”

Rosenthal knew Ida Brady had every reason to be utterly furious, hell -he was furious for her, with her, about her. And he had no right to stand there and wish she wouldn’t take it out on him, to defend himself with shitty excuses like the fact a few of the girls got to see the top of clouds because he had put his shiny and promoted boot down and asked for it. He wasn’t exactly the problem, perhaps, but he was, by sheer implication of it being men like him unable to require better treatment, at fault. And so, Rosie stood in the drizzle and gave himself one last minute to think about Colonel Ida Brady as she had been the last time he’d seen her, terrifyingly formidable and utterly kind.

“It’s no worse than your dread of it, I swear.” she had told him and Nash that night before their first time up, “I was relieved to have seen it.”

What had she seen since? He stared at the little leather binder in his hand and scoffed at the administrative mission that carried him here. To hell with it. He knocked, he waited, he knocked once more, and he went in.

The stipple of rain on the roof of an empty Nissen hut was a calming background noise he himself savored whenever possible. Despite their bare aesthetic and extreme practicality, there was a serenity to them as well, and on spotting a seated figure a few bunks down from the entrance, he felt a pang of empathy for the desire to just decompress.

She looked up at the sound of his footfalls, not startled in the least. Not angry. In fact, she looked utterly dazed, like the men he’d helped out of their forts after a bad run of it. A face he’d seen in the mirror once or twice or a couple dozen. There was a docile listlessness in her gaze that he knew better than to be comforted by, despite the selfish feeling of relief at not immediately being eviscerated about her squadron. She was gaunt, understandably so, her strong jaw so pronounced he could cut his thumb on it, the pallor of her skin jarred unsettlingly with her dark brows, set off in stark relief by her tangled, jet black hair. Her overcoat was half muddy brown, half doleful rust. There was a bloody story there, a recent one, not washed away by a hard rain or bath. Rosenthal didn’t have any doubt how that struggle had ended for her assailant: she was here, wasn’t she?

He’d never seen anything more magnificent in all his life than this battered figure sat on a pristine cot with dawning recognition in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Colonel!” he ventured, keeping his tone soft as befitted the setting, yet unable to keep the creeping happiness at her return from showing in his voice.

“Mm, yes. Rosenthal.” Ida was straightening automatically, rising from her seat, shrugging off her clumsy overcoat and standing near to attention at sight of the brass on his lapel, “I remember you. A Colonel now, I see. Well done.”

Rosie felt his cheeks burn, another juvenile thing, her hand extended itself to his surprise and he clasped it warmly, maybe a little too firmly. “Well that’s kind of you, Ma’am. Very kind. Welcome back, Colonel.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Apologies.” he stumbled, releasing her hand in hopes of regaining his thoughts. She didn’t look angry yet, she looked wary, “Just glad to have you back. There was…a lotta concern.”

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

“Right.” There was silence after that, it was so thick that the quirk of his kind lips and the gleam of his eager eyes slowly dimmed and fell as no small talk resumed. “Uh, colonel,” he ventured, “due to those aforementioned concerns, uh, I’ve been asked-“

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

“Ha, well, lawyerly talk I’m afraid. I need to get a report from you, colonel.”

“For God’s sake man, I just got here, maybe with a shower and a nap and a cup of joe I might have a report for you but- I just got here.”

“Yes.” he refused to wince, he refused to. He was a colonel now, he had to require unpleasant things every day from his friends. Today it was required from a hero. Small difference in a war. “And if it were up to me I’d give you weeks to do all that before asking a thing from you. But I can’t, colonel. They wanted an immediate, preliminary report. It’s -it’s the same as an integration after a mission. Less interaction beforehand, less time to confuse the details- you get my drift.”

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say? God’s sake Rosenthal.” she was close to angry now.

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

“Why the whole welcoming committee schtik? Just say what you mean.”

“It’s not a schtick, Ma’am,” he insited, heatedly, “it’s a genuine honor to have you back with us and a relief to see you safe. And yes, I have orders to get a preliminary report.”

“In future you can save us both precious minutes of our lives by being this forthright, please?”

“Understood.”

“Right, well. What’s wanted? What kind of report?” He didn’t fail to notice the sudden and very studied nonchalance that took over her gait, the way she leaned against the railing of her footboard, almost a slouch that made the lean line of her look entirely unperturbed. He wasn’t a good lawyer out of naïveté about such posturing. She was braced like hell for this, probably worse than he was.

“On uh, on your general treatment. Ma’am.” he decided to summarize it thusly.

“Well Colonel,” he had forgotten what a nice voice she had, it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gruff, it was simply nice, “if Gale Cleven’s under eyes didn’t tell you the food was meager and hardly nutritious, I’ll go on record to say so. But they did try, I think I can give them that. Looked like everyone was starving by the end.”

“Conduct of your guards?” he had his stupid little leather case open on his forearm and the not quite soggy notepad in it was being dutifully filled with scribbles.

“I’ve little to say against the Luftwaffe, they were honorable for the most part. I think you’ll get that same report from the others. There were a few incidents, but we were enemies. To be expected.”

“Right, uh,” the pencil drug a little “this is a general report so I’ll spare an inquiry into those incidents.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?” Ida tried to smooth her face, she really did.

“Colonel -yes.” she watched him as he deliberated for a moment before seeming to recall her scathing admonition of before, and carried on resolutely in the bluntest manner he could summon, “Regarding your prolonged detention before the stalag. It’s our understanding you were not always under Luftwaffe jurisdiction?”

“That’s correct. Combatant status was not recognized for four and a half weeks.” Ida gave a clipped nod. “We were even briefly detained at a concentration camp.”

“I can’t imagine what you must’ve seen there.”

Ida stared back with some slight emotion flitting over her mask-like face at long last and Rosie felt maybe his own showed it, too, “From what I’ve heard, we may be the only ones to have left alive.” she said at last.

“Your testimony, what you saw there, it could become-“ Rosie drew in breath, “-invaluable.”

“I’d do anything to see justice done, Colonel.” she agreed, “Sometimes I think I dreamed such mass cruelty. Seems too large to be real, too awful to be abetted for so long by so many.”

“I saw what was left of one of the smaller camps. In Poland.”

“Mm, so you can imagine.” she retorted, but it was a kind retort.

“I don’t see much else when I close my eyes.”

“Mm.”

“Right, back to this uh, report, the question is, how were you treated before civilian status was adhered to?”

“Is this a personal report or a general one?” Ida inquired suddenly.

“The assignment was to ask about your own observations as senior officer of the female contingent of-“

“-then in that case, the treatment was barbaric, Colonel Rosenthal.” Ida informed him forcefully, “The Luftwaffe used plenty of rough tactics and one officer was particularly cruel to Cleven. I was informed my brother was dying and that my obstinance in denying giving them information was prolonging his torment. All of that I was prepared for, it was one soldier’s attempt to break another. The gestapo, on the other hand, were beasts. And the SS -sadists. They dealt in cruelty for the pleasure of it and my girls went through hell. Once in the stalag there was a reprieve. Then the Luftwaffe were relieved of command and it began again- if you expect details, come back with a larger notepad.”

Rosie gave a curt nod of his own in understanding, his brow creased at the implication.

“No one wants to see justice done for them more than I.” Ida went on, “But they’re still out there, and I’m here. And I-I don’t know that those are my stories to tell, Colonel. What I saw is plenty enough to hang a village. And it wasn’t just toward my girls.”

