#teal and frills

[yronnia]

Your bouncer in Teal and Frills

stop twinkifying Stede Bonnet. my man is shaped like a shot put star why tf do you think Ed said I wanna eat his dick for breakfast???

[gmanmedias]

MY LEFT BRAIN KNOWS THAT HER LOVE IS FLEETING…

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

🛼 🛼 🛼

💿 💿 💿

(Late) Day 1 of @cocajimmycola ‘s event! (edit vers)

Day One (Monday) : Amasui / Frills

[journey-to-the-attic]

A concept I have dubbed the Friendship Bracelet Chronicles:

One day Solomon gives Ik a bunch of his old human-world things that he has no need for anymore. Mixed up in that collection is a box of some very pretty colorful thread. It'd be a shame to let that all go to waste, so Ik has an idea. She's gonna make friendship bracelets!

The bracelets are made and distributed to resounding success. Mammon cries. Belphie will kill you if you spill something on his. Diavolo won't take it off even for Very Important Announcements. Simeon wears his on top of his gloves even though it's a horrible fashion statement because he loves it with all his heart.

Ik thinks that's the end of it. Boy is she wrong.

One day Satan gives her a friendship bracelet of his own. He's made it with the same color Ik used for his bracelet along with little cat-shaped beads. Cute! Ik wears it proudly.

Then Levi notices and by the next day, he's made one with a goldfish charm. Then there's one from Mammon. Then Asmo. Then Beel. Then Belphie. And for a while that's it. Until one day at the breakfast, Lucifer walks in, and presents Ik with the most fancily woven bracelet so far. It's got little music notes embroidered into it. How the FUCK

It only escalates from there. The other exchanges won't ket their best friend status be encroached on and oh you know Diavolo has to get in on this! By the end of it Ik is wielding twelve bracelets, seven on one wrist and five on the other, and the others keep bickering about whose bracelet is higher in the pecking order

Imagine the added chaos if the newspaper club and season 4 trio got in on this....

this whole thing is so cute oml

om mephistopheles meets ik and when she shakes his hand he looks down and sees diavolo's friendship bracelet practically GLOWING up at him and he's just floored by the sight of it. meanwhile raphael thinks that the many bracelets are like, combat cuffs, and is extremely on-guard until simeon explains things to him

thirteen would be the first of the new trio to make ik a bracelet after becoming friends! it's pink-purple with little skulls and butterflies and bells that make it jingle. then raphael comes along with a pretty laurel pattern (painstakingly embroidered, because he's so good at that kind of thing). eventually, not to be outdone, mephistopheles produces a very elaborate silver thread one that looks like a dragon wrapping around your wrist

ik has to continuously rotate the order she wears her bracelets in because otherwise the others start play-bickering (and then real-bickering) about which one's the favourite

[sunni-stuff]

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

BIG ASS TAGLIST: @notsochillnerd @xanvasy @nightunite @reyy001 @liliemb04 @doodle-cat16 @wwe1rdc0re @multy-fandom-lover @skylarmitchell @athenianharpy @mxtokko @watu2ka @gifted-aurora @sapphire-jelly26 @janeety @lem-hhn @natdu @honey-teaaaaaaaa @gg-trini @kawaiivanilla-chan @despairinglakepasta @gaida-511 @jayjkay @watersquirtpewpewboomm @nikt-wazny-y @dragon-bubs @thisishwrworld @prettygirlwhoreadsatnite @illusionistlover @just-pure-trash @theliqouricebtch @sullyoung @me-llyssa @drewsuncrustables @phosphoracat @sabrina-senpai @shadowdark00 @imttryi @brokenxintroverted @eevily @aiyaaayei @coffeeandtealol @codcosplayer @scaleniusrm @momoewn @classaysstuff @fancymilkshakewitch @tessakate @a-lil-bit-nuts @beautifuleaglealpaca @vickieesstuff @captainchrisstan @alyyaanna @kaeyasfuturewife @huehuehuehuehehe @allllium @the-number7 @idfkimhereforsmut @katzarantos @tamayakii @7haze @k-bakuhoe @armycaratlover @thecoolestastrophile @montenegroisr @little-b33 @pantheonofbeauty @oooof-ifellforyou @ang3lc @littleracco0n @dravenskye @supaturtl3 @maciswack @carebear209 @bassandlace @3ndar @bespectacledhuman @xshellchenx-blog @astro-stars @avavie @vexillum-moeru @nina-from-317 @gazsluckyhat @1-800-g00ber @yukisdelusional @styx-eclipsed @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @nommingonfood @idkwhattodosooo @noheadcanons-juststories @zaqnette @fluffysmiko @aliciamorov @mageknight-anya @athaliw @princessloveweird @lucypaulette @hikotaru @julesjunimos @xqhro @blushingskulls @foodisbaepinterestislife @thecursebreaker @harperdoodle @taygirl24 @alfie2401 @devoetee @kodokunarisu-blog @lovealwaysserena

[herbgerblin]

I love your Atlanta Miku!!! If/when you post the Southern Gothic Miku (my favorite literary genre!) I'd love it if you could tag me so I could see it ASAP!!!

