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2022-03-26
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Crepusculum

Summary:

Tommy is a blind child whose parents and village sacrificed him to the blood-thirsty monster near the sea whose gaze turns its victims to stone.

Except, this sacrificial ritual takes an unexpected turn.

______________________

Or, basically, a play off the entire concept of the Gorgons and Medusa but make it tooth-rottingly sweet and low-key (?) dark CrimeBoys.

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: Wilbur in this AU and the events/lore in this fic are loosely based on the concept of the Gorgons and Medusa. I have read several articles that go over the tales and history of the Gorgons and Medusa, and have read books that include the tales of the Gorgons and Medusa, so I can confidently say that I am pretty well versed in my knowledge of these two broad concepts. Therefore, I can say for absolute certainty that this fic is in no way close to the actual story of both those subjects. This isn’t accurate and it isn’t meant to be, so please, nobody yell at me in the comments or fact-check me about something I get “wrong”. It. Isn’t. Meant. To. Be. Authentic.

 

Something a lil darker than what I usually write but because I am weak, I made it super fluffy and unrealistic as well. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Wilbur was used to receiving sacrifices.

In theory, yes, sacrificial offerings were a grim thing, horrific in every sense possible. The gore that followed it, the emotional instability that radiated off the sacrifice and the humans sacrificing them, the premise – it wasn't something to praise.

But it wasn't something humans looked down upon either. The village that gives offerings to Wilbur believe that the fresh blood will bring him peace and get him to leave them alone. Something about curses and the Gods and blah blah blah. Wilbur doesn't really care if he’s honest.

All he cares about are the new statues he inevitably creates.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the sacrifices he receives. Maybe it's the thought-out ritual of fine silks and jewelry, or the pain in the humans' eyes as they say goodbye to their loved one who smells of cleanliness and overwhelming perfume, their bodies washed and decorated. Something about the whole routine just gets his blood going. If it's not that, it's the actual sacrifices themselves. They kneel before him, all gagged and helpless, shaking and sobbing as they close their eyes for as long as they can before he makes his move.

It's surprisingly easy how one can force open another’s eyes if they just close up and hold the right places. Like mouths or noses. As panic sets in, they forget all about keeping their eyes shut, pleading with their ready eyes, and then- poof! They turn to stone as soon as they make eye contact with him.

It's thrilling.

On the rare occasion that there is a brave soul ready to die, Wilbur plays with them, breaking down that courage bit by bit until there is nothing left but hollow fear. Those scenarios are exciting in their own right.

So yes, Wilbur is fully aware that the village is desperate enough to please him that they send their own to the shore of the sea near his den, practically signing a death sentence for whatever poor human is left to his discretion.

Wilbur was not aware that the village people were desperate enough to send a little child as a sacrifice.

The boy is small, terribly tiny with baby-fat still clinging to his bones and his cheeks. His hair is the same shade as honey, curling sweetly over his forehead and around his ears, shining gold in the twilight. He dawns white robes and smells of something that could only be described as youthful and fresh. Fat tears roll down his cheeks and his face is contorted in an ugly manner, heaving cries leaving him.

He is the most disgusting and lovely thing Wilbur has ever seen.

He watches from the opening of his den, snakes coiling and stretching on his head, equally as interested in this new offering as Wilbur is. They hiss and hum to each other, a terrible symphony of subtle noise. Usually, when they get like this, Wilbur snaps at them because of how crazy all that noise makes him. Not a moment of piece for him, truly. He elects to ignore them this time, wings puffing up behind him and claws digging into the rock below him.

Wilbur observes the distressed child for more than he means to, falling into his head and drinking the boy’s presence in, too gone to realize he is moving forward before he is. His claws make a scraping noise from where he moves and the boy chokes on his tears.

Wilbur hunches back immediately, already mourning the loss of the boy. He looked so interesting, so different from what Wilbur was used to – old, horrid adults that harbored such a fear and hatred for him that their very presence made the air toxic. There was nothing Wilbur could do when the boy turned and made eye contact with him.

A moment passes. Wilbur feels his cold heart skip a beat because he can still hear the boy’s heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s, and the boy’s tears are still falling, and-

The boy does not turn to stone and the Gorgon is mesmerized.

Wilbur’s brown eyes that are the same color as rich soil with flakes of copper stare into the boy’s milky ones. There is a beautiful blue under the cakey layer over it, turning it a grey color. The boy’s eyes darted around in their sockets, unseeing the Gorgon a mere feet in front of him. Maybe this is a trick because there is no way that this boy doesn’t see him, he’s quite large and right there-

“H-Hello?” The boy calls, voice ruined and scared, and terribly confused.

Oh. Maybe he really can’t see Wilbur.