“At…at a later point, you’d be willing then?” he ventured, softly, no longer professional, “To tell me what you saw?”

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

“Yes ma’am.” he knew a dismissal when he heard one, he even felt a brief and heinous relief at the prospect of slipping away on a high note. The dreaded scrapping of the program still undiscussed. “I’ll uh, leave ya to that shower.”

“It’s good to be back, Colonel.” she called to him while he was still maneuvering through a somewhat meandering exit, she called out this concession as if it were meant only in regards to him, “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Well now that was -that was kind and that was unexpected and Colonel Robert Rosenthal may have let the door hit him on the way out.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[rhettsgirll]

Leave No Trace pt. 1 ~ A Rhett Abbott Fic.

(Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Warnings: Gun mention,bones mention,pet names: Bambi,implied dad problems (help idk how to describe it)

PLZ ITS MY FIRST FIC BE NICE 😭😭

Your worn out boots crunch under you as you walk through a dry and overgrown field, your eyes are trained on the ground looking for bones. It’s a late summer night in the rundown town you call home. It’s a quaint rural town filled with ranchers and drunkards. All this town called Wabang has is a bar,a gas station,a bank and a small store. Everything that happens here,stays here. No one has really ever left,unless you count the old preacher and his controversially young lover.

—————————————

Rhett drives down the back roads of his several hundred acre ranch. Dust kicks up behind his fathers old pickup truck. He softly drums on the wheel as his highbeams hit the well-worn gravel path,taking his eyes off the path to glance at the rising moon,he catches the shifting of the dry prairie grass. He presses on the brake and quickly turns off the car, he reaches down to the floorboard and grips to his well worn shotgun. He slides out of the truck,off the worn leather seats and onto the side of the road. Rhett loudly loads his shotgun trying to get whatever it was to move. As soon as he loads it,a patch of low grass appears as well as swaying of grass near the patch.

—————————

You drop onto your stomach in the grass as soon as you hear the gun load,people in this town own guns,and they know how to use them. You slap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your shaky breath.

“Hey! Who’s out there!” A gruff voice tears through the peaceful night silence. You curl into yourself,suddenly hearing grass crunch around you. “And what would this be?” The same gruff voice utters. You untuck your head from the dusty ground and stare straight up. You’re greeted by a tall,broad man with dark blonde hair,soft blue eyes and faint freckles that litter all exposed skin.

—————————

Rhett turns the safety of his gun back on and tosses it down. He helps you up off the ground,picking stray pieces of dry grass out of your hair. “You a’right?” Rhett asks,oddly concerned “Yeah…” you flush as you adjust your now scuffed cotton dress. You push your small satchel of animal bones behind your back. Being raised in Hunting,Rhett notices everything. “What’s that.” Rhett questions,tilting his head to the side. You sway back and forth on your feet,transferring your weight,debating on answering honestly. “Oh,just berries” You lie. “Bullshit.” Rhett snorts. He caught you way faster than you thought. You hesitate as you now fiddle with your nails,still debating on answering truthfully. You had to leave your last home because of this macabre interest,your Pa wouldnt be pleased to have to leave again just after he got settled. “…Animal bones…” you mumble. Rhett cocks his brow “Animal bones? A carcass or just bones?” You glance up slightly than back down “Just bones…” Rhett smirks softly. “Pretty macabre for someone who looks like Bambi.” You flush a darker shade of red as you pick up your satchel. Rhett grabs his gun and tucks it on his shoulder. “Cmon. Let’s get you inside.”

———

After a few minutes of riding in the old truck,listening to the faint hum of the engine and letting the warm summer breeze flow through your hair,you and Rhett arrive at his families home,a small single story farm house. You slide out from your seat and land on the concrete driveway. A small farm cat rubs its spine against your calf as you bend down to stroke it. Rhett approaches from behind and softly tugs you braid once “Cmon Bambi,inside” You hop up from your squatting position and follow him inside.

—————

Rhett slowly pours hot water into a mug and dunks in a tea bag before putting some sugar than sliding it infront of you. He sits cross-legged on the ground with a first aid kit. He moves your leg infront of him as he takes a small alcohol wipe to the small pinprick cuts on your leg. “This might sting a bit…” Rhett says as he rubs your ankle and continues to clean the small cuts. He softly praises you as you manage to hold still. “Hope you don’t mind Hello Kitty. These’re for my niece usually…” Rhett says as he puts Sanrio bandaids on the cuts on your legs. You can’t help but smile at the cute designs. His calloused hand softly trails over your slightly stubbly legs,placing band-aid after band-aid as you sip on your tea,enjoying how it coats your throat in warmth. Once we finishes,he tosses the blood-soiled tights you wore in the washing machine. He grabs a now cold pot of coffee and pours himself a glass. “How do you like your coffee?” You ask,trying to make polite conversation. “Black.” Rhett responds as he nurses his mug. You glance over the lip of the mug and and stifle a giggle “Black? That’s crude oil.” Rhett snorts and shakes his head “You have an attitude Bambi,would’ve never thought you did” He sets his mug down and crosses his arms as he leans back in his chair “Guess I shouldn’t be callin a lady like yourself Bambi,what’s your name?” Rhett asks and you mumble your name in response. Rhett repeats it back to and smiles “Rolls off the tongue well. Suits you too.” He says “I’m Rhett. Probably know my dad Royal,he sells beef in town.” You nod softly and finish your mug of tea. You glance around the outdated kitchen,dark shiplap and an old General Electric oven. A rotary phone rests on the wall. You softly point to it. “Can I call my Pa real quick?” Rhett nods as you walk over to the phone and pick it up,quickly dialing your father’s number and making up a lie that you had to go out and buy stuff for a sewing project and are now at a friends house. Rhett’s eyes trail over your body,it’s littered with freckles from hours spent in the sun and a seemingly permanent flush on your shoulders. He smirks as he listens to the little white lie that you spout to your father. Once you hang up, he picks up his mug again and utters “Sweet Bambi girl! Can’t believe you lied to your poor old man like that!” He coos,teasing you. You glance away from him and at the clock. Rhett follows your eyesight and glances at the time. “10 pm…is that past your bedtime,sweet girl?” He teases as he cleans the mugs. Once he’s done he leads you down a hallway and to a guest room. “Bathrooms to your left,my room is the last door on the right,if you need anything” You nod softly as you strip down into your thin white cotton undershirt and panties. You crawl between the dated quilts. “Night Rhett…” you coo softly,Rhett stands at the half open door. “Night Bambi girl…” he mumbles before closing the door,letting the quiet darkness engulf you.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

GRAND! NOW I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT WEREWOLF!THORIN😤

RA Masterlist

Thorin is moody and bad-tempered, which doesn’t make him particularly popular with the villagers. Hence is why he’s the outsider.

Not that he minds. He keeps himself occupied with woodworking and carpeting, perfectly content to be left alone and only conduct business when necessary.

Tends to wear his hair in a messy though charming man bun.

Also, lots of flannel shirts.

You two get off on the wrong foot, meeting a few days after your arrival in the village.

''So, this is the city dweller.” Arms crossed, he appeared at your side when you went to check out the venue for your business. “Tell me, miss, what's a woman like you doing in Scotland?''

“I could ask the same of you,” you said, triggered by the condescending tone in his voice. “What’s a Mid-lander doing up north?”