Sorry this took a million years to finish! I simplified the final look a lot after trying out different styles (lots of frills are fun but it's really too hot and humid to have multiple layers on here.) | Atlanta miku

ID: First image is an illustration of Hatsune Miku drawn as a Black woman with long, teal-blue braids tied with magenta ribbons. One hand is on her hip and the other is waving friendly-like. She wears a black prairie-style dress with sheer sleeves and a lacy hem. She also wears black boots tied with magenta ribbons, and a wide straw-brim hat with a billowing black veil partially obscuring the top of her head. The second image is a group of sketches showing the stage development of the finished drawing, including posing and outfit variations. End ID.

[djarrex]

submerged

Steb x f!reader

read on ao3 (more warnings and notes here too) | masterlist

Steb comes home after a long day and the two of you take a nice soak in the tub.

a/n: I don't recall buying the ticket but I hopped on the Steb train real fast - anyway, here we are. smut. +18 only. about 2.9k words.

After being on shift all day, Steb enters your home and walks toward you, peeling off his beret and setting it down on the counter. His duffle bag slides off his shoulders and plops unceremoniously to the floor, and just like always, he greets you with a kiss while wrapped in his arms.

“I've filled the tub.” You tilt your head to the side, and he hums in acknowledgement. One of Steb’s favorite ways to decompress after a shift is to take a nice soak, to sit relaxed while temperate waters work to rehydrate and regulate himself. His appreciation is displayed with how his features soften at the sight of you, the longer, drawn-out and thoughtful hum he emits.

“Hungry?” you ask sweetly enough, your hands delicately running from his exposed neck down the thick uniform fabric and metal accents covering his arms. Your hands find his gloved ones, intertwining your fingers. You feel him start to melt into it. “I can start on dinner while you soak for a bit. Recharge.”

You go to pull away, but Steb’s fingers tighten around yours. You raise a curious brow, but your impending inquiry dies on your tongue once you register the look in his icy eyes followed by the subtle nudge of his head toward the direction of the bathroom. 

Join me. 

A knowing smile forms on his lips upon your wordless understanding. You peck him on the lips, and squeeze his hand tighter. 

Steb guides you into the bathroom. The two of you begin to shed each other of your clothing, working at buttons and fastenings, peeling off a layer at a time. As more layers are removed until he's standing bare in front of you, you shamelessly ogle at him. The sight of his body never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Fins and wispy frills protrude from the blue-green hues that color his skin. Stripes of darker shades stretch from his brows and disappear beneath thick, slicked back hair of a heavier shade of teal; the same patterns crawl down the back of his neck, his thighs and abdomen, while symmetrical blotches of scales pepper the planes of his biceps and down his forearms.

You trace a finger along his lithe abdomen, the thinnest sheen of film barely collecting underneath your nail. Your palm rests between his pectorals and Steb’s chest vibrates at your touch, the short, fanned frills above his cheekbones flickering rhythmically.

You pause to dip your hand in the water, gauging its temperature. It's still pleasantly warm, not too overbearing for Steb. 

“Long day?”

His ears flicker backward and his eyelids blink slowly as he gazes at you, offering a telling dip of his head and twist of his lips. You can feel just how dry his skin is compared to normal, but along with that, the invisible yet imposing weight sits on his shoulders, bending his spine in an almost slumped way, contrast to his usual well-kept posture. Steb works so hard, cares so hard, and even though the war ended, things are still taking a toll on him. 

Reassuring him with a smile, you cup his chin and run the pad of your thumb just below his pout, playfully pulling down his bottom lip. “Let’s get you into the tub, handsome.”

Steb’s eyes light up at the praise, then his pupils darken among the sea of glacier blue just as quickly. You take his hand and walk with him to the edge of the elongated basin, and being the gentleman that he is, Steb guides you into the water first. You scoot away from the wall of it, leaving room as he takes his place behind you. His long legs stretch out as much as they can on either side of you–leaving just a slight bend in his knees–his hands pulling at your shoulders to urge you backward. Your head rests against his shoulder, your nose inhaling his natural scent of what you always describe to him as the earthy undertones of lush vegetation growing along a riverbank.