“Is…” The boy sniffles, “Is anyone there? Please- please…”

He hunkers in on himself, lips trembling and hands shaking. In a twisted way, Wilbur finds this action adorable.

He knows he shouldn’t. He really does. This isn’t his business, the boy was sent here to die and Wilbur should just kill him and get it over with, but there is just something so enthralling about the boy in front of him, sickeningly endearing in all the wrong ways.

“Hello,” Wilbur calls out and the boy’s head snaps up in his direction, looking a little to the left of Wilbur’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

The boy lets out a whiny sob that makes Wilbur just melt, “No.”

Yeah, Wilbur can tell.

“Do you need help?” Wilbur asks because he doesn’t know what to do, he’s never talked to someone for this long before except his family, but he hasn’t seen them in ages.

The boy nods desperately, “Y-Yes. There’s this- a- a scary monster out here and it’s gonna hurt me… i’m so- so scared, please!”

Well that’s just rude of the village. He’s not a monster, he’s a Gorgon. They could at least get it right. Wilbur lets out a pretend sound of concern – he’s concerned, just not about this killer “monster” that roams – and silently pads over until he’s to the side of the boy, raising his wings and doing his best to keep his snake’s quiet.

“Oh, dear, that does sound scary. I can help you, if you’d like,” Wilbur asks, hoping that the boy comes easily. Lucky for him, the child does. He stands on unsteady legs, a little hand with childish chub coming to rub tears from baby-fat cheeks. Wilbur calls out to the boy, “Over here, child.”

He swears he hears a whimpering of “not a child” but the boy complies, tip-toeing over to the Gorgon who extends a claw when the boy is close enough. The boy bumps into Wilbur’s claw, jumping back in shock before reaching a shaky hand out. The difference of their hands fills Wilbur with awe. The boy’s fingers slowly close around his claw and he can practically sense the boy’s confusion.

“... why is your hand so big… and sharp?” The boy sniffles, still uncertain.

“Have you ever heard of a Gorgon?” Wilbur asks and he prepares himself for the boy to freak out and try to run. Instead, the boy shakes his head with a little, “no”. Oh. This is just too easy.

Wilbur chuckles, “Well… that’s what I am. I’m different from you.”

The boy just lets out a quiet “oh” and stumbles when Wilbur begins to pull him along to the den, snakes curling in excitement and wings puffing up high. The boy sniffs again, “Where are we going, Gorgon?”

“To my den,” Wilbur has to hold in a coo at the title he is given, “The monster won’t be able to get you there. I won’t let it.”

“Okay,” the boy whispers.

“And it’s not ‘Gorgon’. It’s Wilbur,” The Gorgon guides the boy up the rocks, heart warming at the clumsiness as the boy sways and staggers. So silly, this little human that is now his. All his.

“Okay, Wilbur,” the boy says hestitantly, left-over tears and small whimpers leaving his lips, “I’m Tommy.”

Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. How sweet. A precious name for a precious baby. His dear, visionless baby that was all his. All his to love, to cherish, to observe, to understand, to take care of.

With his baby, Wilbur would never feel bored, or lonely, or cold again.

All the possibilities make Wilbur dizzy, and he has to steady himself for a brief moment. Tommy doesn't seem to notice. Or, Wilbur muses, he couldn't notice.

“Hello Tommy,” Wilbur greets happily and Tommy hums back, still unbalanced from the fear he had been feeling, the anxiousness.

As the two reach the highest point of the den, the lights catch onto Tommy’s curls and for a single moment, they look like little snakes in their own right. Wilbur smiles so hard it hurts, flashing his tusks that resemble a boar's, sharp and dangerous.

Absolutely darling.

Notes:

In mythology, there was originally only one Gorgon who lived as a monster in the underworld (this version was created by Homer). However, the second version (created by Hesiod, I believe) consisted of three Gorgons instead of one – they were hideous creatures that had animalistic features. However, a more popular/known depiction of them made them far more human-like and beautiful. Their looks would compel men to look upon them only for them to turn to stone.

I wanted Wilbur to be a skrunkly bastard inside and out, so he’s a combination of both the monster and pretty versions.

He’s a funky giant creature man, yes he is.

To add to this, if Wilbur is Medusa then Technoblade and Phil would be Stheno and Euryale – Medusa’s sisters who were immortal while she, herself, was strangely mortal. Hence why Perseus (a Greek hero) was able to kill her.

Also, I am a sucker for canon big bro Wilbur, but heavily implied Dadbur just hits different, y’know?

Furthermore, Tommy is a severely uneducated child (around 6), and he was blind so he had no clue what Wilbur/the monster would look like. He never even considered the possibility of claws, snakes for hair, or wings.

 

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, and if you did then leave a comment! They make me smile!