“Answer the question.”

''I'm here to fix up this building.''

''Why?''

''My grandmother left it to me.''

''Doesn't mean you have to do anything with it. Might as well demolish it or sell it. Look at the place. It's in shambles.''

''But it's what my Nan left me.''

''Wow, what an inheritance.''

''Well, if you must know, I have some people willing to help fix this place. All of who told me they'd appreciate a bakery in town.''

''Any experience running a business?''

''N- No...'' you admitted, avoiding his icy blue eyes.

''Thought as much. You look more like an office worker than a baker.'' He snorted. ''Good luck. It's as dilapidated as the castle ruins.''

Nevertheless, he ended up helping with the renovation after seeing you struggle carrying furniture assembly kits, covered in paint.

Thorin didn’t know how to respond when you told him to take a break and have a cup of coffee.

Neither did he know why he followed your movements and felt awkward when your eyes met for a second. Feigning nonchalance, he averted his gaze to something in the distance, feeling rather hot under the collar.

He’s more wolf than man, so he’s not one for conversation and can be rather rough around the edges.

But he also leaves you flowers or berries he finds in the woods when he makes his usual rounds around his territory.

At first they showed up on your doorstep in a rattan basket without a trace of who sent them. However, when he walked by and saw the happiness on your face when you put the flowers in a vase, he added a note.

His handwriting isn’t the best, but that didn’t matter.

What did is that you finally knew his name.

Yes, only then did you learn it because he didn’t introduce himself while helping you set up the bakery and the villagers only refer to him as “sassenach” or worse.

Lycanthropy has already fully erased the memory of his cousins, who live nearby and keep an eye on him.

Appreciates how you make him breakfast ever since he first showed up on your doorstep after the full moon.

And how could you have turned him away when he's naked, panting, and looking awfully pale?

Thinks it’s adorable how you’re so concerned for him.

But you are because you believe he isn’t the monster the others make him out to be. Deep down, he’s a good man.

It takes some bloody work to help clear his atrocious reputation, though.

Let me clarify what makes it incredibly hard:

He frequently hunts in wolf form and returns all bloody dragging a carcass.

Fights tend to break out in the pub whenever he goes there for a bevvy.

He growls and snarls.

People have seen him skulking around the castle ruins naked early in the morning, sometimes covered in blood and grime.

Thorin gives you apologetic puppy eyes whenever you tell him to be a little nicer.

Recently, he went through a drastic change. It left you gobsmacked to the point you had to consciously make an effort to put down the hot tray with freshly baked bread and properly inspect the man standing at the counter.

“Who are you and what have you done to Thorin?”

“Very funny,” he grumbled, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Seriously, though. What’s the reason for this?”

“You told me to be a little more human, so I cut my hair.”

“I meant in demeanour, not appearance! Also, why listen to what I say? I thought you were too bloody stubborn for that.”

“Be a bit clearer next time. Just because I don’t respond doesn’t mean I’m not listening.” He averted his gaze to the ground. “All that effort for nothing.”

“You look good, though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms and smiled at him to ease his discomfort. “It’s weird to see you with short hair, but I’m sure we’ll both get used to it. Anyway, what do you want for breakfast?”

“The usual.”

“The rough night one?”

“Mhm.”

“Got it. By the way, thank you for the flowers.” You turned back to him for a moment and bounced on your heels. “I really like them.”

“My pleasure.”

He briefly watched you set off to make your famous deluxe breakfast club sandwich as he sat down on one of the stools and leaned on the counter.

There’s a lot he still doesn’t understand when it comes to you.

However, what he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want to forget you. Moreover, the Wolf and him both are strangely fond of you.

And you’re prettier than any flower in the world.

[megamuscle885-blog]

So, warhammer fantasy? Plus Worm. Lets brainstorm a bit. A non-exhaustive list of who would become champions of chaos, or be chosen by the chaos gods to become their heralds, in no particular chronological order.

Khorne: The Butcher XIV aka Quarrel.

I can see The Butcher turning rabid one awful night. Howling about an infinite ocean of blood. Slaughtering the unpowered members of the Teeth. Killing those who try to reason with her. Infecting others with her madness somehow. Most of the Teeth capes flee north to Boston and Spree's clique when they're told to run by those Teeth that were there for the slaughter. Of those that were present, maybe half maybe more, flee to the New York Protectorate, begging refuge, begging Legend to kill The Butcher before she breaks free, something like that. Incoherent babbling about how she's slathered herself in blood and is killing indiscriminately - Villains, Heroes and civilians alike - piling the skulls of those she beheads in one spot and sits upon it like a gory throne. The Teeth are reforged in The Butcher's charnel house, quenched in blood. The World Eaters. She aspires to wash the entire east coast in blood, a massive sacrifice that will bring daemons through in their millions, and she'll begin in the largest city in north america.

Nurgle: Nilbog aka The Goblin King aka James Rinke.

A particularly terrible winter's night, cold and frigid in Ellisburg, NY, James is holding one of his favourite creations, Polka III, as she dies from disease. He's trying to tell a bedtime story to the rest of the creatures, all sharing their body warmth as best they can, but the cold is making his puppet shiver and he's constantly interupted by a cough that rattles his ribs and won't go away no matter how much he clears his throat. He's in tears over the sorry state of his garden. A like-minded figure sympathizes with his plight. He begs the empty air for something to save them. Something comes. The acrid, infertile land around Ellisburg, stripped of nutrients to create his fantasy creatures suddenly begins to spring to life all around him. Strange and fantastic new fruits and berries curl out of the ground. Caramel-sweet rivers start to form. Everything is verdant and green and hot wherever he walks. His cough doesn't seem to go away, but it doesn't bother him much anymore. Polka III is alive and well. And he's suddenly struck by so many new and wonderful ideas. He goes to the carcass pits and begins to create and create and create. And his Grandfather looks on with paternal joy.

Slaanesh: Jack Slash aka Jacob Black, the Slaughterhouse 9.

This might not click for some people. Personally, I think a man for whom every new terrible torment needs to be more thrilling, more horrible, more impactful than the last fits perfectly here. I'm not entirely sure how to write his first moments though. Broadcast nudges him one way, Slaanesh nudges him another. He starts to indulge more and more. A little less careful. Broadcast's balancing act starts to slip as Slaanesh's prodding throws the relationships of the Slaughterhouse 9 into new dynamics. I might have to come back to this one, but it was one of the first I thought of.

Tzeentch: Taylor Hebert

Now who else would like to see Skitter but with birds? Fucked up mutated birds. Introducing the Raven God and his new magical apprentice. I feel myself running dry here, but I think as our nominated protagonist, Tzeentch is able to lend quite a bit of weight to Taylor's character, and her eagerness to grab onto an escape from her wretched life with both hands and take it to its extremes. Though one thing I will mention is that one of Tzeentch's aspects is as a God of Hope, and that'd be fun to play with I think. Though that's an aspect of his Fantasy version, and I tend to think of the Fantasy versions of the Chaos Gods as more interesting tbh.

[julietcaesar]

Swords and Cups

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

https://www.tumblr.com/julietcaesar/746911379267731456/swords-and-cups?source=share

Levi was persuaded to do this again… To go to the town square and wander between the vendors' shops. Mike and Hange never knew what they wanted to buy when they went to town market in evening. They simply loved to be there, loved that sea of people generously pouring into the streets of Trost in the pre-twilight hours, the brisk trade and the sense of normal life. But for some reason, they had never gone to such crowded places alone and always tried to find company - the more, the better. Levi guessed what was going on here, although he never said it out loud.