“Better?” you ask him with a tilt of your head upward to see his face. Steb looks down at you with a content, calming gaze, and you get lost in the subtle ombre of orange and pink that colors his external eyelids and the contours of his nasal bridge. He clocks your lingering stare, and huffs a chuckle. 

Your hands find themselves running up and down his thighs, pushing into the muscles to ease some tension. The massage elicits a low dragging hum, and you continue, pressing yourself even further back into him to reach higher up near his hips.

Steb wants to return the favor. He always does.

His skilled, precise hands work at your shoulders just before they curve up to your neck, kneading your muscles with the right amount of pressure to make you reciprocate with a similar sound of your own. Medically trained, Steb knows exactly what spots to hit and how hard to hit them.

“That feels so good.”

He hums, and then his hands are moving again – palms now cupping your breasts. Nimble fingers swipe across your pebbled nipples and an unmistakable heat rushes to your core. As he's touching you, you don’t miss the awakening twitch of his cock against your lower back, the feel of the bulbous head curiously poking at you. You bite your lip, looking up to see his reaction; a contrasting rosy tint has since grown across his cheeks and his lips have parted ever so slightly. 

You scoot up just a tad so you can twist your body to face him at an angle, just enough to where you can slide your hand down his tensing abdomen below the water line to grasp at his hardening cock. Always cautious at first with his sensitivity, you watch as the short, delicate frills lining the underside flicker with your touch through the ripples of the water. Steb releases a soft groan from deep in his throat when you close your hand around him and give a few experimental pumps, relishing the way he feels within your palm. When you start to grip a little harder and move a little quicker, his head falls back against the edge of the tub with a comical ‘thud’, and the both of you let out a simultaneous huff of laughter. 

Once he's throbbing and starting to pant, Steb pauses your ministrations with a gentle grasp of your wrist, his eyes signaling what he really wants with a devastatingly soft yet lustful stare. His thumb absently traces the skin on your wrist.

“Is this what you're needing, handsome?”

Normally this look in his eyes–determined with a haze of lust–says enough, but his lips find your ear, the plush of them parting.

“Need you.”

His voice, slightly raspy with what could be explained as disuse or desire–or a pleasant blend of both–never fails to thrill you in the most inexplicable ways. You savor hearing that rich, velvety sound of him formulating his thoughts into words, rare as it may be.

“Have me, Steb. I'm yours.”

You fully turn around to meet him face to face, with his blissfully lustful gaze watching your every move: When you allow him the space to adjust so you're straddling his thighs, and when you take his cock in your hand as you lift yourself with the help of your other hand on his shoulder. He always wants to watch your face as he enters you; it's a high that strokes his kempt ego, knowing he's the one to get you to make those pretty expressions and devastatingly sexy sounds.

Pumping his cock slowly with his natural lubrication sliding under your palm, you recall the time when you'd found out just how heightened Steb's senses can become when he's operating in wetter conditions, whether it's being on shift in the rainfall on an overcast day, or taking a quick reset in the shower. Sharper hearing, crisper eyesight. The way his body reacted to physical touch within this very tub now has a debauched idea popping into your mind. You're intrigued. How much better would sex be for him in water?

Since you’ve been paused in thought, a question mark etches its way onto his expression. Adorable, you mentally note. A sultry smirk pulls at your lips. His cock still in your hand, swollen and leaking from just above the water line, you tease the darkened head with a swipe of your finger along the slit. Steb shivers.

“How long was it that you could stay underwater?”

Eyes blowing wide, he nods eagerly. Adorable, again. If there ever was an inkling of apprehension on his end, it’s unabashedly tossed to the wind. Steb understands exactly what you’re suggesting, and hastily moves toward the center of the tub. He immerses himself into the water, his knees bent behind you. All of the gills on his upper body submerged, you finally lower yourself onto his cock and moan at how he totally fills you. It takes a moment or two, but once you get accustomed to the feeling of him inside of you again, you start to ride him in earnest. You rest your hands on his chest, using his sturdy body to keep up your momentum and effectively keeping him pinned to the bottom of the tub. His crystal eyes are piercing through the rippling water, carefully watching your expressions as you use his body to keep yourself moving, the water softly splashing around you and threatening to spill over the edge. 

Briefly slowing your motions, you remove a palm from his chest to delicately grasp at his chin, a tender gesture that the both of you know well. 

Is this okay? 

