#spring in our steps

[dwuerch-blog]

Step into Spring

Spring begins today, March 19, 2024. Usually, it’s March 20 or 21, but because it’s a leap year, February gets an extra day. The season moves up a little on the calendar. Either way, the first day of Spring is always a little over a week after daylight saving time. But, with all that info, it has still felt like Spring long before today. The red bud trees and white dogwood trees have been out in…

[rising-phnx]

[brontes]

.

[blarefordaglare]

Johnny said NO.

(The tags give the explanation)

[beesinspades]

we're picking up our new kitty from the shelter this wednesday.... besides my dad already driving me crazy about introduction rules i'm so excited to welcome him home 🥹 i'm optimistic he and gaby will be besties....

[witchcraftingboop]

Me after trying to explain for two days, on and off, that if you delete the first quarter's data, you cannot use the year's total value for an unrelated KPI to figure out what that value might have been: Y'all are draining me on a spiritual level... Where are the cameras? Bring them out! I'm ready!

[ayyponine]

you can't take a picture of this - it's already gone.

one year since i moved out of my mom's house to live on my own. all this clutter and stuff came to the apartment w me but still, i am unable to really call it home. before i even lived there we lived in a different house which i was then longing to return to post-divorce so i know change is inevitable and it's all just part of how life goes but still it's like. will home ever stop feeling like a place and time you only keep growing more distant from every day. idk

[live365days]

[mr-ladystardust]

I know that I am british right to more core because I spent the entire winter complaining about the cold, and now that it's sunny and 20°C+ I'm complaining about that. we're never happy

[alygator77]

──on the move

a/n. in honor of father's day, i wrote a short drabble for our favorite daddy fictional husband. here's some good 'ol dadjo fluff 🩵 this was a request, but it's also inspired by a scene from the romcom life as we know it.

cw. your daughter's first steps. humor. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. also, satoru is just too stinkin' cute (isn't he always though?!).

Neither you nor Satoru were prepared for the day your daughter decided to walk.

She’d been going through another sleep regression—clingy, overtired, and endlessly fussy. The last few nights had been brutal for you both; nonstop crying, sleepless nights—hell, you barely remembered the last time you’d eaten something warm or sat down for more than five minutes without a tiny hand tugging at your shirt.

So today, when she finally settles, babbling to herself instead of wailing, Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

“You go clean up,” he says, already hoisting her up into his arms. “I got this.”

And you don’t argue. Because a hot shower and ten minutes to breathe feels like the most luxurious gift in the world.

Downstairs, Satoru sits leisurely, sinking onto the living room floor, one of your daughter’s stuffed toys shoved behind his back like a makeshift pillow. She sits a few feet in front of him, chewing thoughtfully on a rubber block like she’s solving some ancient puzzle.

As she babbles cheerfully, he nods along, blue eyes soft beneath the fall of snowy hair. One hand props up his chin as he listens intently, like he’s getting a full debriefing from a tiny general.

“I know, right?” he murmurs. “They really said no dessert before dinner. Criminal, honestly.”

An insistent string of nonsense syllables spills from her tiny lips, animated and loud, flapping one hand as to make a point.

“Exactly,” he hums, nodding solemnly. “It’s injustice. You and me—we should unionize.”

Then, without warning, she shifts—pushing herself up with both hands, wobbling slightly as she reaches for the coffee table. One tiny palm finds the edge. Then, slowly… she lets go.

Satoru blinks.

Standing. She’s standing. No hands. No support. Just two steady little feet on the rug.

All by herself.

“…no way,” he breathes, straightening instinctively. “Hey, uh—princess?” clearing his throat, his voice catches slightly. “Uhh… whatcha doin’, huh?”

And then she moves—one step. Wobbly. Uncertain.

Satoru's mouth falls open.

“No, no, no—wait—shit—uhhh… babe?!” his voice pitches as he springs to his feet, torn between staying and bolting for the stairs. “Hold on sweetheart—wait for mommy, wait—!”

Twisting towards the ascending hall, his voice booms.

“Babe! She’s walking!!”

Upstairs, the shower pounds steadily as you scrub shampoo from your hair. A voice echoes up the stairway. With a pause, you tilt your head slightly.

…is Satoru calling you?

“Huh?” you shout back, reaching for the knobs. “What was that ’toru?”

His voice echoes again—louder this time, unmistakable.

“SHE’S WALKING!”