What every member of the Survey Corps who remained alive for at least a year after joining the Corps feared was being alone in a crowd. It seemed that you were still the same person - here were your arms, legs, head... You spoke, ate and drank like anyone from the crowd of people. But something was still wrong. It was as if some invisible thread connecting you with this collective humanity had been broken.

“Wow, what’s that?” Hange said and lifted her glasses taking some kind of brown-red fruit reminiscing of a river pebble in shape.

“These are dates, young lady!” A quick vendor answered her simultaneously checking out one buyer and already pouring a bag of hazelnuts to another. “It’s like a dried berry. Brought from the eastern lands...”

It was already clear from Hange’s face and her sparkling eyes that she would not leave without buying something.

“Interesting... Can one brew it? Or should it be eaten raw? Or maybe?..”

“Hange!” Levi, who was standing near, addressed her. “Are you sure it is edible? Do you remember what happened the last time with that strange nut that turned out to be poisonous?”

“Yea, yea...” Hange was already choosing largest and plumpest fruits. “It was horse chestnut... This time I’ll find the information in a more comprehensive reference book.”

Levi knitted his already tense eyebrows. He remembered what their gastronomic experiments had led to the last time. That day, he, Hange and Mike had already been discussing how Erwin would react to the fact that his best soldiers would find their death not in the mouth of a titan but in a restroom. Levi suffered the poisoning much easier than the others: the hardening of his stomach with those terrible slops that he had had to consider food in the past made itself felt. It was sickening to even recall. But Mike...

By the way, where is Mike? Levi thought, as if waking up from a slumber.

Hange was determined to wait in a queue of several people, and Levi slowly began to move away from her, walking further and further into the shopping aisles. Potatoes, turnips, onions – Levi passed a vegetable counter. Cheese, milk, eggs, chicken carcasses – Levi passed a farmer's shop.

“... And a couple of fish heads, please.” The woman's voice coming from somewhere ahead was familiar to Levi. “Yes, carp.”

The customers roving around the shops, as if at a request, parted in front of Levi, revealing a view of the owner of the voice. Emerald velvet and red big curls which became as if fiery in the light of the market lanterns clearly indicated who was hiding under the hood of the robe. It was a strange attempt to remain incognito. With the same success one could hide a fox under a blanket leaving its tail for everyone to see.

Without leaving his path, Levi continued to move towards the fish counter. Approaching the place where the sickening smell of fish reached its peak, he walked around the customers from behind including the green robe. Pausing for a second behind her, the captain noted that she was slightly taller than him. As if sensing his presence with her back, the red fox turned around not having time to notice how quickly Levi turned his head in the other direction and quickened his pace.

“Ah, Captain Ackerman!” the woman greeted Levi in an overly friendly voice full of challenge.

This challenge was simple and clear: now they were not in the territory of the Survey Corps, and Levi had no power here.

Levi pretended that he did not hear her voice among the noisy crowd and continued to walk leisurely along the aisles, moving further and further. The last thing he needed in the evening was to spoil his consistently neutral acceptable mood by talking with unpleasant people who reeked of scandals and criminal frivolity. So Levi’s mind advised him to pray to be left alone.

However when a chest voice was heard from behind Levi’s right shoulder

“Good evening Captain Ackerman!”

it was as if someone had brushed a feather somewhere deep down across his diaphragm to pleasantly tickle him from the inside.

“What do you want from me?” said Levi.

The woman smiled sarcastically.

“Do people really greet you just to ask for something, captain? What a pi...”

“Hello,” Levi snapped quickly realizing that asking unnecessary questions risks hearing even longer counter questions.

“What are you looking for here?” asked Levi’s companion in a voice that buttered the captain up with its unctuousness and deliberately tried to seem friendly, as if there had never been a quarrel between them before.

“Nothing. I came for company.”

The Levi’s companion fell silent for a moment having no idea what tactics she should leverage to approach Ackerman.

“Look, they're frying pies there!” the woman extended her arm straight across Levi pressing her elbow to his chest and pointing her finger at the merchant’s shop on the left side of them. “What filling do you like?”

“I don’t like pastry,” said Levi as he carefully took her wrist and returned her hand back in place.

“What do you like then?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Levi.

The woman looked away hiding her face behind the edge of her hood. After a few seconds, her eyebrows rose as if she had discovered a new battle tactic.

“Then, what do you not like?” she asked.

This question made Levi think. After all, just a few minutes ago he accidentally recalled the old menu that was offered to the residents of The Underground. And while at that moment the vile garbage looked something vague, now Levi clearly realized:

“Fish.”

His companion first made an interested face, and then understood everything. However, she did not stop the attack.

“Like this, right? Like this?” she asked, pertly shaking a mesh string bag with fish heads wrapped in paper and intending to bring it right to the captain’s nose.

“Yes. Exactly like this” Levi said, and at the same second, with the ease of a magician, he caught the approaching hand. With his strong fingers, he slightly bent the woman’s hand, as if pressing her palm to her forearm.

The woman hadn’t even groaned as she was released and allowed to put her hand back in place for the second time for today. She just opened her eyes and threw a stunned look at the captain, rubbing her wrist.

“Did you want to rip my hand off?” she said in a voice that had lost all shade of carelessness and flirting.

“Don’t worry,” Levi reassured her. “People are able to live without a hand. I have seen.”

Levi glanced briefly at the tops of his boots which his companion’s robe and wide skirt were rubbing against. For a second, he wanted to throw out a raunchy obscenity about how inconvenient it would be to handle skirts in the restroom with one hand. But at the very last moment he changed his mind. Levi couldn't remember the last time he found a reason to refuse a dirty joke if it had already occurred to him.

“But, after all, without hands we won’t be able to know our fate!” said the woman, who had not been offended by the captain for too long and returned to her usual playful tone as if nothing had happened.

Are you the easy-going type? Levi remarked to himself and cast a suspicious glance at her.

The companion was just batting her red eyelashes at Levi and looking expectantly straight into his face, as if asking:

Come on, ask me!

Levi looked at her face and only now managed to catch its details – wide cheekbones, a thin slightly droopy nose, and a small mouth with plump lips, the lower of which was noticeably smaller than the upper. In the evening light that generously drew contrasting lines on the faces of people in the streets another feature emerged - a slightly cleft chin. Massive silver hoop earrings were visible near her cheekbones.

The lower little lip seemed to be pursed with childish impatience. Levi gave up.

“And how can you find out your fate if you have your hand,” said Levi in a non-questioning tone. It was more like a statement that was expected from him.

“Give me your right hand, captain!”

Chapter 1

Pictures:

https://ru.pinterest.com/pin/759630662179282383/

https://ru.pinterest.com/pin/759630662179282033/

https://ru.pinterest.com/pin/759630662179281564/

[bocchithegrappler]

Short Story: Toumaï 

(based off of this fossil)

It was in the first rays of sunlight that I first saw him. Still slick with fluids, wailing out as if in response to the encroaching dawn--either of the day, or his life. My son. My child.