Steb takes his hand and encircles your wrist with those deft fingers, bringing it up to rest just above the gills on his jawline and nuzzles into your palm. Tiny air bubbles pop silently on the surface. His eyelids briefly shut. 

I’m fine – feels so good like this – keep going.

He releases your hand then, instead running his own up and down your thighs. You keep your eyes on him as you focus on your angle, aiming to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Steb is beautiful already, but something about the way he looks under the water – skin glistening with an almost luminescent quality, his frills and hair flowing freely, the mesmerizing way his gills pulsate with breaths –  you're fixated.

His freshly-hydrated skin feels all the more smooth against your own, but slippery as well. You start to struggle with keeping yourself perfectly balanced, and when you meet his groin on every downward thrust, you begin gyrating from side to side. Sensing the struggle, Steb taps your wrist and you allow him to emerge from the bottom, water sloshing messily and actually pouring over the edge of the tub. While his head turns to the side to assess the mess, droplets of water trickle tantalizingly down the cords of his neck and chest until they rejoin the source at the waterline at his abdomen.

“Was that okay?”

He looks back at you. Nodding, Steb’s eyes crinkle with a smile. His cock still blissfully impaling you, you're pulled flush against him. Strong arms wrap around you, holding you close. The throbbing deep inside your cunt has you wiggling impatiently, earning you a coy chuckle punctuated by him recapturing your lips for a deep kiss.

He grunts against your lips at that.

“Needy,” he notes, a playful smile curving his own. Before you can protest, Steb jerks his hips, and soon he's moving his body with yours in a crazed dance. His hands run up and down your back, pausing every so often to hold you impossibly closer as you rock into one another, the feeling of his rough fingertips surely leaving imprints in your skin. 

The weight of his breaths–ones that carry whispers of pleasure–tumble down your throat. Your fingers move to brush back his dampened hair, nails scratching his scalp. Every little touch you grace him with, pulls hurt noises and whimpers within the confines of his throat, and you want to hear them over and over again – intoxicated. Leaving his scalp, your fingers continue along the base of his skull, ghosting above the short fins that start to protrude there, and then you move down his neck and back, careful to not roughly scratch the ones that line the length of his spine. The almost liquidy, viscous groan that Steb lets out in response makes you clench around his cock, and just like that, you feel him throb deep inside of you with his release, panting heavily, his body twitching within your arms in the aftermath. 

Steb holds you for a moment longer before untangling his slippery limbs from yours. It takes only seconds for him to scoot you back against the opposite wall of the tub, part your thighs, and easily slip two fingers into your cunt. It isn’t long before he curls them, thrusting his long digits rapidly and determined. 

Your hand smacks against the lip of the tub, and the other quickly darts to grab at his hair.

“Sh-Shit – Steb…”

A cocky smirk and a grunt to match – ears twitching. He feels inebriated when you speak his name in such a way, and it gives him the extra push to work quicker, harder, until you’re a blubbering mess. The water splashes around where his wrist continuously plunges with his motions. The corded muscles in his forearm bulge with exertion. You’re weightless sitting in this tub but every muscle is tense and every nerve feels like a fraying thread. You watch, transfixed, on how his fingers draw in and out of your cunt beneath the water line until you can’t. It’s too much but oddly not even close to being enough. You want to reach that peak. It’s close – you’re close. Your head lulls with the rush of blood and adrenaline, tipping backward.

Steb won’t have that, though.

Suddenly he pulls his fingers from you and out from the water, instead grasping your chin to angle your head back upright. The look in his eyes has a slight bite but lacks any venom – yet you’re instantly sobered all the same. There’s a slight flutter in your core at this side of him. Sometimes even your quiet, caring, selfless Steb can take charge.

Your chin is released once your undivided attention is back on him. The shape of a V made with his index and middle fingers taps once, twice just below his eyes, and the frills on his face flutter in time. The wordless command is one you understand implicitly. 

Eyes on me.

You nod, loyal, eager to revisit where your body was heading before. “Please.”

A softer haze fills the look in his eyes then, satisfied with your compliance as much as it is charming. Even after taking you like this, claiming you with fervor, Steb is still the sweet, gentle man you’ve grown extremely fond of. Your pride swells knowing that you’re the only one to see him, to understand him in ways far beyond what meets the eye. Gratitude swells in your chest. You want to kiss him.

The moment is over when his fingers stuff back into your cunt.

The same devastating pace at which he finger fucks you quickly brings you back to where you wanted to be, just moments before finally tipping over. Only now, you’re looking right at his face, at the way his frills flutter and how his ears involuntarily twitch in response to every sound you make as he focuses solely on the way you’re feeling. His warm yet icy eyes are glued to your own, and somehow meeting them is more lethal than you can anticipate. 