“What?!” heart lurching, you move, fumbling out of the shower, slipping slightly on the mat as you grab for the nearest towel and yank it around your body. “Shit—okay—hang on—!”

But downstairs, equal chaos unfolds.

Your daughter takes another step, and Satoru's still at the bottom of the stairs, caught somewhere between panic and awe. He doesn’t want to move—can’t risk missing it. Can’t let you miss it.

“Okay—just—freeze,” he says, crouching slightly in front of her. “Hold it right there, little lady. Stay. Don’t advance. Mommy’s coming.”

But babbling back in defiance, her little eyes brighten with determination as she takes another wobbly step forward.

“Shit—fuck. Honey, I need you to hurry!” he shouts toward the stairs, voice cracking.

“Coming! I’m coming!” you call back breathlessly, hopping down the hall with one towel clutched around your chest and another half-heartedly blotting your dripping hair. “Just—stall her! I’ll be right there!”’

“Stall her?!” he echoes, eyes wide as she continues toward him, arms extended, smile wide—like he’s the finish line and she’s already won. “How the hell do I stall a baby?!”

Another leg plants itself on the rug, and Satoru scans the room in panic. No bottle. No snacks. No plan. No goddamn time.

“Okay—um, hey—look at me,” he says, dropping to his knees in her path. “Let’s do… let’s do clapping, yeah? You love clapping!”

And there he is, clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm, a desperate smile plastered on his face. But she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up speed—giggling now, like this is all a game.

“Shit. Nonono. You are not following protocol…” he mutters, backing up a step. She’s almost at him. “Please princess… please… wait for mommy.”

He’s at a loss, and so, with nothing else to do, he reaches out—gentle, barely a touch—tapping her belly with two fingertips. But it’s just enough, because with little balance, she blinks—wobbling, plopping her butt onto the floor with a soft thud.

There’s a pause.

Then, in a matter of seconds, her face crumples, lip trembling as a tiny, heartbroken whine spills out of her.

Satoru's eyes widen in horror. “Aw, no—no, no, hey, it was just a loving little stall,” he says quickly, hands out. “A nudge. A tactical nudge. Fuck, don’t cry—”

And you’re bursting into the room just as the first real wail escapes her lips.

“What happened?!” you gasp, chest heaving, towel clinging to your damp skin as you rush over.

Looking up, Satoru's face is wide-eyed, painted with guilt.

“You… you said stall her,” he says helplessly. “So I… I gave her a little push.”

You blink. First at him. Then at her. Then back at him.

She’s hiccupping through a sob, hands balled up against her chest like she’s been personally wronged. Yet somehow, his face is more pitiful than hers.

“She was walking,” he adds weakly, looking down. ��I… didn’t want you to miss it.”

Exhaling slowly, the panic bleeds out of you now, replaced by something warm and humorous—the edge of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, ‘toru…”

He peeks up, sheepish. “I panicked.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I gathered.”

And sinking to your knees, you gather her into your arms. The second she’s pressed against you, the sobs dissolve into sniffles, cheek nuzzling into your collarbone like nothing ever happened.

“There we go,” you whisper, brushing your hand over her hair. “See? All better. She forgives you.”

“…you sure?” he looks doubtful. “Because she looked at me like I betrayed her entire damn bloodline.”

“Oh, shush.” Huffing a quiet laugh, you roll your eyes playfully, gently lowering her onto the rug in a seating position—pacified, for now.

Stepping closer, Satoru's gaze flicks between you and her.

“Five steps,” he says quietly, sliding his arms around your waist. “She took five real steps.”

“That’s incredible,” you whisper, arms looping around his neck. A slow smirk stretches across your lips. “Next time maybe just… record it, yeah?”

“Tch…” he huffs. “Right…”

And leaning in, his smile meets yours halfway—lips touching where laughter wants to begin. You kiss him, eyes fluttering, a hum rumbling through him.

But then—

pat-pat-pat.

Freezing, you pull away from that unmistakable sound. And turning, you’re left with the sight of your daughter tearing off down the hall with a delighted squeal, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood like she’s been walking her whole damn life.

“Oh.” Satoru's already straightening. “Oh shit.”

“Ohmygod…” you breathe in awe. “’toru… she’s walking!!”

“No,” he says grimly. “She’s running.”

And just like that—it begins.

Yeah. You’re never going to sit down again.

