#ill wicker

[six-demon-bag]

TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2024 EVENT | DAY 19: HORROR REMAKES

THE WICKER MAN (2006) dir. Neil LaBute

[inkykeiji]

i am trying to interact more with my mutuals even if it kills me!!! (,,>﹏<,,)

[mossiestpiglet]

Because it’s just one of those weeks where Everything Happens: started hearing weird clunking noises in my room, got up to check on on my snakes (they’re nocturnal and often loud at night) expecting to see them climbing in their enclosures. Nope! Somehow Oort figured out how to use his bulk to open his enclosure door enough to get himself out. Non-zero chance my neighbors saw me standing naked on a stepladder through my bedroom window because I was up there for A While trying to coax him down without hurting him and I certainly wasn’t gonna waste time getting dressed or closing the blinds. I did a very quick injury-check and other than being dusty he seems okay, so he’s back in (more securely) now.

[rose-and-lemongrass]

Hey it’s okay. Would it make you feel better if on the tree there was a limb? And on that limb there was a nest? And in that nest there was an egg? And in that egg there was a bird? And from that bird a feather came? And from the feather came a bed? And on the bed there was a girl? And on the girl there was a man? And from the man came a seed? And from the seed came a boy? And from the boy came a man? And from the man came a grave? And on that grave grew a tree?

[zeeverseconfession]

im back to rant so give me a HOT MINUTE

In the sense of how the characters dress, I think they'd all have a specific style of clothing.. if not, then they just do their own thing from time to time.

Wicker Basket: A cottagecore kind of girl — her overall vibe, along with the fact that the cottagecore aesthetic is a lifestyle rooted in more "traditional" skills, such as gardening — linking into her flower skills.

Acid Vat: I'd like to say grunge.. I think it suits the guy. From what most grunge outfits look like, they seem to like to layer their clothing. Would've picked cyberpunk, but it didn't feeeel right.

Grenade: I mean, it's been mentioned that they'd wear clothes to fit the downtown aesthetic.. I don't think I can disagree with that, since it suits them pretty well..

Quill: Dark academia. Sharp, put together clothing. Usually comes in shades of browns and some black, pairing it with white. It fits who Quill is, and most pictures of the aesthetic are rooted with libraries.

TV: Whimsigoth. She's a witch. Whimsigoth reminds me of witches, purple and black paired together, along with long skirts and such. Also seems to involve space.

dies

.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

More importantly, why would you need a SPECIFIC bowl?? In our family we just grabbed any random bowl or container. We didn’t have one kept especially for the purpose.

OK this question has been bugging me all morning so y'all please let me know

bc ours did nd I never thought much of it as a kid but know I'm thinking about it and it feels kinda gross? so pls tell me if this experience was universal or not it will haunt me forever otherwise

[stellarhistoria]

PARENTS: QUEEN AURIA (MALLAS) CYTOS & KING MOROZ CYTOS (calls himself lord).

CHILDREN (in order of oldest to youngest): ZACHARY CYTOS, ALCAEUS MALLAS (by two minutes), CALLIOPE MALLAS, LUKA CYTOS (HIGHWIND), ARYIN CYTOS, & ARIEL LANCEALOT (ASHLYNN).

"lord cytos", known by the worlds as king moroz (or, worse, king of winter), is not a kind man but he will continue to claim he has the best interests of his children and extended family constantly in mind. whether this is true or not is hard to gauge, as he has done some truly awful things in the past.

the first and last time, the ONLY time he got physical with one of his kids was the last time he ever had contact with one of them: the day zachary ran away.

for all he says about his kids to people who try to get him away from them, most of what he says does, to an extent, come from a place of... "love", in his twisted way.

he wants them to understand that they're "hurting people" by continuing to play hero. by continuing to believe in some strange fairytale. he wants them to grow up at least a little bit and face reality, and people encouraging them to stay where they are mentally feels, to him, "reckless and dangerous". both to the people around them and to his children themselves.

he's not as much of a fighter as one believes he is. he has very few attack options, the rest of his spells are for controlling a battlefield and being the most annoying epitome of "DIE ALREADY, YOU FUCK". so most do not challenge him.

he does not swing first. ever. (aside from with that one time with zack.)

"lady auria", otherwise known as queen cytos, or more historically as lady of the moontide, was a woman who did her utmost to keep her kids happy and healthy once she realized just how much she loved them.

yes, for a while, her children were politically born, for "function". she held no attachment to them. but after a while, she grew to love them, and found herself upset that she did not love them immediately, as they were so full of joy and light like she was once. and it scared her to know she bore such gifts of the world with such an evil and selfish man.

as the keeper of balance for a long time prior to her second youngest, aryin, she was much much older than one would have taken her for, only starting to age quarter yearly past her set age when she began to have kids with moroz. she knew this would happen, but she expected to be there for them the whole time they were alive. she was wrong.

she was ... sort of killed, physically killed, by her husband after getting too close to something he didn't want her to get near. her last wish was that she could have said goodbye to her kids one last time, or at least reminded them that she loved them. because she knew he would never say it to them. at least, not in a way where it would make them FEEL loved.

she was a druid (moon) - fighter (champion) - wizard (scribes). almost max npc level of eighty. only surprise group attacks could have killed her, and it did.

she was a terrifying woman, who would have torn apart reality to give her kids anything they wanted, even if it meant toppling their own kingdom and running to safety. perhaps this is why she was killed by her husband.

ex crown prince zachary cytos, man of many wonderful abilities but master at nearly nothing. every since he was young, he had a fairly decent aptitude for everything he touched, everything he picked up he could handle with dignity and grace, but he was never anything more than... good. you can see when this broke the camel's back.

for a long time in his youth, he was serious, solemn, the one who remained unshakeable. he was the pillar, the coliseum, unbreakable, unwilling to bend. someone had to stand their ground against their father and it had to be him. none of the others would suffer at their father's hands as long as he was around.

...as long as he was around.

during an altercation that was supposed to be like any other with his father, a usual hissing match behind closed doors. right before his eighteenth birthday. his father got mad enough to lay hands on him, near full force throwing him against the wall with a back handed hit, forgetting his own strength and where he had placed some things for a split second, getting some pieces of broken ceramic into his back past his clothes.

that day, not even waiting until the rainfall had stopped, zack ran from home, and never looked back. he didn't stop walking until he managed to find himself on a different world, and collapsed in a city of commerce and creation (san fransokyo).

he met a woman named circe there; she picked him up off the ground and gave him a place to stay until he recovered enough to tell him what happened, and they've been best friends and coworkers in his practice ever since. (circe is three years older than him, and is the "i will kill you myself once we're out of this deadly situation" lesbian to his "bad decisions are my middle name" gay.)

every attempt to tell him about what has happened with his father has been met with total silence and "ignorance" in the sense that he outright tunes it out. however, mentioning his siblings gets him to immediately drop what he's doing and light up like a golden retriever hearing that they're going for a walkies.

his dream job is to be an engineer.

alcaeus mallas, known by all simply as "kae", is a chaotic firecracker of the bluntest sharp object you've ever come across. usually found not to far from his two minutes younger twin sister, calliope "kallie" mallas.

energetic and the life of the party, it's not uncommon to find him suggesting the most insane plan that could get someone killed, and not uncommon either for him to have a full plan on the spot of something being announced, only for kallie to proofread it just as fast.

like his sister, he takes after his mother in mannerisms and ideology the most, but even that is negligible. they both share their mother's maiden name after being given direct expressed permission from her (tearfully so), but to say that they model either of their parents' mannerisms to a far extent is... an insult.

i don't know what classes they'd be, but they genuinely don't care that much about the war unless their siblings end up keeling over. it is unknown if they know about aryin dying and coming back to life, as they seem to have remained quite jovial after that point up until five years later (current day). it's possible the other siblings are worried about their response to it.

kae is the aggressively caring sort to make himself obnoxious to get you to love yourself so he'll leave you alone, but by the time you realize what he's done, you've been bamboozled and he's already gone. obnoxious (affectionate)

they're SAFE. and they're happy.

luka cytos, revered doctor and feared pirate captain, is a treasure to have at your tavern, as he always has some new story to tell... if you can get him to talk for longer than a few sentences.

idolizes captain jack sparrow - or at least believes captain jack sparrow to be a hero.

he purposefully makes himself look smaller to get away from people who don't want to hit someone who "looks like a coward". this doesn't always work, and instead provokes different people to hit him. most of the time it's people who believe he's incapable of fighting as a doctor.

he's studied gloom (the source of 75% of his fears) to an extent that he can infuse excess gloom within plant life to a safe extent and create new life.

canonically, it's heavily implied that he's capable of stitching souls back together, with enough magic, the right pieces, and willingness of the spirit.

luka has no romantic awareness at all, and in fact believes that relationships "thrive" on lack of communication. which is why his canon polycule has no definitive label and he has no qualms about simply saying he "Cares" about elysia and mollymauk. because it's not wrong and he doesn't have to worry about scaring them with a label that they didn't talk about.

he has been on the pirates of the caribbean world for over ten years, claiming that he's on vacation, to his father. ...moroz is not the smartest man.

vivian is dead certain that this boy is a highwind more than he ever would be a cytos but he refuses to acknowledge it despite how many times he's accidentally called her "mom".

i mean you already know a lot about aryin but let's talk family.

aryin loves their family more than they love themselves, but that's not a hard feat to accomplish, really. it's better to say that they love their family more than they respect their duty to being what the worlds need.

if their family needed them, then the worlds could burn. their family have been the only ones who haven't abandoned them throughout all this, or asked lofty goals of them, or confused them on what they should or shouldn't do. they have only ever asked for them to do what they feel is best.

aryin and ariel have the darkest humor out of the group of six siblings, because they were the closest to death out of anyone. aka they actually died or wished they had died rather than fought back against what fate had in store for them.

aryin however, humor wise, doesn't come across as dark humor, but if you make a really dark joke, aryin will likely start howling with laughter.

aryin learned of fairytale endings from zack reading them bedtime stories of times before the war. they have since learned that, well, ha, fairytales aren't real, but the endings are.

they do not hate their father, and in fact believe he can change. they have to believe he can change. because if he can't, then...

they miss their momma every day. she was the one who wanted them to grow up into whatever they wanted to be.

aryin became a knight to protect the family. to protect, to be a shield, to be the stalwart guardian. it just so happens that they found friends, and a new pair of people to love. it terrifies them.

[fdblaize]

light up, light up by @taizi

A wicker boy, just tinder waiting for a spark.

best AU ever is2g. I like to imagine that sabo became so insanely angry after losing ace as opposed to ace becoming gentler after losing sabo. god the amount mental illnesses I got from reading this. hes a wicker boy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

The noise of a lawnmower welcomes you out into the vibrant summer day. Your mother is already on the porch, sat on the patio bench. You can tell she’s primped herself up just a little bit. You put the jug of lemonade on the wicker table and stand by the end of the long eat. 

“A kind man,” your mother muses beneath the racket of the mower, “about time we got someone decent ‘round here. You know,” she furrows her brow viciously, “those bitches from the cul-de-sac never liked your nana. Hate us even more. Stepford hags.” 

You nod and peek over at Steve as he pushes the mower in a straight line. The grass falls to the blade and leaves thick clippings in rows. You twiddle your fingers as you notice the shine of sweat on the man’s forehead and forearms. His act of kindness feels more like pity. 

“Don’t be stupid, girl, go grab some cups,” your mother snipes and draws your attention back to the porch. “That man’s going to think I raised a moron.” 

You retreat back into the house. For as pleasant as she was to your new neighbour, it has done little for her mood. Or maybe it’s just you. 

You grab two of the rippled plastic cups from the cupboard and head back down the hall. You stop as you reflection passes you in the mirror. You turn to face it. You frown. You’re nothing special to look at but you don’t do much to help that. You wonder if you put on some mascara or wore something nicer if you might look anything close to pretty. 

You shrug off the fleeting insecurity. It’s not important. Your mother’s sick and your little uncertainties don’t mean anything. You push through the screen door and clack the cups down. As you do, the mower quiets and you peer over. The grass is trimmed neatly as Steve stands close to the steps, wiping his forehead as his cheeks burn rosy form the heat. 

“Whew, think I’ll try some of that lemonade,” he climbs the steps, “hot one today.” 

As he climbs the last step and he drags his hands down his tee shirt. His grey blonde hair droops forward and he tries to shake it out of his face. He tugs at the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, revealing a sweat-dampened undershirt. 

“Don’t mind me,” he chuckles as he uses the outer layer to mop his face and neck, “think I overdressed.” 

“Get him some lemonade,” your mother hisses and points to the jug. “Steve, was it? What brings you to Heron Meadows?” 

You unstack one cup from the other and fill both. You set the pitcher back down and step back on your heel, folding your hands together as you fade into the background. You’re peripheral to your mother. You only exist when she needs you. 

“Well, settling down, I think,” he smiles and reaches for a cup. He raises it and stops it just in front of his chest. He carefully gestures at you with it, “thanks.” 

Your eyes round and you glance away, “welcome.” 

“Settling down?” Your mother echoes coyly. 

“I know, I’m a bit late to the game. Had to get out of the city. Maybe I outgrew it,” he sighs, “and you two? Where’s your husband hanging out?” 

You mother laughs and crosses one leg over the other, not easily as she struggles to still the shake in her foot, “long gone. He never saw this place.” 

“Ah, hope I didn’t hit a sore spot,” Steve’s cheek dimples before he sips from the glass. 

“Mm, don’t feel much for the deadbeat,” your mother tisks, “what about you? Settling down? Is your wife coming with the couch?” 

“Ah, yeah,” he reaches over to plant his hand against the pillar that connects to the rail. He leans on it and gulps again. He swallows before he continues, his eyes meeting yours for the split second you dare to look up, “missed that step but the house will keep me busy until I figure that out.” 

“Oh don’t you worry, that little club will keep you busy,” your mother scoffs, “make sure ya keep your picket fence nice and whitewashed.” 

Steve gives a curious furrow of his brow. You mother sniffs as her little quip hangs in the air. 

“HOA,” you put in quietly. 

“Mm, I bought out of that,” he says. “Outdated if you ask me. I don’t need them telling me what colour to paint my door.” 

“Bought out?” Your mother grumbles. 

“I didn’t relish the extra lawyer fees but worth it,” Steve explains before he empties the cup and puts it back down, “thanks, that was great. Uh, guess I should get started on the back.” 