“I’m close–”

Steb leans toward you. You think he’s going to kiss you, to tangle his tongue with yours in an intimate gesture that is like a soothing balm through it all, but–

“Come.”

You were wrong: Hearing Steb’s gruff voice tell you–no, command you–was the most lethal weapon that sent white-hot pleasure searing through every fiber of your being, not just tipping you but launching you over the edge, sending you soaring through your climax. A high-pitched whine tears itself from your throat, pruned toes curling with it. Steb does lean in to kiss you then, doing exactly what you had thought he was going to do before, only moments later. His fingers move slower as you writhe and clench around them. You continuously hum into him, an evident smile shaping his lips.

Everything after that is a blur. At some point, Steb guided you out of the tub, carefully, because the water that had spilt on the floor had been clocked as a safety hazard, somewhere in the throes of it all. You were wrapped in a towel, Steb on his knees as he dried you off with reverence – then carried to bed, clothed with an extra undershirt of his and buried beneath a blanket right beside him. 

Steb adjusts and turns to face you. He runs the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible but you know the shape of the word well.

[saliosis]

happy halloweeen!! here's my take on a "core refresh" pack (part 6)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 + more under cut

frankie's fashion is very experimental. they like to explore themselves through what they wear since they're just learning things about the world. to symbolize their personality, they have a "quirky" style of fashion. mostly mismatched, mostly all over the place. there's not really a category for frankie's style... not that i can think of. they like to wear anything, honestly. dresses, suits, overalls, shirts, shorts, boots, heels. they're trying to figure out their style, so sometimes they'll incorporate some more colors. they like black and white, but they add teal in. yellow is another color added.

they don't wear real/natural silver because they've learned that this can harm their fellow monsters. any silver accessories they have is fake (painted grey, because that's a way to work around it)

they experiment with piercings

this was in my og design, but they have a huge patch over their left eye. it's plaid, so sometimes they try their best to match their outfits well enough for them to look aesthetically pleasing

likes patterns. stripes, plaid, etc. etc.

clawdeen's fashion is furry and bold. again, this is the fashionista of the school. she is the queen of fashion. again, she likes fur and animal print. whatever she chooses to wear is what usually sets the trends and expectations for those at monster high. she loves to explore herself though. i'd say her style evolves, but these are the main ideas of her fashion. she loves purple, but she also loves green. maybe has a french fashion inspiration? i don't really know how to label it. it's sort of mcbling, but also the style you'd expect of a very cunty aunt who likes shopping. she likes pants best, ngl. jeans are great. skirts are fine by her, she just loves pants.

i like the idea of clawdeen constantly changing up her style. yes, she can also wear something like her g3 outfits. much more coordinated. what i've displayed is the style that takes up most of her closet, tho

she wears glasses, but she has different pairs for each outfit

green is a color she loves so much but doesn't make use of it enough

the wolf family has a little emblem thing i've snuck onto each. it's a golden circle pendant with a small moon on the inside, two little bars holding up the design so it floats. it could also look like a money symbol... idk like coins. it's good luck. mostly for money manifesting and all. she runs with the gold and goes crazy. only gold, no bronze accessories. ever.

on days of the full moon, she will wear super loose clothing. the moon cycles could also impact her fashion choices.

draculaura's fashion is very iconic. a sort of gothy, classic, and romantic sort of look. i'd say she likes to take a spin on victorian styles and make them modern... while also mashing together those 2010s pink/black skull prints and tees that we all know and love. i really like the idea of her in a long dress that hits the floor. i would say she's romantic goth. she likes frills, long ball gowns, lace, and hats that can cover her from the sun whenever she has to travel outside in the daytime. lots of slip dresses if she wants to be more casual. elegance, but done cutely.

the silhouette of an outfit is what matters most to her when it comes to fashion

if she wears a skirt, she wears a big petticoat underneath. a very big petticoat

her parasol can be used interchangeably with a large hat. she always wants either or to match her outfit. and they are always kind of extra

her "victorian" style is a sort of nod to her immortality. she probably likes that fashion period best and likes to try and honor that

i like the idea of her experimenting with her hair. it was a g3 idea, kinda. but bangs, streaks, half and half, etc. i like to imagine draculaura being into the big goth hair

cleo's style is very similar to her g1 style. gold. blues. elegant, fresh, modern, and incredibly easy on the eyes. obviously, she loves to flaunt her designer clothing around school. and since she is so popular, it's expected for her to serve look after look. you will never ever see her look bad. every cleo portrayal i've seen never has enough mummy wrap. she needs it to survive and yet, she only has like, one or two bands on her arms. my cleo's fashion is all about wrap-themed clothing. she has lots of wraps. sometimes she comes up with ways to mix that or even show off her monster trait and heritage. she loves see-through, glittery material too, obviously paired on top of something. but it's glamourous. it's rich. it's sometimes a little 90s inspired, but mostly fresh.