[classyrbf]

thinking about getting pounded by colleague!gojo in his office after hours, thinking no one else is around. He has you bent over his desk, your panties pushed to the side while his thick cock stretches you open, leaving you a drooling mess. But then suddenly, colleague!nanami walks in, completely dumbfounded by the sight in front of him. He stands there in shock, the papers he was holding in his hand now scattered on the floor while he watches you, his colleague, being fucked dumb by the gojo satoru. “Nnnngh, t-toru! N-nanamiii!” You’re trying your hardest not to moan, completely embarrassed that he’s seen you in this light. “I know he’s standing right there, sweets.” He bends down close to your ear, his breath fanning across your sweaty skin. “He likes it,” he whispers, an evident smirk in his voice.

You can’t help but stare at the blonde in front of you, an obvious bulge in his slacks, his cheeks dusted a light pink. “Isn’t that right, Nanami? You like watching our pretty little coworker getting fucked, don’t you? You do have a crush on her after all,” he chuckles. He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look nanami in the eye while you take his cock, feeling his throbbing tip rub against your cervix. Nanami slowly steps forward, his eyes fixated on you. He reaches his hand out, gently caressing your cheek, swiping the pad of his thumb over your swollen lips. You look back at him with teary eyes, noticing the stern look on his face. You can’t tell what’s running through his head, but god he looks so good in his new suit and his disheveled hair, not to mention his raging bulge that was right in front of your face.

“N-nanami—ah! Fuck!” Your eyes squeeze shut at the sheer force of the gojo’s thrusts. Nanami unbuckles his belt, making quick movements to get his aching cock out. His chest heaves up and down, moving rapidly as he reaches into his slacks, his cock springing upward. He should be angry, furious to see you like this with gojo, it should be him that has you bent over his desk, but in a twisted way he doesn’t mind it. He likes seeing you in a such a vulnerable state, nearly on the verge of tears and desperate enough that you don’t care if you’re caught. He slowly strokes his cock just inches away from your face, settling his thumb in your mouth, encouraging you to suck it.

“This pussy is so fucking tight, mmm. You like having him watch? I bet you do.” Gojo lets out a breathy moan, sinking deep in your sopping cunt, making you moan around nanami’s finger.

Low grunts and whimpers erupt from nanami’s chest no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He follows the same pace gojo is fucking you at, imaging how warm and wet your cunt is as he stares down at you, noting the way your tongue swirls around his finger. “Don’t take your eyes off me, baby,” he says with a shaky breath, his grip tightening around his cock, moving his wrist in circular motions. He tosses his head back, his adams apple bobbing up and down, heavy breathing and shallow moans bouncing off the walls of the small office.

“S-shit, sweets! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Gojo grunts, his grip on your hips tightening, sure to leave indents in your skin. “God, you feel so fucking good! Gonna let me cum inside you? Say yes. Say—” You nod your head without hesitation, eyes focused on the way nanamis movements grow faster, biting on his bottom lip. His smears his precum over his swollen tip, dragging his hand all the way down and back up his shaft.

Gojo slams into you one last time, jolting your body forward as he paints your walls with his sticky cum, feeling his cock throb inside you with every drop he releases into you. “Nnnngh, fuck!” He slowly fucks his cum into you, squeezing the flesh of your ass and spreading it as he watches how your pussy grips around him.

Nanami’s breaths grow louder, his cheeks now flushed red just like the tip of his cock. “O-open for me, baby. Yeah, yeah just like that. So fucking perfect.” His eyes roll back when you stick your tongue out for him, just mere seconds later he cums all over, letting out the loudest moans. He milks his cock, not letting a drop go to waste.

Both of them try and catch their breath, your legs feel like jelly and your pussy completely sore. “Gonna let Nanami have a go at you next time?” Gojo teases, helping you stand to your feet. You shyly glance over at him, as if you haven’t just swallowed his cum and looked in the eye for the last few minutes. “What if he asks nicely, hm?” Gojo presses wet kisses to your neck, his hands roaming over your body and down to your ass.

“Unless she doesn’t want me to ask nicely. Maybe she just wants to be forced down and fucked.” You feel nanami’s breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine, completely sandwiched between these two men. His hand comes up from behind, wrapping around your throat to pull you back for a kiss, his tongue swiping over your lips and into your mouth. You kiss him back, sloppily.

“Might have to take her somewhere else to fully have our fun then.” Gojo reaches under your skirt, licking a stripe across your ear and down your neck.