You stand dumbly as you mother agrees with a grumble. An awkward silence thickens around you and she snaps in your direction with her fingers, “take him out back, honey.” 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you clamour forward as if awoken from a slumber. “Just...” you near Steve and step around him to scurry down the stairs. “this way.” 

He leaves his tee shirt draped over the railing and turns to follow. He looms like a shadow behind you and as you stop to reach over the top of the gate and unlock it, you scratch around blindly. He steps closer and hooks his arm over yours. The smell of his sweat fills your nose. 

“Got it,” he says as he easily unlatches the clasp and the gate slants inward. 

You push through, quickly making distance from him as he trails you into the backyard. It’s even worse than the front. You grab the broken mower from where you left it and drag it towards the garage. 

“Great, I’ll go grab the mower,” he declares and leaves you to shove your way awkwardly into the side door of the garage. You push the rusted metal inside and the door snaps shut at your back as you emerge back into the sunlight. 

Steve pushes through his nice electric mower and you shy away. It’s got to be close to new and no doubt expensive. You trod through the tall grass and as you pass him, his arm brushes yours. 

“I could do the eaves too,” he stops beside you. “Get some of these weeds cut too.” 

“No thanks,” 

“I don’t mind,” he insists. 

“I can manage.” 

“You can. Probably a lot. Your mom...” he suggests, letting his words hang. “She sick?” 

You glance at his chest, the white fabric taught to his muscles above his thick stomach. You nod. 

“You take care of her?” He prompts. 

“Do my best,” you mutter and traipse on, “thanks.” 

“Right, uh,” he calls after you, “well, if you change your mind or think of anything, you can always ask.” 

You keep on. He feels bad for you. Just like everyone else. You’ve heard Marge and Lucy on their daily power walk; poor thing, going nowhere, sad... 

You go back out front, leaving the gate open. You go to grab the broom from the porch as your mother remains as she was. Her hand trembles on her thigh. 

“You know, should clean up around here,” she says, “invite him for dinner as thank you. Maybe tomorrow.” 

You take the broom and stop at the bottom of the steps, “maybe tomorrow,” you agree. 

“He’s a nice man. Could use one of those,” she smirks, “never had one of those. Handsome to boot.” 

It’s strange. You haven’t seen your mother smile since your grandma was around and even then, it wasn’t like this. The way she’s talking is almost ravenous. Like she’s slathering over a pork chop still on the grill. 

“Just gonna sweep up the trimmings,” you explain as you drag the broom down the walk. 

“Ugh, do whatever, you simple girl,” she chides. “When you’re done, you start on that kitchen. Those damn dishes have been sitting there all day.” 

“Yes mother,” you say to the broomstick as you begin to sweep. 

The sun beams relentlessly down, pouring onto you like fire. When you’re done, you return the broom to its place against the siding of the house and let yourself inside. Your mother hums as she watches the birds. You should be happy to see her outside, to see her in a better mood, but you’re too uneasy with the presence of that man. You know his name but it doesn’t make him any less a stranger. 

You fill the sink and add soap. You plunge a stack of plates into the water and stare out the small window above. You can see the side of the next house. It isn’t much too look at but sometimes a squirrel will critter along the wooden fence top. 

As you zone out, hands working mindlessly on scrubbing and dousing, a shift in the foggy colours of your vision brings your eyes into focus. You blink as Steve waves from outside. He rolls the mower up to the gate and smiles at you. You wince, jolted by the reminder of him. You offer a flutter of your soapy fingers. 

He stops and stares at you through the window. You blink, uncertain what to do. He’s just looking at you. He winks and you wince at the gesture. He slaps his hand back down on the mower and pushes it through to the front yard. That was odd. 

Or maybe you’re just awkward. 

[whore-ibly-hot]

Midsummer nights madness.

Yandere!Fae x Gn!eader (Inspired heavily by fairies from Midsummer Nighs Dream).

Minors dni

Warnings: Suggestive content; manipulation; magic; mythical beings; intoxication; drugging?; coercion; and one very clingy boy.

A/N: Was in a Shakespeare mood and fell in love with Puck, also known as Robin Goodfellow; from Midsummer Nights Dream. Thus, I tried this fic out. Please enjoy!

🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀

Brown, fallen leaves crunched under foot, the sun setting slowly just beyond the forest's dense canopy. Skipping down the muddied, beaten path is you, a simple peasant on a delivery run for the local apothecary. Your mother, a hermit widow and herbalist, was known in the county for her incredibly potent herbs, and her garden was unmatched. Despite how the people revered her work, she was never a social woman. Lately, she had become rather ill, and while she was at home curing herself, her deliveries still had to be made. Though it caused her great grief, though you were unsure why, she gave into your pleading to let you make the delivery.

"But mother, I'm perfectly capable of a small trip through the woods!" You had exclaimed. She only shook her head weakly, waving you away with her hand as she moved to grab the wicker basket of roots and plants. However, her ill state only becomes more evident when she suddenly collapses on the dirt floor of the hut. "Mother!" You cried, helping her trembling form stand. Walking her to her bed, she sits down, and sighs. "Mother, you're in no condition to deliver the herbs, please, allow me to go in your place!" You begged had begged. Begrudgingly, she had allowed you to take the ingredients, but not before slipping a small, worn scroll into your palm. "Remember the rules, my dear. The woods are not safe for anyone, much less someone alone, at the mercy of the night...". She had warned you off the usual dangers, wolves, bears, and thieves, but these simple natural occurrences did not seem to be what worried her most. The scrolls instructions were simple, and went as follows.

'Rule one, to prevent most danger, continue the path and speak to no stranger.

Rule two, if talking is their aim, always remember to not give your name.

Rule three, even if kindness they exude, from a stranger, never takes food.

Finally, rule four, if danger is discerned, touch them with iron, allow them to burn...'

While you must admit you weren't entirely sure about the Iron part, the other rules made sense. It was always best to avoid conversing with strangers in the woods. After having gotten a string of leather from your mother, one which she hung a ring of iron on, you had set off, leading to where you were in the woods now.

You sigh, taking in the fresh air of the forest around you. Being stuck at the cottage all day, allowed to walk no further than the garden, you didn't get too many opportunities to take in the beauty of nature. While initially you had been anxious about the woods, due to mothers warnings, they seemed rather peaceful. The sounds of a nearby stream paired with the gentle breeze make for a relaxing walk. As you hear a twig snap, you think nothing of it, until you look down, noticing that there is no twig under your woven sandal. Something else must have made that noise. You freeze, a feeling of ice in your veins spreading slowly as you look around, trying to discern the source of the noise. After a few seconds, something snaps again. You gasp, now sure that something is nearby. Clutching the basket to your chest, you begin to back away, and as your foot steps land just barely off the path, you hear scurrying. Convinced something is approaching, in a moment of panic you bolt.

Your light footsteps ring out, breathing growing heavy as you sprint away from the path, sandals rubbing harshly on your feet causing them to grow sore. The sound of the approaching beast grows quieter, but you continue to run. You whip your head back for just a moment, to see if you can catch a glimpse of whatever creature is stalking you, when you are suddenly thrown forward. You fall with a cry, slamming into the soft dirt of the forest floor, the contents of your basket scattering as they hit the ground with you. Still panicking, you ignore the pain and sit up quickly, your eyes following your now injured leg to what caused you to trip. Furrowing your brows, as you look closer, you realize you've tripped on some sort of mushroom. A small patch of blue and purple fungi rests where your foot was, stretching around you, as if forming a sort of ring. You hold your breath for a moment, straining as you try and hear any noise from the direction you came. You sigh when you hear nothing, assuming the wild animal has given up the chase in favor of another prey. Now that you feel slightly more secure, you wiggle your ankle a little, trying to work off any pain. Once you're convinced you'll be okay, you take a moment to steady your breathing. Looking to your left, you see the goods you were to give to the apothecary scattered amongst dirt and leaves, but your basket appears to be missing. You gasp, looking to your left and right for the basket, when suddenly a hand appears from behind you, offering you your basket from over your shoulder. You let out a terrified screech, whipping around and scrambling away from the mysterious figure, hands brushing against the edge of the mushroom ring.

As you tremble, your eyes focus on the figure before you. It is not a roguish thief, nor a golden-eyed beast, but rather a bare-chested, wild-eyed young man. He is squatted down on a stump in the center of the mushroom ring, head tilted with a mischievous smile as he peers down at your shaking form. Small horns emerge just past his head of wild, curly hair. Though shirtless, jewelry of animal bones and twigs adorns his neck and shoulders, with splotches of smeared ink and paint spread across his arms and pecs. He would be oddly alluring, if not for the paralyzing shock of his sudden appearance.

"W-who are you?" You exclaim, curling into yourself and staring up at him with a frightened gaze. The odd boy laughs, an impish sound, before leaning forward on his toes, allowing him to peer down at you. "Hmm, I don't know. You first!" He says, grinning as he looks at your face change from fear to confusion, your posture relaxing a little. "Me first...?" You repeat, before you gasp. Mothers scroll, you've already broken one of the rules, 'do not speak to strangers.' You mustn't break another by revealing your name. " I can't say. Besides, I asked you first." You speak out in a moment of boldness, and though his face falls for a moment, taken aback, he smiles once more. "Very well, mortal. They call me Puck, spirit of the northern wood, knave and jester-servant his majesty, the fairy king of the Seelie Court." You tilt your head, rather shocked at his introduction. "A spirit?" He nods. "A fae, in a more specific sense, though I doubt you mortals have an easy time discerning the difference." He sighs, hopping lightly off the oaken stump and shuffling closer to you. "A fae, what is that?"

He lets out a choked gasp at your questions, as if personally slighted. "What is a fae? Have you not heard the legends and tales of my peoples exploits from the drunks and gossipers of your townships, little mortal. We..." He pauses to stand and spread his arms wide, twirling once with a roguish glee. "We are the nurturers of nature, acolytes of the autumn and worshipers of the winter. You owe your fair green fields, evening rains and bountiful harvests to use, you know." He spins back around to face you, leaning down to meet your gaze. "I wonder how you've gone so long, living in neither awe nor fear of my kind." He ponders. You look away, upset about being reminded of your naivety of the outside world. You shrug. "I live with my mother, in no specific town. We are rather isolated, so we don't get the newest information." You explain, and Puck nods, a mischievous glint in his eye. You can't look past his whimsical aura to see the plan forming in his brain. "Aw..." He puffs out his lips, pouting. "Poor mortal, your homely duties allow you no knowledge of the world us fae give you? And no time for jest and entertainment? What a sad life." You sigh, and shake your head. "I'm quite fine with my life, I'll have you know. A-and I get out plenty, I'm delivering good for my mother right now!" You snap, feeling rather patronized by the spirit. He laughs, flopping his head to the side and sticking out his tongue. "You're lying, I can tell. We fae are very keen when sensing deception." "I'm not lying!" Puck only holds his hands up, as if giving you permission to remain in denial.

"Besides," You grab your mother's basket from his hands, ignoring his protests. You quickly begin to place the herbs and plants back into it, very concerned with both making your delivery and getting away from Puck. He seems nice, but... mother had warned you of strangers. As your hands rapidly sift through leaves and dirt, brushing off the produce, you stand back up. You move backwards, not turning your back on the spirit boy. "It's been... interesting to make your acquaintance, but I really must be going if I'm going to make my delivery and return home by nightfall." You attempt to bid Puck farewell and step back over the line of the mushroom ring, but as you do, Puck's eyes widen in momentary surprise. Jolting forward, the wild boy takes you quickly into his arms and leans over you, almost knocking you backwards with the sudden imbalance of your two forms now meshed together.

Despite his thin and lanky stature, his arms and body are surprisingly strong. You can feel his toned muscles press against you in this moment, as his surprise turns back to his grin. "Wait now, sweet mortal friend... there's no need to flee from Puck." He can clearly sense your nervousness, though you can't tell if he truly wishes to ease your fear or enjoys the power he holds over you. "Let me make you an offer-" "I should really-" "No, no, no... just give a spirit a chance, hear my offer before you decline me." He presses himself a little closer to you, though not in a way that makes you feel preyed on, persay. If any other man were to try and hold you to him like this, you would feel sick to your stomach, sure of the man impure and perverse intentions. With Puck though, even though you are frightened by his magical and impish nature, he touch feels almost... nice. He holds you to him, but not tight enough to be threatening, and his lanky limbs hanging from you makes the embrace playful. You open your mouth to speak, but close it, curiosity eating through your nerves. He leans in closely, shaking his head slightly and whispering his offer. "I'll take you to where your delivery is, the-" He pauses. "Apothecary." You finish. "Apothecary, and in turn, you will accompany me for a drink." He presses his forehead to yours playfully, invading your personal space for yet another time as he stares intently at you.

"Oh, no, no, I can't accompany you anywhere!" You take his moment of softness as he waits for a response as a chance to pull yourself from his grasp. To your surprise, he doesn't grin more or even pout at your refusal. Rather, his brows furrow and his smile fades. He seems genuinely disappointed, possibly even hurt. "And for what reason? Surely not for your delivery, as I promised to take you there quicker than any mortals legs could carry them." He inquires. You shake your head. "While I appreciate it, I'm not supposed to speak to strangers, much more accept things from them! My mother says-" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, your mortal mother told you. If I recall, you told Puck that you and your mother know nothing of spirits and fae, so how can you truly know she speaks an accurate portrayal of my people?" He sighs. "I often find the mortals fear us more than they need, just think of me, for example. Has this shadow done anything to offend your nature or kind thus far?" You pause, but then shake your head. "And I'm sure you've broken some of her rules..." You gasp, looking up at him with a bit of a glare, causing him to laugh as he falls back onto the stump. "How did you know about the rules she gave me?" You ask. "I had your little basket with more for quite some time, gave me plenty of time to read." He says. From his hair, he pulls out the worn scroll, and rolls it open, turning to shield it from you when you lunge to get it. "Rule 1, hmm. Well, you've spoken to me, so consider that rule broken." He tears off the top of the scroll, making you groan in frustration. "Rule 2, you've told me no name, so consider that one intact." He moves down to the third rule. "Rule 3, says to accept no food from me, but... it says nothing about a drink...?" He pauses, looking at you. "I- fine, I will accompany you, but I must be home by midnight!" He hops up, and in a rush of glee he throws you up into the air, spinning you in his arms. When he places you back down, still embracing you, it takes you a moment to catch your breath. "You have my word, little mortal, and a faes promise is a powerful thing."

🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀🧚‍♂️🍀

Several hours later, (though you yourself have lost track of time), you find yourself with Puck, sitting on a smooth rock just beside a waterfall, which leads into a stream. Various flowers of all shapes and colors bloom around you, with one of them producing the sweet nectar which Puck has so graciously been serving the two of you. Despite your initial fear, this evening has been rather enjoyable. Puck tells you much of his life and his people. You learn his works directly under the king, serving as a companion and jester. He regales you with tales of his exploits, from curdling the milk of a farmer mid-drink to scaring a nun into believing she was haunted, nearly driving her mad. He tells you of the king and queen's affairs, the queen's bitterness and the king's anger. You smile, feeling the nectar relaxing you with every sip as you grow sleepy, time becoming of no importance. "More nectar, my mortal friend?" He asks, extending a cup of petals to you. You shake your head, waving him off weakly. "No, I couldn't... truly." He nods and places the vase away.

"Now, what of your home? Tell me what is it a lonely mortal like you does all day?" He inquires, leaning back as he stares at you. "Mmh, I'd tell you if I could think right now, but in all honesty I think this drink is affecting me... perhaps mortals like me are more weak to it?" You ask. Puck chuckles, he himself is calmed by the drink, when he notices your flushed face. Your eyes are dropping, the majority of your body weight leans against the rocks behind you. He often enjoys the drunken antics of his fellow fae, and though he knows mortals to be quite quicker to become inebriated with fae drink, he hadn't expected you to succumb so quickly. In truth, he had only given you a small amount compared to himself, but then he supposed you must not even drink much human ale. "Puck?" You mumble, looking at him through your hooded lids. He is shaken from his thoughts, and nods for you to continue. He tries to focus, but finds your once shy form now relaxed and happy quite charming. "S' getting late, I think... could you take me home?" You ask, slurring your words a little. In truth, he had planned to get the attractive little mortal in a drunken fever with fae ale, and in your combined lustful state enjoy a night of pleasure, before leaving you to find your way back to your human hovel. However, as he argued with you in that mushroom ring, and invited you out, he found himself growing more and more attached, your naive mannerisms and innocence providing a contrast to his wild and knavish behaviors. Now, as you ask for him to return you to your home, he feels the same aching inside him he first felt when you had pulled away from him. He bites his lip, one of his hands wringing and tugging at his leafen skirt, his eyes full of conflict. After a few moments, he swallows, and begrudgingly nods, before attempting to put on his usual grin and try to see unbothered.

"Very well, my mortal friend. Come into my embrace and I shall lead you through these woods to your little mortal abode." He only opens his arms a little, before grunting as you flop into his arms, any resistance sober you would have had completely voided by your drunken stupor and need for warmth. It was rather cold in these woods at night. Puck is taken aback, usually he was the on invading space and hanging uncomfortably off those around him, often being scolded for his perverted clingyness, even among the rather wild and lustful fae. He halts his breath for a moment, before a genuine smiles spreads across his face, though he tries to conceal it behind his smug grin. As his cheeks warm up, he shakes his hair, hoping to cover some of it with the brunette locks. His arms come to sneak under your legs, picking your tired form up and beginning his brisk pace towards your home, which you had described earlier. He knew of it, (as he was sure he'd stolen some herbs from there for some not-so-innocent pranks.)

Upon arriving to your home, he moved silently through the front door, entering your room and gently placing you against your sheets. He places one of the thinner covers over you, pausing to admire your form. Just then, the door behind him opens. Your mother peers in, a look of worry fading as she sees you tucked into your bed, having safely returned from your errand. Though knowing he can't be seen by her, Puck remains still. Once your mother leaves, shutting the door softly behind her, he waits until her footsteps disappear before turning back to you. You groan, and shuffle further under the covers, before looking up at him. "Puck... how come I can see you but mother can't?" He doesn't answer for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to tell you of his trick to scare you into that faery ring with the sounds of a beast, making himself visible to you as your crossed the rings magical threshold. In the end, he decides not to. "Perhaps you're just special?" He suggests with a smile, making you blush. As he looks at you, he clenches his hands, resisting the urge to take you in his arms once more and take you back to the king with him. 'Not yet, not now.' he tells himself. He turns to leave, but your soft voice stops him once more. "Puck?" He nods, turning to face you. "Will you come back and see me?" He feels his heart swell at your request, and he nods. "Of course, you have this fae's word." He flourishes with a bow. You giggle. "And a fae's promise is a powerful thing, right?" You repeat what he had said earlier.

He nods, and with a small gust of wind, disappears behind the blowing of a curtain.

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[jayaury]

Wicker Man

Why had he been suspicious when he arrived in the village?

Why had he believed those rumours goblin maids would resent having a man around? An agent of the crown?

Why had he ever hesitated when they invited him to participate in their ritual?

It was all so silly. So dumb of him. How could he have suspected those gorgeous green girls of meaning him ill? They'd been so welcoming. So affectionate.

Petting him.

Stroking him.

Encouraging him to drink more goblin brew.

And the longer he spent with them, drinking with them, watching them dance and writhe and pant, the more he realized everything was so wonderful. That they really needed him. Not as an officer of the law.

No.

They needed a stud. A good, obedient male who'd happily breed the whole village.

And they made so much sense. He was meant to protect and serve.

Needed to serve.

Serve them.

Be a good stud.

A good male.

A good... obedient... dumb village stud.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

so so curious about gaslamp girlie

Jason ordinarily hated accompanying the girls around. But today, he was distracted. And it was a pleasant sort of distraction.

He was watching you. And he could see why you were Stephanie's new little friend. You were sweet. Genuinely. And smart. Sensitive. And plainly not from the strata you'd been thrown into. Your faux pas weren't egregious. Not even enough to make people talk. But. Society ladies were... vicious. And they'd be giggling behind their fans at you. They probably had been- until Stephanie swooped in. No one would DARE speak ill of you now for fear of being all but outright exiled.

You needed new dresses. Whoever had fitted you for this one had done a poor job. You were plump, but that didn't mean you needed to be corseted within an inch of your life. And as he watched your fan fluttering, he made his way slightly closer.

You were going to faint.

Between the too-warm day and having to be shoved into a dress that plainly wasn't made for you- poor lamb.

And when you did faint, he caught you. "Cold water?" he asked. "And a cloth."

Behind him, as he carried you to the shade, he could hear someone calling for a maid to fetch it. And when you stirred, he smiled a little, "Easy," he soothed. "You fainted."

"Here!" Stephanie called, where she and Barbara had started to lay out a blanket and a cushion pilfered from a wicker sofa.

"Poor dear," Barbara said, gesturing for Jason to lay you down. And Jason balked. He knew the girls would be able to handle it. Fainting spells weren't uncommon- unless you were them. Bruce had long given up trying to make them wear corsets.

"It'll make it easier to breathe if we lay her out flat," Stephanie said, keeping her voice low. "Go get the carriage. We'll take her home. Then I'll call my modiste."

Jason nodded slowly and eased you down. But as soon as he did, it didn't take long for the ashen look to leave your cheeks. And as soon as your eyes started to open and you started to protest, he felt his chest unclench.

The girls would see to it you were tended to properly. And going to get the carriage would give him time to try and forget how intoxicating your perfume was.

[razbunz]

Best of the worst (Pt 2)

Toji x Fem Reader CW: Drinking/Smoking, Older Toji, Gets a little spicy, Shiu and others are mentioned, Cursing. Word Count: 5K (I cooked on this)

Husband Toji! Quickly packs for a honeymoon to Spain, A whole AirBnb for a week on the island of Ibiza, The warm waters rolling over your skin as you swim with your husband taking in the salty air of the coast.

Husband Toji! Splashing you aggressively with water when diving into the balearic sea, Soon taking you to a seafood dinner. Candlelit with flames wavering with every warm breeze that passes through the gazebo It's easy to gorge on crab legs and to chat playfully with your freshly wed husband. The wedding band on his finger shining in the moonlight as cicadas hum an evening tune.

Husband Toji! Gifts you a sundress, and goes grape picking at a local vineyard in the summer heat. He helps you reach the tallest vines by lifting you up by the hips; gripping them tightly so you stay sturdy in his arms. He holds the basket of grapes collected and once you reach the rim of the wicker pail he's coated in sweat- looking nothing less than ethereal. Toji hands over the grapes to the vine assistant, who suggests that they can make a small batch. It's heartily agreed it will be your ‘honeymoon’ blend.

Husband Toji! Eagerly taking the opportunity to get wine drunk with you at the rental house- laughing as you get more whiny and needy with each sip. Toji can't help but pout and tease you during your hazy state, eventually he will show kindness though- it's your honeymoon afterall.And will lay you on the bed gently, kissing and suckling at your supple flesh until you beg him to do something more, until your crying of pleasure.

Husband Toji! Trying not to pout as he boards the plane, internally he fears that you're only sticking around like some fucked up ‘honeymoon phase’. He will never admit to you but it really hurts his feelings, you're not sure he knows just how serious you are about him.

Husband Toji! He goes back to work soon after, he's heard your complaints that his field is dangerous and he shouldn't be doing that, More than ever now that he's married.

But in his head it's the only way and the best way to make money to support the both of you, Though he doesn't want to hurt your feelings It's something that must be done.

Husband Toji! He goes to work with his hands covered in leather gloves so his ring doesn't rust with blood he has to deal with on a daily basis. His gloves are drenched in a sticky maroon substance as cuts the hands off of a victim. It doesn't make his stomach feel bad anymore… it hasn't for a while. He offers it to the commissioner as some sort of sick gift- they hand over a briefcase of money and he's back home to being your loveable bear of a husband.

Husband Toji! But because of his job it's easy for him to help you during your period. He knows you try to avoid him during that time, And he laughs when you explain why. It pisses you off to the nth degree but he reassures you that he isn't disgusted. His hands are a warm safety when you're cramping, he runs his fingers up and down your stomach until the pain goes away. Even once when you stain the sheets while you expected him to be mad he races to the corner store to buy you snacks, as he sets the sheets into the wash. When he comes back he watches whatever film you want as he stirs up hot cocoa which he is a master at making.

Husband Toji! Hearing you throw up one morning, He rushes to the bathroom to see you spill your guts out; Lifting up your hair he pats your back soothingly. He's groggy but it comforts him to know that you're okay. But this pattern continues... Morning after morning you start to feel nauseous and ill, It's starting to scare him.

*

He's making dinner one night, suddenly noticing that you've been in the bathroom for almost an hour. He calls out your name and as he walks closer to the bathroom his ears prick up as they catch your sobs.

“Princess?” he calls out into the hallway awaiting a response. Your chest racks and you stop crying, trying to compose yourself to respond.

But he knocks on the door “Are you okay, pretty girl?” The silence echoes throughout the house.

Behind the door you're biting your lip to stop a sob.

“Princess, Open up please.” His voice itches with anxiety, He's growing impatient pacing through the hallway until he breaks open the door with a sharp CRACK the lock splintering immediately.

“Baby?” He sees your figure on the floor clutching something to your chest.

“There you are pretty.” his voice makes you shiver into the ground-he reaches out to you but you shrink back, whimpering in fear.

“M’sorry m’sorry toji.” you sound more pathetic than you ever thought.

“Sorry?” he scoffs “For what?” Standing back to give you some space, Instead of words you pass what's clutched to your chest. With one glance it makes him want to hurl.

Soon to be father Toji! Turning the blue stick in his hands, Two blue lines staring up at him like daggers. 

“M’sorryyyy Toji” by now you're hyperventilating, as he acknowledges the weight of it all.

“Baby it's okay!”  He crouches down and offers you a hand brushing your hair back.

“You're gonna kill me.” he shakes his head, you’re being dramatic.

“I'm not going to kill you princess.” pressing a kiss to your hand.

He chuckles for the second it takes you to realize that he is not made, he's rather happy.

Lifting you up he hugs you tight, peppering your wet cheeks with kisses, wrapping his hands around your waist.

“God I love you so much.” he confesses to you “Always wanted a little brat, hmm?” he looks down to see your face.

“You want one with me too mama?” you nod enthusiastically before admitting to Toji

“I thought you didn't want one!” you breathe a sigh of relief now knowing that you were wrong,

“Of course I did!” he pauses “I didn't think you wanted one with an old man like me!” He blushes and combs through his hair to reveal more of his face.

“Well clearly you're not that old.” You gesture to your body.

Laughs fill the bathroom.

Soon to be Father Toji! Goes to every single one of your doctor visits, He can just be back from a mission with bloody clothes in the back of the car but will be there. Holding your hand throughout the first ultrasound. When a heartbeat shows up on the monitor he squeezes your hand, smiling cheesily as a tiny baby shows up on screen-He keeps an ultrasound photo in his wallet now.

Soon to be Father Toji! If you thought he was protective before, When you're pregnant he might as well be a guard dog. Holding your hand everywhere and when people come up to gush about having a kid he is only 4 seconds from committing another murder. You're his wife and that's his kid. They shouldn't touch you.

Soon to be Father Toji! Ikea shopping with you as your due date approaches, By the end of the trip you’ve got a Crib, Dresser, and changing table with plenty of storage. 

When they arrive at the house he sets an entire day aside to build it all, yelling at the instructions while you sit down. Admiring him hammering everything together-  his biceps taut as he holds pieces together. Needless to say, you're happy to watch.

Soon to be Father Toji! Who looks at you odd when you hand him a tiny gift bag, When he opens it to see pastel pink onesie with a card saying ‘Its a Girl’. He's ready to be a father right then; letting you find names for his little girl. And with some guidance you both decide on the name Tsumiki, A beautiful name for his baby to come.

Soon to be Father Toji! Adores stepping into stores with his pretty little wife in his hands, buying whatever your eyes even flick over. When you paint the spare room an ash blue he asks 

‘Would you ever share your plushies with her?’ The look you give him shuts him up immediately, he’ll take that as a no.

He still loves you even when you woke him up at the asscrack of the morning because you were craving Auntie Anne's Cinnamon sticks, dragging himself out of bed because he wants to see you happy. When he gets them (and a cinnamon roll for himself). 

You eat them in the car, music low so you can talk to him. He chuckles when you mention that this scene looks so familiar- Time has passed, but you've only gotten more irresistible to him (especially when your swollen with his child)

Soon to be Father Toji!  Whereas as soon as the slight wince of discomfort leaves your lips, he's dragging you to the hospital even when you say you can wait it out a bit longer, he'd rather be safe.