this cleo loves pants. loose pants work, i suppose. but she likes them baggy. one of the best examples of what she likes to wear for pants would be those baggy pyramid-textued pants i designed for her once

gets custom made jewelry (braclets, earrings, etc) that spell out her name in hieroglyphics

likes shorter skirts, but secretly admires longer skirts ten times more

blue lover. any shade. try her. she will obviously mix around her makeup, nails, and hair to work around whatever blue she's feeling

loves gems. lots of gems. real ones, obviously.

doesn't like socks very much. she can literally just do the same thing socks do for feet with mummy wrap. same with stockings

[areyoudoingthis]

god I truly love the red suit (because it's hot obviously and i am not immune), but also because of the glimpse it gives us into stede and where he's at halfway through s2 (thee season of change and growth).

he's been wearing the same shabby, stained white shirt all season so far because he left everything he owned behind, and he hasn't complained once about ed throwing all his favorite clothes overboard, because nothing was more important than finding ed and finally being able to tell him how he felt about him, and I'm so proud of stede for that bit of growth. the white shirt is symbolic of that growth, of his willingness to put ed and the crew first, of him not needing all his physical belongings anymore because he has people to care about now, he doesn't need things.

but he likes them, and the way his whole face lights up when he sees the red suit and he stops to put it on in the middle of a raid (and almost gets stabbed for it) is so stede. he's grown but he still loves his fancy clothes, he loves bright colors and frills and buttons and gold thread. growing doesn't mean he has to stop loving those things, and that's such an important thing for the show to say, especially given where stede is in his journey of self discovery this season. he's still allowing himself to enjoy those things in spite of the undercurrent of fear of not being good enough and self hatred that thrums under the surface since the opening of episode 1 (and eventually leads him to kill a man and get progressively more butch in his outfit choices as the season progresses). i LOVE that he gets to have that, that he gets to feel hot and pose in front of the mirror and strut around all day (and that he gets to be a righteous bitch when the crew destroys the suit).

it's such a realistic representation of someone on a journey of self discovery, of someone who's figuring out what he's worth and why he's loveable and what he likes and will allow himself to like and how he will allow himself to present in front of others. and he gives it away because he loves his little piratical family and wants to keep them happy, but he still got to enjoy that, and he still looked great in just the red shirt with a low neckline and black lace all over it (and he got a "you wear fine things well" for it!!!!!!! ed saw and he understood what it meant to stede and stede got to hear that!!!!!! I'm kissing the show on the lips).

i still feel some type of way about the teal shirt and the leather pants and everything they say about his state of mind throughout episodes 6-8, and i feel fifty more things about him finally being able to have his romantic fantasy come true and know that he's loved in the color that represents repression and being forced to perform a type of masculinity that's been destructive for him his whole life (as I've said before). I think it was insanely symbolic and important for him to be able to wear that particular outfit at that particular time and stay in it for the entire finale.

but. BUT. i can't wait to see what becomes of Stede's gender expression when he has time to rebuild his wardrobe, when he's not running around trying to keep everyone safe or prove he has worth, when he starts to realize and embrace that he doesn't have to be a certain kind of man for people to respect him and for ed to love him. i can't wait to see the choices he makes when he's finally free to choose. I think s3 might kill me yall

[troveoftrolls]

“What is it?”

“Hmmm?” Trollex broke from his reverie. Pulling his attention away from the pups farther down the to look at Reeve. Only to be met with that same worried expression that turned up when he’d spaced out. 

”It’s nothing… don’t worry about it.”

He caught the way her fin lights flickered into lovely shades of red and green.  So often in the palace she kept a tight lock on her colors but here in the wilds she felt no compulsion to hide her anger or how his avoidance made her nervous. 

So, that had been the wrong thing to say…

“It’s the dreams again, isn’t it?” She pressed. An edge to her words.

Trollex just lowered his frills until they were almost even with his neck and turned his head away. Not wanting to see the melting pools of orange displeasure in her biolights cut through with night time purples of care. Making her worry was the last thing he wanted but… 

“Trollex…” Reeve’s voice had gone soft. As much hurt as it was concerned and it tore him up on the inside.