[seumyo]

just thoughts of growing old with bakugou.

“Y’alright, old lady?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” You shot back with a huff, but the laughter in your voice softened it. “You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mr. Dynamight.”

“Hah? I could still beat your ass in a race.”

“You could barely bend down to get your keys this morning.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. “Should’ve let you get them. You’re closer to the ground anyway.”

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

You two walked a few more steps before he noticed your breathing was just a little heavier. Your hand was tighter on his forearm. You hadn’t said anything, of course. He knew you never liked making a fuss. But Bakugou noticed. He always noticed.

Because if he didn’t notice, then he’d think he’s the shittiest husband on the planet.

Bakugou stopped.

You looked at him, confused. “Katsu?”

“Turn around.”

“What—”

“I’m givin’ you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked. “Katsuki, we’re in our sixties.”

“And? You think that stops me?” He crouched a little, wincing more dramatically than he meant to. Despite retaining lighter exercises to keep his body in tip-top shape, age still creeps in like a barnacle to his back. “C’mon, get up before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to throw your back out.”

“My back’s tougher than yours.”

“That’s not saying much anymore!”

“I’d rather break my back than see you waddle like a fuckin’ penguin with those stuffy shoes.”

“Our daughter gave me these shoes!”

“I know,” he replied. “Get on, woman.”

With a chuckle, you carefully climbed onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck like they did all those years ago when you two were barely adults sneaking out for late-night walks. He held your legs securely under him, your weight familiar even after all this time. You rested your head against the back of his neck.

He lifts you like it’s nothing.

“Still got it,” he mutters, somewhat relieved.

Because Bakugou wants to give you a piggyback ride—or just carry you as many times as he possibly could.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well. You married me. So there’s nothin’ we could do about that now that we’re five decades in, huh?”

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder, your voice muffled. “Best decision I ever made,” you hum. “Do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

“All the time,” he replies.

“Do you miss it?”

Bakugou exhaled. “Nah. I mean, it was good. Great, even. But this…” He shifts you a little higher on his back. “This is better.”

“You’re carrying your wrinkly wife down the street, and you think this is better?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies without hesitation. “You still make fun of me. Still make me laugh. Still kiss me like we’re teenagers. And even if you walk slower now, you still walk with me.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s so sappy. I hate you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

You chuckled.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I know,” Bakugou says, and then, a little quieter, “I love you too. Always have. Even when you fell asleep during Die Hard.”

“I knew it. You were paying attention.”

He laughs. Full, unguarded, and warm. His chest feels full, like it always does when you’re near. The kind of full that doesn’t need fixing. Doesn’t need anything more.

-

“See?” Katsuki muttered breathlessly, settling you down onto a wooden bench that overlooked the town below. “Didn’t break my back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tch. Still mouthy,” he said, but there was nothing but tenderness in his voice. He reached for your hand, calloused fingers lacing with yours. “Old or not, you’ll never stop talkin’, will you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you murmured. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You tickle my toes when I’m about to fall asleep, you psychopath.”

“As I said, keep you on your toes.”

You two sat there in silence, side by side, watching as the last of the day faded into hues of soft purple and gold. The town below lit up slowly—windows glowing, streetlights flickering on one by one. It was the same town where you built a life, where you came after retiring from the city, where you spent quiet afternoons and lazy mornings and stormy nights curled under blankets.

“I was thinking earlier,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Remember that old apartment? The first one?”

“The one with the leaky pipes?”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Bakugou made a noise between a groan and a laugh.

“Don’t remind me. That place was hell.”

“But we were happy. And it was our first.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“You used to stay up late grading case files while I was asleep on the couch.”

“And you’d drool on every pillow,” he said, smirking.

“That’s love,” you quipped, “sharing spit on furniture.”

“Disgusting,” his eyes crinkled as he chuckled, quiet and deep, before falling into a softer stillness.

“Do you think we did okay?” you asked.

Bakugou turned to look at you. Your eyes were searching his face—not out of doubt, but for reassurance.

“We did more than okay,” he said. “We loved hard. Fought harder. Got old. Grew up.”

You smiled faintly. “We grew softer.”

He squeezed your hand. “You did. I stayed badass.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah… you did.”

A breeze blew past, and you shivered slightly. Bakugou was already tugging his jacket off before you could protest. He knows you well enough that it comes second to breathing. Something that he could never forget because he needs to remember it to survive.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. You’re cold.”