He enters the Maternity Ward with you trying to calm your nerves to the best of his ability. Toji has seen lots of morbid things before…Torture victims and bodies without heads, but its different when its his precious wife screaming in agony with every contraction. He avoids looking at your form until he hears the cries of a child. His child. Walking up to your sweat slicked form he gives you a small peck on your forehead, hushing your whines of pain as they take your daughter away for a health check. 

“You did so good mama, so good for me hmm?” you don't have the energy to respond but soak in the voice of your husband and your body resting. Tsumiki is a healthy little girl, And much to Tojis relief he can't sense cursed energy.

It makes him unbelievably happy.

Father Toji! Letting you rest while he cradles his little girl in his arms, she's so small in his arms he's afraid that one wrong move and it'll be over. So he sits as still as a statue so his baby can sleep. He shakes his head at his life, never did he think he'd be a dad. Especially to a girl who resembles you so much, your small smile in particular.

Father Toji! Hates Hospitals to an incredible degree and races out the hospital with his baby, Tsumiki is held in a baby carrier with his grip unwavering. He places the carrier in the back and starts up the car for the drive home.

He drives much more carefully then he ever has, you could even say legally. 

Father Toji! Lets you take the next few weeks easy, he dearly wants another kid- but doesn't want to force another child on you; At least not this early. It's hard to compose his thoughts though when Tsumiki cries at 1:48 in the morning…like clockwork, You go sometimes but if you're deep sleeping there isn't a reason to bother. He swaddles her while she cries going into the pantry to fetch some formula hoping that she's just hungry.  He has work in the morning but he knows you're just as tired. 

So Toji hums strangers in the night softly, the words are mumbled and hushed so he doesn't wake you up in the next room. But upon not feeling the comforting warmth of your husband you look around the house. To find Him in the nursery coddling Tsumiki, bouncing up and down to a soft rhythm.

He looks at Tsumiki like it's his whole world.You dont say anything,You slink behind the wall hoping he doesn't sense your presence. You keep it short,retiring to sleep while you hold the memory close to your heart.

Father Toji! After feeding Tsumiki, he makes dinner for the two of you. It's filled with light conversation but he can sense your not saying something.

Once you finish though you look him dead in the eyes and ask

“Do you not want another kid with me?” Your voice is shaken and Toji is bewildered that this question would ever arise. 

“What? Of course, Whatever gave you that idea?’” He retorts finally thinking his hints have clocked in

“I- just thought you were a one and done type of guy…” A pregnant pause prevents both of you from talking. 

“Absolutely not. I love Tsumiki and she needs another sibling-maybe even a brother!”  He  sounds 10x excited at that.

He closes the distance between the two of you going to nip at your neck, biting it harshly.

 “Why, Wanna try? Hmmmm?” He grins and bites your cheek, you cringe at the feeling of wet saliva on your cheek- nodding as you lay back onto the bed letting his larger form crawl on top of yours. 

“Need words baby~” he coaxes you to speak, he loves seeing you desperate for him.

“Please Toji?” You test the waters,but he shakes his head.

“Please touch me Toji daddy?” and you pout giving him puppy eyes. At that he undos his belt taking the cool leather into his calloused hands.

“Take it real fucking good then.”

Father Toji! Makes sure you take everything he has to give, Cleaning you up gently but it’s all a blur when you look back at it. You wake up the following morning with the scent of honey and sweet fruit.  When he spots you trying to stand up to meet him halfway, he ushers you to sit down on the bed handing you a cup of tea with waffles and fruit. It makes you smile at his softness.

Father Toji! Just as equally excited when you tell him you're pregnant again, he knows it will be a challenge but it's one both of you want to face together. Since this one is planned you both take the pleasure in throwing a baby shower.

You invite all of your friends as does Toji, who has gotten closer with other people now that he is settled down- he won't admit it but it's easier to make friends when he doesn't constantly have to move around with a price on his head.

Well he still does…But at least he's home. At your home.

Father Toji! And Shiu about everything that's taken place this last year…

 “Two kids, big man?” Shiu jokes to him, jabbing him in the side while looking at your unknowing figure, as you chat to your friends.

Toji looks at his drink and chuckles “It's a huge change, I mean anything for her. That's my girl right there.”  His eyes meet yours and you give him a wide smile, he grins back.

“You ever thought about settling down Shiu?” Toji asks, setting his glass of champagne down onto the cedar table.

Shiu shakes his head “I'd like to, now that my best client is turning to mush on me.” Shiu snickers to himself.

“No the fuck I aint. I still kill people mind you.” Toji objects to his partner.

“You gonna do that when Tsumiki has a sibling too?” Shiu quips, hitting toji with verbal whiplash.

He doesn't know how to reply.

“ I… I don't know.”

“I'd figure that out before your woman does.” Shiu swigs the rest of his glass down, setting it down before walking up to you to say another congratulations.

Father Toji! Uncharacteristically shaken by that conversation with Shiu, though he powers through the party to hear some good news, It's a boy.

He’s ecstatic at just the thought of Tsumiki having a little brother and already brewing names.

As you drive back home with gifts packed into the trunk you giggle about some drama spilled earlier, he laughs commenting on your tales- but he's really thinking.

“Let's name him megumi.” you're talking when he says it- catching you off guard.

“Like how could sh- What?” you fumble over your own words forgetting the story that once filled your mind.

“Megumi.” he repeats; you nod, mouthing it trying to see how it flows off your tongue.

“I like it.”  You agree fidgeting with your maternity dress. He smiles lightly at that, kissing you gently at the next stoplight as if you might shatter from his touch.

Megumi’s his little blessing to come, Toji’s so thankful for you and his kids.

Father Toji! Megumi comes into the world with a fight, it's harder on you then Tsumiki. He's louder and fussier with his food, not liking the ones Tsumiki once did. Sweet potato puree is suddenly garbage now. Toji notices you need more rest after Megumi and how you spend more time in bed then with  the 3 of them, He does the best he can though- he always does.

Father Toji! Is super excited (emotional) when you begin to play with Megumi and Tsumiki, trying to get Tsumiki to walk often and feeding the two of them. Which Toji is unarguably better at, he's a master at feeding his kids. Baby food? Easy win, Solids? Something so easy that he's starting to enjoy cutting up tiny pieces of chicken and apples to feed them.

Father Toji! Denies that Megumi is a mirror reflection of him, Makes you frown thinking of the nine months of pain and cravings and hormones… just for him to look exactly like his father.

Toji doesn’t claim that his pout comes from him but it most definitely does.

Father Toji!  Loves watching you take care of Megumi, the way you play with him, playing peek-a-boo and talking to him about your day as if he can understand you. You tell him about how you and Toji met, just explaining his dad to him.

“Toji’s a big scary bear, But he's nice huh gumi? Your dad loves you soooooo much”  You look Toji in the eye when you say that, beaming as Megumi spits out baby gibberish as a response.

“I am not that scary!”  Toji retorts going up to take Megumi from your lap, you hand him off- Megumi  gives a bit of a tussle crying clawing at his dads skin but calms down when Toji offers him a lighthearted smile. (Megumi’s scared of him smiling with teeth)

Kiddos (Double dad Toji?) Are both sad that your kids are now both in elementary school. Megumi isn't super social, and likes to stay silent in class making pictures that he hands to you at the end of the day. Megumi is a big reader and listener which doesn't help, especially when it includes curse words that he hears mostly from his dad, occasionally you.

Meg’s has picked up “Motherfucker” too quickly for your taste. Tsumiki on the other hand is a social butterfly, playing with other kids and humming tunes she hears on the radio. She loves to hang around in the school garden with her closest friends and play ‘Bug matchmaker’ Megumi has joined her in this, and it freaks you out sometimes when they do it at home.

Double dad Toji! Knows Megumi has cursed energy, he's known it since Megumi was 6 months old. It scares him deeply- He doesn't want his kid to turn out like him, being thrown to the side when he’s not ‘good enough’.

So when Megumi comes home during second grade petting something invisible, he picks up the aura of a curse and tries his hardest to be normal about it. Toji only wishes his kid didn't have cursed energy but it's too late for that. He can sense the energy is mostly positive-it gives him some sort of morbid solace.

Double dad Toji! Has explained cursed energy to you before, and while you can't use it you try your best to understand it. Toji can't bring himself to tell you about what it can mean for Megumi, and he doesn't want to think of your reaction if you find out it could bring Megumi harm. So he goes to Shiu…

He pulls up to a bar slamming the doors to his Maserati he bought an suv after having kids

Ordering a Jack & Coke as he sits down next to Shiu

“How's the wife and kids?” Shiu asks politely before they catch up.

“Wife's good, but ummm… Megumi is definitely a Shikigami user and I need your help.” Shiu’s eyes draw wide.

“When did you find this out??” Shiu asks, fully engaged.

“Like fuck I dont know, couple days ago?” Toji bites his lip and raps his knuckles against the sticky wood counter of the sports bar. A game he betted on plays above but he cant bother to look up. Someone scored- he can't care for who,Shiu spends the time of the pause to think.

“How about you drive me to your place and I can tell you just how bad it is.” Toji knows Shiu can see curses so hopefully whatever it is…is good.

“Let's go then.” Toji grabs his keys and they speed off to your house.

Ringing the doorbell its only worse as Megumi opens the door

Toji can sense the energy and grimaces, while Shiu laughs holding his temple and rolls his back to let out a cackle.

You travel to the foyer seeing Toji pale and Shiu red with laughter.

“Back so soon?” you question as you hold Tsumiki's hand, who smiles e at her dad and greets shiu with a tiny bow.

“Yeah, there wasn't much going on.” Toji lies through his teeth.

“What about your game though? Yankees and the Dodgers?” you pressure him.

“We can watch it here.” Shiu tacks in “And the bar ran out of our favorite bourbon anyways.” It's a simple, yet effective excuse.

They walk to the coffee bar you have, cramped in the corner where he pulls out what he needs to make a vodka cran. You continue to make mac and cheese for dinner for the kiddos, not before asking toji to make you one as well. He kisses you on the cheek and mixes your first so they can talk business.

“He's a shikigami user alright, but they are his for sure.”

“10 shadows technique, you think?” Toji asks, sipping lightly at his drink. 

“Mhm, he's got it in control though, He has two dogs” Shiu takes a swig “They are his friends though, he was petting them at the door.”

Toji sighs with relief- 

“Ima need a smoke after this, you gonna join me?” Digging through his overcoat pocket for a carton of Marlboro reds offering to shiu as he pulls out one.

“When don't I?” he smiles, as they walk out to the porch.

Double Dad Toji!  Is a total Dad, In the  beginning of your relationship he thought yall were gonna bang and be done. Now he's standing over an ice cream cart letting Megs and Tsumiki choose what popsicle they want. Megumi chooses the spongebob one and Tsumiki chooses Bubbles. You find him doing this unspeakably attractive. He's a Total Dilf, the ones you used to dream about when you scrolled through ‘hot dad’ blogs. And he's yours.

Kiddos! Middle school is interesting for you and Toji watch to say the least. Megumi has started to talk more and fights a lot, this leads to plenty of parent meetings for you and Toji to deal with. Leading to Tojis favorite saying (much to your anger) is “Hey at least he has good grades” Which he is right… But that doesnt give him to make the entire campus fear him

You can only ‘wonder’ where he got it from. Toji, Of course it’s toji.

Your daughter, Tsumiki loves to go to the mall with her best friend buying whatever she can afford from claires. Much to Megumi's dismay he is dragged around the wholeeeeee time, into Bath & Body works and turning away when they point out Victoria's secret. The only thing he gets out of it is Cinnabon and Hot Topic.

Double Dad Toji! With you, explaining to Tsumiki that Megumi won't be going to the same high school as her. He can sense his energy growing and is used to feeling his dogs' energy around the house.

“He's going to go to a different high school then you Tsu,” Toji tries to his daughter.

Tsumiki takes a sip of Fanta before sitting down,

“Why?? Does he not want to go with me?” She questions

Tojis sends him to Tokyo Jujitsu High.

He’s special… kinda like Shiu and me, we can both see and do things that you can't.”

Tsumiki nods “Is he a sorcerer?” 

Toji sighs “Yes he is, me and mom-” he looks at you nod offering some sort of non-verbal comfort “think it's best to have him there.” 

Tsumiki rubs her eyes.“When is he going, Can he visit? Wait, is he going to be okay?! Does he know???” 

Tsumiki is a big questioner, it takes some time to explain to Tsumiki before she calms down

When Megumi comes back from detention that day Tsumiki gives him a huge hug. With tears pricking her eyes. Toji kisses your forehead before calling in pizza to lift the mood for the evening.

Double dad Toji! Thought he was done with parent meetings, he was wrong.

He waits outside the teachers office with you waiting for his main teacher, Satoru Gojo.

You're both ushered inside by the Snowy Haired man who grins at the both of you.

Gojo seems to frown looking at your husband but still eagerly greets the both of you.

“So your Megumi’s Dad, it’s no wonder your son is so strong!” He kicks up his feet on the desk.

“You must be his mother, pleasure to meet you too!” you agree and settle into the dark leather chair.

Gojo, Quickly moves onto talking about Megumi.

“He's a really bright kid! Great test scores on all the basics and he really shines on the Battlefield with his partners.” Gojo gushes, pulling out a lollipop humming to himself “Ah yes, my partner says he is a total team player.” 

Toji nods while gritting his teeth, it's no secret he isn't a fan of him.

“His Shikigami are strong and lives up to other users of the Ten Shadows Technique, maybe one day he’ll even tame Mahoraga!” Gojo laughs and adjusts his sunglasses.

Toji isn't pleased hearing this “As long as it won't destroy the kid.” They make eye contact and Gojo throws his hands back.

“I'll make sure of it, for both of you.”

His teacher goes back to explaining a lot of terms you just don't get. But toji seems to be following along well enough besides his piercing grip on your thigh and his eyes twitching every now and then.

Once you leave the office, you walk to the training fields where Megumi is supposed to be.

When you see him he's laughing and talking to a pink haired boy and brown haired girl. It makes you extremely happy to see Megumi having friends.

A tall, long black haired man approaches you- putting his hair into a bun.

“You two must be Megumi's parents, Satoru told me you guys were coming to visit.” Toji shakes his hand firmly.

“But where are my manners! I'm Suguru Geto, the other teacher here. I'm mostly in charge of keeping them in check…Since I'm sure you can guess.” He leans in “My associate wont”  you share a laugh with him.