Swiping a hand up into his hair he relented.

“Fine. Yes. It’s the dreams…” Trollex heaved a sigh and roughly thumped his hand back onto the soft sand of the overlook. Sending them into a pointed silence.

Something they sat in for long enough he debated apologizing. He hadn’t meant to snap at her. She was just worried. And he’d been out of it here lately and he usually needed a push to talk about things.. 

His spiraling thoughts quieted as a hand laid on his back. Trollex peaked up to see Reeve had shuffled closer. Her thigh nearly brushing his side and her hip fin draping over his lower back. Lavender and dawn pinks whirled amidst her scales. Complex subtleties of teal and green and yellow stuttering between.

He tried to smile and rested a hand on her knee. Pulsing his own lights with blues and purples that were almost dark enough to blend with his natural colors.

“What was it this time?” She asked softly.

He had told her of his dreams before. The only one he had even mentioned them to. But even with that… trying to articulate what was in his head seemed like too much. Too wild and off the wall as he explained all the voices and snippets that made up some elaborate dreamscape he’s had since he was thirteen.

His eyes slid to the side and back down to the pups in the ravine below. Watching them play under the careful oversight of the local ferals. He couldn’t be sure any of them were the parents but that didn’t seem to matter among them. 

“We were talking… About the kind of life we wanted and being… parents.”

There wasn’t a need to explain ‘who’ he had been talking to. It was always the same mysterious troll. There were sometimes other voices in the mix. A rougher feminine growl here and there, another with a pleasant drawl, one that made his nerves sing for how high it got. And more beyond that. But a single constant was his sweet, soft spoken, singer. 

And the life that Trollex could only imagine through the conversations they shared. 

“Oh… Trollex.” She never laughed at him for what he said. Never told him he was losing his mind or needed to get over whatever hallucinations filled his head when he slept. Never wrote it off as just dreams to shrug off. And sometimes that made it worse. Because he knew the sympathy in her words wasn’t just the pity a parent felt for their child with a nightmare. It was genuine in the same way empathy was given to a friend that had lost a loved one.

“It’s okay… Don’t worry about it…”

---

It's hard to deal with a life you have no way of touching. One you can only piece together through soundbytes. Still, what a pretty picture it paints.

A thought before

-Luxx

[floweringlamb]

If you’re a fakeboy, you should only be wearing bras and panties under your clothes, it’s the bare minimum… bonus if they’re girly colors or have cute designs, (like teal or pink, or they have bows and frills) ^_^

But if you really want to be a good girl and stop depriving men of the view they deserve, you should quit wearing any boys clothes… if you have to, wean yourself off of it, wear a men’s t-shirt but with leggings, or wear a women’s top with men’s jeans. But eventually, the only tops you should be wearing are crop tops that show off your cute underboobs, or low cut tops that show off your cleavage. And for bottoms, get short shorts that show off your plump butt, or short skirts that will show off your panties when you sit wrong right! Pair this with jewelry and light makeup to make yourself the best girl you can be :3

[mantra-repeated]

Questioning Dissomei

Pt: Questioning Dissomei :End Pt

A flag for when one is questioning if they are dissomei or not. That's it. That's the post.

Mention / Tags: @dissodic-archive, @kiruliom, @radiomogai

Banner transcript: This term was made by an Endogenic. Anyone can use it however (So don't repost or recoin) :End Transcript

Flag 1 id: a flag with 11 horizontal stripes, the outer 2 stripes have a cloudlike pattern and the 4th and 8th stripes have outward-facing, simple frill patterns with 4 sided stars on them. from outer to inner the colors are dark purple, light purple, pink, orange, dark orange, yellow. on the middle is a symbol of a simplified top-down view of a dark teal brain, with a chunky, blue 4 pointed star in the center. Surrounding the Dissomei symbol are 4 black question marks. :End id

Flag 2 id: a flag with 11 horizontal stripes. From outer to inner the colors are dark purple, light purple, pink, orange, dark orange, yellow. on the middle is a symbol of a simplified top-down view of a dark teal brain, with a chunky, blue 4 pointed star in the center. Surrounding the Dissomei symbol are 4 black question marks. :End Id

[thecraftydragonc]

Happy New Year everyone! Here's to a great year of the dragon!

[Start ID: A digital drawing of several dragon Pokémon celebrating the lunar new year. The Pokémon are performing a dragon dance parade on a dull green grassy field with dark blue mountains in the background. Several Pokémon are flying above the parade holding glowing red lanterns. There are also some Pokémon further back in the sky watching the parade. The sky is sunset colors, going from red orange at the bottom, light orange in the middle, to a blueish purple at the top with faint white stars. There are a few dark magenta clouds, highlighted underneath by the sunset with yellowish orange hues. There are also Fireworks bursting in the sky in light red, orange, yellow, and blue colors. In the upper left corner is handwritten glowing golden yellow text that reads "Happy New Year 2024".