You let him drape it over you, fingers brushing his wrist as he tucked it close. It was nice. This was nice.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” you said after a while. “You were yelling at someone, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

“I thought, ‘What an ass.’”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Because you were very persuasive,” you told him.

He snorted. “Uh huh.”

Time passed like that—peaceful and unhurried—until the sun was a mere sliver on the edge of the world. Fireflies blinked into view. The quiet of the hilltop wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I’m tired,” you murmured quietly, closing your eyes for a moment against his shoulder.

“Want me to carry you home?”

“No, just…” You paused, then exhaled. “Let’s just stay here a bit.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yeah. We can stay.”

“You’ve always been stubborn.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“But also the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t reply right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. Your hair had silvered, your cheeks had thinned, but your eyes held the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you years ago. You were still [Name]. Undeniably his.

And he was still Bakugou. Your.

“Even if I get reincarnated,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, “even if I forget everything—I hope I find you again.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “You will.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you too,” he said. “You’re too damn loud to miss.”

You smiled. Your hand, much more wrinkly now, more fragile than it used to be, reached up to his cheek. Your thumb traced the scar that time left near his jaw.

“I love you,” you said.

He leaned in, pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too. Always.”

And in the stillness, with the cool air surrounding you and the stars beginning to blink into view above, you leaned into each other—together in warmth, in memory, in everything you two ever were.

Your hands stayed intertwined, steady.

And when the wind finally hushed, you drifted off into the quietest, most peaceful sleep.

Together, one last time.

Forever.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[angelesca]

a soon-to-be-husband's plan for successful marriage! w.c. ~900

requested by: @kimura-uzuri lots of kisses as per the request, suggestive, all of them are idiots in love and mega pathetic (just how we like 'em amirite) added some extra characters & stretched the prompt, but the core remains the same - hopefully you don't mind :)) (!! written before playing 3.1! only seen some bits and pieces)

anaxagoras's "all according to calculation" love letter!

to my dearest, if you were to reject me, i think i'd cry with my one eye since our fateful encounter, i've found myself... happy agitated, with these bothersome feelings aglaea said it was "love". hah. what does she know?, aroused by, simply, your presence in my orbit. it nags endlessly, claws at my throat when i breathe, these insignicant matters should afford me no pleasure... yet, the heart is no longer a master of itself, desperately wrestling from your grip, but inevitably chained to your smile that is interwoven with my memories. i also cannot forget how you suplexed me after our first kiss my lips spring and curve at an accord of their own when you spare as little as a glance at me. to who else can be ascribed such a feat? congratulations i guess a scholar's instinct is to question in the face of adversity. and questions must be accompanied by answers. as i write this to you, i have finally sumrised the truth. why i feel what i do, i must acknowledge it now... i adore you. i am eternally yours-- i must spend my life with you. ... *unintelligible scribbling*

anaxagoras looks up from his page, staring at you. "did that work?"

work? it didn't even try. "what? what are you- why did you read me a whole love letter? i didn't even know you had it in your bones to write sappy romance."

anaxagoras's eye twitches. he took that to heart. his formula for the perfect proposal is breaking, time to move onto plan b.

you throw your hands on your hips. "what's with you?" kiss. "you just came home after-" kiss. "-being away for so long." kiss. "is something wrong with your head?" kiss. "stop that! it won't distract me from your failure of a proposal."

"tch." anaxa clicks his tongue, slumping defeatedly like a child who got caught red-handed. so much for his perfect plan. well, when all else fails, there's only one final strategy: "well? are we getting engaged?"

you sigh. "you could've said that in the first place..." kiss. "..."

little did you know, that was a display of anaxagoras's restraint. the power of a scholar comes from more than their words, you learned the hard way, sore in bed the next day.

phainon's "super special, totally epic °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°" checklist!

1. i miss my partner so much... (´-ω-`) must return to okhema 2. buy a ring (maybe ask aglaea?) (ugh, i can't let mydei know or he'll tease me) 3. ??? 4. become husband!!! (☆ω☆)

step 1. miss my partner... check. duh. ┐(‘～` )┌ return to okhema? check.

step 2. buy a ring. check. aglaea, with a stifled chuckle, gladly helped the clueless phainon pick out a ring perfect for you. after all, someone who pairs an orange shirt with purple pants could hardly be trusted with picking out an engagement ring. successfully avoided mydei's keen eyes.

step 3. ???

phainon stares at you. "???"