He's a refresher from the partner, though probably complimenting each other's teaching skills.

Megumi looks up from his friends and lightly jogs to the two of you.

“Mom! Dad! Hey!” He is red from laughing and working in the sun- he now adorns a black fitted uniform not unlike his partners.

You hug him and Toji asks-

 “How's it going kid?” giving him a head pat, “Haven't seen you in awhile. Your sister is supposed to graduate early. Did you hear that?”

You spend the afternoon catching up with your son and meeting his friends.

Toji holds your hand as you walk out of the campus, it's comfortingly silent, and he opens the door of his old car for you before he drives home.

Double Dad Toji! Is emotional when Tsumiki graduates from high school, she's wearing a dark blue slim fit dress. The black graduation gown is open and she wears her hat.

When they toss the hats into the air it's impossible for him to not feel that he's done something right in his life.

You and him raised a kid that's starting to bloom in a beautiful way. It does horrify him at the realization she is attending college soon enough. And when you come back from the graduation he makes sure he proves your ‘silver fox’ comment.

Double Dad Toji! Letting you adjust his tie when you get ready for Megumi's graduation not long after. It's a smaller scene with mostly family and close friends protected by a veil.

The Upperclassmen cheer them on with smiles and taunts to ‘Just turn 1st grade already!’ after their teachers give heartfelt speeches.

He steps on stage with his partners and a beautiful shower of flowers covers their stage as they hug each other, cheers radiate from the people there.

You're crying, and Toji, well- he's almost there. 

Toji. Who finds comfort in you growing older by his side, Completing crossword puzzles with coffee and going on art museum dates. He's put down his weapons but not the cigarettes,

And you who loves to read next to him, appreciating the gentleness of his forever calloused hands still in love with the scent of his cologne and smoke.

It feels good to be in love, to have two kids who love you both endlessly. To live a dream- with you.

Thank you so much for reading! This took a lot of time but I really do love it. Requests are going to be open soon if you would like me to write anything! Love,Razzy!

[opiopal]

•All I wanted was bread•

1

(Hey guys, this is the first part of my TSL Obey Me fanfic! of course this is only the introduction, the characters included in this is simply you(mc), Luke, and Simeon, the brothers are simply mentioned. I will be keeping the Mc gender neutral and will only vaguely describe things like clothing and such. I apologize if the writing for Simeon isn’t the greatest since I unfortunately don’t know his character like I want to:(

I also want to apologize in advance if this isn’t up to anyone’s expectations! I haven’t actually sat down and wrote anything in about a year, so I’m sorry if anything I’ve written may be a little disappointing)

Once there was a vast kingdom, split into seven pieces, devided evenly amongst Seven lords. Seven brothers.

The first and the eldest being the Lord of Corruption. An arrogant and prideful man, always scheming and plotting. Despite maintaining his own land almost flawlessly, he is never one to be questioned nor critiqued.

The second born is the Lord of Fools. Greedy and very determined. He will and has gone to great lengths to get what he wants, often disregarding the people around him, even the people of his own land.

The third born is the Lord of Shadow. a shy yet envious man, often hiding himself away from the world. Wishing and wondering. Finding comfort in his own chambers.

The fourth born would be the Lord of Masks. upon first glance, he is viewed to be a respectable, well balanced individual. Yet his bad temper often leads to destruction, and in most cases, death.

The fifth is the Lord of Lechery. A dirty minded fiend, always attached to a mirror, most would assume he would be much to consumed in his lust to do much of anything. But alas, he prevails.

The sixth lord is the Lord of Flies, a man who acts as if he has been starved of all nutrients since he was a child, a man with an appetite that can never be quite satisfied.

The seventh and final lord is the Lord of Emptiness. The lord that is the least present of his brothers. Not much is known about him, all that can be assumed is that underneath his monotoned expression, may hide secrets that are not to be desired.

Though our story doesn’t begin with these lords. But instead within the land of the Lord of Fools, on a struggling, kind peasant, and their family.

•

•

•

•

As the sun shines in through your window, you groggily sit up, rubbing your face in a meek attempt to wake yourself up further. Looking around the room you are met with the familiar sight of it all. One crummy writing desk in the corner, a window with glass that needs cleaning, worn down wooden floors, and a small familiar bed across from your own with a familiar sleeping boy tucked under the covers.

Your house is small, very small. Only having two rooms, A bedroom and a kitchen. Which may have been more manageable if it was only you, but you share the place with your two brothers. Your older brother Simeon, and your younger brother Luke. Though they aren’t your brothers by blood you all love each other the same, you had met Simeon when you were but a child, and Luke’s mother was taken by illness when he was only a few months old, you and Simeon both had promised her to take care of him.

You carefully crept out of bed, making sure not to wake Simeon, who slept only about a foot away from you, and making sure to avoid the creaky floor boards to avoid waking Luke as well. Quickly yet still quietly you toss off your sleepwear and slip into your day clothes, throwing on your tattered shoes you quickly make your way into the kitchen and begin your usual routine.

First, you light the stove with the embers of the previous night, once the fire is lit you put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then you quickly grab a pitcher that had collected water from the leaky ceiling, along with a wicker basket and head outside, before watering the garden you pluck and pull anything that had finally ripened, you fill the basket the best you can then water quickly. Hearing the water boiling from outside the kitchen window, you head back inside and set the basket on the counter, you adjust the pot to keep it from boiling over and add in enough oats to feed the three of you, then you-

“Mc, up early as usual I see,”

Immediately your autopilot comes to a halt as you turn your head and see Simeon, adjusting his shirt around his waist as he steps out. You give him a smile. “Of course, I could hardly sleep with the sun in my eyes,” He lets out a half awake giggle and moves further into the kitchen and looks through the basket, “ah, I see our leeks are flourishing, but our berries aren’t doing as well,” he says as he gives you a look. you sigh,

“I know, I wish that scare crow would actually work.”

“I would assume it would work best if you didn’t feed the crows,” Simeon says almost in a teasing way, you shoot him a dirty look.

“I don’t feed them! I just- happen to toss out things we don’t need whenever they’re around. That’s all.”

You know you really shouldn’t feed the crows, and you know that you shouldn’t name them, nor pet them, nor even interact with them period. But you just can’t help yourself! They’re only eating the berries off your bushes because they’re hungry, and if you yourself were a bird you would appreciate a free meal from someone every now and again. And they are all just such.. silly birds, how could you not simply adore them?

Simeon of course knows this, and in response chuckles, but doesn’t press further on the topic. Instead he begins to help you with breakfast, taking over your place at the stove to let you get out a loaf of bread to cut.

You glance over at Simeon as you do so, he looked tired. “Did you get to do any writing last night?” You ask, “yes actually, but only a small bit,” he answers with his usual smile, “I figured as much,” silence fills the room until you speak up again, not looking at him as you reached and grabbed a few bowls from the cupboard.

“Did you hear back from any of the shops or printers,”

“No, Mc, not yet.”

“You should go down there today after work.”

“I’ll see if they’re open today,”

“They’re always open.”

“Mc it’s fine, I really don’t mind it.”

“No, it’s not fine, they’re printing and selling your books and you haven’t gotten as much of a coin from any of them,”

“Mc..”

“Your name is on it! You poured your heart and soul into your stories and yet they refuse to pay you for it! It’s unfair and you know it is! And not to mention it would help us! We get taxed so much for only breathing and we hardly have any money for food,”

Simeon sighs as you hand him the bowls for him to scoop the oats into, he is a writer, it’s his passion, a passion that is loved by nearly everyone in every land, and you are very passionate about him getting paid for it.

He places a hand on your shoulder gently as he sets a full bowl of oats onto the counter,

“Mc, my writing is a thing I do for fun and only fun, I appreciate that you want this to be fair for me, but I don’t see much point in trying to force money out of people that would never do such a thing.”

You sigh, putting your hand over his as you look at him, “You’re to humble for a place like this,” he gives you a smile as he lowers his hand from your shoulder, before he can open his mouth to say more a creek of the floorboards catches your attention. Simeon turns his head to look as you simply look past him, there stood luke in the door frame, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh! Good morning Luke,”

Simeon says as you turn and grab a bowl and some bread, setting them both down at the table as Luke sits down, you look down at him as you gently fix his hair by running your fingers through it, working out the knots, “how did you sleep?”

“Good, what were you two talking about? It looked serious,” your face scrunches slightly as you look away, you never really liked to involve Luke in your and Simeon’s issues, especially if money was of the topic. He was only ten, both you and Simeon believed he shouldn’t worry about things like that. Simeon speaks up before you, “oh nothing, we were just talking about our schedule for today,” you pause and realize that’s the one thing you hadn’t sorted out yet!

“Oh! Right,”

You take a seat at the table after grabbing your own bowl, you quickly cover the schedule for the day, Simeon will take Luke with him to work for the day, Simeon is working a slower job today so he is able to monitor and help Luke with his schooling, you will also head off to work and work till about 2pm, Simeon and Luke will be done at 3 and so you will wait for them, then the three of you will go down to the market and purchase was you can then return home, you’ll stay with Luke for the rest of the day as Simeon goes off to the printers with his most recent writing.

It’s the same as any day, it always is, the most that changes is who has Luke for the day, who’s boss will be alright with a young boy hanging around. But, it’s still oddly comforting to talk as if there as been a change, as if the plan is any different from the day before.

•

Of course the day goes exactly as planned. You show up at work, you had landed a good job cleaning floors for a richer women, you worked quickly and quietly. Avoiding any guests coming in and out of the estate and maybe pausing occasionally to talk with other cleaners. You watched the time constantly, just wanting to be finished with it all.

The second the clock struck 2 you immediately put the given cleaning supplies away and get your payment for the day. It wasn’t the greatest, but it’s the most money you’ve made in one day in a long time. You step out into the busy streets and make your way through the crowd, dodging bodies, carts, and barrels, walking around a little mindlessly. Eventually after about an hour and a half you spot Luke and Simeon, you wave to get their attention and the three of you set off to the market.

•

While there, you feel a tug at your sleeve and look down at Luke, he points over to a bakery near by, “Mc, do you think we could go inside? I don’t want anything I just want to go look,” You give him a smile and a nod before leaning over and nudging Simeon, “we’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to take Luke to go look at the bakery across the street,” he nods as Luke reaches and grabs your hand, excited, Luke practically drags you along with rough the street and inside the small building.

It smelled fanatic inside, but than again it was also very warm from the ovens just in the other room. Luke let go of your hand quickly and began to look around as you waited by the door and kept an eye on him. Eventually you had glanced out the open door and back out into the street and spotted Simeon, but he was talking with someone.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to get a better look, the person looked like a mail carrier, but was a lot cleaner and in nicer clothing, from your guess the person had only approached Simeon a few moment ago before giving him a stern look and handing him a letter. You watched as the person basically spun on their heel and strutted away, which was more than just odd.

You quickly grab Luke, buying him a small cupcake just as a little treat, and heading back out and over to Simeon quickly, the closer you got you could tell the letter was almost as well dressed at the person that handed it over. you come to a halt next to him, looking over his shoulder, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach as you notice a familiar crest in the wax of the stamp.

•

•

•

You and Simeon both sat in the kitchen, staring at the open letter that you must’ve read at least twenty times now in disbelief. It was only you two, Simeon had sent Luke to bed early after eating dinner so you two could both assess wether or not this letter from the lords themself was good or bad news.

And it was incredibly good.

“You have to go,” you say after a long moment of silence, Simeon looks over with his brows raised,

“What?”

“Simeon, you have to accept this!” A smile comes to your face as you grab the letter again, reading a part of it aloud.

“-The Lord of Shadow has taken a liking to your writing, and as a result is offering you a job as his lordships personal writer.-“

You raise a finger up as you skim ahead again, looking over at him with a smile,

“And not to mention you’re being offered free housing within the palace!”

You start pacing back and forth, rereading the letter repeatedly once again, Simeon’s face is a mix of emotions.

“Well… I could think on it-“

You interrupt him without thinking, stopping your movements,

“You should take Luke with you,”

“What?”

“You should take him with! He could get a proper education! A proper bed to sleep in! Good clothes!”

He raises his brows and a smile comes to his face before dropping again,

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, won’t you want to come with us?”

You pause as you set the letter back in front of Simeon.

“I.. would be content with staying here,”

“Mc!”

“Well- think about it,”

You sit back down as you turn to look at him, holding one of his hands,

“Will they be more willing to accept housing two people or three? Luke, is a child, it would be understandable if you didn’t want to go anywhere without him. I’m an adult, who would serve no overall purpose. I want the best for you two, and if that means I have to stay then I’m fine with that.“ you glance away for a moment before turning back to him “and.. I don’t want the fact that I wouldn’t be with you to stop you from accepting this job and getting out of this place.”

He frowns as he squeezes your hand, gently pulling you into a hug which you accept. You both stay there for a while before he speaks again, pulling away,

“And you have confidence you’ll be able to take care of yourself?”

“Of course,”

He sighs, looking away as he thinks.

Eventually he nods, giving your hands another squeeze,

“Alright, I’ll do it, and I’ll take Luke with me.”

You give him a smile before basically leaping at him to give him another hug.

•

The next morning, you helped the both of them pack what little possessions they had. Though yes, it hurt to know that you may not see them again in… a long time, You were excited and happy for them, and also very anxious at the same time. But still, you pushed away your fears and sucked it up, all having breakfast together for the last time before a tearful goodbye. Luke was practically wrapped completely around your waist as he sniffled and cried, you wiped his tears away with your thumbs as you promise him that it won’t be the last time you’ll see each other.

•

As you sit in the garden by yourself, you stare out into the sky. Already the silence of the house feels like to much, and it’s hardly even been an hour. Part of you wanted to go with and demand that if Simeon is to work there than both you and Luke are to stay with him. But then that would ruin this opportunity for him, and you wouldn’t want to be so selfish.

You let out a sigh as you start to lift yourself up to stand, but then you hear the flutter of wings and a caw next to you, as you turn your head you see one of the crows that you feed. You sit right back down in your original position as you reach a hand out to the crow, in which it lovingly nuzzles its small face against your fingers.

“Good morning, silly boy.. I suppose you’re hungry.”

[marvelstoriesepic]

Tangled ropes

Pairing: Sailor!Bucky x reader

Summary: A new sailor arrives at the docks amongst Captain Barton’s crew. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, or perhaps it’s the way his eyes are the echo of the ocean in color and depth. But something about him makes you want to untangle the ropes that seem to choke his spirit.