At the front of the parade is the Pokémon Druddigon holding up a stick with a puppet of the Pokémon Minior attached. Druddigon's a spikey bipedal dragon and its body is mostly dark cyan, with tan underbelly scales, a red head and red spikes on its arms, legs, and tail. The Minior puppet is a golden yellow color, it has a roundish shape with five star like spikes. There are 5 ribbons flowing off of the puppet which have on ombre from reddish orange to light yellow. The Minior puppet is glowing and is meant to represent the pearl in a traditional dragon dance.

Behind Druddigon are the Pokémon Dragonite, Charizard, and Garchomp holding up with support sticks a large puppet of the Pokémon Rayquaza. The Rayquaza puppet is a long serpentine dragon, with two arms, and is meant to represent the dragon puppet in a traditional dragon dance. Rayquaza is mostly green, with a glowing yellow line pattern traveling down the side of its body, and red accents on the edges of its mouth and fins. Its mouth is open wide and one of its arms seems to be reaching for the Minior puppet. Holding the support stick connected to the Rayquza puppet head is Dragonite. Dragonite is a bipedal dragon mostly orange in color, with a light tan scaled underbelly, light tan antennae, and a teal wing membrane. Holding up the midsection support is Charizard, a bipedal dragon with an orange body, light yellow underbelly, blue wing membranes and eyes, and the tip of its tail is on fair. Holding up the last support is Garchomp, a bipedal shark like dragon with no wings, dull navy blue in coloration, with a red and yellow underbelly, and white spikes on its body.

There are several other young, smaller dragon Pokémon walking with the parade. Between Druddigon and Dragonite is Dratini, a blue serpent like dragon with a white snout, frills, and underbelly, and purple eyes. Between Dragonite and Charizard is Axew, a bipedal dragon with no wings, its dull green in color with a dark green head crest and red eyes. Between Charizard and Garchomp is Bagon and Deino. Bagon is a bipedal dragon with no wings, it's light blue in color, with a tan belly, and light grey head crest. Deino is a quadrupedal dragon with now wings, a dark gray mane with red spots, and a dark blue body. Behind Garchomp is Goomy and Jangmo-o. Goomy is a sluglike dragon, with a dark purple underbelly, green cheeks, and a light purple body. Jangmo-o is a quadrupedal dragon with no wings and is light grey, with a dark grey underbelly, and yellow accents on its scales.

Flying above the parade are Pokémon holding glowing red lanterns. At the front is Altaria, a birdlike dragon with a blue body and white cloud like wings. There is Noibat, a small bat like dragon that is mostly shades of purple with yellow eyes. There is also Flygon, a large slightly bug like bipedal dragon that is mostly light green, with dark green antennae and accents, and red accents on the edges of its wings, fins, and a red translucent shield over its eyes. Lastly is Dreepy, a small serpent like dragon that's a dull green teal with red accents and yellow eyes. Watching the parade from further up in the sky is the real Rayquza, as well as Latios and Latias. Rayquza's appearance matches that of its puppet, being a mostly green serpentine dragon with yellow and red accents. Latios and Latias are both jet-like dragons, with Latios being blue and white, and Latias being red and white. End ID]

This is my second time doing an image ID so feel free to let me know if it needs any changes. I feel like it may have gotten a little too long, but with like 18 characters in a drawing there's probably going to be a long description no matter how concise one may try to be.

[raintailed]

HECK YEAH new Seer ref!!!

This silly goober was created by Clear Focus (with help from Crimson Leaves and Many Seedlings, Tiny Sprouts)! Seer helps Clear Focus find pearls for his archives and Clear Focus absolutely adores this little orange beast

Notes transcript under the cut

Notes transcript:

The Seer; any pronouns

Left side

special MoC

whiskers curve up when at rest

slim build

middle 2 frill pairs are the longest

Right side

has overseer abilities! whisker tips & gem glow teal (#91e5be) when doing this

frills raise when alert

winter coat is silky

[drawsmaddy]

[ID: A digital drawing of Ulli, a triton character with long colourful hair, teal skin, and fin frills on their forearms. They are wearing a pink and teal jockey's uniform and holding a helmet under one arm. End description.]

A kofi doodle request for @thesingingbadger!

If you'd like you can request a doodle yourself on my kofi!