"???" you stare back.

"???????????" phainon took the third step too literally. what is this doofus doing?

realising that his plan is falling apart, phainon panics. "c-c-c-c-can i k-kiss you?" his lips unconsciously push together, pouting, as if practicing his kissing on your ghost.

you frown. "why are you asking like it's our first time doing it?"

"oh, right..."

you playfully roll your eyes. "come here, you."

phainon skips over, brightened, lowering his head for you. you press kisses on them. then, ten more for good measure, because, well, phainon and kisses just go well together, clicking like a puzzle.

"haha, that was nice." phainon's cheeks were red as tomatoes, pressing his hands on them like a youthful maiden in love. then, he latches onto your arm, intertwining. "let's settle down soon. i'm so tired of fighting bad guys all day," he mumbles.

"settle down? like family?" you ask.

"whatever you desire: children, dogs, cats, potted plants. i'm okay with anything you want, as long as you want it," phainon beams. "i just want to start a new life with you!"

beneath all the sweet words, phainon feels that he forgot something integral... something something... become husband... well, whatever. as long as you're happy, phainon can't think of much else when you're calling out his name at night. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ) the neighbours are tired bro...

(days later, you found the engagement ring left in his pocket before taking his clothes for laundry)

mydei's "conquer and overcome all adversities" (is he still talking about proposing?) goal!

1. propose

mydei holds out his hand. "let us form a legal, committal union under a contract."

your jaw drops. mydei had just returned home and these were his first words after being apart for so long? "s-sorry?"

mydei huffs. "you know what i mean."

"you mean a marri-"

COUGH COUGH.

...?

you scrunch your eyebrows. "you want to marr-"

COUGH COUGH.

... mydei is blushing, eyes glossy. how could one word have such an effect? scratch that, how has he made it this far into the relationship? romance was certainly not in the kremnoan dictionary.

you take a deep breath. "mydei, you can just say the word."

"the word."

you sigh. this was too slow. "fine. i agree."

"agree?" mydei looks at you expectantly.

"to establish a legal contract that binds us together."

"oh," mydei smiles. "well, let us make haste." he swings you over his shoulder easily, as if carrying feathers. now, it's going too fast - he really can't set a pace.

"hey! what the-" by the time you realised, you were already at an altar, face-to-face with your husband-to-be. never in your life have you witnessed your body being covered in so many marks the night after the wedding, and your lips were definitely bruised.

you sternly warned mydei, and what is repressed comes back stronger, as he hugged you 24/7, stealing your waist instead of lips. a kremnoan warrior always stays conquering, even when proving his eternal love for you.

a/n: i just found out there are anaxa chibis but its too late im afraid. pea head anaxa for life who's with me also here's some behind the scenes! originally i wrote this for phainon's step 3:

phainon gets on his knees and- oh, oh my god- "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

"phainon???" his name barely leaves your mouth as a breath, for you can hardly construct words, let alone a sentence.

LMAOOO it was way too much. anw ty again! i had fun writing it! sorry this was kinda short, i wrote this up as quick as i could. but if you'd like me to re-make the request bc it was too silly, lemme know xx

[beloveds-embrace]

the fae animals ask made me kinda have some confidence of the fae boys being able to appreciate and care about even readers soft and more human qualities.

I hope the boys become desperately obsessed with both her strong more far likeness but also have a crisis realizing that they like her softness. I think some panicking is deserved on the boys part. I am still partial to our boys

also I think reader need some others in her corner and the fae animals are such lovely supports.

masterlist || cw: neglect and angst but it’s getting better trust me

It started, as most catastrophes do; with something terribly, innocently mortal.

A scarf, of all things.

It was nothing of note- no glamour woven into the threads, no whispering enchantments stitched along its hem. Just wool, soft and worn, hand-dyed in a shade of pale lavender that clashed horribly with the obsidian and ivy of your usual wardrobe. But you wore it regardless, looped twice around your neck as you wandered barefoot through the frost-touched gardens, your breath blooming into the mist.

Simon saw you first; he’d stepped from one of the doors, summoned by a courtier’s sniveling request, only to stop dead beneath the frostglass archway. The trees were alive with quiet, with fireflies and will-o-wisps watching from between the thorns- but none moved as you crumbled honeyed bread in your palm, scattering it over moss and stone.

He did not expect the birds that came for you.