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: allusions to death, slight mentioning of illness, scared reader, a dog in distress (he’ll be fine)

Author’s note: okay so, I actually wanted this to be a one-shot, turns out that’s not gonna happen. I'm working on a second part, but I also didn’t forget about my series 'breaking chains'. So I can’t say what I'll be focusing on next. Let me know what you think, and please be kind because I love this! <3

Masterlist

The docks always held a special place in your heart. It was lively. The air hung heavy with the scent of brine and tar, a salty tang that clung to your clothes and hair long after you left, but you never really minded it - you embraced it. It was the scent of home.

Sun-bleached wooden planks groaned under the constant foot traffic. Wooden stalls lined the piers, their colors all varying and mismatching but it held an undeniable allure.

Fishmongers stood side by side, with hoarse voices from hawking their glistening displays of cod, oysters, plump lobsters, and perhaps the occasional octopus that writhed in wicker baskets. The lovely woman with the sun-kissed skin, who sold vibrant bouquets of wildflowers always greeted you with a beaming smile when you went to get some florals for your mother.

Dockworkers always bustled around, wrestling crates and barrels, their shouts punctuated by the rhythmic creak of ropes and the groan of timber under heavy loads. You held admiration for those men, watching them work all times of the day and weather, muscles sculpted and faces etched with sun and sweat.

Women in billowing skirts and sensible boots bartered with vendors or gossiped with each other, their baskets overflowing with fresh bread, glistening food, and colorful bolds of fabric; sometimes even some seashell jewelry or iron cookware.

You loved to watch the children running around and weaving through the people in glee, chasing after stray dogs or climbing rickety piles of rope, all while their laughter and shrieks echoed off the wooden planks. Seagulls cawed raucously overhead, swooping down for scraps or squabbling over morsels.

The best part, however, was the open ocean stretching before you, a cerulean expanse that mocked the limits of your vision, blurring into the hazy promise of a horizon forever beyond reach.

Your legs often guided you down to the docks on their own accord with an unbidden pull to let the untamed wind whip through your hair, nothing in its path to hold back, carrying the sharp and salty scent of the sea that would fill your lungs. You would usually close your eyes to take it in.

The rhythmic lap of the waves against the wood was a lullaby, a constant that soothed the ache in your heart. It was the closest you could feel to your father, the only connection that remained after the years of his absence.

But it was a strong connection.

Though time had dulled the edges of his memory, the warmth of his presence lingered in these salty breezes. You couldn’t recall the exact color of his eyes anymore, or the way his laughter crinkled the corners of them.

But the feeling of safety when he held you close, the love he held for you, and the endless blue expanse were etched into your soul.

Here, on the docks of your small port town, which had been a mere dot on the map for your father, a different kind of memory took root.

The sea became his domain, and so it became yours too. It was the anchor that held you fast - that vast emptiness that both echoed his absence and held the promise of a connection that could never be broken. It was a poignant yearning, a bittersweet symphony of salt and sorrow, that bound you to the rhythm of the waves and the memory of your father.

The sea held its secrets and you guessed it would hold your father's fate for eternity, ingrained into the indifference of the waves. He was a sailor even before you were born, exploring the ocean and the islands and cities that lay in their wake.

Every few months, sometimes years, he would return, his warmth and laughter filling the short gaps between his journeys. But those gaps grew longer, the laughter strained. Until the docks remained absent from his ship altogether.

Whispers and rumors had filled the void, twisting into conflicting narratives.

Some spoke of a terrible illness, a plague that had swept through his crew, claiming life after life until it finally took him too. Others muttered of a violent raid, your father perishing while defending his hard-earned goods. The most outlandish tales painted him a traitor, a man who’d abandoned his family and his life for the thrill of piracy, a black flag now his banner.

Your father was a well-respected sailor, having kissed the shores of countless countries, his name a murmur of respect in taverns across the globe. You had the evidence of that in souvenirs that cluttered your small home. A carved jade dragon from the East, a woven dreamcatcher from the West, polished seashells once laying on a beach - all from beyond the horizon.

So it was expected that people would talk and spread stories as to what might have happened to him. But no matter what they said and told you, your memories of him remained untainted.

He had shown you the art of knots, his patient hand untangling your fumbling attempts. You had practiced fiercely during the times he was gone. Perhaps he had wanted to give you a distraction. It had worked, because you one day helped him secure the ship to the dock, in recalling how to wove the ropes while he followed your instructions, since you weren’t able to do it on your own with your small and weaker hands. A triumphant grin had spread across your rosy cheeks as the ship was secured and your father had hoisted you up in the air, pride radiating from him in waves.

You would forever cherish the times he took you down to the docks, letting you wander around on his ship. You remembered his calloused hand guiding yours across the weathered deck. Your soft fingers had traced the grooves and marks in the wood, wondering how they made it there.

His voice was a blur in your mind, the cadence of his tone lost in time but you remembered how he would spin tales of adventures that made your eyes widen and laughter ring out across the open deck. He exaggerated monstrous waves, how he outsmarted the Kraken which was likely just a seagull, and described the creak of the ship as he fought a sea serpent - or so he had claimed.

All he wanted was to hear you laugh.

You had noticed how hard it was for him to leave every time, missing out on his daughter growing up. He carried around a heaviness, an ache burning in his eyes that mirrored the one in your mother's gaze whenever he set off again. It made you cling to him tighter when you could.

The image of him boarding deck and watching the ship shrink, shrink, shrink, until it was swallowed by the horizon had been a constant in your life. Unlike your mother, who couldn’t bear to watch him vanish, you had stayed until the last sliver of his ship disappeared, a tiny speck against the vast, indifferent canvas of the sea.

Those goodbyes had carved a hollow ache into your chest, a sorrow that had seemed to tear into your flesh and bones. You had felt his loss, mourned him even before the rumors of his death made their way to land. Yet, you had always wondered what really happened. Nightmares used to haunt you, showing you visions of him swallowed by unseen monsters lurking in the depths.

But as the years rolled by, a sense of peace bloomed alongside your grief.

The town itself became a living testament to your father. You had those souvenirs at home and the stories they came with. The people of the town spoke of his courage and kindness with a reverence that warmed your heart.

You even had him here, at this very moment, standing at the docks and watching the vessel of Captain Barton appear over the horizon.

Earlier, you had immediately perked up at the shouts and clanging from the lookout boy, announcing the arrival of the ship; dropping the unfinished basket you were weaving.

You had rushed down to the docks, joining the throng of merchants, ventures, dockworkers, and townsfolk already buzzing with anticipation, voices rising. The arrival of Captain Barton’s ship was an event, a chance to stock up on exotic goods your town wouldn’t otherwise see.

For years, Captain Barton’s crew had filled the void left by your father’s disappearance. While your father had ventured into the unknown, charting uncharted waters and bringing back exotic rarities, Captain Barton stuck to well-worn trade routes, providing your port town with silks, spices, tools, and trinkets.

You had never once missed the arrival of the crew, because it gave you a glimpse into the lifeline your father had sailed, even though it now was shrouded in mystery. It felt like a bridge across the endless of blue, strengthening the connection you had with him.

The ship grew closer and details came into view. It was nothing like your father’s had been, you could tell from the way it cut through the waves, a touch less weathered, a hint less daring. Captain Barton’s vessel boasted a newer sheen, the paint brighter, the sails crisper. But it carried the spirit of the open sea, the same spirit that had called to your father.

A smile spread on your face.

The wind whipped at your hair, carrying with it the tang of the sea and a thrill that danced in your stomach. You barely registered the young boy rocketing past you, your skirts billowing around your feet.

With each passing moment, the ship inched closer and your focus narrowed on the sailors scurrying about, mirroring your anticipation. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a cannon boomed - a salute to the town.

Your heart thrummed inside your rib cage, matching the relentless pounding of the waves against the wooden piers. The shouts of the dockworkers, the excited chatter of the townsfolk, the thudding of feet on the weathered planks all became background noise for you, as you kept your stare on the ship.

Your intense focus shattered as you felt a tug on your hand. Snapping your gaze away from the approaching vessel, you looked down to see a small hand nestled in yours. “Papa is coming back!” Morgan shouted, her high-pitched voice ringing out in the din of the docks.

She tried dragging you through the sea of people, getting closer to where Captain Barton’s crew was about to dock. “Do you think he has something for me?” she asked you, blinking at you with wide eyes, laden with childish excitement.

You let out a soft laugh, squeezing her hand gently. “I’m sure he got you something, pumpkin,” you reassured her, laughing harder when she let out a delightful squeal, her eyes sparkling with pure joy as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

Morgan was like your little sister in all but blood. Her father, Tony, was amongst the crew mere feet away from the docks. He had once sailed alongside your father more than two decades ago. They grew up together, starting as cabin boys on the same vessel, and shared adventures for the years to come.

But a fickle wind that steered the course of lives had scattered them. There was an attack, one that had left Tony battered and scarred, physically and emotionally. He got away with his life, but only barely, and it was enough for him to choose calmer waters, a life under Captain Barton, away from the relentless call of the open sea. He had craved the security of a routine, in comparison to your father's love for adventures.

You never learned the exact details, never dared to asked, but your father never stopped speaking of Tony with a deep respect and a touch of melancholy, although they might have never crossed paths again.

Since your father's visits had ceased altogether and more people than not were sure he died on the open waters, Tony quickly became a second father figure to you, spreading warmth whenever he stayed on port.

Watching Morgan now mirrored your own childhood - a little girl waiting with wide-eyed wonder for a father who brought the world home with him, even if it was just for a fleeting visit.

You looked around for Pepper, Morgan’s mother, who likely stood amongst the bustling crowd. Like your own mother, she bore the weight of a sailor's wife; sharing whispered stories, anxieties calmed with the sight of a returning ship, and a love that stretched as vast as the ocean itself.

Thunderous cheers and shouts erupted around you once more and you couldn’t suppress your own cheers as they bubbled up in your stomach, watching the ship getting anchored. It loomed large now, its imposing shadow stretching across the docks. The rhythmic creaking of the ship as it settled against the pier exhilarated you, shivers running down your spine in waves.

Morgan craned her neck and you lifted her high in your arms, making sure she was able to see the spectacle. Her joyful excitement blended into the crowd.

You watched the crew on deck scurrying across the rigging, securing lines, and lowering gangplanks. The sails were being expertly furled.

You knew the process of the arrival by heart. As always, a team of dockworkers charged forward. Some were armed with thick ropes, attaching them to sturdy bollards lining the dock. Others used large hooks and secured lines flung down from the ship, ensuring it wouldn’t drift with the current.

Captain Barton stood on the quarterdeck of his vessel, waiting for the approach of the port officials, clad in crisp uniforms. They exchanged briefly, a verification of the ship's manifest - a detailed document listing the cargo and passengers onboard.

Then followed the health check. Another official, his demeanor seeming a little more gentle, stepped forward. He carried a satchel filled with vials and basic medical instruments. You didn’t hear what they said, but you knew the questions he would ask the Captain.

It were the same questions your father got asked, about any illnesses encountered during the journey, and if it were necessary to perform cursory examinations on some crew members.

Your father had always held his stoicism when talking to the officials, but you'd known him better than that. His eyes had shifted, subtly searching the crowd of onlookers for his family. His impatience was in the way his foot tapped on the wood and his hands adjusted his hat.

The curt nod of the official was the final permission for the sailors to enter the dock and once again, loud cheers went through the crowd. Captain Barton raised his hand in acknowledgment, a smile gracing his face and the gangplank was lowered, a sturdy wooden bridge connecting the ship to the dock.

The familiar crew began disembarking and you had to tighten your arms around a squeaking Morgan as her father stepped on the solid ground of the docks. You scanned the rest of the crew with a smile on your face. Years of Captain Barton’s arrivals had etched these men into your memory, their stories woven into the fabric of your life by Tony’s tales.

There was Bruce Banner, the ship's healer, always looking a little awkward at the attention they all received. He walked in the shadow of the hulking frame of Commander Odinson, who held the wisps of his long, blond hair in a red bandana. You spotted Gabe Jones, Dum Dum Dugan, and Jim Morita, who seemed to playfully wrestle with each other as to who would reach the docks first.

Other midshipmen followed, such as Steve Rogers, a gentle smile on his face as he looked out into the crowd. He looked stronger, you noticed. The shirt he wore was looser the last time you saw him, his shoulders now broader, and he carried himself in a way that made him look more masculine.

Joy bubbled within you, as you spotted the perpetually enthusiastic cabin boy, Peter Parker, bounding down the gangplank. His youthful grin was wide enough to split his face as he waved at the townsfolk.

Your smile faltered.

Behind Peter, an unfamiliar man descended to the wooden planks. He still looked younger than most men of the crew, maybe about Steve’s age, but in comparison to Steve’s gentle spirit, he carried himself with a quiet, almost stoic calmness. He didn’t seem overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the docks, as if he was used to it by now, though he also didn’t look like he acknowledged anything around him at all, seeming indifferent. He wasn’t part of the crew the last time, you were certain.

There was a subtle tautness to his movements, a hint of a muscular build beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. You studied him as he disembarked to meet his crew. He wasn’t really smiling, you noticed. He wore more of an unreadable mask. It wasn’t a frown exactly but it looked detached, that made you wonder what burdens he might carry.

He barely even lifted his face to watch the crowd but you still caught glimpses of the sharp jawline and the contours of his nose. His hair looked a little unruly and windswept as a few brown strands fell onto his forehead.

As his worn boots met the solid ground as well, he clapped Steve on the shoulder, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. But before you could glean anything further, the throng of people surrounding you shifted, momentarily blocking your view.

A pang of disappointment burrowed in your stomach at the lost sight of the stranger. You craned your neck, hoping to catch another glimpse, but Morgan wriggled in your grasp and you managed to set her down gently before she launched herself at an approaching Tony.

He scooped her up effortlessly, her giggles muffled against the rough fabric of his slightly torn shirt as he twirled her around. With the unfamiliar sailor momentarily forgotten, you stepped forward yourself, a smile so wide on your face, it ached in your cheeks.

Tony beamed at you; shifting his daughter to one arm, her tiny fingers wrapping around his neck like a lifeline, and pulling you to his chest with the other.

“Well, well, look at you, all grown up, eh young lady?” he teased, his voice a warm rumble over the din docks. He leaned down, his salty beard tickling your hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You rolled your eyes, though laughter spilled from your lips, despite yourself. “Grown up for years now, Tony,” you protested, your smile ever-present. Relief and a deep sense of contentment filled your chest and you took a deep breath so as not to let your emotions overwhelm you.