He did not climb as fast as his siblings, but that was alright; he liked to spend his days collecting shells, rocks, and anything else deemed worthy of his possession. Some of the others worried over him, convinced his strange ways would lead to his death, but he lasted his first winter proudly, finding out migration to warmer climes a personal game, playing (not like his brothers and sisters, who tried each to find the most berries) at finding the smoothest or shiniest rock, the tooth of a now-dead carcass, or the prettiest flowers. Each item was brought before my eyes reverently, outstretched in both palms carefully, awaiting my inspection. I loved them all, and him more for doing it.

My son is not strong, but he does not need to be. After his fourth winter (my twenty-second) he joined his siblings' cavorting through the brush, still not as fast (but I and the others drew pride from seeing the children slow for him to keep up) but clever, digging shapes into the dirt and inventing strange, exciting games to play. He found joy at the river, or any water, spending the day splashing back and forth, searching for fish, and occasionally looking down at the still surface, as if watching something.

On a cool, starry night a day's travel from our home, by the Long Water, I found him beside the shore, peering downward. It was dark, making it a dangerous prospect to leave the safety of the trees, but I paused, watching him at a distance. A few droplets of water still clung in his fur, moonlight dappling across his body before bouncing, shimmering from him. As he looked down, he didn't move, face showing the same childlike wonder that had begun to leave his siblings. My son, in that moment, was truly peaceful; undeserving of the world he was in, but nevertheless part of it, as inexorable yet distant as the moon above.

My son has seen nine winters. The wonder still lives, muted by the effort of survival. Though I am not yet the oldest, the tips of my fur are beginning to lighten; I feel the weariness taking longer and longer to leave. My son now has a scar across his forehead. He had jumped after a frog that, wily and slippery as they all are, had evaded his grasping reach, causing him to fall face-first into the river, cutting himself. My son, when he cries, drowns the whole world in his sorrow.

I have now seen thirty-six winters; my son, fourteen. My fur bears my age with pride, though my steps have grown much weaker. My son helps me when I struggle, finds me the sweetest fruits and coldest water when I rest. I cannot leave, yet, though my bones very much wish to; my son is not ready--or I am not ready--to see us parted.

On a day much like the one I first beheld my joy, my son, as the sky had just begun to lighten before the sun itself strode forth, I saw my son beside the Long Water, beneath a shady fruit tree. I could not clearly see, but knew it to be him; he was once more watching the water. His age was just as apparent as mine. Sixteen winters had made him strong, despite the fears of others; he knew all of our sacred paths and homes, knew the plants and streams best for foraging. My son was no longer small, or weak. As I had many times before, I waited at a distance, beholding him like a beautiful sunset or the uncountable lights in the sky alongside the moon.

Rising, I moved to join him, stopping again as he began to move. Seeing a fruit on the branch above him, he rose, looking upward as if preparing to jump. The first brilliant ray of the sun stretched out into the sky, warmth tickling my fur, and I watched as my son, as unsure and faltering as much as his first weak steps, rose further, back onto his hind legs, until he was standing tall, reaching up to the branch to pluck the fruit from it. The light of the sun poured over the horizon, framing him along the shore in golden fire that twinkled off of his wet fur, triumphant. My son is hope.

[honourablejester]

Some thoughts for druid villains

So, dailyadventureprompts was asked recently about druid villains who aren’t just environmental extremists, and apparently I just have lots of thoughts on druids in general (which is odd, as they’re not really my favourite class, but apparently I really like the lore/themes behind them more than I want to play them), so I started musing about villainous druids.

I’ve had thoughts in this direction before, see Ylin Dos, my horrendous dustbowl extortionist of a druid, who likes to foul wells and blight crops and drop isolated villages into dire straits before showing up all innocent with goodberry and create/destroy water and purify food and drink and mold earth and asking how much would they pay for him to stay a while and help them through this hard time. Because I like the Pied Piper fairytale and the character of the snake-oil salesman in westerns and depression-era stories.

And I’ve had other thoughts in my urban druid musings above, about spymaster druids in cities, and slumlords/beggar lords/gang leader druids, who again leverage things like wildshape into urban animals and speak with animals to gather information in a city setting, as well as goodberry, again, to gain loyalty among the hungry of the city and either persuade or extort them into working for them. If you’re playing a city campaign or have a hub city, you could definitely turn that into a local villain, a slumlord who takes advantage of hungry urchins to be his eyes and ears, along with the rats and the starlings who watch from every gutter and eave. You could make a boogeyman doing that. The rats are watching! The rats are always watching. The Butcher Bird knows what you’re doing, sir. You’ve got to be careful, you know. He’ll get you. He knows where you sleep. But if you do what he says, if you bring him stuff, and don’t get in his way, sometimes he’ll make a berry in his hand, and he’ll let you have it, and it’ll feed you for a whole day.

And there’s a couple of historical characters/legends that could provide inspiration either. I was thinking about La Voisin, the famous 17th century French witch-slash-fortune teller who sold poisons and aphrodisiacs to the Parisian aristocracy. Possibly this is more of a herbalist than a druid, but I do feel like there’s potential there for an almost Rasputinian figure? The filthy hedge witch of a druid who, in flagrant defiance of her uncouth and distinctly uncharismatic manners, somehow has the ears (and wallets) of a court. Why? Because with the aid of a little plant growth and dedication, her poison garden in its little walled courtyard behind her townhouse blooms so beautifully.

And then, while I was thinking about French history and druids, I thought about the 18th century Beast of Gévaudan. Which was, in all likelihood, a pair or possibly pack of wolves who just developed a taste for human flesh, but was, unsurprisingly, the inspiration for a lot of theories about werewolves and also serial killers. And. If we’re thinking about werewolves and druids, obviously the place to go is moon druids. A circle. A circle of moon druids. Who believe in power and predation, and hunting the most dangerous game. So. Lets tie serial killers and werewolves and cannibals and cults in a bow, and say that the initiation ceremony for this particular moon druid circle, upon reaching second level and gaining wild shape, is to take the form of an animal and, while in that shape, murder someone and bring back some piece of their carcass to the circle as proof. And lets say they’ve been going for a while. So you have this … aura of fear around an area that’s been developing for years or maybe decades or centuries. An area that’s known for horrific animal attacks. Perhaps, like Gévaudan, people have been sent to try and figure out what’s happening here, to stop it, perhaps even royal agents, but the circle is smarter than that, established, and their bloody reign over the area continues unabated. Until, perhaps, the party.

And then. While I was thinking about werewolves and reigns of terror. I was looking at other signature elements of the druid class, and in particular one signature spell. Which is, of course, moonbeam. Because if you’re looking for horror in the druid spell list, ‘ghostly flames that cause searing pain’ does sort of fit the bill, just a little. And the thing I’ve always loved about moonbeam is this little extra effect: “A shapechanger makes its saving throw with disadvantage. If it fails, it also instantly reverts to its original form and can't assume a different form until it leaves the spell's light.”

Moonbeam targets shapeshifters specifically. It’s the spell for druid-on-druid violence. It’s also a great spell for werewolf hunters, and changeling hunters, and supernatural hunters in general. And if we’re setting a scene were moon druid shapeshifters terrorise a population, a close, claustrophobic, paranoid environment … then maybe we could also get our witchfinder general on. So. Let’s make a druid inquisition. Or at least a druid hunter organisation. A druid order or circle dedicated, perhaps fanatically so, to hunting other druids (though there’s room for ancients paladins to also be knocking around with this one). Think about Moonbeam as a witch trial. Questioning under the torture of ghostly flame. Beasts set alight to test if they are shapeshifters in disguise. People set alight to see if they are changelings in disguise. (While we’re talking about witch trials and the druid spell list, I might also mention heat metal as a … very evocative spell, here?)