Iridescent and shimmer-feathered, their glassy eyes gleamed like dew-wet gems. Birds that usually only sang for moonblood offerings or circled above dying kings- Simon remembers seeing them when Queen Mother publicly slaughtered the late King- came when you called, soothed by your voice as you hummed something heartbreakingly human.

And now, you scolded one when it snapped too eagerly at another. “Mind your manners! There’s enough for everyone!”

Simon nearly groaned aloud. Not from annoyance- but from the pressure building in his chest. Like a curse long slumbering. He needed to pull you close, squeeze your soft safe between his hands- ugh.

You were not cloaked in fae glamour. You did not drip moonlight from your lashes or speak in riddles.

And yet… all the old trees leaned subtly toward you; he didn’t tell the others of that, nor of this occasion, and instead cradled in the space between his ribs just for himself.

But things like you- tender, strange, human- don’t stay hidden long. Not when you were the Queen.

The next week, Johnny found you curled into the window seat of the great hall. Sunset painted molten gold across the high walls, catching in the floating motes of pollen-dust that always drifted lazily through the wings of the palace, especially in spring. You were barefoot again, your legs tucked beneath you like a child’s, nose buried in a battered mortal book whose cover had long since faded.

You were snorting with laughter- head tossed back, a hand slapping your knee like you couldn’t help it. The crown you’d worn that morning, spiked with garnets and bone, lay forgotten on a nearby table, half-buried under a folded shawl of spider-silk.

Johnny was halfway across the hall before he realized he was moving. He stopped only when your laughter faded and you turned, eyes crinkled and warm, still in the cozy world within your book.

He fled.

And sulked about it for the rest of the day. He was a creature of battle, of storms and songs sung in blood. A King’s advisor. He was not supposed to be enchanted by the softness of your laugh, the little crinkles in your eyes. Yet it was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes for the new hours.

It got worse when Kyle caught you in the kitchens; the palace’s heart at night was strange- lamplit with flame-flowers that opened only after sundown, their petals flickering like winking eyes. Everything pulsed with magic, every door could lead to a dream or a trap. Yet there you were, barefoot again (why were you always barefoot? Did you maids not ensure your comfort?) sneaking across tiled mosaics made from the bones of long-dead sea beasts, clutching a slice of chocolate cake like it was sacred.

Kyle froze. The moth that lived in your sleeve- the little beast could change its size- blinked sleepily at him. You looked up, wide-eyed, and your sheepish grin dimmed but you still held on and raised your chin.

“… You won’t tell?”

He gave you another piece.

Then sat outside your door later that night, staring up at the star-swallowed sky, and didn’t sleep a wink. Glowy and Thrain kept him company by glowing and growling at him, respectively.

John, then, watched you handle the court with a precision that could slice a man in half. You were everything they’d hoped a human queen wouldn’t be- poised, unreadable, willing to he adorned in thorns and black petals that whispered curses in dead languages, not making enough mistakes for them to consider throwing you back to the human kingdom. The fae bent for you, even when they didn’t want to. Because you were a good Queen- and you were slowly gathering supporters.

And then he found you, days later, curled in an oversized dress by the fireplace in your study.

You weren’t weeping. But your eyes were red, and Thrain, your antlered beast, had curled around you like a fortress, one massive antler tipped toward the fire. Your giant moth rested across your shoulders, wings twitching dreamily as it glowed soft golden light.

You looked up at him and said, in the voice of someone who had not spoken all day- who had no one to speak to all day:

“I didn’t think it would end that way.”

You said no more after that, but it was just enough to crack open the hollowed, ancient stone of his heart.

They all began to spiral after that, unsurprisingly. Curse you and your frustrating, beloved humanity.

Johnny wouldn’t wear anything you hadn’t touched, and even better if it held the scent of your soaps and perfumes. Kyle started leaving small gifts on your desk- tiny, enchanted things, but useful, and he smiled when he saw you using the little quill that liked to dance across parchment. Simon wouldn’t let anyone stand within a breath of you if they weren’t announced, glaring from behind like death incarnate- as if Thrain wasn’t enough.

And Price began to carry your scarf.

Not visibly, never that. But in the inside pocket of his coat, tucked like a relic he didn’t dare speak of. He’d raise it occasionally, when he was left alone-

And simply kiss its soft wool, and imagine to himself it was your forehead. It woukd suffice until he fixed this terrible mistake they’d made in their treatment and seclusion of you.

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

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