He smelled of the sea, with the hint of dust, wood, and sweat - a heady concoction that somehow felt like home.

He released you slightly, but not before holding you at arm's length for a closer look. “Still, you seem to have spouted a good inch or two since last I saw you, dear one. Are you eating properly? How fares your mother?”

“Mother is well, Tony,” you replied, your voice a gentle reassurance at the worry you read from his eyes. “And we are both well-fed. We manage to keep the food cupboard stocked.” His concern tugged at your heartstrings and you reached out to gently squeeze his arm. “No need to fret over us,” you added gently, though, with a hint of a playful drawl and it eased the lines on his face.

As Pepper joined you, hugging and kissing Tony with tear-filled eyes, you decided to let them have their moment and started pacing the docks, taking in the usual frenetic energy. Old Hughes, the gruff-looking but fair cobbler, unfurled his work canvas awnings, displaying a colorful array of boots and shoes for the sailors. Mrs. Cook, a stout woman with a booming voice, set up tables laden with fresh bread, glistening cheeses, and plump, juicy fruits.

The dockworkers had already swarmed the ship, lowering large wooden crates filled with the cargo. The gentle breeze carried the sweet perfume of exotic spices right over to you as you took another deep breath. The sailor's crew helped unload the crates. Some were hauled onto large flatbed carts pulled by dockworkers, while others, the smaller and lighter ones, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the sailors.

You watched with fascination how they all seemed to joke and tease each other while still working efficiently. Their grunts and laughter carried over the lively chatter of the townsfolk.

Your eyes swept through the crowd on their own accord, trying to find the unfamiliar sailor, not knowing exactly what made you so interested in seeing him again. But you also didn’t put much effort into trying to suppress that nagging curiosity that tugged at you.

Lost in your search for the guy, you completely missed the treacherous snag lurking beneath your feet. A thick hemp rope, used to secure a nearby crate, lay coiled and unsuspected. You were about to take a step forward but your boot promptly caught on its rough weave, sending a jolt through your leg and nearly toppling you over.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as you lurched forward, flailing for something to break your fall. Your hand quickly grasped a sturdy wooden post, one of many supporting the overhead awning of a nearby vendor. The worn leather of your boots met the worn wood of the planks with a resounding thud, echoing through the bustling dock.

You held your breath, bracing yourself for a painful collision with the ground. But luckily the post held firm, helping you regain your balance. A wave of relief swept over you, quickly followed by a pang of embarrassment.

You glanced down, wincing as your gaze fell upon the culprit. The hemp rope, still tangled around your boot, had caused a small tear in the fabric of your skirt. Taking a deep breath, you knelt down, fumbling with the coarse rope until it loosened its hold. With a sigh, you inspected the damage. The tear wasn’t major, but it was certainly noticeable, and your mother surely wouldn’t like it.

You rose to your feet and looked back up, just to meet the eyes of the brunette sailor, the unfamiliar man. You stilled in your movements, staring back at him. He still stood a little in the distance, a half-hoisted crate resting precariously on his shoulder as he was slightly turned in your direction. His gaze was pretty clear, but his expression was unreadable.

He didn’t seem to feel as uncomfortable as you, though. The way his eyes flit over your form, lingering on the part of your skirt you had just ripped wasn’t intrusive, but rather a quick assessment, as if gauging whether you were injured. He held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary and you almost could have believed he was able to hear your heart pounding over the distance. Perhaps he could see through you, watching the blood rush through your veins and up to your cheeks as they heated up.

He turned away then with a curt and subtle nod you wouldn’t have picked up if you weren’t watching him so intensely. You might even interpret it as satisfaction at seeing you regain your footing, or simply a confirmation that you were alright.

His gaze very well may have lasted for mere seconds only but you were flustered. You weren’t sure why his brief scrutiny had sent a jolt through you, or why you felt a curious mix of embarrassment and intrigue. Perhaps it was just the fact that you weren’t used to seeing a new face around here. Especially as handsome as his.

Absentmindedly, your hands brushed over your skirt as they had gotten a little clammy and you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him.

The mysterious sailor had returned to his work, carrying the crate on his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt strained across his back, revealing those broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms, with a few veins running up and disappearing behind the fabric. Pale pink lines seemed to be marrying his left arm - scars, undoubtedly - though the details were blurred by the distance.

Your attention caught the couple rips in the fabric of his shirt, revealing skin on his shoulder and a little on his side. All your father's shirts had been adorned with similar tears. One day, you had asked about them and he had granted you with one of his gruff laughs. “Keeps the pirates at bay, my sweetheart,” he had said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

It wasn’t true of course. You always knew that, but your father's playful answer had instilled a sense of comfort back then, making you feel like he was safer out there than he actually was.

The brunette navigated the bustling docks with a practiced gait and you narrowed your eyes at him as your gaze followed him weaving between towering crates and barrels, his destination likely a designated storage area near the harbormaster's office, depending on the nature of the goods he carried. Your gaze remained fixed on him until he disappeared behind the market stands.

****

You had finished the basket you’d been weaving as the boy on lookout had announced the arrival of Captain Barton's ship - a sturdy work of woven reeds, perfect for carrying fresh bread or plump vegetables.

Your mother had insisted you could finish it tomorrow, but you still had a lot more to do and you needed the money.

The day had bled into dusk by the time you had sold it for a few coins down at the marketplace, the fiery orange of the setting sun replaced by the cool, silvery glow of the moon.

The rhythmic clatter of cobblestones beneath your worn boots echoed around the brick walls around you. The salty tang of the sea was now tinged with the smoky aroma of woodsmoke, wisping from chimneys.

Laughter, boisterous and male, spilled out from a nearby tavern - perhaps Captain Barton’s crew drowning their sorrows or celebrating their return in mugs of rum and ale. You made out raucous singing, sometimes punctuated by a heavy thump on the table. You could even glimpse a few silhouettes through the grimy windows, swaying and stomping to the tune of a jig played on a weathered fiddle.

The melody of a lone violin drifted from a brightly lit window a few steps further down the road, and you found yourself listening fondly.

You weren’t surprised to find your feet carrying you back towards the docks. The festive chaos of the arrival had subsided, leaving murmured conversations reaching your ears from people lost in the shadows.

The ache your father had left you with had dulled throughout the years, becoming a part of you. Most days, it resided peacefully in the background, a constant but manageable hum. But on these days, when the excitement of Captain Barton’s arrival ceased, your composure would usually fray at the edges.

A heavy fog rolled in, settling like a lead weight on your chest. It squeezed your heart, not with a fist, but with a thousand tiny, suffocating fingers. The air thinned in your lungs, replaced by a hollowness that echoed in your stomach. A hollowness no amount of food or water could ever fill.

So, the docks were the only place you could find a semblance of solace.

You knew better than to walk on the open docks at night, staying in the shadows of a few shops near the pier. You made out the rhythmic creak of rocking ships, the groan of a straining rope. Moonlight danced on the water, casting shimmering pathways that stretched out towards the inky blackness of the open ocean.

Gas lamps strung along the docks, casting pools of warm orange light that struggled to penetrate the bat darkness of the harbor. In their flickering glow, dust motes waltzed.

Further down the docks, you made out the rhythmic hammering of a lone shipwright, his work illuminated by a flickering torch.

A new sound pierced the night air.

It began faintly, a whimper barely audible over the creaking of ships and the distant shouts coming from taverns.

But with each passing second, the sound grew louder, a plaintive whine morphing into desperate cries.

It was a dog.

Your heart lurched. You scanned the dimly lit docks, your eyes flitting from shadowy figures to stacked crates. The whimpers and cries were frantic, leading you towards the easternmost pier, a relatively deserted area where a few neglected fishing boats lay moored.

There, half-hidden beneath the skeletal frame of an old, beached vessel, you spotted it. A dog - a scruffy mutt with a coat the color of dried mud and a desperate glint in his eyes.

It was entangled in a thick mess of rigging rope, the lines binding its legs and torso like cruel restraints. The dog's frantic struggles only tightened the knots, its whimpers turning into pained yelps.

Adrenaline surged through you. Your mother warned you enough times to stay away from the docks at night. They could be treacherous, a labyrinth of shadows and unseen hazards. Yet, the dog’s whimpers tugged at your heart, echoing the silent emptiness within you.

You pushed aside the trepidation that had coiled your gut and rushed towards the pained dog, without further thinking. The moonlight was the only glow you could lean on as you knelt beside the tangled animal.

“Hey there, fella,” you murmured, speaking in a soothing tone, probably more for your own reassurance than anything else, as you reached out a tentative hand. The dog flinched, knots tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You kept your movements slow and deliberate. Your father had once told you to avoid eye contact as a sign of non-threat.

Taking a closer look, you assessed the situation. The ropes were wrapped around its front legs and middle in a haphazard manner. The knots, however, seemed more amateurish than sailor-made, a tangled mess rather than a secure bind. That’s why the poor thing must have gotten caught. This wouldn’t have happened with the right knots. You didn’t see any blood on the ropes, nor the dog, but it wouldn’t take much for the rough material to nick his skin.

So you slowly extended your hand towards the dog's head, whispering low and soothing. You avoided its gaze, aiming for the reassuring scratch behind his ear that most dogs craved. If the dog remained calm, you could assess the knots more closely and see if there was a way to loosen them without causing further distress.

The dog's whimpers grew softer, visibly settling with occasional shaky breaths. He watched your hand, as you reached behind his ear, a tentative sniff grazing your palm.

Your relief at the dog's response to your gentle approach was cut short.

A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, casting a long, distorted form across the moonlit wood as it moved in your direction. A sudden chill crawled up your spine, panic jolting through your body and you instinctively snatched your hand back, almost tumbling over in your haste.

The surprised yelp of the dog at your sudden movements pierced the air, a sharp bark that echoed like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

The figure in the distance quickened its pace, its shadow dancing grotesquely on the pale wood of the pier.

You were frozen. Completely and utterly frozen on the ground. Your heart was pounding erratically, almost painfully, threatening to drown out the dog's frantic barking.

Broken nails clawed at the wood underneath and a whimper nearly escaped your own lips. You felt as trapped as the dog - only that the ropes binding you in place, scratching and clawing at your skin, taking your breath away the more you moved; were fear.

Each rasping breath you could take in felt like a struggle, your chest a tight cage around your rapidly inflating lungs.

The warnings your mother had ingrained in your head, that the docks were no place for a young woman at night, swirled around in your mind in sharp and mocking whispers.

The newcomer, perhaps sensing your panic, slowed his approach. He raised his hands high in the air, palms open, taking a few measured steps forward, as if taming a frightened animal. Like you had with the dog just moments before.

How ironic.

“Woah there, easy,” he called out softly, as he came to a halt at a respectful distance, hands still raised in placation. Only the moonlight helped you make him out, casting his face in an eerie half-light, revealing him only in fragments.

Yet, it was enough.

It was him - the brunette sailor that had caught your attention earlier, with the sharp angles of his jawline, the strong bridge of his nose, and a hint of a scar over his brow you hadn’t been able to see over the distance.

You didn’t know if it was relief that swept through your body since it felt numb to feeling anything anymore, but you were able to draw in a somewhat steadying breath again.

“I mean no harm. Didn’t mean to scare you, apologies for that,” he continued and it was then that his voice finally registered in your mind. It was a low rumble, rough around the edges and tinged with a hoarse weariness. Yet, there was a hint of concern and something like a soft reassurance underlying his tone and it cleared the fog around your eyes.

His gaze was solely fixed on you, somehow ignoring the barking dog beside you. There was a faint crease that furrowed his brows, his lips tugging into a frown and his fingers twitched as if wanting to reach out to you.

Your voice remained trapped in your constricted throat as you concentrated on getting the air back in your lungs. The man before you seemed to soften further.

“Heard that dog cryin' like a lost soul. Had to see what all the fuss was about. I reckon that’s what brought you out here too. Mighty brave of you, though these docks ain’t the safest place for a lady after dark.”

He cast a brief glance around, his hands slowly returning to his side as he swept the dimly lit area before returning his gaze to you. It was too dark to make out the color of his eyes but they glinted with something you couldn’t make out as he lingered on your form. He tilted his head slightly, a slow smile forming on his lips.

You might have found it charming, disarming even, if your mind hadn’t been running on scrambled eggs.

“I remember you,” he countered softly, seeming patient to wait until your voice found its way back to you. “Saw you when we docked.” His gaze drifted downwards, lingering on the still ripped section of your skirt from your earlier inattentiveness. A line etched itself deep in his brow as his gaze traveled back to your face, seeing the tear up close. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself there.”

Maybe the calming tone of the sailor also had an effect on the dog, because his whimpers had softened, replaced by weak pants. Or perhaps his struggle had simply drained him.

Regardless, you finally managed to pry your voice loose from your throat as you cleared it, the sound a little scratchy. You brushed the dirt and dust from your hands on your skirt and rose to your feet. Your legs still felt a little wobbly, but you regained your footing.

“I-I’m fine,” you croaked out and watched the way his shoulders relaxed, relief etching the lines on his face. His own chest visibly deflated with a released breath and his posture softened further.

“Let’s see how we can help our furry friend here,” he exclaimed after a moment's pause, as if remembering what he came here for in the first place. He took a step closer and crouched down to the height of the dog, you now towering over his seated form.

It surprised you. His actions, the way he spoke to you with an easy respect and approval that wasn’t always afforded to a young woman.

Especially not to you.

Your family name took a hit after the many rumors about your father's disappearance cursed the seas. There still were people praising him and talking about his adventures, but those would throw you pitying glances whenever you walked past. Conversations would halt, in fear you might crumble under the weight of some words. Of hearing your father's name. They would treat you like a fragile child. Or perhaps a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any second.

Some treated you as a victim, some as a ghost, and others saw you as a heavy reminder of the shadow that had overcome the town at the perceived betrayal of your father to sail under pirates.

You grew accustomed to it - the pity, the suspicion, the condescension.

It still took you by surprise as you watched that man lowering himself beside you, with you towering over his crouched frame as if it meant nothing. His gaze had lacked judgment as it lingered on the tear in your skirt you obviously hadn’t changed since you ripped it. He only held concern.

It was a respite from the heavy loads you normally had to deal with and you felt a flicker of warmth chasing away some of that chill that had settled in your bones.