If you wanted to have two mutually opposed villainous druid factions in a campaign, a little bit of law vs chaos on the evil end of the spectrum, and the moral dilemma of which is worse, or perhaps the need to champion a population desperately pinned between them, why not bring the Eyes of the Moon, the druid inquisition, to town to hunt down the brutal cannibalistic circle of serial killers who have terrorised the province for a decade?

The druid spell list, to be fair to it, is quite metal in places. And if you want to do folk horror, druids are a class of villains that gives you options. Heh.

I do like a villainous druid. And an urban druid. And just the worldbuilding inherent in the druid’s spell list and abilities. They are a fabulous class for lore and themes.

[aardvark-123]

~Hragnette Bright-Helm Fun Facts~

Hragnette is half Nord and half Reachwoman. She inherited her mother's eyes and hair, and her father's height and 50% resistance to frost damage.

From the ages of twelve to about sixteen, Hragnette was a goth.

Hragnette is severely allergic to paperwork. Filling out forms makes Hragnette's eyes water, her nose run, and sometimes even makes her wail in agony and headbutt the table.

Hragnette is on the autistic spectrum.

Hragnette grew up in Karthwasten. Her father Lungrolf ran a kosher delicatessen, probably the best in Karthwasten, and taught Hragnette fifteen different ways of slicing pastrami. Her mother Aiofe was a mercenary, and taught Hragnette fifteen different ways of polishing a sword.

It was a happy enough life until Aiofe was arrested for picking juniper berries without a license. No-one had ever been issued a license to pick juniper berries before, but you see, the Silver-Bloods really needed some more hands down in Cidnha Mine...

Aiofe spent four years in the mine. The guards only released her after a cave-in crushed her right arm and leg, leaving her unable to use a pickaxe. With only a wooden leg, half a loaf of bread and the rags she was wearing, Aiofe despaired at even making it down the steep Markarth stairs, but some of the Left Hand miners were out that day and helped her to the bridge. From there Aiofe dragged herself to Karthwasten, hoping her family would still be waiting for her.

Somewhere near the town, she was set upon by a sabre cat. Poor Aiofe knew she was done for, yet before the sabre cat's jaws could touch her, the sabre cat was set upon by a teenage girl dressed all in black.

Hragnette had been practicing with a wooden sword every day since her mother was kidnapped. She'd also been practicing alchemy, just to make black nail varnish at first, but now the pinch of jarrin root she'd been hiding had a chance to prove its value. Hragnette kicked the dead sabre cat off the road and guided Aiofe back home.

Lungrolf had never taken another wife, and when Aiofe staggered into the deli, he nearly dropped the lox bagel he was making for Ainethach. Lungrolf cried while Aiofe leaned on him and told him of everything she'd been through - the hunger, the beatings, and Daighre snoring all night. It had been a horrifying ordeal, and there were no words fit to make it better... But there was a bath, a clean towel and vegetable soup, and Aiofe was home now. No-one would ever hurt her again, he swore. She'd never suffer again.

All of this might have seemed more than the sixteen-year-old Hragnette could comprehend, yet as she sat and listened to her mother, a fire was kindled in her heart. Her mother, the strongest, kindest woman in the world, who probably plaited Kynareth's hair - how could anyone treat her like that?! Use her like a pickaxe and throw her away when she was- When she was--

Something had to be done. About the Silver-Bloods, about the wild animals on every road, about those stairs without a ramp in front of Markarth, about every Jarl who slept under furs and drank spiced mead and didn't care while their people struggled in hundreds of ways. What Hragnette did first was put a rug over the step at the front of their house, and what Lungrolf did first was buy some boots you could do up with one hand.

Aiofe slowly got her strength back and took to hunting for game in the hills. She couldn't really use a bow with one hand, so instead she started using a javelin, hurling it at any suitable-looking deer or goat. One throw was usually enough, and she could store the javelin in her belt while she dragged the carcass home.

Although he was thrilled to see Aiofe again, it pained Lungrolf to think of what she'd been through. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible, but after a point Aiofe wanted to stand on her own two feet, human and wooden. She insisted on dressing herself, feeding herself and everything else by hand. Lungrolf saw the wisdom in that, but he insisted on making her a packed lunch every day.

Hragnette, meanwhile, knew where her destiny lay. She was going to make the world a safer, kinder place, by the sword and by the spirit level. She was going to be a warrior and a civil servant - a civil shieldmaiden, the greatest who ever lived. Only when every city in Skyrim was safe and accessible to people with limited mobility, only when the bandits, the murderous beasts and the Nords who spat on Reachfolk lay dead, only then would she see Sovngarde.

"I mean," Aiofe said carefully, "you don't HAVE to do all that... Not on my behalf."

"I know." Hragnette nodded solemnly. "But I want to."

[whisperthatruns]

After Preparing the Altar, the Ghosts Feast Feverishly

How hard it is to sleep in the middle of a life. — Audre Lorde

We wake in the middle of a life,                    hungry. We smear durian            along our mouths, sing soft death a lullaby. Carcass breath, eros of  licked fingers and the finest perfume. What is love if  not         rot? We wear the fruit’s hull as a spiked crown, grinning in green armor.   Death to the grub, fat in his milky shuffle! Death to the lawlessness       of dirt! Death to mud and its false chocolate!   To the bloated sun we want to slice open and yolk                      all over the village. We want a sun-drenched           slug feast, an omelet loosening its folds like hot Jell-O. We want the marbled fat of steak and all        its swirling pink galaxies. We want the drool, the gnash, the pluck of each corn kernel, raw and summer                   swell. Tears welling up                     oil. Order up! Pickled cucumbers piled like logs for a fire, like fat limbs we pepper and succulent                in. Order up: shrimp chips curling in a porcelain bowl like subway seats. Grapes peeled from bitter bark — almost translucent, like eyes we would rather see. Little girl, what do you leave, leaven              in your sight? Death to the open eyes of  the dying. Here,           there are so many open eyes we can’t close each one.          No, we did not say the steamed eye of a fish. No eyelids fluttering like no butterfly wings. No purple yam lips. We said eyes. Still and resolute as a heartbreaker.         Does this break your heart?                                      Look, we don’t want to be rude, but seconds, please. Want: globes of oranges swallowed whole like a basketball or Mars or whatever planet is the most delicious.                   Slather Saturn! Ferment Mercury! Lap up its film of dust, yuk sung! Seconds, thirds, fourths! Meat wool! A bouquet of chicken feet! A garden of                   melons, monstrous in their bulge!               Prune back nothing. We purr in this garden. We comb through berries and come out so blue. Little girl,                            lasso tofu, the rope slicing its belly clean. Deep fry a cloud so it tastes like bitter gourd or your father leaving — the exhaust of his car, charred. Serenade a snake and slither its tongue into yours and                           bite. Love! What is love if  not knotted in garlic? Child, we move through graves like eels, delicious         with our heads first, our mouths agape. Our teeth:         little needles to stitch a factory of everything made in China.      You ask: Are you hungry? Hunger eats through the air like ozone. You ask: What does it mean to be rootless? Roots are good to use as toothpicks. You: How can you wake in the middle of a life? We shut and open our eyes like the sun shining on tossed pennies in a forgotten well. Bald copper, blood. Yu choy bolts                  into roses down here. While you were sleeping, we woke to the old leaves of  your backyard shed and ate that and one of your lost flip-flops too. In a future life, we saw rats overtake a supermarket with so much milk, we turned opaque. We wake to something boiling. We wake to wash dirt from lettuce, to blossom into your face. Aphids along the lashes. Little girl, don’t forget              to take care of  the chickens, squawking in their mess and stench. Did our mouths buckle                                at the sight of  you devouring slice                after slice of  pizza and the greasy box too? Does this frontier swoon for you? It’s time to wake up. Wake the tapeworm who loves his home. Wake the ants,                  let them do-si-do a spoonful of  peanut butter. Tell us, little girl, are you hungry, awake,                               astonished enough?

Jane Wong, How to Not Be Afraid of Everything (Alice James Books, 2021)

[whumpy-wyrms]

🔴 for aspen (or any other blorbo of your choice!!) for the ask game!

- @whumpy-written-works

(from this ask game)

🔴 Red- What is a trait your OC has that those around them don't see very often? Is it seen by a rare few or completely overlooked?

hmmm i’m not actually sure! Aspen is the embodiment of a cringefail loser (affectionate) who is literally not afraid to be himself around others. he doesn’t mask or try to fit in, he’s literally so unapologetically Weird and i love that about him.

anyway i’m gonna infodump about him real quick :3

so ASPEN. this ended up being a disorganized mess but i dont care <3 so he talks all the time and is the most talkative person ever and never shuts up about his interest or passions. he will talk and listen to anyone about anything and never gets tired of it. he stims a lot in public but tries not to disrupt people, he just loves outwardly showing his emotions and being himself and not caring about people judging him.

he wears his headphones almost everywhere he goes because he’s sensitive to sound but loves blasting his favorite music into his ears and dancing/jumping around to it. he LOVES music, he loves to sing and plays a lot of instruments and he sounds amazing like he has a genuine talent for music and he does not give up on his dreams at all. he likes to write poetry and short stories also and definetely had a whole bunch of cringey deviant art ocs as a kid. he's a terrible cook but he tries anyway, and makes the messiest food you've ever seen but it honestly doesn't taste too bad.

he’s a picky eater and when he’s with other people, he doesn’t force himself to eat food that he doesn’t wanna eat because of the texture or taste. he literally doesn’t care how people view him, he does what brings him joy and won’t make himself uncomfortable just to fit in. he hates eye contact and does not force himself to make it. if people get annoyed by that, he’s not afraid to stand up for himself. like if he sees anyone picking on someone for being weird or different, he will drop everything and stand up for that person so fast.

he’s a genuinely nice and kind-hearted person and loves spending time around people and animals. he’s a very very social and loyal friend and an overall delight to be around, literally the embodiment of golden retriever energy. whenever he sees something that reminds him of another person, he brings it to them as a gift and shows affection just by being around people and understanding them. he goofs around a lot and is super hyper and playful, and is literally such a fun person to hang out with. he loves running around outside and climbing trees and making blanket forts and playing tag and hide and seek.

he loves hanging out in nature because that is his life. he knows everything about different kinds of plants and fungi and animals and just everything you could possibly know about nature. he goes into forests and forages for berries and knows which ones are edible and which ones are poisonous. he befriends every animals he sees and animals love him too because he’s so gentle and kind and literally would never hurt a fly (y’know, until he turns into a werewolf. and he also ate random animal carcasses he found in the woods but never got sick because he’s immortal). he loves to travel and wants to travel the world and see all the different types of nature everywhere.

he’s a wolf therian (otherkin) and he wears fake wolf ears and a tail because it makes him happy, and he barks and rolls around in the grass and howls at the moon because it makes him feel alive. he’s also a furry and has soo many cringey furry ocs and even though he’s not that good at art, he still makes art and is proud of it. he literally expresses himself in every way he can, and is not afraid of judgement. he loves himself and his ability to be cringe and free.

he tries not to let death bother him too much. he hates the cold. but he overcomes those obstacles in the end, just like every single other obstacle he’s faced. he finds happiness and joy in the worst of places, despite being constantly surrounded by death and constantly dying.

Aspen is just like the embodiment of harmless cringey weirdness and honestly i aspire to have his confidence to be himself around people!!! so, no, there’s not really a trait that those around Aspen don’t see very often

except maybe his immortality. nobody else in the world knows that Aspen is immortal besides Silas and eventually the ghosts and werewolf who turned him

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hey

Can you please settle a debate between me and my roomate:

She says it's fine to use her Munchlax to clean out the fridge because that's what her mom always did

And I say that she should at the very least be taking stuff out of the containers before she gives it stuff

Who's right?

...okay.

so munchlax can indeed eat rotten food. their stomach acid is powerful enough to break down bacteria and mold. they eat a huge amount of food in a day, so it helps to be able to make use of what other pokemon aren't eating! but what that acid can't break down is synthetic materials like plastic. at best, her munchlax will hopefully either pass or vomit up the plastic. at worst, the plastic will cause an obstruction or, even worse, perforate the digestive tract.

that's not to mention that the vast majority of food in a refrigerator is not fit for a munchlax to eat. in the wild, munchlax eats large amounts of fruits, berries, honey, and foliage, supplemented occasionally with bug type pokemon that they accidentally gobble up or with the remnants of carcasses from other pokemon's hunts. a human diet usually contains more meat and grain than a munchlax should be eating, not to mention the artificial colors and sweeteners that a lot of our foods contain. giving a munchlax large quantities of human food puts it at risk of problems like bloat, fatty liver disease, and pancreatitis, all of which are extremely uncomfortable and potentially fatal! this is not to mention that a munchlax that eats high volumes of potentially rotting foods is going to carry greater amounts of bacteria on its face and paws, which it will then track around your house.

if your roommate would like her munchlax to live a good, long, healthy life, she should be feeding it an appropriate munchlax chow diet (formulated specifically to meet munchlax's high caloric needs) supplemented with fruit and greens. no more fridge food!

[olivescales3]

Happy STS!

What are the dietary staples of one culture/region in your word and how do they affect the geography, politics, culture, religion and/or economy?

Thank you for the ask!

In TFLOC, culinary culture isn't that developed yet, as Chima's hot and humid climate is quite harsh. This, however, doesn't mean that there is no demand for food; actually, food is one of the most sought after products in Chima's economy! Every week, there's an event called the Chi Market, where animals from all tribes gather inside the Lion Temple to sell their products.

Long post ahead!

The Chi Market is where animals exchange or sell their items, food and other products. This event, led by the Lion Tribe, is extremely profitable, as not only does it keep Chima's society afloat with food, armor, weapons, services and etc, but it also sustains the wealth of said tribe. The Lion Temple is situated in the plains, and this is where the lions hunt their prey, such as Wildebeest, Buffalos and other big mammals, and the carcasses are sold during the event. Depending on the season, there will be more prey, but during the dry season there's little to no prey, so the inhabitants stock up on food from the Chi Market, with taxes towards the royal family to invest in protection, their army, etc.