You snapped back to the present as the sailor reached for a small knife tugged at his belt. The worn leather handle was dwarfed by his hand, its blade a dull silver under the moon's glow.

“Don’t,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, squatting down beside him. His head twirled in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as his gaze met yours. The dog whined softly.

“He’s moving too much,” you explained, your voice regaining steadiness. “If you cut the ropes, you might nick him.”

A slow, amused smile spread across the sailor's face. It wasn’t a mocking grin, rather a playful challenge that crinkled the corners of his eyes. They were blue, you realized. “I’ve got a steady hand, doll,” he teased, his voice low and rich with amusement. “You doubtin' my skills?”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a blush creeping up your neck and you averted your eyes. “No, of course not! I didn’t mean-”

His warm chuckle cut you off, a deep sound that seemed to vibrate from the core of his being. His chin fell to his chest, brown strands falling onto his forehead as his shoulders shook slightly.

You hadn’t expected him to laugh but a strange sense of ease settled in its wake, making you suppress a smile of your own.

“No offense taken, doll,” he softly declared. “If you’re worried about the blade, then we will find another way to help the fella out.”

His voice was calm and gentle, a stark contrast to the gruff exterior he presented and the looming figure that had scared you as he had appeared from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat, but not out of fear this time.

You decided to focus on the task at hand, to predict him recognizing the blush scorching your cheeks. “The knots are messy,” you assessed again, tracing the ropes with careful fingers. “We can untangle them if we find an opening.”

Scanning for any frayed ends, any loose thread that could serve as a starting point, your peripheral vision picked up on the sailor doing the same thing right beside you, letting his hands trace over the ropes. You worked in silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic creaking of the nearby ship, the gentle lapping of the waves, and a lone seagull's piercing squawk.

A smile grazed your face as you made out a frayed end peeking out from beneath a few knots. Deftly, you began to untangle the ropes, working with the kind of ease that came with years of weaving. You wound the excess rope around itself, creating a loose coil that wouldn’t snag on anything. The dog grew still as you neared his legs, whimpers replaced by shallow breaths.

As you worked the ropes against each other to loosen their hold, you felt your skin prickle with the gaze of the sailor on you. He had stilled his own movements, now watching you quietly, with an intensity that made it hard for you to focus. Perhaps it was some form of astonishment that radiated from him, you couldn’t tell, but it felt warm on your skin.

The brown mutt barely flinched as you unwound his legs, being exhausted by its ordeal. You worked your way to his middle, careful not to touch the sore parts of his body that had been squeezed. With a final tug, the last knot yielded, and the dog was free.

You breathed a sigh of relief, a soft smile curving your lips. “There you go,” you whispered, barely audible over the noises of the docks.

The little fella remained motionless for a moment, probably still in shock. But he quickly seemed to regain sense of his freedom and bolted away with a sudden yelp, disappearing into the shadows.

You were relieved he hadn’t gotten hurt in the process, still being able to run, but the sudden departure of the small dog left you a little disappointed.

Another comforting chuckle from the sailor, with a name you still had to learn, echoed beside you. “Consider him grateful,” he said, a lightness in his voice that made you laugh softly, tension easing from your shoulders.

You turned back to the discarded ropes, silence stretching for a few moments until you spoke up again. “He wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in those if they were secured properly,” you declared, your voice a quiet murmur, underlying a hint of resentment at the person who didn’t take his job very seriously.

The sailor looked at you for a few beats, then nodded to the heap of ropes. “And you know how to knot them correctly?” It wasn’t a challenge, nor was it laced with doubt or disbelief. There was a genuine curiosity in his tone, a spark of something deeper that caught you off guard.

Perhaps it was the way he had watched you work with that kind of amazement as your nimble fingers unraveled the knots. Or the way he looked at you with that glint in his eyes as if he already knew you would say yes. Maybe it was the satisfaction of helping a helpless dog in distress, or the intrigue this man had ignited within you, but a surge of confidence, unexpected and exhilarating, coursed through you.

“Are you doubtin' my skills?” You countered, mirroring his question from earlier, teasing in your voice.

A flicker of surprise, a delightful surprise, crossed his features, eyebrows shooting up. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and he bit his bottom lip to prevent it from spreading. He looked away from you for a few beats, schooling his expression into a semblance of composure, but the amusement still danced in the corners of his eyes as he met yours again.

You turned your attention back to the ropes, beginning to feel that heat creep up your neck again at the way he looked at you. Starting to weave the rope in the familiar motions your father had taught you so many years ago, calmed the jitters that had taken root over you.

Moments passed in a contemplative silence until he broke it.

“I’m Bucky.”

You momentarily stilled in your movements, lifting your head to look at him. A touch of bashfulness colored his features and he lifted his hand to brush against the shadow on his chin.

“Should have introduced myself before. Rude of me not to.” He huffed out a breath, wincing at himself and you found his sudden shyness endearing, a soft smile on your lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied sweetly, “it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, testing its weight on the night air. Your focus returned to the knots you were weaving, contemplating to tell him your own name, when he interrupted the silence again.

“Who taught you that?”

You hadn’t noticed how intensely he was watching you, gaze following the movements of your fingers as you secured another knot, your hands seemingly working on their own.

Mastering the skills of knotting was never really a necessity for you, though you remembered that broad smile, that had split your fathers face as you’d told him you wanted to learn more than the simple basics he’d shown you. It had been like a game, a simple way to impress your father and make him proud.

It felt like a gift tonight.

The way Bucky asked the question, so intimate and soft, as if he was as concentrated as you, mesmerized by the way your fingers moved.

“My father,” you answered him, voice laced with a fondness that always appeared when you got the chance to talk about him.

Bucky’s gaze lifted, his eyes searching your face. Perhaps he heard the glimmer of grief in your voice, or maybe the quiet pride that intrigued him to study your expression.

“He a sailor too?”

You took a second to answer. “He was.”

Silence settled over you both once more, it was heavier than before. Out of the corner of your eye, you made out that Bucky dipped his head slightly, perhaps as a silent gesture of respect, or he was simply lost in thought.

“I’m sorry,” he then countered, the words sounding clear in the night air. His voice was gruff, however, laced with something else, something like understanding.

You met his gaze again, with a small smile grazing your lips. You couldn’t quite read his expression, but it was captivating, the depths of his blue orbs drawing you in. Blue, like the rich, inky tones of the ocean you had looked upon so many times already and never could grow tired of.

Your hands had stilled as the intensity with which he looked at you was the only thing you could focus on. You felt both exposed and strangely safe under his gaze. There seemed to be so much hidden behind those eyes, as there was behind the horizon.

“What’s your name?” The question was barely a whisper as if he was just as lost in this moment as you were.

“Y/n.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly. “Y/n? As in Y/n L/n? So, your father…he is…”

You let out a sigh, the sound heavy with a burden you’d carried for far too long. It wasn’t a secret, not exactly, but the whispers that followed your name became a constant itch you couldn’t scratch.

Not noticing how he used the present form at referring to your father, you confirmed his suspicion with a curt nod. “Yes, that’s him.”

A shadow crossed over his eyes. The softness his gaze held just seconds before had vanished, replaced by something unreadable, something dark. A shudder ran over your spine, a chill settling in your bones as if your body only now became aware of the nightly breeze that swept by.

His features were hardened over, as his gaze left you, staring beyond your shoulder. His jaw was clenched, as if in silent contemplation. There was a war brewing behind his eyes, a storm beneath the surface that mirrored the exaggerated tales of your father.

There was a tension that crackled in the air and you knew now that the chill you felt had nothing to do with the night air.

Uneasiness squirmed your stomach, but before you could act on it, Bucky’s gaze softened again, the storm clouds parting to reveal the azure depths. He cleared his throat with a subtle shake of his head, ridding himself of whatever had plagued his mind.

“It’s a nice name,” he stated, voice as gentle as before, but something lingered and you couldn’t put a name on it. “Now let me help you finish that.”

He reached for a length of rope, his calloused fingers moving with an ease that indicated he had done this a thousand times already, knotting them alongside you.

You finished in silence, the earlier tension easing a little but it still remained a faint echo in the air. You suddenly felt incredibly aware of his presence beside you, almost watching his movements more than your own.

Questions swirled in your mind, you didn’t dare to voice. Somehow Bucky’s shift in demeanor hadn’t scared you off as you believed it would have. It spurred the intrigue that had already simmered beneath the surface, a new layer to a man who was already an enigma.

Earlier the day, as you had watched him walk down the gangplank to meet his crew on the wooden plank you had glimpsed it already. The guarded detachment in which he had carried himself, an unvoiced burden that seemed to have a tight grip on him.

Maybe he was as tangled as the dog had been, invisible ropes wounding around his body - binding him, squeezing him, choking the warmth that had glimmered in his eyes moments before.

Thankfully, your father had taught you how to untangle them.

“We learn the rope of life by untying its knots”

- Jean Toomer

[squiddy-god]

A Lonely Night

(osial x reader pt1)

Re-upload from terminated account squid-god-supreme, this is another older one that I wrote when I first started playing engine, which was shortly after the game's release so here is an osial x reader

CW : osial, almost drowning, he's written more in a yandere-ish way, gn! Reader (I think it's been awhile) not proofread we die like men.

You often gazed at the sea, looking out at the crashing waves against liyue rocks, years of water making grooves in the stone. Even on days where no sailor set out from the harbor and the winds whipped with raging waters, when the sea's deep waters swirled and cried out in rage, you could be found on the sandy shores soaked in rain. 

Foolish and crazy they called you; You who sought peace in the abode of fallen gods, who traveled to the silence of Guyun stone forest, the slanted mountains not imposing and ominous as they should have been, but rather welcoming as your boat sailed between them. It was often that you spent time in the stone forest, the sounds of gentle waves the only company you needed while you scaled mountains and explored the shells of adepti long fallen. You only chuckled as you packed your bags once again, wicker basket empty and satchel packed with what you’d need for the day, your mothers face held worry as she once again watched you pack. One would think she wouldn't worry with how many trips you'd made to the mountains of the stone forest but still she worried every time. 

“Don't worry, i'll be back soon! The skies are clear and ill be careful mother” she shook her head, there was really no stopping you, already in the boat and setting out. “Alright dear, but please hurry home!” she called as you rowed away.

The towering mountains blocked the beating sun as you whent to your usual fishing spot. Around bends and under the stone arches. You always found it odd how birds don't nest in the crevices of warm stone, avoiding this place like the plague.but it was peaceful when eagles didn't caw and squawk at fish, scaring them away from your hook and real. You cast your line, the breeze rustling your clothes and carrying the smell of salt along the air. Once you felt a tug on your line you pulled back, silver scaled fish jumping from the watter and into your small boat.

This went on for some time, casting and pulling your line till your once empty basket was full of fish. The sun has risen to noon as it casts daunting shadows over the shifting sea. “Guess it's time to head back to shore for a bit” you mutter to yourself, deciding to spend a while longer at Guyun’s shores. Rowing back didn't take long, tugging your boat just far enough ontoshore to stay put while you rested. You hoped out of the boat and winced as your bare feet touched the hot sand, but none the less you made your way over to a small tree that grew from a crack in the mountain. You let out a small sigh as you leaned back in the shade, eyes darting across the sand as crabs scurried across it. 

The sound of waves lulled you to sleep, eyes sliping shut for a quick nap. That was a mistake, by the time you had awoken the sun had long set, night to pitch black and inky to safely return home. “I hope she doesn't worry too much,” you said, quickly running under the large stone overpass to stay the night. Despite your many trips this was the first time you had spent the night here, your mother always worried about you to let you stay. Lighting a match you kindled a small fire to keep warm and then once again drifted off to sleep. 

Your eyes closed and your mind drifted off, time passing you by before you felt a sharp pain. Your lungs burned with every breath and you felt the air change. The tensen thick as malice filled your being. Roars and screeches sounded in the air as you realized they were your own, you felt another sharp pain as your body lurched into the ocean, dragged down and pinned to the bottom by a heavy stone spear.  When you writhed and fought you felt another and another- 

You woke up coughing, your lungs on fire and you looked around with frantic eyes. They were blown wide as you tried to calm down, body sore from seemingly nothing. A strange noise grasped your attention, like a muffled voice with angered words drowned out by the sea. You stood up and trudge forward, following the sound of the noise out to the shore. A strange man sat in the sand, long hair sprawled against the sand. In the tired state you were in you didn't notice how moonlike seemed to filter threw his hair as if it were water. 

“Are you...alright?” you asked, a safe distance away when you saw him turn around; maybe it was a trick of the moon but you swore his eyes were glowing blue. He didn't say a word, and you walked closer, air changing as if storms were on their way. 

He was puzzled, too puzzled to speak. Such a foolish mortal to approach a god- but did you even know?  Had it really been so long that liuye has forgotten the raging tides and rapids that once plagued them? Ridiculous was the notion yet here you sat besides him, your unspoken presence not unwelcome after years of solitude. 

“It's nice out here, you can even see the stars in the water” he couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt at small talk, for a second almost forgetting his ancient grudge. “Yes, the ocean holds many wonders, the stars are no different” his voice was slightly coarse as he spoke. “Haha that reminds me of old legends,” you sigh “they say that deep beneath the rapid water, where no light shines, a glowing castle lays full of shells and pearls, but that's become no more than a legend” laughing you scratched your neck as if embarrassed by the childish tales. Of course he has heard of this before, how could he not when it was his legend? Yet something compelled him, “what else do they say of it?” he inquired. “Well- they say it's guarded by a monster!” you said raising your hands to look more threatening “a huge sea monster as old as rex lapis who makes the watters rage! The abode of osial” you laugh as you finish your dramatic tale. 

“And what if it's real?” you looked at him with wide eyes and looked back to the ocean. “I'd go there of course! Bygone gods slumber, the oceans no longer rage with the force of gods, if that was a real place then i'd find it one day” you said, a wistful look in your (e/c) eyes. 

As time passed and you talked with the odd man your eyes slipped shut, head lightly hitting the sand as you once again drifted off to sleep. Missing the sound of your voice he looked over and chuckled at your sleeping form, hooking an arm under your legs and back before standing. He laid you down in your boat before pushing it and letting the tide take it into the water. He walked besides your boat, guiding it along as you slept soundly to the rhythm of the waves. Pulling the boat onto the shore of liyue he grimaced. He'd long forgotten this place and the blood that was shed here.

The first being to keep him company in well over two thousand years, a shame he had to let you go so easily. “Although” he thought, looking over to you. “Perhaps I don't”