Due to the distance between each tribe from one another, there isn't much competition for food, aside from the Wolf Tribe, which has a nomadic culture and thus maintains its hunter-gatherer lifestyle. This tribe gathers tons of food and medicinal plants/berries, and this can cause conflict between tribes who don't have a sedentary food producing style (like keeping livestock). The wolves had an unstable relationship with the Raven Tribe, because the ravens lived in poor conditions and needed to scavenge their own food, and the gathering from another tribe means that there will be less food for them. The Wolf Tribe has a negative relationship with the Gorilla Tribe, which dislikes having their forest damaged.

On the other hand, wolves have an amazing relationship with the Crocodile Tribe, because not only are they allies, but crocodiles exchange food with wolves or buy medicine from them. The crocs' habitat makes them prone to lots of diseases, and being able to receive varied diets from the wolves is great for their immunity system and survival, because their swamp dries very frequently, causing fish to disperse and start possible famines.

The Wolf Tribe is also very important for the Eagle Tribe, because the eagles live on a peak which does not have the space for breeding animals. The Eagle Spire is located near the Fangs, and due to the dry land, there aren't too many prey. The Wolf Tribe sells food to them.

The Crocodile Tribe lives off of fish that surround their swamp during their breeding season. Floods bring fish near the crocodiles' houses, but these houses aren't very resistant and in a few years get destroyed due to humidity. They reuse wood, but the cut trees help flood the area even more, leading to more humidity and water.

Overall, Chima's geography isn't affected much by the tribes, as they follow the land's natural cycle.

Food is very important but is not scarce most of the time, and when it is, the issue can be circumvented because of the Chi Market, ally ship with other tribes, or just buying food from the Wolf Tribe.

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

Hello! I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken but I’ve seen you around a lot and I believe you’re a good person to ask this sort of question too. Could you tell me some information about Poocheyena? Things like diet and care tips. I might be helping care for one soon and I want to be prepared.

[@office-clerk-wade]

You came to the right place pal. Idk if you're just helping take care of someone else's or if you see yourself raising a poochyena in the future, so I'm gonna approach this assuming you have nothing.

First up, these babies bite. They bite to tell you to stop, they bite to play, the bite to get your attention, they bite when they're curious about something, they bite when they're bored. They Bite Big Time. Training a poochyena not to bite is like training a chatot not to talk - you can do it, but it is exceptionally detrimental to the mons health and happiness. You wanna teach them where your limit it as soon as possible. If they bite you a little too hard, make a high pitched yelp and stop engaging with them. That will teach them that they bit you too hard and you don't want to play anymore.

Biting when bored is also a big thing. Yenas are smart, and operate as a pack. They don't do well when left alone with nothing to do. Keep them with you, teach them tricks (they are VERY food motivated so it shouldn't be hard), and keep plenty of chew toys around for them to gnaw on when you can't give them your undivided attention. I recommend the thick rubber Kong toys if you can get em - they're durable enough to actually last more than a few days. Put some peanut butter in there and you got hours of entertainment.

In terms of diet, yenas are hunter-scavengers in the wild, and eat primarily prey pokemon, though will also sometimes snack on berries and the like. The biggest difference in a yenas diet when compared to other dog mons is that yenas adapted to eat ENTIRE carcasses, bones included. They have powerful jaws, and require a higher calcium content than most mons. I assume you aren't a hunter, but you can typically pick up bones for pretty cheap at a local butcher. Or you can add calcium supplements to regular canine chow, but they won't be getting much of a jaw work out that way.

Enrichment needs are wildly different among individuals, but like I said they are clever and they like to work in a pack. Some of em find a lot of joy in battling, some like having specific jobs (like my Michael), some love doing shows, and some really just wanna steal shit. Females do tend to be more aggressive and harder to manage, but again it really just depends on the yena. The most important thing is to form a close bond with the yena - they aren't gonna listen to shit if they don't see you as at least a buddy.

Hopefully this isn't an overwhelming amount of information. I'll end by saying that while yenas are quite a common partner, they aren't really well suited to life with humans as is. They have high care needs, and with all the biting and cunning can be pretty incompatible with a lot of people. That said, they are incredible mons who live and love with everything they have. Good luck with the poochyena! I hope you two have fun 🖤

[gt-adventures]

Mystic Woods: giants and food!

Everyone likes worldbuilding and food is an important part of that. Answering Questions such as what are the base crops/cultivated foods? And how do food sources interact. In addition to what impact this has on the culture of the specific country/region a story might be focused on! And of course what cultural dishes exist.

I’ve thought a lot about what giants eat in Eretz Orriyad (The Land The Light Touches). Which includes Harim Orr Chayim (pass of living light), Eretz Orr (the land of light), the mystic woods, the Harim Mayvichim (the implausible mountains), and a chunk of other “kingdoms” that I haven’t named. (My Hebrew sucks and the names probably will change over the years LOL)

So what do giants eat? (In this region of the world)

Let’s start with what they grow. Both in terms of fruits and vegetables and animals! There aren’t many animals practical for giants to take care of that are different from smallfolk. They keep cows and pigs, but not smaller animals like goats and chickens. Instead they domesticated a kind of ostrich-like-dinosaur-like bird. Something that is still very dangerous for smallfolk to interact with but perfectly safe for giants. Like with chickens these animals would lay eggs when they had enough food. But for meat giants mostly hunt. And manage the herds of the animals. The animals being large scale-beasts (fantasy dinosaurs). And they manage the herds alongside their crops! Giants will leave crops behind that attract the large animals which allow for easier hunting. And the animals then provide fertilizer for the next growing season! Giants also hunt normal and monstrous wild boars. Humans and other smallfolk don’t hunt these due to the danger and lack of practicality that comes with a big carcass. Smallfolk can team up with giants to handle such things! Elves and giants are the most common hunting partners.

What do giants grow?

Giants in the land the light touches have an ancient technique to plant crops in a specific pattern to trap magic that increases size of the plant. In addition to selective breeding for size but without the magic the size would merely be impressively large rather than “impossibly” large. This comes with an unfortunate drawback of the food being much more bland. It’s like mass produced tomatoes vs farmers market. Because they are kinda mass produced! There’s more mass! Lol!

Giants grow all kinds of fruits and vegetables this way. All kinds of wheat/barley/buckwheat. And rice! I can’t point to specific things they have or don’t have except maybe corn. Sadly I don’t think this region has corn, or rather haven’t historically grown it but just traded for it. Tree fruits are favored over bushes (so apples and citrus over berries). Squash is also popular as even smallfolk can get squash to get huge! Also pumpkins are classic for fairytales.

the crops of giants attract a lot of animals. Deer, rabbits, and such. These can become pests and giants can try to catch and eat these but it’s not always worth it. So they allow smallfolk to do it for a fee/trade.

Remember how I said giant grown fruits and veggies are more bland? To overcome this giants use a lot of herbs and spices. This means they are a major consumer for that market! Giants do grow their own but they can’t use magic to enhance it because then you have tasteless spices! So they buy and trade for a LOT. What do they trade? Well all the normal things but also those bland crops! They have enough to give to smallfolk because a little for them goes a long way. Like I said: mass produced. It’s much cheaper food and becomes kind of poor person food but it goes a long way to preventing hunger in the land. It’s also useful for large celebrations / feasts that require food for thousands. Sure it’s not as tasty but if you fry it and put spices and sugar and stuff who cares?

Anyways this is what I’ve got so far. Thanks for reading

[springfallendeer]

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 -

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.